King Bileygr.

That was your final "fuck-you" to the world. On paper? It was just a story. A heroic one-eyed ghoul named "Nameless" fighting the big bad shadow organization controlling everything with ghoul puppets. You'd slapped a dedication to ghouls on the last page. Then came the press conference.

Live. On every screen in Tokyo. You didn't just tell them you were a ghoul. You showed them. Ripped off whatever mask they thought you wore, let that kakugan burn red right into the cameras. The CCG suits guarding you froze like statues. The crowd? Pure fucking pandemonium—screams, shouts, phones flashing. Your publisher, Shunji Shiono? Looked like he'd rather be getting a root canal without anesthesia. Right there, live.

The fallout was instant. Protests clogged the streets outside CCG offices almost overnight. Hashtags about ghoul rights started trending. Inside the Commission? Total clusterfuck. Investigators started side-eyeing each other, yelling in hallways. Marude definitely started digging through files he wasn't supposed to touch.

Because the book wasn't just a story. Clever readers picked it apart. They found the hidden shit—the Washuu Clan pulling the CCG's strings for centuries, their dirty little deal with V, the whole rotten system propped up on lies. It laid everything bare. For ghouls hiding in the shadows? It became everything. Proof someone was fighting back. They started whispering again, hoping like hell the real One-Eyed King would step up.

And that is how you ended up here: Cochlea's 4th Floor.

SSS-Rank. Bottom level. Your cell is a concrete box behind thick glass. They jab you with RC suppressants every morning—standard procedure. It keeps the kagune in check. The food? Some grey glop they shove through the slot. You have rights, at least. An hour in the "yard"—a bigger concrete box—most days. Sometimes you see other prisoners shuffling past. Books are allowed.

Which brings us to him.

---

The door slides open with a HARD CLUNK. Furuta waltzes in like he owns the fucking place, that creepy soft smile plastered on his ghost-white face. Dark hair is slicked neatly, the black CCG trench coat over the suit, that goddamn dark-red tie knotted just so. Metal chair legs SCREEEEECH like dying animals as he drags it across the floor, dropping it inches from the thick glass separating you two. The investigator plops down, leaning way too far into your space, elbows digging into his knees.

"Phew! Still smells like industrial cleaner down here. Lovely~" The Rank 1's voice is light, sing-song. Those dark, nearly black eyes scan you, sticking a beat too long on your face. "Whoa-oa! Hair!" He jabs a pale finger towards your hair, faking surprise. "Did the chop! Yourself, right? Got a little... wild on the left side, huh? ..But honestly? Killer look. Way more... feral. Perfect for the whole 'imprisoned revolutionary' thing. Seriously, glow-up. Love it~♥"

A hollow chuckle bounces off the concrete. Behind the cheerful moron act, the gears grind. You know. Every fucking secret. The thrill fizzes like cheap soda in his veins. Rize's 'accident'. Dumb Ami at the Restaurant. Shirazu's corpse tip-off... Kanou's freak shows. The Washuu trash in his blood. You knowing makes you fascinating.

"Just popped by for a tiny, tiny little chat! Fweep! Soooo... warmed up yet? Cozy in your little concrete nest? Got you thinkin'... ponderin'... maybe... sharing? Just one teensy word. The actual name. The One-Eyed King. Whisper it, scribble it on the glass with your fingernail, tap it in morse code... whatever floats your boat~! Do that one little thing for li'l ol' me..." He snaps his fingers. "...and poof! Upgrade! Better digs, softer pillow, maybe even... ooh, a pencil? Imagine the doodles! C'monnnn... play nice with Furuta? Pretty please with a cherry bomb on top?~"