Kōki dropped into his seat and let his forehead fall against the desk with a heavy thump. His arms dangled at his sides, body slouched, like gravity had won. His pulse hadn't settled since morning.
Today… was insane. One of the strangest days of my life.
His breath slipped out between clenched teeth, short and uneven. He pressed his cheek to the cool surface of the desk, eyes half-closed.
"…Who would've thought I'd actually meet a real exorcist," he muttered, the words scratching out of his throat more than he intended.
Silence lingered in the classroom. The clock above the chalkboard ticked steadily, the faint hum of fluorescent lights filling in the spaces between his thoughts. But the quiet only made it harder to escape what weighed on him.
He forced himself to retrace everything he had learned—piece by piece.
Sayoko Mizuhara…
Five years ago, a student at Yomigaoka High. Rumors said she died back then. Teachers had whispered, classmates had speculated. What they found was her bloodstained clothes at an abandoned school building—yet no body. Instead, the corpse of a young man had been lying there.
Kōki tightened his grip on the desk edge. His voice slipped out in fragments.
"I found her bag… in that building. And the letter she wrote to Takumi. And now…" His throat tightened. "She's not even dead. Not really. Her soul was ripped out during some ritual."
The heel of his palm pressed hard into his temple as if pressure could quiet the storm in his head.
"So now I have to track down these Cultists… figure out where they're keeping her body—and somehow, somehow restore her soul." He exhaled sharply. "But how? Who the hell even are these people? And how do you return a soul to a body?"
A prickling chill crawled up the back of his neck. His stomach twisted.
If I want Sayoko to live again… I'll have to risk my life. But is she worth it? What is she really to me?
From the corner of the room, Sayoko floated in midair, humming softly. Her voice carried a gentle rhythm, almost cheerful, in contrast to his spiraling thoughts.
Across from her, Takuto groaned and pressed a hand to his stomach. His expression was sour.
"…Ugh, I feel weird. This must be what nausea feels like. If you're a ghost, anyway."
His groan turned into a scowl. "That damn exorcist almost killed me. I swear, one day I'll—"
Kōki lifted his head, gaze narrowing at him. He didn't say it aloud, but unease stirred.
Takuto… He remembers nothing. Just that he knew Sayoko. And he showed up in that same old school building. Something about him feels off. Like he's hiding something—or more involved in this than he realizes.
"You look better," Sayoko said, floating down a little, her smile warm.
Takuto shot her a flat look. "Define better. If you mean back to being a ghost, then sure."
His voice dipped lower, almost hesitant. "…But that exorcist's story—do you really believe it? That after five years, your body is still somewhere, preserved? Doesn't that sound… impossible?"
Sayoko drifted closer to him, lowering herself so their eyes almost met. Her expression softened, carrying fragile hope.
"I know it sounds crazy," she whispered. "But if there's even a small chance… If I can see my parents again… talk to Ayaka, see my friends… I have to believe Deacon Crowe. I want to live again, Takuto."
Kōki lifted his head fully now, his chest tight. His gaze caught hers.
"And you will," he said firmly. "We'll find the Cultists. No matter what it takes."
Sayoko blinked, her lips parting. She drifted toward him slowly, as if the promise itself drew her closer.
"Kōki-kun…"
He raised a hand to stop her, his palm trembling slightly.
"Wait. Listen to me." His throat tightened. "I was only supposed to help you pass on peacefully. That was it. Not Cultists. Not exorcists. Not this mess."
His voice cracked slightly, betraying the weight he tried to hide. "Honestly… I'm scared. I've been asking myself over and over since this morning… is helping you worth dying for?"
His shoulders slumped as his head lowered again. "…I don't even know anymore."
Sayoko's eyes widened, her face stricken. She floated closer, arms stretching out as if to reach him. "Kōki-kun… what are you trying to say?"
"I don't know if I—"
A warmth brushed the back of his neck. His breath hitched, his body stiffened instantly.
A low voice purred behind him. "Well, well… Hello, Takeda. It's been a while."
Kōki's eyes widened. He jerked upright from his seat, spinning around. "Kureha?!"
There she was—sitting at the desk behind him as though she owned it, one leg crossed over the other, leaning casually. Her long silver hair draped past her shoulders, catching faint light as it swayed. Pale skin, almost gray when swallowed by shadow, only made the dark circles under her large, unblinking eyes stand out more. Those eyes—heavy with sleeplessness yet sharp in their focus—fixed on him, while her lips curved into a thin, unsettling smile that seemed far too steady to be natural.
"You… What are you doing here?" His voice cracked with disbelief.
Kureha tilted her head slightly, hair falling over her shoulder. "I've seen better days. But I'm touched… you remembered my name."
She rose from the chair in one smooth motion, the scrape of wood against the floor making Kōki flinch. Her silver hair swayed as she crossed the short distance, each step unhurried, deliberate. Then she leaned forward onto his desk, her pale fingers splayed against the surface as if pinning him in place. Her eyes, sharp and unblinking, locked onto his with an unnatural stillness, and that thin, crooked smile refused to break.
"So…" Her voice came low, almost a whisper. "I came to ask you something. About your little ghost friends."
Cold ran through his veins. His stomach dropped.
She knows.
"What are you even talking about?" he forced out, a laugh slipping unnaturally from his throat. "Ghosts? You're still hung up on that?" He waved his hand dismissively. "They're just myths. Stories people tell."
Kureha said nothing. Instead, she slid her hand into her hood pocket and pulled out a small bundle of photographs. She placed them onto the desk with a snap.
Kōki's eyes widened. His breath stalled.
"What… is this?"
The photos showed him—caught in candid shots. In each frame, faint, translucent outlines hovered behind him. Figures blurred, but distinct enough to recognize. Sayoko. Takuto.
His heart slammed against his chest.
Kureha's lips curled in a twisted smile. "Amazing, isn't it? What old cameras can catch. So… how do you explain this?"
Kōki froze, his jaw tightening.
She's been stalking me. Ever since that day in the old school building.
Sayoko's voice was soft but urgent. "Stay calm, Kōki-kun. She's trying to provoke you."
Kureha tilted her head, eyes narrowing with interest. "So, it's true, isn't it? You can talk to ghosts."
Kōki inhaled slowly through his nose, forcing composure. At this point, denial was useless.
"And if I can?" His voice steadied. "Why does that matter to you?"
Her smirk faded, replaced by something colder. "Because I've been searching for someone like you. There's something I need you to do—"
Before she could finish, a sharp buzz rattled across the desk.
Kōki's phone lit up, vibrating violently. His eyes flicked down at the screen. The name froze him.
Natsumi Hoshino.
He shot quick glances between Sayoko and Kureha, then snatched the phone and stepped aside. "Hello? Officer Natsu—"
"Kōki, you finally answered," Natsumi's voice rang through, sharp with urgency.
His grip tightened around the phone. "What happened?"
"I dug into the case files from five years ago. Sayoko's case." Her tone sharpened. "Just like we thought—her death was never confirmed. Her body was never recovered."
Kōki's throat went dry. He swallowed hard.
"But there's more. The boy whose corpse was found at the scene… I got his name. Takuto Hanezaki."
His fingers slackened. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
His chest seized. "No… No way."
His voice trembled as the realization spilled out. "The body they found… five years ago… it was Takuto."