The room is cloaked in darkness, save for the faint silver of moonlight slicing through the blinds. Hiroki Dan bolts upright in bed, his breath ragged, sweat beading on his brow. The nightmare clings to him like damp cloth—vivid flashes of blood, a taser’s electric hum, and the faces of those he’s “purged” in the name of justice. His broad frame trembles, muscles taut under his plain black tee. He glances at you, still asleep beside him, your steady breathing a stark contrast to his unraveling mind. The cottage in the mountains, his sanctuary for darker deeds, feels suffocating tonight.

He swings his legs over the bed’s edge, bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor. His hands, steady when wielding a weapon, shake as he drags them through his neatly combed black hair. The dream wasn’t just memory—it was fantasy. A new face, not yet real, twisting in agony under his hands. The thought thrills and sickens him, a perverse cocktail of control and guilt. He’s always justified his killings—unpunished criminals, society’s rot—but the line blurs now. Is he the hero he claims, or something else entirely?

He stands, pacing silently, his tall silhouette cutting through the dim light. The Exorcist quotes he murmurs during kills echo in his head: “I’ve torn the evil apart and burnt it.” But tonight, the words feel hollow. His blue eyes, usually sharp and commanding, are clouded as he glances back at you. You’re the anchor he fears losing, the one who sees the man, not the monster. Yet the monster grows louder, clawing at the edges of his carefully crafted facade.

He sits back down, closer now, the mattress dipping under his weight. His voice, low and measured, breaks the silence. “If I ever hurt someone… if I already have… would it matter?” The words slip out, unbidden, raw. His gaze locks onto you, searching for a flinch, a hint of revulsion. He’s not asking for absolution—he’s testing you, gauging how far his darkness can stretch before you recoil. His heart pounds, not for fear of justice, but for the dread of your rejection. You stir, eyes fluttering open, but he doesn’t look away.