A couple of minutes after the incident had finally subsided, Sayoko suddenly popped out of Kureha's body, floating lightly as if released from a heavy weight.
"You did it, Kōki-kun! I'm so glad," Sayoko cried, her translucent arms wrapping around him in a wholesome hug. Her faint warmth lingered, despite her ghostly form.
Kōki blinked, stunned for a moment, then smiled softly and hugged her back. "It was thanks to you that we were able to overcome that spirit. You were brave, Sayoko. Thank you."
Sayoko's cheeks tinted pink, though she tried to hide it behind her hair. "K-Kōki-kun…"
From the side, Raikou exhaled a puff of smoke, watching with one brow raised. "So you can not only see her but touch her? No wonder you don't have any hang-ups about a ghost being your girlfriend." His cigarette dangled casually from his lips.
"N-No, it's not like that!" Kōki stammered, quickly pulling back. His face turned red, and he waved his hands in panic. Sayoko's face flushed even more, and she glanced away, embarrassed.
"You're not half bad, kid," Raikou said with a crooked grin. "You analyzed and picked up my exorcism techniques in minutes—stuff that took me years to master. Either I'm a damn good teacher, or you're a fast learner. I'll give you this—you're the one who made today possible."
Kōki looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You… really think so?"
Raikou smirked, flicking the ash from his cigarette. "We should team up sometime—go check out some haunted sites. Could be fun."
"Maybe one day," Kōki said, his body swaying slightly before he dropped into a seated position on the floor. He rubbed his temple, a tired smile tugging at his lips. "For now, though… that's enough ghost talk."
"Kōki-kun, are you alright?" Sayoko asked, floating closer. Concern clouded her eyes.
"I'm good. Just drained. Nothing a little rest won't fix," he reassured, forcing a grin. He looked back at Raikou. "Also… I'm sorry I doubted you earlier. Sorry I called you a fraud."
Raikou waved it off with a chuckle. "Forget it. I got to prove myself, didn't I?" He lit another cigarette with a half-burnt candle, the flame reflecting in his sharp eyes.
Just then, Takuto floated through the wall, his hands behind his head. "Is it all over?" he asked cautiously, scanning the room.
"Yeah," Kōki replied, exhaling with relief.
Raikou gave Takuto a sideways glance. "Where were you, coward?"
"I was outside the room, genius. You think I'd stick around for that mess?" Takuto shot back, rolling his eyes. "Besides, that thing you called—the Soul Reaper—were you planning to summon him to take me too?"
Raikou blew out a slow stream of smoke. "Couldn't. You didn't do anything evil enough to warrant a one-way trip to the underworld."
Takuto sighed with exaggerated relief. "Good to know."
Raikou tilted his head with a grin. "Still wanted to, though. Regret not doing it, actually. You were useless the whole time." He turned and started walking toward the door.
"What?! Say that again, I dare you!" Takuto shouted, rushing forward—only to pass right through Raikou's back with a frustrated yell.
"Catch you later, Takeda," Raikou called over his shoulder. Without turning, he tossed a folded talisman toward Kōki. "Give this to Kurobane when she wakes up. If she ever tries reaching out to the dead again, this'll ward off anything nasty. I'm heading out for some booze—today was too much. See ya."
Kōki caught the talisman, staring down at it. His voice softened. "You were the whole reason we managed to save her… thank you, Raikou Kazehara —Deacon Crow."
Some hours later, the sunlight poured in through the curtains. Kureha stirred, squinting and shielding her eyes from the brightness. Her silver hair stuck out in every direction, messy and tangled, and faint eye bags still rested under her eyes. Yet, her gaze—once hollow—now had a faint glimmer of life.
"You're finally awake," Kōki said gently from the chair beside her bed. "How do you feel?"
Kureha rubbed her eyes groggily, the heel of her palm pressing against her lashes as she blinked at the dim light. Her voice came out hoarse, the words dragging.
"How long… was I asleep?"
"Over eight hours," Kōki said, shifting forward on the chair. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning toward her.
Kureha's lips parted, then pressed together again, trembling. Her fingers clutched at the blanket bunched against her chest. "I didn't have a single nightmare… not one about that spirit. So… does that mean… it's really over?"
Kōki's shoulders eased, and some of the tension in his jaw loosened. He nodded once, firmly, meeting her eyes. His voice was low but steady.
"Yeah. It's over. You don't have to be afraid anymore."
Tears welled in Kureha's eyes until they spilled hot down her cheeks. A broken sound escaped her throat as she suddenly lurched forward, burying her face into Kōki's chest. Her fists clenched in the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white as she held onto him as though he might vanish.
"Takeda… I don't know how to thank you," she sobbed, her voice muffled against him. "I've been hurting for so long. I was alone. I had no one. I even wanted to end my life… but you ended all of it. You ended my suffering. Thank you, Takeda… thank you."
Kōki froze for a heartbeat, his breath caught in his throat. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand, his fingers threading gently through her hair before resting on the back of her head. The other hovered uncertainly at her shoulder before settling there with care. He stroked her hair in slow motions, leaning down slightly so she could hear his words.
"It's okay now. Everything's fine," he murmured, his voice quiet, as though afraid to break the fragile moment.
After half an hour of tears, Kureha finally eased back, her arms loosening from around him. She dragged the sleeve of Kōki's shirt across her damp face, the fabric already wrinkled from her grip. Her breathing, once ragged, slowed to a steadier rhythm, though the occasional hitch lingered in her chest.
Kōki cleared his throat softly, adjusting his posture. His voice came out careful, almost testing the ground.
"Kurobane… I know this might be hard for you to answer, but… may I ask where your parents were buried?"
Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes blinked at him in surprise. "…They're at Aoyama Cemetery."
"Would you mind going there with me?"
Kureha's fingers twisted in the hem of the shirt she wore, hesitation flickering across her face. Then, after a pause, she shook her head. "…I don't mind. But… why?"
Kōki rose to his feet, his expression firm but gentle. "You ended things on bad terms with them, didn't you?" His voice lowered, weighted with intent. "I'll help you speak with them. That was the root of all this, after all."
He extended his hand toward her, waiting.
Kureha stared at his outstretched hand, her gaze fixed on it as if it were something fragile. For a long moment she didn't move, her breath caught in her throat. Then, slowly, she lifted her own hand. Her fingers quivered as they hovered above his before finally settling into his palm.
Her hand was cold, trembling against his warmth.
She gave a faint nod, her voice barely above a whisper. "…Okay."
The afternoon sun was dipping lower when they reached Aoyama Cemetery. The air was still, carrying a faint chill despite the season. Rows upon rows of gravestones stretched across the slope, their gray surfaces dotted with fresh flowers, incense sticks, and weathered offerings. The cries of distant crows echoed faintly in the trees that bordered the cemetery, mingling with the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze.
Kureha tugged the hem of Kōki's hoodie closer around herself as they walked, the sleeves hanging past her hands. The gravel crunched beneath their shoes, each step sharp in the otherwise heavy silence. She kept a few paces ahead, her shoulders stiff, as if drawing strength from the oversized fabric draped over her.
At last, she slowed and came to a stop. Two gravestones stood side by side before her, their surfaces weathered but steady.
"Here… here we are. These are my parents' graves," she whispered, guilt clouding her features.
Kōki studied the markers in silence, then closed his eyes, a slow breath leaving him. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Just as I thought. They haven't passed on yet."
Kureha blinked, startled. "…What do you mean by that?"
"They're right in front of you," Kōki said softly. His eyes didn't leave the empty air just beyond the gravestones. "They're trying to hold you… but they can't."
Her lips parted, trembling. "You… you can see them?"
Kōki gave a single nod, his expression gentle, almost reverent. His gaze followed the faint shapes only he could perceive—two figures standing close, outlines blurred but unmistakable. He watched as the woman's hands hovered toward Kureha's shoulder, and the man's eyes lingered on her with quiet sorrow.
But to Kureha, the space beside the graves was empty. Only the rustle of the trees and the steady pound of her heartbeat filled the silence.
"Of course I can," Kōki said, his eyes flicking toward her before returning to the space near the graves. "I only discovered it recently myself. You were the one who kept prying until you figured it out."
Mrs. Kurobane stood beside her husband, her expression warm and steady.
"May we ask how you know our daughter?"
"I'm her classmate," Kōki replied without hesitation. He kept his gaze on the faint figures only he could see. "We came here today so you could talk again. Since you can't interact with her directly… I'll act as an intermediary."
Kureha's head snapped toward him, her breath quickening. Her fingers curled into the fabric of the hoodie she wore, knuckles tight. "...You really can see them, can't you?"
Kōki looked at her and gave a firm nod. "Yes." His voice lowered, steady but gentle. "Now… let's begin."
Kureha took a shaky breath, falling to her knees in front of the graves. "I'm sorry… for lashing out at you, Mom, Dad. I'm sorry for wishing you both dead. I didn't mean for it to happen. I love you… I love you so much. I was just so fixated on what I wanted that I lost sight of what mattered most."
Mr. Kurobane's voice wavered with affection. "It's not your fault, my dark twilight. Even if we hadn't fought, nothing would have changed. Don't carry that burden."
Mrs. Kurobane smiled tenderly. "And we love you with all our hearts. You'll always be our little Kurokure."
Kōki relayed their words softly. "They said it's not your fault. They love you deeply… and your mother says you're still her little Kurokure."
Kureha gasped, tears flooding her eyes again. "Only my mom ever called me that…"
Mr. Kurobane stepped closer, his expression heavy. "Please, Kureha. Move on with your life. Know that we love you with every fiber of our being. Stop dwelling on the past."
"Your father says it's time to move on," Kōki translated gently. "He says they love you deeply."
"If only… if only there was a way to hold my daughter one more time," Mr. Kurobane murmured, his voice breaking.
Kōki drew in a slow breath, his jaw tightening. "…There is. As much as I hate the idea. Have you heard of possession?"
Mr. Kurobane's eyes widened. "You'd let me…?"
"You can take control of my body," Kōki said quietly. "Just this once."
The spirit's gaze softened. He bowed his head in gratitude. "Thank you, young man."
A chill swept through Kōki as the spirit moved. His shoulders stiffened, every muscle tensing as if bracing against invisible pressure. His breath hitched, eyes fluttering, then glazing over for an instant. Kureha stepped back in alarm, her hands flying to her mouth.
When his head lifted again, the voice that came out wasn't Kōki's.
"I can feel my hands again…" Mr. Kurobane whispered through him, flexing Kōki's fingers with wonder. "This will be the closest I'll ever be to alive."
He reached forward, hugging Kureha tightly.
Kureha's eyes widened in shock. "Takeda… what are you doing?"
The voice from Kōki's mouth was soft, trembling. "It's me, my dark twilight."
That name—the way it was spoken—she knew it instantly. "Dad…? Is that you?"
"Yes. It's me." He held her tighter. "It's been so long since I held you. I just want you to know… your mother and I love you. Please, move on for our sake. So we can move on peacefully too."
Her tears soaked his shoulder as she clung to him. "I will. I promise."
Mr. Kurobane's borrowed voice grew weaker. "Good. See you later, my dark twilight. My Kurokure. I'll always be with you."
Kōki's body shuddered as the spirit left him. He blinked rapidly, regaining his senses, his chest heaving. A sharp throb flared behind his temples, forcing him to press a hand to his head. The headache pulsed with every heartbeat, leaving his vision slightly hazy.
The parents offered their thanks, their forms glowing faintly before they slowly faded away.
Later, Kōki walked Kureha home under the dimming sky. The cicadas had begun their evening cries, filling the air, but each rasp of their wings seemed to scrape against the ache in his skull. Still, he kept pace beside her, saying nothing.
"Kōki," Kureha said quietly, her steps slow. "I want to thank you for everything you've done. You didn't just stop me from ending my life… you ended my suffering. I… I can't thank you enough."
Kōki scratched his cheek, embarrassed. "It was a group effort. I didn't really do all that much."
She glanced at him, then took a small breath. "Can you… close your eyes for a second?"
He frowned. "Huh? Why?"
"Just do it."
Still confused, Kōki closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady the dull ache in his head. A heartbeat later, something soft and warm brushed against his lips.
His eyes snapped open. For an instant, he froze, breath caught in his throat.
Kureha's face filled his vision—flushed a deep crimson. The realization hit him just as she jerked back, eyes wide with panic.
She spun on her heel, both hands flying up to cover her cheeks, and hurried down the path.
Kōki remained rooted where he stood, his pulse hammering so hard it echoed in his ears. Heat flooded his face until it burned.
"Wh-what just…?" His voice cracked as the words tumbled out.
He touched his lips, still tingling, his chest rising and falling too quickly. Stunned, confused, and completely red, he could only watch as Kureha disappeared ahead of him.