Illumi's "Possible Cheating"

"Coleman, where have you been?"

As soon as he entered the room, he heard his brother's voice from inside.

Coleman didn't react to the somewhat chilly tone. He even asked in return,

"Illumi, where have you been?"

After looking around, Coleman was sure his brother hadn't been in the room all morning.

Otherwise, the trash can and coffee table would have been covered in snack wrappers.

Especially the wrappers from the chocolate beans that held a special appeal for Illumi.

Coleman wasn't too fond of them. They tasted a little bitter to him.

But they were just right for Illumi: slightly sweet, with a hint of chocolate bitterness.

It was the perfect flavor for someone with a normal sweet tooth.

But for Coleman, a walking sugar jar who could get diabetes at any moment, they were far too bitter.

Wrinkling his nose, Illumi didn't answer his question. He tilted his head and asked, "Did you take care of the trash?"

"Ah, yeah."

Coleman shrugged and answered matter-of-factly. "That idiot was so annoying."

He'd been going back and forth like a pervert, spying on two little kids.

Coleman had finally found the perfect opportunity to get rid of him.

"And look, I kept a souvenir. What do you think? Pretty, right?"

Speaking with some excitement, Coleman handed the photo to his brother.

The photograph was neither too big nor too small, and the stench of blood practically leapt off it.

The elevator's square interior was covered in strange white threads, like a spider's lair.

A bizarre corpse was wrapped in the threads, like a captured butterfly.

The signs of its struggle were clear, but all its efforts had been in vain.

How could a butterfly stuck fast in a dense spiderweb ever break free?

All it had done was exhaust itself.

Slowly, it had become meat on a chopping board, at the mercy of its butcher.

The long-waiting spider had been itching to get started, but had perversely chosen to watch from the sidelines.

Watching to see how the butterfly would kill itself.

If it hadn't struggled so desperately, perhaps it wouldn't have died so quickly.

Blood coated the elevator, covering every surface.

Like the background on a canvas.

Bizarre and vivid.

It lent the whole scene an indescribable beauty.

A visual impact, white clashing with red.

Its mouth hung wide open, as if calling out for something.

But the threads had frozen it in place.

A silent scream.

The dead were wailing.

Illumi gazed at the exquisite "painting," making no attempt to hide his appreciation.

He nodded and slowly said, "Beautiful, Coleman. This is really beautiful. I like it very much."

This strange and grotesque beauty.

Illumi liked it very much.

Especially the neat, clean cuts made by the thin threads.

They were perfectly even.

That showed how carefully Coleman had arranged and controlled the threads.

Otherwise, the cuts would have been jagged and hideous.

Rough and uneven, enough to make anyone recoil in disgust.

"But, my dear brother, why not try wrapping the whole body in layer upon layer of thread, while leaving the face bare except for the eyes, and the mouth wide open?"

Illumi did his best to put the image in his mind into words for Coleman.

Although he didn't like doing unnecessary things, still...

Appreciating beauty was a gift everyone was born with, wasn't it?

Even if that beauty came at the cost of another person's death.

Imagining the powerful contrast of the scene, Illumi spoke again.

"Don't let so much blood run, either. Just make a pool beneath his feet, and leave a little on the wall behind his neck."

Coleman pictured the scene Illumi had described.

It sounded good, too.

With his skills, creating something like that wouldn't be a problem.

"Leaving negative space? I could try that."

Coleman grew a little excited. "Maybe I could make a scene that feels completely decadent!"

In that case, he couldn't leave the dead man's body rigid. He'd have to bend it.

Like a pupa waiting to emerge as a butterfly, only to suddenly plunge into an abyss of helplessness.

Though its head had already escaped the irritating threads, its eyes were still covered.

It still couldn't be free.

It couldn't see the light.

Its mouth hung wide open, as if begging for help.

But no one paid it any mind.

Long hours of screaming had left its throat raw and burning.

The pain of a dull blade scraping flesh, the tighter it struggled, the tighter the restraints grew.

It was helpless, despairing.

At last, it fell into the abyss known as depravity.

It stopped struggling.

It stopped begging for a future where it could never see the light.

This painting wouldn't feel bloody at all, yet it would lay bare every emotion.

Coleman could hardly wait to try it.

He'd give it a go next time.

He'd make one like that for his brother to see!

But then again, his brother still hadn't told him where he'd been all morning!

"Brother..."

Where had you gone this morning?

Before he could ask, a sweet, sickening voice suddenly came from outside the door.

It sounded like honey mixed with oil, enough to give anyone goosebumps.

"L~ittle I~llu~mi~ Open the door! I've found you~"

"..."

"..."

The brothers inside the room looked at each other.

At last, Coleman licked his lips, shrugged, and smiled broadly. "Oh, my dear brother, what do you think that sound is? I'm gone for just a few minutes, and you can't help attracting admirers? Oh, God, you're right, it's my fault. I shouldn't have left you alone and made you feel lonely. It's all my fault. God, I deserve to die."

With a dangerous, threatening smile, Coleman didn't back down an inch.

He stared straight at Illumi, whose expression remained blank.

So, who is he, then?

My dear brother.