This was an utterly ordinary sedan—no James Bond or Batman-style hidden weapons triggered by pressing a button. Yet for tonight, this very car might haunt certain people for the rest of their lives… assuming they even had a future left to live.

Mirror October knew the ugliness of human hearts all too well. Since becoming Saw, wave after wave of human betrayal had buried his past uncertainties. Few punished souls ever grasped the true meaning of his games. Their eyes remained glued only to what they’d lost, blind to what they owed. How pitiful.

And today? Could this not-yet-irredeemable young man offer him a different ending?

Mirror October awaited the finale.

No stars dotted the night sky—only a pale, solitary moon hung high.

Just like Mirror October’s own heart: clear, bright, and utterly pure. His mind was a still pond, reflecting his true self. Only a soul cleansed to its core could mirror every truth of others—ugly or beautiful. Mirror October was that flawless mirror, reflecting all without distortion.

The sedan’s engine hummed softly. Mirror October rolled the window down a crack. A trace of chilly wind slipped inside. The road had grown desolate, lined with flickering, broken streetlights.

A breeding ground for sin. His unshakable heart stirred—just a flicker—of anticipation.

A gentle smile touched his lips. He heard it: the distant roar of engines cutting through the air.

"I despise… *deeply* despise…"

Moonlight bathed him in cold radiance, like water in a dream. His plain white shirt melted into a crimson-lined black coat. Pristine gloves traced the lines of his slender fingers.

He loathed two kinds of people above all:

Those who trampled justice in justice’s name.

And those who disrespected the sacred gift of life.

Tonight’s prey belonged to the latter—the very kind Saw detested most.

The approaching motorcycle roar shattered Mirror October’s quietude. His face blurred into forgettable anonymity, save for his eyes—crimson pools flowing like fresh blood.

"Damn, the suburbs are remote…"

He ignored the growing engine snarls, coldly scanning the rearview mirror. A dozen blinding headlights glared back. Behind a grotesque, grinning mask, his smile radiated bone-chilling contempt. Bass-heavy music thumped from their speakers—was that… the *Dabei Mantra*?!

His carefully built mood shattered. Mirror October almost laughed.

*Of course. The world never lacks fools.*

Street racing.

Forbidden, yet irresistible to thrill-seeking heirs. In lawless zones like this, drugged-up races and wild parties were routine. Young drivers—fearless, addicted to the rush of speed and near-death—dove headfirst into the abyss.

***ROOOAR!***

The motorcycle’s savage growl wiped the smile from Mirror October’s pale lips. Crimson light bled through the shadows. The curtain rose.

Headlights slashed the darkness. Riders in flashy gear performed circus tricks on the asphalt, howling like madmen. To onlookers, they might seem cool. To Mirror October, they were clowns.

***WHOOSH!***

A Tomahawk motorcycle shot past first, its black silhouette igniting primal frenzy.

***WHOOSH-WHOOSH! WHOOSH!***

All luxury bikes—six-figure machines. These youths were heirs to fortunes. Mirror October’s smile deepened. He signaled and pulled to the roadside.

Predictably, the Tomahawk slowed to match his pace. The rider lifted his visor, eyes feverish with drugs and arrogance. Mirror October’s gloved fingers tapped the steering wheel, keeping time to a silent, elegant rhythm.

"Hey! White gloves! Race you?!" An Yi’s voice dripped with reckless pride and something unhinged. Mirror October didn’t even glance his way. His blurred face remained impassive, but the smirk beneath his mask reeked of mockery.

Humans craved attention. An Yi’s grin froze. Before he could spit a threat, Mirror October slammed the accelerator. The mild-mannered sedan lunged like a beast unleashed, its roar shaking the night. The wind blast nearly toppled An Yi’s bike.

He wrenched the handlebars, barely avoiding a crash.

Though his face was indistinct, Mirror October’s icy, mocking smile seared into An Yi’s soul. Humiliation burned his cheeks crimson—as if slapped a dozen times.

"F**k this! You want trouble?!"

Rage boiled over. On this road, everyone knew An Yi was the Racing Emperor. Being dismissed by some nobody? Unforgivable. He jabbed frantic signals for his crew to cut the sedan off, twisting the throttle to the limit. Madness flared in his eyes.

His companions whooped like hunters. That ordinary car? Now just prey.