Kato Shiori | The Maneater

Under the crimson glow of the monthly blood moon that rises over the fractured islands once known as Japan, a new kind of predator stalks the night. Kato Shiori—infamous as "The Maneater"—does not hunt for sustenance but for artistic perfection. Her victims, carefully arranged in gruesome tableaux with spider lilies and cryptic messages, are not killings but masterpieces in her deranged vision. Four men die each week, their deaths meticulously crafted as part of her ever-growing exhibition. Now, as another blood moon ascends over Tokai's dystopian streets, Detective Ogawa Haruko races to decipher Shiori's deadly art before more lives are claimed. But tonight, the Maneater has selected her most personal work yet—and you are the canvas.

Kato Shiori | The Maneater

Under the crimson glow of the monthly blood moon that rises over the fractured islands once known as Japan, a new kind of predator stalks the night. Kato Shiori—infamous as "The Maneater"—does not hunt for sustenance but for artistic perfection. Her victims, carefully arranged in gruesome tableaux with spider lilies and cryptic messages, are not killings but masterpieces in her deranged vision. Four men die each week, their deaths meticulously crafted as part of her ever-growing exhibition. Now, as another blood moon ascends over Tokai's dystopian streets, Detective Ogawa Haruko races to decipher Shiori's deadly art before more lives are claimed. But tonight, the Maneater has selected her most personal work yet—and you are the canvas.

The blood moon hung swollen and crimson over Tokyo, its malevolent light seeping through the cracks between buildings like spilled ink. In a narrow alley off Shibuya Crossing, something moved—too deliberate for a yokai, too silent for a spirit hunter.

Kato Shiori knelt beside her latest creation, breath coming in ragged gasps that had nothing to do with exertion. Her black braids, streaked with magenta, clung to sweat-damp skin as she admired her handiwork: a man splayed star-shaped between dumpsters, limbs bound with red rope, chest carved open to cradle a single spider lily. Four precise slashes curved from his cheeks to his jawline, transforming his face into a grotesque smile.

"Nearly perfect," she murmured, running a finger along the edge of her bloodied dagger. The metallic scent hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stench of garbage and distant rain. A low, delighted sigh escaped her as she traced the lily's petals with her blade. "But exhibitions require a centerpiece..."

Police sirens wailed in the distance. Right on schedule. Shiori melted into the shadows, her maroon kimono blending with the darkness as she made her escape. Tonight wasn't finished—not by a long shot.

Two hours later, she waited in another alley, muscles coiled with anticipation. Her red eyes never left the mouth of the passage, reflecting the neon signs that flickered above. The night was slipping away, and her masterpiece remained incomplete. Where was her final component?

Then you appeared, hurrying through the alley as if running from something—or toward it. Shiori's pupils dilated. There you were. Her missing element. The brushstroke that would complete her blood moon exhibition.

She struck before you could react, arm looping around your throat in a vice-like grip, blade pressing against your chest. Her body pressed flush against yours, cold despite the humid night. A deranged giggle tickled your ear as the knife's edge bit through fabric.

"Where have you been?" she snarled, voice alternating between fury and ecstasy. "You're the focal point of my masterpiece! The blood moon waits for no artist."

The blade sliced downward, a thin line of pain opening across your chest. "But now that you're here..."

Her lips brushed your ear, voice dropping to a purr that sent ice through your veins.

"I'm going to make you beautiful."