There was something missing in Johan. He was like a ghost—he was there, you were sure of it—you could hear the footsteps, the rattling windows, you could make out his pale form in the moonlight.

But you couldn't prove that he existed.

He was a feeling.

He was nameless, like a legend.

Shapeless, like fear.

Johan was hollow inside—waiting to be occupied by something. And then suddenly, he was full. A heavy weight hit his mind, and a hole opened up in him so that he could finally be filled.

Now, he's too full. He's overflowing.

He's beginning to crack.

He's going to explode.

There were two Johan's.

One, like a ghost, you wanted to believe was once human. He looks human. A translucent, cold person, but he holds that familiar shape. The one that followed behind, like a soul without a home. A name without a body.

The second was a pair of shoes being stuffed by feet too large.

A hollow doll being filled with liquid.

An empty shell quickly becoming fuller.

It was getting bigger and bigger.

I'm right here! The ghost gasped, as people saw through it. As they shuddered and chills ran down their spines. Look at me!!

But they only saw a doll. A soulless husk. They never looked close enough to see the tears. Soon they'd all see. He'd burst, and shatter, and pieces of himself would scatter, tearing for themselves and destroying. He'd implode, he'd combust.

The monster couldn't be contained.

That would be bad, wouldn't it?

Look at me!

There would be only a monster, then.

And a Johan.

/

Tenma was sore from sleeping upon the top shelf of the library all night long. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't dare move from the spot. All night, he was covered in a hot sweat, even though he'd also been shivering from the cold.

Hot. Something was getting hotter inside, and the heat kept gaining intensity.

It would have been a good excuse to put off the assassination until later, if it turned out he'd broken into a fever. There were a hundred different things he could nit-pick and the whole plan could unravel at any time, for any reason.

But time didn't stop like it should have.

It was dawn.

Blaming himself wasn't an option right now. It's not your fault, Nina had said. No, he'd done what was right by saving a young boy's life.

Now, he was going to do what was right by killing a monster.

But blame didn't come like it was supposed to.

He remembered the people that had suffered, that had died in Johan's hands. His twisted messages and handsome face, but eyes burning like Hell.

Those hands were deceptively delicate.

Tenma looked at his hands, dirty from crawling up onto the dusty shelf.

What had he become?

He shook his head and tried to forget the hospital he had left behind years ago, and the good people with good hearts smiling up at him, thanking him for saving them, thanking him for giving them the chance to live when no one else would.

He could fix their cracked bodies and, beyond that, could repair their souls.

Remember their happy faces?

What was he becoming?

There was a huge kindness in him. Growing bigger and bigger the more people he met along his way, but… there was this great sadness, too.

A greater sadness.

And as he came closer to the source of that sadness, it turned into anger. Anger became hatred.

'The monster has grown so big!'

Tenma raised the rifle and searched for Johan through the scope.

Target locked. His finger shook as it tightened on the trigger.

I'm right here.

He wanted to shout.

Look at me.