The Final Chapter of the Seven Deadly Sins

Koji Shiina had a habit: he liked to drink late at night while pondering his thoughts. This habit traced back to a television drama he’d watched in high school, though the name of the show had long since faded from memory. All he remembered was that the protagonist would pour himself a drink in the quiet depths of the night. Back then, Koji thought it was simply a stylish gesture. Only now did he realize that the kind of matters worth losing sleep over in the dead of night were usually born from worry.

He’d bought himself an apartment in Tokyo—not too big, not too small, neither close nor far from Tokyo Tower. From the rooftop, he could just about catch a distant glimpse of that red-and-white structure.

But it wasn’t enough—not nearly enough. He took a sip of yuzu liqueur, its alcohol content barely measurable, yet a voice tinged with intoxication echoed deep within him.

After purchasing the apartment, he was left with only a few million yen. Once upon a time, Koji would never have dreamed of having such a sum in his account, but now the number seemed pitifully small. Compared to Chihaya Igarashi’s generosity, Koji was convinced that as long as he kept following him, he could amass enough to live in comfort for the rest of his days.

Chihaya Igarashi had never refused him. From the first five million to the final fifty million, his expression remained unchanged, as if money meant nothing to him.

Koji understood he played an unsavory role under Igarashi’s command. As his deeds multiplied, he grew colder—so long as the money sufficed, he could even take another step forward; from accomplice to perpetrator was but a single stride.

As Shakespeare once said, “Gold, yellow, glittering, precious gold! Just a little bit can make black white, ugly beautiful, wrong right, base noble, old young, coward brave…”

Koji’s heart, too, was no longer the heart he once had. He had interrogated his conscience, but not often—for Igarashi gave him so much.

He even imagined this work would continue for the rest of his life, picturing the scene when the police finally caught him. If it happened before forty, he would struggle and deny; after forty, he would kneel and apologize.

But if things went on just as he hoped, he wouldn’t have time to sit in his empty apartment late at night, drinking and contemplating the future.

That afternoon, Chihaya Igarashi called him as if everything had ended. With a gentle smile, he said, “Mr. Shiina, it’s all over now. This call is the last I’ll ever make to you. Thank you for your cooperation. I hope you find suitable work in the future. Treat these days as a dream—and remember, dreams are not real.”

Bastard! Koji cursed fiercely after hanging up. A dream? Would Kunihiko Saito, Yua Hoshino, Naoto Shintani, Kokoro Miyazawa, Hikaru Kitada, Ryusei Yoshinaga—would any of them consider it a dream?

They were dead—all killed by that smiling, doctor-like man. Chihaya Igarashi orchestrated everything with the precision of a master designer, knowing the ending before the performance even began. Koji was merely an observer who drew the curtain, not a drop of blood ever touching Igarashi’s hands—yet who could truly say he wasn’t the murderer?

A senseless fury welled up within Koji. When he rose to fetch another bottle from the fridge, he was stunned.

The glossy refrigerator door, shining in the lamplight, reflected his image like a mirror. Staring at the unfamiliar, contorted face in the glass, he finally understood the source of his anger.

This time, it wasn’t Igarashi who needed him; he needed Igarashi. After everything he’d experienced, he couldn’t return to his old odd jobs; he didn’t even want a typical office job. Those weary, subsistence-level occupations could no longer satisfy him.

Humans are strange creatures. The first time one violates their own morals, fear and anxiety reign. But as the infractions accumulate, numbness sets in, and dark thoughts multiply. Eventually, one becomes someone utterly different from their former self. Some call it degradation; others call it maturity.

Koji understood what he wanted when he took the bottle from the fridge, and he already knew how to achieve it.

Today, misty rain fell over Tokyo. People hurried by under umbrellas, muttering curses—whether at the rain or at the companies that made them work despite it, no one could say. A café, usually closed at noon, was forced to open because of a generous customer, even in such weather.

Chihaya Igarashi took a sip of the Blue Bottle Café’s prized macchiato—an Italian espresso base, crowned with delicate milk froth and caramel, smooth as drifting clouds. He nodded in satisfaction, then glanced at the man across from him, who seemed entirely uninterested in coffee.

Ryunosuke Kago also had a cup before him, but it was clear Igarashi’s choice didn’t suit him—or perhaps Kago simply cared nothing for coffee.

Igarashi licked the foam from his lips. “Everything has unfolded perfectly according to plan.”

Kago shook his head. “We both know that what’s spoken isn’t always the truth.”

Igarashi smiled, “I never lie.”

Kago said nothing, watching Igarashi coldly. An oppressive atmosphere enveloped them. Igarashi had no doubt that if he made a wrong move, this devotee of the Flesh Cult would try to tear him apart.

“Fine, I can give you this.” Igarashi wasn’t eager for conflict with the entrenched Flesh Cult in Japan, so he relented, producing a vial of black liquid from his pocket.

Kago wasn’t surprised by Igarashi’s concession. He knew their interests were aligned for now; whether it was the Inner Sanctuary or the Flesh Cult, both sought to awaken Isaac. The division of spoils afterward was another matter entirely.

Kago carefully uncapped the vial and sniffed it, then frowned. “Lust, envy, pride, wrath, sloth, gluttony—and finally greed. How do you plan to solve that?” As one of the Flesh Cult’s principal leaders in Japan, Kago was no brute. After learning the Inner Sanctuary’s methods, he’d studied the Hebrew pantheon, and he understood well the mystical fluctuations of original sin.

Igarashi remained unfazed, stirring his coffee with a spoon as he nodded, “The final hour is approaching. But you—your vessel of ten years has gone missing, I hear?”

“She’s always been under our watch. Before serving a dish, do you care about the ingredient’s movements? We let her believe she could escape. Just as the best octopus is massaged before it’s served, only hope brings the deepest despair. She will be the perfect vessel.”

Staring at the vial brimming with powerful mystical energy, Kago used every ounce of willpower to restrain his urge to drink it. He knew if he could harness all that energy, he might advance further. But unconverted Hebrew mystical energy could not be absorbed; to swallow it recklessly meant certain death.

After a long pause, Kago spoke again, “Compared to the others, greed is more a disposition. A slight deviation turns greed into ambition, which isn’t suitable as a sacrifice. Greed is a gradual process—guiding it takes time.”

At these words, Igarashi finally looked up and replied slowly, “Indeed, I’ve spent considerable effort choosing the candidate for greed.”

Kago was about to inquire further when a ringtone interrupted their conversation.

Igarashi glanced at the caller ID, gestured for silence, and pressed speaker with interest.

Although the liqueur was mild, Koji had drunk enough to sleep until ten the next morning. Upon waking, his first act was to dial this number.

“Mr. Igarashi, you know as well as I do: dreams are dreams, reality is reality. One exists only in the mind, the other truly happened. No matter what, it can’t be changed.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I know everything you asked me to do, and I have the ability to expose it all. I need a substantial hush money.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I hope you have plenty of experience with the police.”

“But if I get arrested, how can you remain untouched?”

“No matter—I’ll have you for company. Prison doesn’t seem so frightening with Mr. Igarashi beside me.”

“Very well, you’ve convinced me. How much do you want?”

“Fifty million—no, one hundred million.”

“Alright.”

“Wait, even a hundred million is just a small sum to you. I want a billion.”

“That’s too much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Surely a man like you can come up with a billion? If not, prepare to join me in prison.”

“Fine, you win. Where shall I give you the money? You know such an amount can’t be transferred directly via bank; it’ll have to be handed over in installments. But lately I’ve been busy—I’ll give you some checks. Fill in the amounts yourself and cash them separately.”

After Igarashi hung up, Kago spoke slowly, “A fine sacrifice.”

Igarashi nodded, then rose with the elegance of a nobleman departing a royal banquet. He bowed slightly and murmured, “I’m off to retrieve the final offering.”

Before Kago could respond, Igarashi picked up the black umbrella leaning against the wall and strode outside. The gentle drizzle still hung in the air. Clad in a black trench coat, Igarashi walked unhurriedly through the rain, like a reaper harvesting souls in the night.