PROLOGUE
The rain fell with unusual fury that night. The city lights flickered, as if afraid of what was coming. In a narrow, deserted street of the old industrial district, a raven cawed and took flight, fleeing the scene that would soon be etched into the collective memory as the beginning of the nightmare.
A body lay on the ground, positioned with surgical precision, as if death itself had sculpted its masterpiece. There was no visible blood, but the unnatural position of the corpse and the empty gaze spoke of a meticulously planned end. On the wall, drawn in what seemed like soot, a figure: a raven with an X across its chest. Beneath it, a message: "The first song has been sung."
Detective Yuto Kuroda lit another cigarette as he observed the scene from behind the yellow tape. The rain slid down his trench coat, but his mind was far from any physical discomfort. He had seen horrible things before, but there was something different about this. Something more... personal.
"What do you think, Kuroda?" asked Agent Mei Tachibana, jotting down notes in her notebook. Her dark eyes were as analytical as her tone.
"This isn't just some random killer," Yuto replied, exhaling smoke. "This isn't just a crime. It's a message. And that symbol…" he pointed at the raven figure, "is just the beginning."
"You think more are coming?"
Kuroda looked at her with unshakable gravity.
"I don't think. I know. This was the first song. And we don't yet know how to read the melody."
Hours later, Yuto sat in his office, surrounded by papers, photos of past crimes, and a cup of coffee as black as the night. Rain hammered against the windows persistently. The walls seemed to shrink with every flash of lightning, and the creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet added an almost theatrical atmosphere to the place.
As he reviewed the forensic report, something caught his eye. The body hadn't only been positioned with surgical accuracy—there were small marks on the wrists, as if they'd been bound... but not tightly. As if the victim had cooperated. Out of fear? Hypnosis? Resignation?
A notification buzzed on his phone, cutting through his thoughts. An anonymous message.
"The second song will echo in the light of those who deny the dark."
Yuto frowned. It was too early for another victim. Or was it?
"Damn you…" he muttered. The killer wasn't just toying with the police—he was writing his own narrative. A bloody narrative, drenched in symbolism.
The next day, the body of a priest was found hanging inside an abandoned church in the suburbs. His face was covered with a raven mask. The scene was bathed in the faint light of shattered stained-glass windows. A notebook had been left on the altar, with a single handwritten phrase:
"Second song: the one who preaches without listening."
Mei arrived minutes after Yuto. They exchanged glances, both knowing this would be the most twisted case of their careers.
"Do you feel it?" Mei asked.
"Yes. This isn't a manhunt. It's an opera. And we… we're just part of the chorus."
Kuroda closed his eyes for a moment. He knew the killer was watching them. From the shadows, from some hidden corner of that city drenched in secrets.
And the song had only just begun.