Illumi's 'Suspected Affair'

"Coleman, where have you been?"

As soon as he entered the room, his brother's voice drifted from within.

Coleman remained completely indifferent to that somewhat chilling tone, even countering with a question of his own.

"Illumi, where have you been?"

Scanning the room, Coleman confirmed that his brother hadn't been here all morning.

Otherwise, the trash can and the coffee table would be littered with snack bags.

Especially those chocolate beans that held a special allure for Illumi.

Coleman didn't care for them much; the flavor was already a bit too bitter for his taste.

But for Illumi, it was just right—mildly sweet with a hint of chocolatey bitterness.

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

But for Coleman, a sugar-addict who could develop diabetes at any moment, it was far too bitter.

Wrinkling his nose, Illumi didn't answer his question; instead, he tilted his head and asked, "Did you go take care of the trash?"

"Ah, yeah."

Shrugging, Coleman answered affirmatively, "That idiot was so annoying."

Coming and going like a pervert, keeping tabs on two children.

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

"And look, I kept a souvenir. What do you think? Isn't it beautiful?"

Speaking with a hint of excitement, Coleman handed the photo to his brother.

The small, square photograph reeked of blood.

The interior of the elevator was covered in strange white threads, resembling a spider's lair.

A grotesque corpse was wrapped in the silk, like a captured butterfly.

The traces of struggle were clearly visible, yet they had been entirely in vain.

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

Everything it did only served to exhaust its strength.

Slowly, it became fish on a chopping block, waiting to be slaughtered.

The long-waiting spider had been ready to strike, but with a twisted sense of humor, it chose to watch from the sidelines.

Watching how this butterfly killed itself.

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

A coating of blood hung all over the elevator.

It was like the background on a canvas.

Eerie and vivid.

It lent the entire scene an indescribable beauty.

A visual impact, the collision of white and red.

The wide-open mouth looked as if it were calling out for something.

Yet, because of the threads, it was frozen in place.

A silent scream.

The dead soul wailed.

Illumi looked at this exquisite "painting," his appreciation undisguised.

He nodded and spoke slowly, "Very beautiful, Coleman. This is quite beautiful; I like it very much."

This strange and gruesome beauty.

Illumi liked it quite a lot.

Especially the clean, sharp incisions made by the thin threads.

They were incredibly neat.

This showed that Coleman was quite meticulous about the placement and control of his threads.

Otherwise, he would have ended up with those jagged, hideous-looking gashes.

Rough and messy, enough to make one dislike it or even feel nauseated.

"But, my dear brother, why not try wrapping the entire body in layers, but only covering the eyes on the face, leaving the mouth wide open like that?"

Illumi did his best to organize his words to describe the image he had imagined to Coleman.

Although he didn't like doing such unnecessary things, but...

Appreciating beauty is a natural human talent, isn't it?

Even if it was a beauty built upon the death of one's own kind.

Imagining that scene full of raw impact, Illumi spoke again.

"Don't let him bleed too much; just enough to form a pool at his feet, and a trace on the wall behind his neck will suffice."

Coleman visualized the image Illumi described in his mind.

He found it rather good.

With his skills, achieving such a picture would be no problem at all.

"Negative space, is it? I can try that."

Coleman grew a bit excited. "Maybe I can create a scene full of decadence!"

In that case, the deceased couldn't have a stiff body; he would need to be hunched over.

Like a chrysalis waiting to become a butterfly, only to suddenly fall into a powerless abyss.

Even though the head had already broken through the annoying threads, the eyes would still be obscured.

He would still be unable to find release.

Unable to see the light.

His mouth would be wide open, as if crying for help.

Yet no one would pay him any mind.

Long-term screaming would leave his throat hoarse and burning.

The stinging pain of a dull blade grinding against flesh, the restraints tightening with every struggle.

Leaving him powerless, desperate.

Finally, he would sink into the abyss known as decadence.

He would stop struggling.

He would stop begging for that invisible, bright future.

This painting wouldn't have any sense of gore, yet it would express emotion to the fullest.

Coleman was eager to try.

I'll give it a go next time.

I'll make one like this to show my brother!

But then again, Brother hadn't told him where he went this morning yet!

"Brother..."

Where did you go this morning?

Before the words could leave his lips, a sweet, sickening voice suddenly drifted in from outside the door.

The voice was like honey mixed with oil, making one's skin crawl.

"Li~ttle~ Illu~mi~, open the door, I've found you~"

"..."

"..."

The brothers inside the room exchanged glances.

Finally, Coleman licked his lips, shrugged, and wore a grin. "Oh, my dear brother, listen to that sound. I was only gone for a few minutes, and you couldn't help but attract bees and butterflies? Oh, God, that's right, it's my fault. I shouldn't have left you all alone, making you lonely and bored. It's all my fault, God, I really deserve to die."

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

He stared straight at the expressionless Illumi.

So, who is he?

My dear brother.