Kōki stared out the window, the orange light of the setting sun reflecting faintly in his eyes. His mind spun with everything he had just learned. The day had been long, twisted by revelations that were bizarre, even disturbing.
"I've… learned so much more about what happened to Sayoko," Kōki muttered under his breath, voice low. "But the more I hear… the more impossible it all feels."
Natsumi's words kept replaying in his head, sharp and precise like a memory etched in glass. Sayoko's school uniform had been found at the scene—torn, stained, the fabric stiff with dried blood—but her body… it had never been recovered. There was no struggle, no sign of anyone fleeing. Just the clothes, discarded as if left behind intentionally.
Then there was the bag.
Kōki had recently stumbled across it in the abandoned school building. Inside was a carefully folded letter, dated April 2018, written for Takumi Hoshino—now a police officer. The note had clearly been meant to be delivered but never reached him. The handwriting was unmistakably Sayoko's, delicate yet deliberate. The ink was blurred, worn from years of exposure to the elements while the bag had sat in the abandoned building—faded in places where water had seeped in, leaving streaks across the page.
But what unsettled him most was the detail Natsumi had mentioned almost casually: that a young man's body had also been found there at the same time. Described as "at least twenty" back then.
Kōki sat up straighter, a chill climbing his spine.
"Wait… could it be… Takuto?" he whispered, almost inaudibly.
The thought hit him with a cold certainty. Takuto had always claimed he knew Sayoko before his death, but nothing else had come with it. At the time, it had seemed like a stray comment—but now it felt like a vital piece of the puzzle.
He paced, the soles of his sneakers scraping lightly against the floor. "He first appeared in the old school building too… and there weren't any other ghosts around when we were there. It has to be him. It just… fits."
Or did it?
Something felt off. The timelines didn't quite align, and Takuto's memory loss could have been genuine—or it might have been deliberate.
"I can't just assume," Kōki murmured, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands absentmindedly. "I have to be careful… just in case."
His shoulders slumped as he exhaled slowly. "I should… be wary of Takuto. He laughs, cracks jokes all the time, seems so carefree… but what if it's a mask? What if he's hiding something important?"
Behind him, Sayoko hovered silently. Her usual ethereal glow was dim, and streaks of tears ran down her pale cheeks. She made no sound, but the weight of her sadness pressed on Kōki's chest like a physical force.
Kōki turned to her gently, lowering his voice. "Sayoko… I know this is hard. But I promise, I'll find whoever did this. I'll make sure your soul… can find peace."
Her small, trembling voice barely carried. "I… I can't believe this happened… to me. Who… who would hurt me? I didn't… I didn't do anything to anyone…"
Kōki clenched his fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. "This world… it doesn't always make sense. People hurt others for power… jealousy… some just… for the sake of it. It's cruel… but it's true. There's… evil out there, Sayoko."
He stepped away, stomach twisting, and made his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he stared at the leftover pizza on a plate, cold and unappealing.
"I… don't think I can eat this," he muttered, shutting the fridge with a soft thud.
The hallway felt heavier as he moved toward the bathroom, door closing behind him with a quiet click. He let out a slow breath, leaning against the sink.
"One day… I'm just a regular high school student," he whispered, voice tight. "And the next… I'm helping a ghost uncover the truth about her murder."
He shut his eyes briefly, letting the water droplets from the faucet's condensation cool his flushed skin. "Her clothes were found… but not her body. That… that's terrifying. If anyone touched her before… it makes sense why she can't move on."
Flushing the toilet and washing his hands, Kōki stepped back into the hallway. His chest still felt heavy, heart thudding with the weight of unease.
As soon as Kōki stepped into the hallway, Ayaka appeared from the living room. Her footsteps were soft on the carpet, but there was a hesitancy to them that caught Kōki's attention.
"Kō…" she began, her voice low, almost fragile.
Kōki turned, slightly surprised. "Oh… Ayaka. What is it?" His brow furrowed as he noticed the way she fiddled with her fingers, twisting them nervously.
She took a small step closer, biting her lower lip. Her gaze dropped for a moment, then flicked back up to meet his. "Well… it's just that… um…" She hesitated, took a slow breath, and then spoke again, a little steadier. "Kō… can I… talk to Sayoko, again?"
Kōki studied her face. Her hands trembled slightly, and the faintest quiver ran through her voice. He could feel the care and hesitation behind her words.
"Right now… might not be the best time," he said gently, trying to gauge her patience. "She's… not doing too well."
Ayaka's gaze fell, her fingers tightening. "I… I just… I haven't heard from her in a while," she said, voice softening. "You've been… spending a lot of time with her, and I thought… maybe you could help me talk to her. I want to check on her too… since it's been so long since we spoke. I… I really miss her, you know." Her words were punctuated by shallow breaths, like she was holding back emotion.
Kōki noticed the slight tremor in her hands and gave a small nod. "Alright… I'll ask her."
He walked toward his room, finding Sayoko hovering near the window, the light from the sunset bathing her pale form. Her hair floated gently, drifting as if caught in a breeze only she could feel, and her gaze was distant, unfocused. Her ghostly fingers curled and uncurling slightly, betraying the tension in her posture.
"Sayoko," Kōki called softly. He paused, waiting for her to turn. "Ayaka… she wants to talk to you. Would that be… okay?"
Sayoko's eyes flickered to him, voice barely a whisper. "I… I don't want to talk to anyone right now. I just… want to be alone."
Kōki took a careful step closer, lowering his voice. "I understand… it's just that… she hasn't been able to reach you herself, and I thought… it wouldn't shock you too much, considering how you reacted before. But now… I can tell she really wants to talk. She misses you… and she wants to check on you."
Sayoko hesitated, biting her lip. Her spectral hands hovered, trembling slightly, her form swaying gently in place. She exhaled slowly, finally speaking. "I… I'll need some time to think. Once… once I've calmed down… I'll try."
Kōki nodded, voice calm. "Okay… I'll let her know. She'll understand."
He paused for a moment, the weight of the room pressing on him. Then, a sudden thought struck him. "Wait… where is Takuto?"
Sayoko glanced around, expression confused. "He… he was with me a moment ago. Maybe… he wandered off?"
Kōki's lips twitched in irritation. "Damn that idiot," he muttered under his breath. "Always phasing through walls, sticking his nose where it doesn't belong…"
Before he could finish, a sharp chime rang through the house—the doorbell.
"I'll get it," Ayaka called from the living room, already moving toward the entrance.
When she opened the door, her eyes widened, and she froze.
Standing there, in a beige coat and scarf, her presence was unmistakable. She removed her shades slowly, revealing somber eyes that had carried years of unspoken burden.
"Nanami?" Ayaka whispered, breath catching. "It's… been over three years… what are you doing here?"
Nanami stepped inside, the soft click of her shoes on the floor filling the brief silence. Her voice was low, almost cracking. "I… I need to talk to you. There's something I've carried for five years… something I need to finally say."
Ayaka's hands twitched slightly, and her breath hitched. "Is it… about…?"
"Yes," Nanami nodded, voice firm but shaky. "It's about our late friend… Sayoko Mizuhara."