Kaito
I love operating rooms because they are the only places in this world that do not permit chaos.
When I step through those double doors, I leave behind a world of people who forget their appointments, cars that break down, and emotions that overflow without reason. Inside the OR, everything is governed by the law of absolute precision. The number 10 scalpel must be in its place, the sutures organized by thickness, and even the breaths held behind the surgical masks have a rhythm that must not be broken. Failure in my world doesn't happen because of "bad luck"; that is a lie invented by the weak to justify their incompetence. Failure happens because someone, in a single moment, was not precise enough. And I, Kaito Mori, have never allowed myself to be anything less than perfect.
I stood at the scrub sink, rubbing my hands with antiseptic soap. The motion is routine, but I enjoy it every single time. I feel the warm water washing away every speck of dust, every dead skin cell, every trace of the "outside." I studied my reflection in the polished mirror. My face looks calm, confident, and perfectly reassuring. It is the face people trust when they decide to hand over their bodies while they are unconscious. They look at my elegant glasses and my carefully shaved jaw and they feel safe. Poor things. They are surrendering their souls to someone who sees them as nothing more than a collection of tubes and tissues in need of reorganization.
My phone vibrated in my white coat pocket, tucked beneath my plastic apron.
I pulled it out carefully. It was a message from Aya Takeda. "I'd be happy to go with you, Kaito. Mitso holds a very special place in my heart."
I read the message three times. Each time, I tasted the words as if they were a vintage wine. The smile that spread across my lips wasn't the reassuring one I give to patients before anesthesia. It was the smile of a victor watching the dominoes fall exactly in the path I had designed for them weeks ago.
Aya Takeda. What a stunning specimen.
When I first saw her profile on that ridiculous app, it wasn't her photos—where she tries so hard to look happy—that attracted me, nor was it her obvious wit. What truly drew me in was something the average man doesn't see. It was the darkness lurking in the corners of her eyes, that type of deep-seated grief that isn't erased by time or makeup. It is the grief that grows like a malignant tumor in the soul, feeding on memories. And now, she confirms with her own tongue that "Mitso" has a special place in her heart.
Of course it does. I know that, Aya. I know much more than you can possibly imagine. I know the scent of the soil in Mitso after the rain, and I know how sound chokes among the thick forest trees there.
I stepped out of the scrub room and headed toward my private office. The hallways were quiet, the silence broken only by the squeak of my surgical clogs on the shiny floor. I passed Nurse Miki. As usual, she was trying to organize papers with trembling hands because I was standing near her. "Good day, Miki-san. Are the morning surgical reports ready?"
"Yes... yes, Dr. Mori! They are on your desk as you requested," she said, lowering her head, her face flushing.
I entered my office and closed the door behind me. I turned toward the window overlooking Tokyo. From here, the city looks like a massive body laid out on a dissecting table, its lights like glowing cells. I sat behind my large mahogany desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. The drawer that no one in this hospital dares to touch, the one for which I carry the key on a chain around my neck, hidden beneath my shirt.
I pulled out an old folder encased in clear plastic to protect it from moisture. It wasn't a medical file for a patient whose life I had saved. It was a private archive. Yellowed newspaper clippings from ten years ago.
"GIRL VANISHES IN MITSO WOODS""SEARCH FOR SAKURA TAKEDA ENTERS TENTH DAY""BODY OF YOUNG WOMAN FOUND... POLICE SUSPECT PROFESSIONAL FOUL PLAY"
I studied Sakura's photo in the paper. She had the same eyes as Aya, the same curve of the face, but she possessed something Aya lost long ago... she had absolute innocence. The kind of innocence that makes you believe the stranger offering you help in the forest is a true "gentleman." Aya, on the other hand, is a broken creature living on suspicion.
I saw that suspicion clearly last night. When I left the table at the restaurant, I didn't really go to answer the phone; I stood behind the curtain watching her. I saw her hand trembling as she opened my bag. I saw her gaze as she touched the lock of hair. She thought she was clever, thought she was "hunting" evidence against me. How amusing it is to watch someone who thinks they are the one in control while they are, in fact, tied to invisible strings that I pull as I please.
A cat doesn't enjoy a mouse that surrenders immediately and plays dead. The real pleasure, the rush that makes my heart beat, lies in the mouse that believes it is the one hunting the cat. Aya thinks she is getting closer to the truth, while she is actually getting closer to her inevitable end.
I opened the small box hidden in the corner of the safe. I took out the "lock of hair." I ran my fingers over it slowly. It is soft, cold, and dead. Exactly as perfect things should be. Ordinary people think killing is a violent, ugly act, full of screaming and messy blood. But they don't understand the artistic and biological side of it. When I decide to "end someone's suffering," I don't kill them; I freeze them in their most beautiful state. I grant them the immortality they failed to achieve while breathing.
Sakura was my first major experiment that taught me the meaning of control. And now, Aya wants to complete the circle. She wants "closure." Fine, I will give her the closure she seeks, but it won't be the closure she expects.
I stood up and walked over to the small "cooler box" in the corner of the office. I opened it. It was empty for now, but it was sparkling clean. On Saturday, on our trip to Mitso, this box won't contain liver or kidney specimens for transport. It will contain the tools I need for a family "reunion." I am going to take Aya back to Sakura. I will make them perfectly identical. Silence next to silence. Lock next to lock.
But there was a small detail that kept me smiling all night. The lip balm I gave Aya at the station... it wasn't her "lost" one. It was her sister Sakura's. I have kept it for ten years, with that tiny label she wrote in her shaky, childish handwriting: "Mitso - 2014". Seeing Aya's face change when she touched that small plastic tube was a cinematic moment par excellence. I saw the terror dancing in her pupils, and I saw the doubt turning into a horrifying certainty. Yet, she still thinks she can "play" with me.
You think you are luring me to Mitso to expose my truth to the world. You think you will carry that little knife you bought today from the camping store—yes, I even know where you shop, Aya—and wait for the right moment to sink it into my back.
How wonderful and entertaining!
The intercom buzzed loudly, breaking my train of thought. "Dr. Mori, the patient in Room 402 is suffering from a sharp drop in blood pressure. There is internal bleeding that hasn't stopped after surgery."
"I'm coming," I said with total calm and coldness, as if I were talking about the weather.
I adjusted my tie in the mirror. I brushed a non-existent speck of dust off my white sleeve. Before leaving, I looked at Aya's picture still open on my phone screen.
"Precision is everything, Aya," I whispered to myself. "And you were the biggest mistake I've made in ten years... I let you live because I thought grief would kill you. But since you've decided to come back and demand the truth, it is time to correct that mistake surgically."
I walked out of the office with confident, steady strides. The long hallway was lit by fluorescent lights that flickered with a regularity that reminded me of a heartbeat. In my world, there is no room for coincidence or fleeting emotions. On Saturday, under the shadows of the Mitso trees, Aya will learn that masks don't always fall to reveal primitive monsters... sometimes they fall to reveal something much uglier: they reveal a person who understands you better than you understand yourself, and loves you so much he wants to see you as a perfect corpse.
When I reached Room 402, the patient was thrashing, blood staining the white sheets in a chaotic scene that disgusted me. I picked up the scalpel and began to work. And as I cut through the tissue with extreme precision, I wasn't seeing the patient's pale face.
I was seeing Aya's face freezing in the moment I would tell her the whole truth... in the forest that witnessed the beginning of everything.