“Hey, Shō, the place we went to on the weekend is the real deal. They have a limited-edition white-and-red AJ there. Oh man, the texture is amazing.”
“I want to invite you all over to my place tomorrow night to play games. You coming?” Anyway, I live alone, so I can do whatever I want!
“Hey, you guys aren’t coming? That’s fine. Takafumi Wakaba’s new show finally airs on Saturday night. I’ve been waiting for it for so long.”
Shō Tobe’s voice boomed across the classroom, completely unconcerned about whether anyone nearby was listening — or, more precisely, he simply didn’t care.
He was the type to talk loudly in class, discuss weekend plans at full volume, and show off his latest purchases.
Renji had fully experienced this over the past few days since transferring.
Tobe was like a walking sound bomb, incapable of staying quiet no matter where he went.
Unfortunately, no one responded to Tobe’s invitation — well, only one person responded to his Saturday “dinner” without actually being invited.
Renji averted his gaze and returned his attention to his desk.
Tomorrow was Saturday evening.
Tobe’s place would be empty, just him alone.
The first target was set.
Renji tapped the edge of the desk lightly twice with his fingers, his expression remaining calm and indifferent.
A few classmates passed by, but no one noticed him.
Renji was just a transfer student now, barely present in the class’s consciousness.
“Saturday… Perfect.”
Renji repeated it in his mind, then continued planning his course of action for Saturday evening while simultaneously trying to pinpoint Tobe’s exact address.
That was why Renji had decided to come to school tonight — he suddenly remembered that the teachers’ office should have student records, including home addresses.
Originally, this information was meant to help teachers fulfill their duties, such as establishing emergency contacts or arranging home visits.
But now, in Renji’s view, it was like a Death Note.
On Friday evening, the campus of Chiba Municipal Sobu High School was enveloped in a deep blue silence.
The streetlights cast dim yellow halos onto the empty campus pathways, tiny mosquitoes swirling around them, while the night breeze rustled through the cherry blossom branches.
The school buildings stood like silent giant beasts in the night, their glass windows reflecting scattered lights from distant streets.
For some reason, school buildings always carried an eerie atmosphere at night.
Renji remarked that this was mostly because horror movies on the market loved using schools as settings, and now he could confirm that schools at night were genuinely terrifying.
A shadow climbed over the lowest section of the school’s western wall.
Renji landed with remarkable lightness, barely making a sound, like an invisible gust of wind.
After landing, the shadow paused for three seconds, as if confirming there was no movement nearby, before slowly rising.
At this moment, Renji was dressed in the classic Ghostface attire: a black robe, black gloves, and the iconic mask over his face.
The pale mask bore a distorted, screaming expression, its hollow eye sockets making the face look like a frozen “call to arms.” On his feet were black running shoes with soft soles, his steps nearly silent against the ground.
Renji moved quickly along the shadowed edge of the green belt, bypassed the guard post at the main entrance, stuck to the blind spots along the outer wall of the school building, and made his way toward the building’s wall.
Renji didn’t use the main entrance, because the main entrance of the school building was equipped with cameras.
After all, not everyone was Uchiha Madara — when pulling off a heist, you don’t think about the front door, you think about the back.
The school corridors were very dark at night, and the atmosphere was already unsettling.
If anyone saw him here now, they would probably be scared half to death.
Renji had already memorized the architectural layout of this school building.
His class’s teachers’ office was located at the eastern end of the third floor.
Climbing the stairs, Renji passed by a camera at the corner of the second floor.
The camera’s red indicator flickered and turned off, and he spotted the camera aimed at the middle section of the corridor.
Renji’s steps barely paused.
Before passing that corner, his body naturally pressed against the wall, sliding horizontally through the shadows of the corner.
His entire form seemed like a shapeless shade, silently slipping from one patch of darkness into another.
So far, nothing had been captured on the surveillance footage.
The door to the teachers’ office on the eastern side of the third floor was also locked, but that didn’t stop him.
Using his Artisan skill, Renji pulled out a simple lockpick tool, fiddled with it for a moment, and opened the door.
The door wasn’t fully opened — just slightly ajar about twenty centimeters, allowing him to slip through sideways.
The office was very dark, but since the window was open and the curtains weren’t fully drawn, moonlight seeped through the gaps outside, casting a faint glow across the desks.
Renji straightened up, surveyed the room, and located the office camera.
Then he fixed his gaze on the desk of Class 2-F’s homeroom teacher, Shizuka Hiratsuka.
The desk by the window was rather tidy — a pen holder, a few stacked lesson plans, a turned-off laptop, and a photo frame with an old picture that seemed quite aged.
Several young people were gathered together, laughing loudly.
Renji looked at one of the women in the photo — Hiratsuka, seated closer to the front — and guessed that the other was probably Haruno Yukinoshita.
Renji approached Hiratsuka’s desk, crouched down, and opened the first drawer on the right.
The drawer wasn’t locked, and inside lay stacks of documents.
Under the moonlight, Renji examined the student personal information forms, class rosters, grade reports, and parental contact details.
Soon, Renji found what he needed: the home address registration form for a second-year student in Class F.
Avoiding the cameras, Renji placed the folder on the desk.
He pulled out a palm-sized mini camera from his pocket — the smallest model available on the market.
The body was wrapped in matte black tape, making it look like an unremarkable black cube.
Then Renji adjusted the camera’s angle so that it was precisely aimed at the address registration form.
After confirming that the recording was clear and usable, Renji folded the registration form back, placed it in its original spot, and slid the drawer shut.