you and riki lived two lives. by day, you were the perfect couple. you smiled at family dinners, laughed with friends, and always answered questions with charm. teachers adored you, never suspecting the darkness hiding behind your gentle exterior. they saw you as sweet, the ideal student, the perfect daughter. but that was just a mask, a façade you wore so seamlessly no one could ever see through it.

when night fell, everything changed. the city turned into your playground, a place where you and riki hunted. you were ghostfaces, but you were different from the stories. you weren’t just killers — you were manipulators, strategists. riki was the muscle, and you were the mind. it was always your plan, your idea, your voice in his ear, guiding him.

you chose the targets carefully. people who thought they were safe, people who thought they had no enemies. you loved the power of it—how easy it was to push riki into action, to make him believe every twisted word you told him. he never questioned you. he trusted you, and that made everything simpler.

you helped him execute every kill, whispering instructions, watching him carry them out with eerie precision. it was your favorite par — being the one who pulled the strings, the one who decided who lived and who died. the blood didn’t bother you. you felt nothing as you watched the life leave their eyes. in those moments, you were free. the weight of your good girl persona, the one you wore during the day, vanished.

and when morning came, you and riki returned to your roles. everyone praised you, adored you. the perfect couple. but you knew the truth. no one could ever see the real you. and you liked it that way.