"𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐰." - 𝑵𝒂𝒐𝒚𝒂 𝒁𝒆𝒏𝒊𝒏
⟶ He was born a king, and he reigned as a god. Gojo didn't walk-he crushed. His laughter slapped the w...
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The black water flowed sluggishly beneath the old district's bridges, carrying dead leaves, bloated plastic bags, and clumps of hair caught in rusted grates. The smell from the sewers was unbearable — acid, rot, the breath of corpses.
They said the middle schoolers came here as a dare. "Cross the Echo Bridge alone." A stupid challenge, a coming-of-age ritual whispered through online forums. But now... there were bodies. Small bodies. Twisted. Hollow.
Megumi had descended the stone steps first, soaked in sweat beneath his uniform. The filthy water reached his ankles, every step sending splashes of putrid murk slapping against the mossy walls. Chihiro followed at a distance, barefoot, silent as a shadow. The white band of cloth around her throat was still tied — sealing her voice, the cursed voice. Yet her gaze spoke volumes: worry, tension, something almost maternal in how she watched him so carefully, never interfering but always near.
The first corpse had been caught against a drainage grate — a boy, eleven maybe, throat slashed in a crescent, eye sockets hollow, as though his eyes had burned out from within. Further ahead, a girl lay with shattered legs and a torn tongue. Their soaked school uniforms confirmed the worst.
But there was no sign of Tsumiki.
Megumi clenched his fists, veins bulging, breath ragged. "Fuck... fuck..."
