Chapter 14: You Are a Monster of Many Songs

“Wow, so scary!”
Mutsumi Wakaba stood up, rising onto her tiptoes as she slowly raised her arms, as if grasping something invisible.

It was a classic ballet pose, reminiscent of the dying swan—so beautiful it sent a shiver through one’s heart.

“We grew up together as childhood friends, learned piano together, studied dance side by side, even shared biscuits down the middle. We were so close once, yet now you speak to me with such an expression…”

Her wrist turned gracefully; her fingertips slowly came together and lowered, tenderly cradling her chest, as if she had plucked the moonlight from the starry sky, afraid it might quietly slip away from her fingers.

“I’m deeply saddened, truly heartbroken.”

Her voice was gentle, like a whisper on the wind. “So love is not eternal, it changes. Ah! Who will save this poor girl? It was she who pushed me into the endless abyss. I endured countless hardships, crossed seas of blood and mountains of blades, my skirt worn to tatters, my toes blistered, only to finally return to her side. I reached out with hope, telling her, ‘I’ve finally found you,’ but she fiercely asked who I was!”

Mutsumi twirled on one foot. She wore round-toed Mary Janes—shoes too stiff for ballet, surely painful to dance in.

But she didn’t care. She spun faster and faster, the checkered skirt flaring wildly, her pale green hair flowing like a blooming flower, enveloping her like a delicate jade butterfly.

There was no support, no music; yet her dance was utterly earnest. Though she had only one audience, it did not stop her from casting coquettish glances at Sachiko with each turn, as if a pretty girl had caught someone sneaking a look and sent a teasing smile their way.

After a dizzying 3600-degree spin, she ended poised on the tip of the other foot. The skirt’s petals folded back tightly around her legs like a flower bud closing. Mutsumi’s slender, cherry-blossom-like frame fell softly.

Not from exhaustion, nor from unbearable pain, she leaned on the small round stool she had just sat on. Stray strands clung to her cheek as she gently stroked something hard beneath her fingers, her eyes shimmering with a distant sorrow.

“This is your Sachiko, Mutsumi?”

No answer came, for the sole spectator was speechless. Sachiko’s pupils trembled slightly. This should have been a beautiful dance, performed by a beautiful person. Yet all she felt was pale fear.

She never knew Mutsumi to be such a skilled actress. Every movement, every line was that of a seasoned performer.

But Sachiko knew well that ballet was once just a hobby for Mutsumi, long since abandoned, only occasionally resumed at home during parties.

“You’re not Mutsumi at all. Who are you?” The butt of the gun pressed into her palm, Sachiko aimed the unlocked PPK at her former friend, biting her lip as her fingers trembled.

All supernatural occurrences were tied to the Dragon Clan—she recalled that clearly. Something must be wrong with the dragon blood in Mutsumi.

Yet she didn’t know what was happening, nor whether she had the courage to fire. The most important thing now was to find out where the real Mutsumi had gone.

“I am Mutsumi Wakaba,” the black muzzle close to her eyes, Mutsumi tilted her head, smiling serenely, radiant as sunlight.

“Bastard!”

“Really.”

Mutsumi straightened and approached step by step, each footfall light and elegant as in ballet.

With every step forward, Sachiko stepped back in fear. Instinct told her to shoot, but reason whispered no. Even if this was a devil in Mutsumi’s guise, her appearance was still Mutsumi’s—she couldn’t pull the trigger.

Her heels touched the hard wall; a shudder ran through her body—there was nowhere left to flee.

Just as she tried to escape sideways, Mutsumi pressed forward, one hand bracing the wall, the other palm covering the gun’s muzzle, slowly closing her grip, using her body as a barrier to seal off Sachiko’s retreat.

“This face, this voice, this body—everything is Mutsumi’s. Of course, I am Mutsumi.” Mutsumi looked into Sachiko’s eyes and leaned closer. “But not here.”

She pointed to her head. “We are two opposite people. She can play guitar; I can’t. I dance ballet; she doesn’t. Her athleticism is average; I ranked first in the entire school. She’s inarticulate and unsure how to express herself, but I’m clever, charming, able to win anyone’s favor.”

“My name is Mortis, the one living inside Mutsumi’s body, her closest friend, another Mutsumi.”

That familiar face wore a smug, cold expression, mocking Sachiko’s helplessness. Anger ignited the fighting spirit in her dragon blood; she dropped the PPK and lunged at Mortis.

Mortis froze momentarily, mistaking Sachiko’s advance for an embrace, and opened her arms to reciprocate.

But Sachiko grabbed her, rolling toward the wall. Mortis hadn’t expected the sudden attack; she was slammed hard against the wall, stars flashing before her eyes, a chill running down her spine.

“Are you crazy? This is Mutsumi’s body!” Mortis shouted.

“Give me back Mutsumi!” Sachiko ignored everything, grabbing Mortis by the collar. She couldn’t shoot her; the only way was to restrain this devil claiming to be Mutsumi’s friend.

“You… stupid woman!” Mortis snarled.

She shook her head fiercely, ramming it into Sachiko’s forehead. The heavy blow echoed through her skull, leaving both minds blank.

Given Mortis’s bloodline, this daze was brief; she recovered faster, pushed Sachiko away, then jumped onto her back, locking her with arms and legs.

This wrestling move sometimes seen in American wrestling is called a “body lock,” using the whole body to subdue the opponent.

Sachiko struggled desperately, her shoes kicked off, leaving only white socks tapping the floor. She tried to reach behind her, but her arm joints wouldn’t budge. Mortis’s grip was unyielding, using her own body as a weapon.

Having studied with Uesugi Kosh for only one day, Sachiko was a complete novice at real combat, wholly unprepared for such a sudden hold. The sharp joint pain grew heavier; her resistance weakened.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Like I’ve eaten up your little Mutsumi!” Mortis sneered.

Though the room’s soundproofing was excellent, she feared making too much noise and alerting the housekeeper, which would complicate matters and ruin both their reputations.

“You’re a demon occupying Mutsumi’s body!” Sachiko couldn’t get up, twisting her head to try biting Mortis’s fingers.

“A demon? Which one of us is truly the demon? How can you say that?” Mortis was exasperated by the straightforward heiress’s mindset. “I care more, I’m more important—I’ve always been by her side! You just never noticed!”

“What nonsense are you spouting?”

“When you two were kids, you went on a trip to Kagoshima. An uncle there taught you to catch fish with nets, but neither of you caught a single one. The boys laughed at you, calling you idiots. You felt humiliated and sulked by the shore. Then Mutsumi appeared holding a fish half her height, saying, ‘This is mine, I’ll give you half. Now we have a big fish!’ You both had to lift it together, and everywhere you went, people stared in amazement.”

Mortis exclaimed, “Didn’t you ever wonder how a fish half Mutsumi’s height could be caught with your tiny nets meant for little fish? Wouldn’t it take someone like me to get such a catch?”

“And when you learned ballet, that teacher always wore a face like she was owed millions, strict with everyone. When your posture was off, she’d tap your leg with a bamboo stick. You cried to your mother, but she said ballet meant enduring hardship and learning to bear it. Then one day, that teacher no longer dared to hit you, only frowning when you made mistakes. Do you know why?”

“It was me! She even dared hit little Mutsumi, so I had to step in and teach her a lesson.” Mortis puffed up proudly. “I put dead rats in her shoes, filled her lunchbox with cockroaches, locked her in a pitch-black room all night! I saved you both! And what did you do?”

Human memory is like a hard drive with limited capacity; cluttered files often lie dormant in forgotten folders, hard to clear or recall.

But Mortis’s words were like a cleaning tool, unearthing buried fragments of memory, piecing them together until forgotten things were remembered anew.

Sachiko recalled: young Mutsumi was not always so silent. She loved singing and dancing, always smiling warmly, beloved by all.

But at some point, her smile faded, her gaze dulled, drifting beyond everyone’s view into daydreams.

She looked like a child left alone in a park on a midsummer afternoon, unsure where to go, unafraid, swinging gently, watching footballs roll across the grass, shadows growing faint, until the sun dipped below the horizon and no one came calling her home.

Why? When did it start? Such loneliness, such helplessness, so utterly alone.

Mutsumi was a star second-generation—her parents dazzling figures in the spotlight, constantly swarmed by flashing cameras wherever they went. Yet her eyes were always empty, as if thinking of nothing, or unable to think at all.

Only now did Sachiko realize how much she had forgotten. She had seen everything, yet done nothing. She was supposed to be Mutsumi’s best friend—she had always believed so.

A painful ache rose within her as those vague memories flashed before her eyes, each one so vivid. Her vision blurred, warm tears welling and streaming down her cheeks.

“Miss Crocodile, your tears mean nothing.”

Tears dripped onto Mortis’s arm, her face expressionless. Her grip only tightened, unwilling to ease Sachiko’s pain but also not wanting her to die just yet.

“You have no idea what kind of world Mutsumi lives in. Your mind is full of yourself. Yes, yes, why care about those around you? Your surname is Toyokawa, destined to control the entire Toyokawa Group—a princess among princesses. Everyone revolves around you, everyone loves you. With a word, countless people would serve you. You quit the band whenever you wished! When have you ever cared about the one behind you?”

Each word was a venomous snake’s shadow. Mortis spoke faster and faster, her expression growing more ferocious, her golden eyes burning with hatred.

“CryChic was the last thing Mutsumi had. As her friend, you want to destroy it? You don’t even ask her opinion! Well done, truly ruthless—keeping Mutsumi awake night after night. When she finally came back, you spoke only of your golden eyes! Mutsumi won’t fight back? Fine! Mortis will speak for her: I hate you! Hate you! Hate, hate, hate you!”

Every “hate you” was accompanied by a punch. Mortis rode atop Sachiko, as if trying to beat out all her resentment.

“Why are you even here? You’re not needed, Mutsumi doesn’t need you. She only needs me. Only I can comfort her. I’m her best friend; there’s no room in her heart for you!”

Another punch—but it didn’t land. Sachiko, beneath Mortis’s blows, pushed herself up, seizing Mortis’s cold hand with one palm. Her dragon blood surged, and those usually soft, gentle eyes blazed with steadfast golden fire.

“You’re right, I admit it. Mutsumi used to smile and talk a lot, but she grew quieter day by day. When I realized, only a few words remained. I thought it was nothing—everyone changes as they grow up. I changed too.

“But it was never because I didn’t care about her!”

Sachiko stared Mortis down.

“I just didn’t realize. I overlooked it. She never spoke words of despair to me, never showed signs of needing help. I thought she was an iron woman, unbreakable. I never intended to destroy CryChic! Don’t paint yourself as some noble savior—you’re just a part of her personality. If anyone is to save her, it’s not you. So go back where you came from!”

She gripped Mortis’s shoulders wildly and headbutted her. Pain surged like darkness descending; the world spun wildly.