Yohan and Odin spent the night in the car.
By morning, Odin patched up Yohan's wounds and, without saying much, left again.
Yohan knew something was off—but he didn't know what.
With a heavy heart, he walked to a small, forgotten church and entered the confession booth.
It was dark inside. The air smelled of old wood and candle wax.
He sat down and whispered, voice trembling:
"Father, give me some guidance. I don't know what to do. I feel like a lost sheep. I want to help people… save them… but I don't know how. Please, Father, show me the way."
A pause. Then a voice replied—one Yohan recognized instantly.
"Aren't you smart, detective? You found the gospel. With your doctor friend's help, you could clear your name, live your life, pretend this nightmare never happened. So why chase the dead? Why be an idiot?"
Yohan froze. His stomach turned.
It wasn't the priest.
It was Headless.
The bell rang once.
Twice.
Thrice.
He heard children laughing and running outside.
When Yohan stepped out, he saw him—Headless—face covered, surrounded by the children. They clung to him like he was their protector, their savior.
Yohan shouted, "What twisted game are you playing?"
Headless turned calmly.
"Please don't shout. You'll scare the kids."
The children hugged Headless tighter. For a second, Yohan hesitated.
Was this monster really loved?
Was he wrong all along?
But he knew better.
Even if forced, even if broken, Headless was still a devil.
Yohan reached for his gun—gone.
Headless laughed.
"Detective, don't be foolish. You don't want to scar the children, do you?"
Yohan smirked bitterly. "You're trapped here with me. Neither of us is leaving."
Headless walked calmly onto the stage.
The bell rang again—once, twice, thrice, then a fourth time.
People began entering the church—old, young, families, strangers. They filled the pews, silent and waiting.
Headless took the microphone.
"Dear worshipers, today we are blessed. Detective Yohan is here—trying to stop us. Even if it costs him everything—his life, his peace. Let's encourage him, shall we?"
The people began to clap.
Louder.
Faster.
Endless.
The sound swallowed the air. Yohan fell to his knees, covering his ears, trembling. The noise grew unbearable. His screams vanished in the applause—until the ground beneath him gave way.
He fell—
And woke up.
Still in the confession booth.
Just a dream.
Or maybe not.
He stumbled out, sweating, breath heavy. Two children sat on the stage, watching him silently.
"What time is it?" Yohan asked, voice cracking.
"It's time to act, detective," one said. They handed him a letter and ran off.
If you wish to catch me, meet me at the underground metro.
Yohan ran. The metro was empty—eerily quiet. An old man sat alone on a bench.
Yohan sat beside him. "Sir, you shouldn't be here. I have a bad feeling something's about to happen."
The old man chuckled softly.
"Look around, detective. Do you see anyone else?"
Yohan looked. The place was deserted.
"Why's no one here?" he asked.
The old man turned his head slowly.
"His next hit will be an orphanage. In his own home ground."
He stood up as the train roared in.
Before Yohan could react, the man jumped onto the tracks.
The scream of steel drowned everything.
Blood everywhere.
Yohan fell back, shaking.
Headless hadn't just killed again.
He had completely broken him.