The Demon’s Menu

Jason straightly boarded the subordinate’s vehicle of that police chief.

Amid the roaring of the car’s engine, Jason quickly vanished from Davide and Hunter’s view.

"Chief, do you believe what he said?"

Hunter couldn’t help but ask.

"What do you think?"

Davide countered.

"I’m not sure."

The young Assistant shook his head.

This young man had been observing Jason unconsciously while he spoke, hoping to find a flaw, but unfortunately, he couldn’t discern anything.

"Whether it’s instinct or experience, since you’re not sure, go and figure it out."

The middle-aged police chief was giving pointers to his Assistant.

He wouldn’t complain or look down on his Assistant for not spotting the most critical point.

Because when he was the same age as his Assistant, he wouldn’t have noticed these things either.

Moreover, if his Assistant had noticed these details, then he wouldn’t need to be his Assistant any longer.

"Have you read "The Cross Street Tracker"?"

The middle-aged police chief asked.

"I have."

The young Assistant immediately nodded.

Since a copycat appeared, even if the young Assistant had not read it before, he would have caught up by now.

"What do you think about that?"

The middle-aged police chief pointed towards the alley that Jason had just walked out of.

Not the alley where the crime happened, but the next one over.

The young Assistant was startled.

The middle-aged police chief had already walked towards that alley, and Davide, with a friendly smile, easily learned from the locals that Jason had once visited this alley.

Jason’s build and dress were truly memorable.

"Jason has been here, so..."

"It’s not imitation!"

"It’s recreation!"

"The guy who committed the murder, he wanted to recreate the content of "The Cross Street Tracker," that’s why he started committing the crimes, while also luring Jason here."

Facing his hesitant Assistant, the middle-aged police chief said straightforwardly. Enjoy exclusive content from empire

"Should we monitor Jason’s phone?"

The young Assistant, who had read through "The Cross Street Tracker," asked.

He remembered that in the book, the phone was an absolutely crucial prop ’linking’ the Protagonist and the killer.

"No need."

"That guy isn’t an idiot; he won’t leave us such a big gap."

"What I’m curious about now is..."

"Who is Jason’s landlord?"

The middle-aged police chief muttered to himself in a low voice.

"I’ll look into it right away."

The young Assistant said and turned to leave.

"Remember to investigate that blade."

"Also, deploy more people around the apartment where Jason lives."

The middle-aged police chief instructed his Assistant.

"Understood."

The young Assistant immediately sprang into action, while the middle-aged police chief stood still, his brow slightly furrowed, feeling like he had missed something.

...

In John’s home.

The basement.

John, holding a hammer, stood in the center of the room.

He once thought he could forget the past.

In fact, during that time, he truly forgot.

He lived like an ordinary person.

Laughing, crying.

Shopping, staying up late.

The days he loved deeply.

Because she was there.

And after she left?

Everything became dull and colorless.

Even the last bit of hope she left him was extinguished.

That guy had pushed him into the abyss.

But that guy perhaps didn’t know, he came from there.

Now?

He would make that guy and everyone related to him experience a bit of that place’s "scenery."

Bang!

John swung the hammer, fiercely smashing it onto the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

The concrete floor quickly vibrated, then shattered, gradually revealing the box underneath.

Tossing the hammer aside, John bent down, brushed away the chunks of concrete, lifted the box out, and opened it right away.

A series of guns came into view.

He picked up one, checking it with practiced ease.

One after another.

After checking all of them, John stepped into the bathroom.

Amidst the sound of running water, John fully reverted to his former state. He took a towel and wiped off the remaining droplets from his body, then opened the wardrobe and took down the black suit with the white shirt.

Whoosh!

As the clothes fluttered, John pulled out the white shirt and put it on.

Then, he meticulously fastened each button, his movements so precise they were almost robotic.

When he emerged from the dressing room next to the bathroom, his medium-length hair was all combed back, and although he hadn’t shaved, the air of despondency was already gone.

All that remained was a chilling aura of murder.

Drip, drip.

The text message alert from his phone indicated where to find the target he sought.

Though he was gone, the past ties remained intact.

Investigating certain matters was naturally not a difficult task.

As John stepped out, he glanced at the garden.

He had buried his dog under a tree there.

Now?

He was off to seek justice for his dog.

John got into his car, and with a press of the accelerator, the vehicle shot out like an arrow,

...

Cherry City, Northern District.

Atop an unfinished building that had fallen into financial trouble, four men sat snickering amidst the construction woes.

Compared to the dilapidated exterior, this floor, however, was quite well-decorated.

A grand chandelier, spacious sofas, a fridge filled with food, televisions, computers, gaming consoles, and more.

"It’s so simple!"

A young man with a goatee lounged on the sofa, playing with a butterfly knife while speaking with disdain.

"Yeah."

"Such an easy job, with a 200K reward."

"If we get a few more like this, we could retire."

Another man wearing a knit cap was sitting opposite, holding a can of beer.

"Aren’t you guys curious why the guy wanted us to do this?"

One of the thin men pointed at the television.

At that moment, the TV was playing a case about the "Cross Street Stalker" imitator.

"Tch."

"What’s that got to do with us?"

"We’re just paid to do a job."

The goateed young man scoffed dismissively.

Then, his gaze turned to the last man who had been silent — a burly figure.

"Hey, what are you thinking?

"Be happy."

"We’ve completed a big mission."

"200K!"

"It’s 200K!"

The goateed young man reminded his accomplice.

"Why did you kill that dog?"

"It was innocent."

"The client didn’t ask us to kill it."

The muscular man inquired.

"That dog?"

"It was driving me nuts with its barking."

"Didn’t it deserve to die?"

Standing up from the sofa, the goateed young man walked over to his cohort. Although the goateed man was shorter and much thinner compared to the muscular one, as he approached, the burly man involuntarily stepped back.

Next, the goateed man grabbed the burly man’s collar.

"Are you feeling sorry for that dog?"

"Or are you..."

"Questioning me?"

As he spoke, the goateed young man raised the butterfly knife in his hand, the blade pointed straight at his companion’s neck.

The burly man’s eyes twitched, and he quickly raised his hands.

"I’m not."

He answered in such a manner.

"Better not be."

"Let me reiterate, and for the last time!"

"Here, I’m the boss!"

"I’m the head!"

"You all must listen to me!"

"You can’t defy my orders!"

"Understood?"

The goateed young man looked at the man in the knit cap and the thin man; both hastily nodded.

Seeing this, the goateed man couldn’t help but smile, seemingly pleased with the effect.

This was what he wanted.

A group of obedient underlings.

Only in this way could he earn more money.

It’s just a dog, right?

Dead is dead.

Could there really be someone who would kill him over a dog?

What a joke!

"Alright!"

"Now we..."

Bang!

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