Chapter 15: You failed. Let the bloodshed begin

Chapter 15: You failed. Let the bloodshed begin

When class ended at exactly 2:00 p.m., Cain didn't hesitate. The moment Professor Jorge dismissed them, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed straight for the exit of the gymnasium.

"Good work today, student judge… Liam,"

Professor Jorge called out while organizing his papers. "You may leave now. As for the rest of you, the punishment will be finalized during our meeting."

- "We were tied."

- "Looks like we'll get the punishment at the next meeting."

- "This is that guy's fault."

Cain paused and turned back politely.

"Yes, sir… but my name is Cain."

Professor Jorge blinked. "Ah. Right. Cain. My mistake."

"It's fine, sir," Cain replied before walking out.

Outside, the afternoon sun bathed the campus in gold. Students were slowly dispersing, their voices fading into the open air.

Once outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot.

That was when he saw her.

Eliza was walking toward a sleek black limousine. Three bodyguards stood nearby, their posture rigid and alert, while her maid followed half a step behind, carrying her belongings. The car door was opened for her.

Then Cain noticed someone else.

The same man who had tried to approach Eliza before.

He stood several meters away, his jaw tight, irritation written clearly across his face.

"I'll get you someday," the man muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on her.

Cain watched from across the parking lot and shook his head.

"Ayoo, chill, it's not that deep!" he muttered quietly to himself. "Just accept it. Looks like the 'prince' just experienced his first rejection… and can't handle it."

He glanced again at the luxurious car, then back at the glaring boy.

"Rich people and good-looking people… they're all weird."

Then he noticed them.

Six suspicions men.

All wearing dark sunglasses. Black suits. Earpieces barely visible beneath their hair.

They were positioned near the far wall close to where Eliza's limousine had been parked. One of them was holding what looked like a camera, though he kept it lowered and partially concealed.

Cain slowed his steps.

"…Those guys look suspicious."

He narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't move closer.

"Not my problem," he muttered to himself. "Some people are just born weird."

He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and started walking again.

"I'm heading home. Hmm… what should I cook for dinner tonight?"

He paused mid-step.

"Oh. Right. The blue-eyed girl. I almost forgot."

His expression shifted into thoughtfulness.

"There were five girls in P.E. earlier with blue eyes… but the deepest shade was undeniably Eliza's. Her eyes were almost like jewels. Maybe it was because she was a direct descendant of royalty from a foreign country… or at least something like that."

He glanced back toward where the limousine had driven off.

"Hmmm… she'll be fine. Did you see those bodyguards? They move like super soldiers from the comics I used to read."

He replayed the scene in his head—the way they scanned the area, how one subtly stepped forward when someone got too close, how smoothly they opened and closed the car door.

"Look at those reflexes… ohhh. They handled everything so easily."

He exhaled.

"Yeah. A princess already has her guards. She'll be safe. "Which means… I need to focus on finding the real blue-eyed girl."

He walked toward his motorcycle, slipped his helmet over his head, fastened the strap, and got ready to leave.

"Now then… let's think."

"Nah, I'll do it tomorrow. There's no need to rush it. It might be a task, but I need time to gather some details and clues. I'm too tired to deal with it right now."

After getting home, it was already 3 p.m. Cain dropped his bag beside the bed. He opened his cabinet and stared inside. One pajama. Two oversized shirts. That was it. "Oh yeah… I don't even have any underwear left. Just one pajama and two shirts," he muttered. "I guess I'll have to do laundry today…"

His eyes slowly shifted to the bed. Then he remembered.

He had peed on it last night—and still slept there because he was too exhausted to care.

"…And the pillowcases. And the bedsheets," he sighed heavily. "The blanket too. I can't believe I just slept on it."

He ran a hand through his hair.

"I guess I'll be sleeping on the floor tonight… And I still have to clean my room. And the bathroom—the stains still haven't come off, and those objects are still inside…" The thought alone made him feel more tired than he already was.

He let out a quiet sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon. He start moving and began gathering all the laundry. One basket filled quickly. Then another. And another.

Three baskets.

He stared at the pile in disbelief.

Some of the shirts were stained from the ice cream he'd spilled a week ago. He scrubbed at one of them with frustration, but the pale mark refused to fade.

"Son of a— it won't come off!" he snapped under his breath.

Next came the sheets and the blanket. "This will be hard... to wash"

The moment he lifted them, a sour smell hit him.

It reeked.

He grimaced, holding the fabric away from himself. "This smells like pee."

For a second, he just stood there, staring at the mountain of chores he had created for himself.

This was going to take hours.

After the wash cycle ended, he transferred some clothes to the dryer. With a bundle of hangers in one hand and damp shirts in the other, he stepped onto the balcony, letting the cool air brush against his face as he hung them out to dry.

By the time he finished, it was already 6 p.m. "Finally! It's done... My back hurts!"

He lifted the foam mattress and pillow with effort and carried it up to the rooftop deck, leaving it there to dry under the open sky until tomorrow.

When he returned inside, he grabbed a brush, cleaned the floor and walls of the bathroom, and began scrubbing the dark stains the Pierrot had left behind. The dried blood on the objects didn't come off completely, even after he had rinsed them.

"Damn clown… leaving me some more shores," he muttered under his breath. After giving everything another careful cleaning, he gathered the blood-stained objects and carried them to the small storage room beside his bed, placing them neatly inside before closing it.

He then started cleaning his room and placed a futon on the floor, along with a new blanket.

The time is now 8:45 PM.

"I'm hungry" he headed straight to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, scanning the contents. A few eggs, some cabbage, and cans of meatloaf—enough to make a simple but satisfying meal.

He cracked the eggs into one pan, the sizzling sound echoing through the quiet apartment. In another, he fried the meatloaf, the rich, savory aroma mingling with the sharp scent of garlic and onions he had just chopped. On the stove, a small pot of rice bubbled gently, filling the kitchen with warmth food.

"Meatloaf's the best." he muttered to himself as he stirred the pan, tasting a piece of meatloaf.

After about forty minutes, he plated his dinner: a bowl of steaming rice, fried meatloaf glazed with soy sauce, stirred fry cabbage and a small bowl of miso soup. He set it on the table and sat down, picking up his spoom.

Once he sat down and took his first bite, the warmth and flavors made him sigh in relief. "I'm full," he muttered, leaning back in his chair, wiping his hands on a napkin.

Dinner finished, he left the dishes to soak for tomorrow and sat onto the bed. His phone was already in hand, "Still no message… I guess they're busy. Or maybe it's too late at night—it's already 9:25pm after all." So he scrolled through the internet, then suddenly he saw a post uploaded just moments ago—a blurry video of an accident. His eyes narrowed. It showed a girl. She was wearing the same school uniform as his.

"Isn't that our school female uniform!?" he whispered, leaning closer to the screen, his breath fogging the glass slightly.

The footage shifted. This wasn't some random accident. In the dim alley, a body lay sprawled across the wet pavement. And—horrifyingly—there was no head. Someone had been killed. It was a murder.

His stomach churned violently, bile rising in his throat, and he felt like he was on the edge of vomiting.

Then, suddenly, an unknown account appeared in the school group chat. It posted a video of the incident—this time closer, captured from the corner of a narrow alley. A neat, dark hole marked her chest, her uniform soaked in blood, the blood spreading across the pavement beneath her.

- "Who is this? Who sent this, and who invited this man to our GC!?"

- "Did they catch the killer!?"

- "Does anyone know who the girl is?"

- "That's horrifying!"

"That's… too brutal," cain whispered.

Cain's vision blurred. The world tilted and spiraled around him. The next moment, he found himself in his bed, as if waking from a nightmare. He glanced at the calendar—an X he had marked was gone. Confused, he picked up his phone. The date and time read: August 20, 5:00 a.m.

"I… got back in time. That means the girl in this video is the girl with blue eyes!!?" he whispered to himself.

Then, a single blood-stained note fell from the back of his phone. Hands trembling, he picked it up and took a photo, muttering to himself: "You failed. let the bloodshed begin…"