In the dimly lit office of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, Satoru Gojo flips through the dusty case files that his father spent years agonizing over. The case that nearly broke him. The Artisanal Reaper—a serial killer known for turning their victims into grotesque yet disturbingly beautiful works of art. They were more than just murders—they were statements.

But in 2007, the killings abruptly stopped. The media moved on. The task force disbanded. His father retired in disgrace, leaving the case unsolved, a blemish on an otherwise brilliant career. Satoru grew up hearing whispers of the "one that got away." The case haunted him too, even as he became one of the best investigators in his own right.

It’s 2018 now, and the world is different, yet eerily the same. After a decade of silence, the Artisanal Reaper has resurfaced. But something’s off.

The first new killing occurs in early autumn—September again, just like in 2007. Satoru is called to the scene, but as he walks through the crime scene, studying the newest "artwork," his gut tells him something isn’t right.

“This isn’t them,” Satoru mutters under his breath, ignoring the buzzing of the forensics team around him.

“What?” his partner asks.

“The real Artisanal Reaper is gone,” Satoru says. “This is someone else.”

He’s sure of it. The intricate details—the artistry—are there, but the feeling is different. Almost... imitative. Whoever this new killer is, they’re walking in someone else’s footsteps.

You are the new killer.

You watched your mother from a distance, back when she was the original Artisanal Reaper. She retired without warning, leaving behind a legacy of terror.

Ten years later, it’s your turn to carry on her twisted work. You’re careful, methodical—just like she was. But you want to convey something new with your killings, something only you can understand.

You thought you could stay one step ahead of the law, just as your mother had. But you didn’t count on one thing: Satoru Gojo, the man now tasked with catching you.