December 2025 — Osaka, Japan
The group spilled out of the karaoke place into the cool night air, their laughter trailing like smoke. Neon smeared the puddles underfoot, Osaka glowing soft and electric.
Arata threw his arm around Rei and yelled, "That was peak performance! You all witnessed history!"
"You mean a crime against sound," Rei muttered, shrugging him off.
Sylvia laughed, bright and mischievous. "No, no, I got it on video. Gonna sell tickets to his retirement concert."
Takaya smiled faintly, half there, half lost in the thought of how finite these nights were.
Then Yuki spoke. Calm, even, like she was stating a fact:
"Inunaki Tunnel."
The group fell quiet.
Touma blinked. "You're not serious."
"I am," Yuki said simply. She stood a little apart from them, eyes set on the street ahead, unreadable. "We graduate in days. If there's ever a time to walk into a place we're not supposed to, it's now."
Reiji frowned. "It's illegal. And haunted, if you believe rumors."
Sylvia leaned in, grin wide. "Ooooh. Haunted date night? Count me in."
Yuki's eyes flicked to her, just for a second, before looking away.
Takaya exhaled. "It's reckless." But there was no bite in his words, only a quiet pull. "Still… it feels like the kind of memory you don't forget."
"Six PM tomorrow," Yuki said. Her tone left no room for debate. "We're in for thirty minutes, no more. Everyone brings their own headlamp."
The protests started, scattered and weak: Rei calculating risks, Reiji pointing out laws, Mira whispering that it was too dangerous. But peer pressure worked its old magic. One by one, hesitation bent into agreement.
By the time they reached the station, the pact was sealed.
Tomorrow, they would step into Inunaki.
The next evening, the group met by the south exit just as the city lights were starting to glow against the dusk. Everyone had their bags slung over their shoulders, headlights tucked inside, as if they were prepping for some school trip instead of a trespass into urban legend.
But before the tunnel, there was udon.
The stall sat alone on the edge of a side street, tucked away from the buzz of the crowds. Its faded noren fluttered in the wind, lanterns dim, casting everything in a red half-light. The man behind the counter was quiet—too quiet. No greetings, no banter, just a nod when they ordered. His face was thin, eyes hollow, like someone who'd forgotten how to sleep.
They ate in near silence. The broth was rich, the noodles perfect, but it felt heavy going down, as if the vendor had stirred something unspoken into the soup.
"Not bad," Arata said around a mouthful, trying to shake the tension. "But guy's vibe is… scary. Like he's already killed someone with chopsticks."
"Arata," Rei muttered, not looking up.
Sylvia slurped loudly and grinned. "Honestly? That makes it taste better. More authentic. Killer seasoning."
Yuki said nothing, methodically finishing her bowl. Her composure made it worse somehow, like she was silently preparing herself for the tunnel.
When they were done, Touma pulled out his phone, always the practical one. "Let's review. Inunaki Tunnel's been closed for years. There were accidents, urban legends, disappearances. Rumors about people hearing voices. The biggest story—murder in '88. A man was burned alive inside a car in the tunnel."
Reiji crossed his arms. "There's a reason it's off-limits. People say time bends there. That it's cursed ground."
Sylvia's eyes gleamed as she scrolled through her own feed. "Also says the government wanted to erase it from maps. Like, literally scrubbed it out. Love that. Peak horror movie energy."
Takaya sat back, listening, a quiet unease crawling beneath his skin. Mira's gaze kept drifting to him, as if waiting for him to say no. He didn't.
Instead, Yuki spoke, flat as a blade's edge. "We'll be in and out. Thirty minutes."
That was it. Final.
By the time the bowls were empty and the vendor had retreated into silence again, the decision was cemented. They stood, tightened their jackets, and began the walk toward the tunnel—toward the thing that would tear their lives apart forever.
The road wound out of the city and into the mountains, where neon gave way to shadows and the air grew damp. By the time they reached the mouth of Inunaki Tunnel, the sun had dropped behind the ridges, leaving only the thin wash of twilight to guide them.
But something was wrong.
The blockade that every article, every photo had shown—the rusted gate, the concrete barriers—wasn't there. The entrance yawned wide and dark, unguarded. As if it had been waiting.
In its place stood a single wooden board.
The writing sprawled across it in jagged strokes, thick and dark, smeared like it had been dragged by trembling hands:
「迷い込めば,最後.此処で時は裂け,さあ,踏み入れよ,我が目の前に—」
Mira froze, her breath catching. "That… wasn't online."
Sylvia stepped closer, squinting at the stains. Her usual grin faded, replaced by something tighter, clinical. She reached out, rubbed her fingers lightly across the surface, then recoiled.
"…It's blood."
Arata barked out a laugh, but it cracked halfway. "Fake. Gotta be fake. Kids messing around."
"No," Sylvia cut him off, voice sharp. "It's real. I've seen enough in my dad's clinic. This isn't paint."
The air turned heavier, pressing against their chests. Yuki stood rigid, her headlight in one hand, the other gripping her bag. "We go in."
Reiji frowned. "Even after this?"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to. The silence itself was answer enough.
Finally, Takaya spoke, quiet but steady. "We came this far. No turning back."
Mira's eyes lingered on him, pleading for a different choice, but when none came, she nodded reluctantly.
They powered on their headlights. White beams cut into the darkness, but the tunnel swallowed most of it, leaving more shadow than light.
Together, they stepped past the bloody board. The concrete swallowed the last traces of the outside world, and the tunnel closed around them like a throat.
The first thing they noticed was the smell. Damp concrete, iron, something faintly sweet that clung to the back of the throat. Their footsteps echoed sharp against the walls, louder than they should've been, like the tunnel was amplifying them.
Minutes passed. The beams of their headlights shook across graffiti, rust stains, crumbling cement.
And then—
"Wait," Touma muttered, slowing. His light froze on a battered red STOP sign, bolted to the wall.
"Creepy," Arata said. "But whatever."
They kept moving.
Three minutes later, Sylvia snorted. "Uh, déjà vu?" Her beam lit up the exact same sign—same rust marks, same graffiti slash across the middle.
They stopped. Looked back. Nothing but the dark throat of the tunnel. Looked forward. The same endless stretch.
"We're looping," Reiji said, voice low.
"That's—" Arata started, but his words faltered. Because the puddles scattered along the ground weren't reflecting their headlights. Not their legs. Not anything. Just… shifting black.
The drip of water echoed wrong, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Then came the whispers.
At first it sounded like the tunnel replaying them—an echo from minutes ago. But the words didn't line up. The voices weren't distorted; they were exact, as if their own mouths were speaking from the shadows.
We'll regret this.
It's inevitable.
There's nothing we can do.
Rei, walking last, stiffened. Something tapped her shoulder. She spun, light cutting through nothing. Her breath hitched and she stumbled forward.
"Someone touched me," she said flatly.
"Bullshit," Arata blurted, but his laugh was hollow.
Rei's voice didn't waver. "We agreed. One says we turn back, we turn back."
The group hesitated. No one argued.
They turned, retracing their steps. But the further they walked, the heavier the air grew. The tunnel stretched, the end never appearing, the STOP sign flashing again, and again, like a wound that wouldn't close.
And then—
The ground rumbled.
The rumble cut out. For an instant, silence reigned—unnatural, absolute. Their own breathing was gone, their footsteps erased. It was as if the tunnel itself had ceased to exist.
Then it came.
From the empty air, a fissure tore reality apart. At its center, an eye opened—immense, lidless, unblinking. It wasn't simply looking at them—it was looking through them, peeling back flesh, memory, and soul. The air bent around it, every heartbeat syncing with its pulse. Chaotic, raw, hungry.
The seven stood frozen. Even Arata's reckless bravado was crushed beneath its gaze.
And then—the ground collapsed. Not crumbled. Not shattered. It folded away, revealing a swirling abyss below. Yuki, Sylvia, Rei, Reiji, Arata, and Touma were pulled down at once, their screams torn from their throats and dragged into the vortex. The abyss didn't echo them—it devoured them.
Almost simultaneously, a second eye bloomed above. Smaller, but infinitely colder. Its gaze was surgical, calculating, coiled with malice restrained. The ceiling split open like brittle glass, and Takaya was wrenched upward—alone, helpless, clawing at the void.
He reached out. Mira did too, their fingertips a breath apart. The rift snapped, cruel and absolute, before they could touch.
One eye pulsed with raw chaos—the ritual itself, wild and untamed.
The other exuded silent menace—His will, distant yet suffocating.
Neither revealed its master, yet both etched fear and awe into their very souls.
The last image Takaya carried was not of the tunnel, nor the eyes, nor the void—
—but of his friends' faces, swallowed by the abyss, their screams stretching into eternity.
The family he had found was gone.
Scattered across time.