「In the wee hours, inside a luxurious villa.」
Hiroshi Matsumoto lay sound asleep on the soft, large bed. As for the blonde woman, she had already been kicked out by the very prideful Hiroshi Matsumoto due to a moment of carelessness where she revealed a somewhat dissatisfied expression at a critical time.
It was in this dead silence that the lights inside the villa all went out in an instant. Several figures wearing pure white, human-face masks and black cloaks easily scaled the villa's tall walls. With a soft CLICK, the villa's main door was opened, and the figures entered in single file.
"Is someone there? Could it be burglars?"
Hiroshi Matsumoto, who still had some semblance of alertness despite his wrongdoings, was suddenly awakened by the noise at the front door. He pressed the light switch, but there was no response. This is not good, he thought, a sudden sense of unease washing over him as he reached under his pillow and pulled out a handgun.
Holding the gun, he flicked off the safety and slowly moved towards the bedroom door, listening to the footsteps that were getting closer outside. I should call the police, the thought suddenly popped into his head. But hearing the footsteps that had already reached the door, it was clear he no longer had the chance to make a call.
"Damn it! If you dare come in, I'll shoot!" Hiroshi Matsumoto, full of resentment, pointed the gun at the bedroom door. I'll give them a nasty surprise, he thought.
Outside the bedroom, a figure reached for the doorknob, about to twist it, but then suddenly stopped. The hand slowly withdrew and reached under the cloak, pulling out a Crystal Stone the size of a phalanx bone. As Spiritual Power surged within the figure, the Crystal Stone emanated a faint glow, illuminating the snow-white mask on their face.
With a muffled THUMP, a hole the thickness of a thumb suddenly appeared in the bedroom door. Accompanied by screams from inside, several figures pushed open the door and entered.
Hiroshi Matsumoto was kneeling on the ground, screaming and breaking out in a cold sweat. The sight of him, along with the silver handgun that had fallen onto the floor beside him, elicited sneers from the intruders. One of the figures stepped forward and grabbed Hiroshi Matsumoto, who was clutching his wrist in agony.
"Who are you...?"
SMACK! SMACK!
Two slaps landed, and Hiroshi Matsumoto's unsightly face instantly swelled. Another figure dragged over a solid wood chair. Working together, they quickly and securely tied Hiroshi Matsumoto to it.
Only after those hard slaps did Hiroshi Matsumoto begin to come to his senses.
By the moonlight, he made out the masked appearance of the figures. A flicker of relief passed through his heart. Thank goodness, thank goodness I didn't see their real faces, he thought.
Before the figures had a chance to speak, Hiroshi Matsumoto hastily began his performance. "Are you after money? I have a lot of it! Just let me go, and it's all yours!" His voice pleaded, laden with sincerity.
"All for us? Heh."
The figures in the room exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. The mockery in their laughter immediately caused Hiroshi Matsumoto's complexion to change.
"What... what do you mean?"
"Hiroshi Matsumoto, right?" one of the black-robed figures said. "Why don't you take a look at what caused the wound on your wrist?"
Upon hearing the reminder, Hiroshi Matsumoto hastily looked down. In the moonlight shining through the window, he vaguely saw something gleaming within the wound.
This... this is a Crystal Stone! The shock made him instantly look up at the figures around him. "You... you're Exorcists!"
His terrified scream echoed throughout the room, which only made the black-robed figures laugh even more.
"Congratulations, you got it right!" The black-robed figure who had just slapped Hiroshi Matsumoto hard stood before him once again. "Now, let me think... what kind of reward would be best for you!" The figure feigned contemplation briefly before suddenly raising their palm without warning.
SMACK! SMACK!
Two crisp slaps rang out, another two forceful blows landing on Hiroshi Matsumoto's face.
"A reward? You think you're worthy, Bichi?" the black-robed figure cursed, seeing the two trails of blood flowing from Matsumoto's nose.
The others nearby burst into laughter at their companion's performance.
"Give him another! I love that sound!" one of them egged on.
Just as the group was encouraging the black-robed figure to deliver another slap, a woman's voice from the bedroom doorway suddenly silenced them.
"Enough. Stop messing around!"
The black-robed figures standing before Hiroshi Matsumoto immediately parted, clearing a path for the woman, who also wore a pure white, human-face mask.
She slowly walked up to the chair, reached out, and firmly grasped Hiroshi Matsumoto's hair, yanking his head backward. The sharp pain shocked the dazed Hiroshi Matsumoto—still reeling from the slaps—into instant clarity.
"Mr. Matsumoto," the woman said, her voice cold. "Who asked you to make this post?"
In her other hand, she held a lit-up phone, bringing it close to Hiroshi Matsumoto's eyes. Seeing the content on the screen, his face turned ashen.
"It... it was me..."
SMACK! With a crisp sound, the woman retracted her hand and once again brought the phone before Hiroshi Matsumoto's eyes.
"Think carefully before you answer. Who was it?"
"It was... it was..." Hiroshi Matsumoto gasped, his eyes filled with indecision.
Seeing the short man before her still hesitating to speak, the woman withdrew her hands.
"Come," the woman ordered. "Show Mr. Matsumoto the new technique we've just developed."
"Yes!"
At the woman's signal, one of the figures stepped out from the side. Chuckling strangely, they walked up to the chair. As the figure loomed closer, a sudden sense of dread washed over Hiroshi Matsumoto.
"Don't! Don't come near me! I... I'll talk! Ugh... Ah... AAAAAH!"
Before Hiroshi Matsumoto could finish, two index fingers were already pressed against his temples.
As the figure channeled their Spiritual Power, two knife-like streams of it instantly plunged into Matsumoto's brain. In an instant, this invading Spiritual Power fragmented, beginning a cruel game of cat-and-mouse with Hiroshi Matsumoto's own weak Spiritual Power within his mind.
Unspeakable agony shattered his already meager will to resist.
"I'LL TALK! I'LL TALK!" he shrieked.
With that roar, a smile curved beneath the edge of the torturer's pure white mask.
As the black-robed figure withdrew their fingers and Spiritual Power, Hiroshi Matsumoto's body, previously rigid, suddenly slumped. He gasped heavily, his breathing interspersed with coughs. Liquid slowly dripped onto the carpet, and the sudden, acrid stench of urine filled the air, causing the black-robed figures to frown.
After waiting a few seconds for Hiroshi Matsumoto to recover somewhat, the icy female voice spoke again. "Mr. Matsumoto, I believe you're ready to talk now, aren't you?"