Chapter 3

One afternoon, while my father was working overtime and only my mother and I were at home, I sneaked into my father’s room while my mother was busy preparing dinner. There, I accidentally came across a book titled The Most Horrifying Murders in History, which was left open on page 151. Little did I know that this moment of curiosity would open up a whole new world within me—one that was no longer just black and white.

At the age of 13, I was only as tall as a public trash bin. However, driven by a child's curiosity, I quickly climbed onto my father’s desk to satisfy my inquisitiveness. The page described a real-life case that took place in Kofu City, Yamanashi Prefecture, west of Tokyo, Japan. The murderer, only 19 years old at the time, stabbed to death the parents of a girl he knew, severely injured their young daughter, and then set their house on fire. This was also the first case in Japanese history where a minor was sentenced to death.

As I read the details of the crime and the related news articles, a shiver ran down my spine. How could someone who hadn’t even reached adulthood commit such a monstrous act? And yet, what disturbed me even more was not the existence of a young murderer but the fact that Japan was willing to execute a person in exchange for another life. What a terrifying place, not because of a merciless killer, but because they are willing to kill in return.

These thoughts were far from what an ordinary 13-year-old would typically have. I didn’t know why, but when I read about the brutal murders, I neither cried nor felt the urge to run away. Instead, I had an overwhelming desire to uncover the truth behind the entire story. I couldn't stop myself from turning page after page, desperate to understand the killer's motives.

Just as I was engrossed in reading, my mother called me for dinner. She mentioned that she had prepared pork cutlets for me. At the mention of food, my stomach immediately protested, overpowering my burning curiosity about the case. Reluctantly, I closed the book, returned it to its original position, and hurried downstairs to eat. My mother asked where I had been wandering, but I simply shook my head and focused on devouring the hot, braised pork. As I ate, my mind wandered. Dad is probably coming home late again tonight… and I wonder if I can sneak back into his room later to read more about the case. I have to know why the killer did it. My curiosity is killing me.

After dinner, I returned to my room, turned on the radio, and listened to music, but my mind was overwhelmed with emotions—fear, disgust, and a strange sense of excitement. I realized that the world had so many more shades than I had ever known. At that moment, I felt as if I had a special mission: to uncover the truth hidden behind brutal crimes.

My father wasn’t a criminal psychologist. He only had those books because they were gifts from a former neighbor who used to be a psychology professor at the People's University. But who would have thought that the books left by his old neighbor would spark an entirely new desire in his daughter—the desire to become a criminal psychologist.