The internet was ablaze with debate over the "Miracle of Kyoto." Skeptics screamed "hoax" and "mass hallucination," while over two hundred thousand eyewitnesses passionately defended what they had seen. The release of the official NHK news broadcast, clear and undeniable, began to sway public opinion. The image of the great tree and the indifferent gaze of the primordial god was too powerful, too real to be dismissed as mere special effects.
Leo observed the furor from his new base of operations, an anonymous apartment in Nara. He was unconcerned. One video wouldn't shatter a worldview built on centuries of scientific rationalism. But he wasn't planning on stopping with just one.
"When miracles become commonplace," he mused, "minds will have no choice but to change."
His next target: the Obon festival in Nara, the ancient capital once known as Heijō-kyō. The theme: Hyakki Yagyō—the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons.
As night fell on Nara, the city came alive with the Obon festivities. Families danced and sang in the firelight, celebrating the brief return of ancestral spirits from Yomi, the Land of the Dead. White paper lanterns hung outside every home, beacons to guide the spirits.
But this year, other things were using the light to find their way.
Outside a small wooden house, two lanterns flickered and died. An old man in an elegant Edo-period robe materialized on the doorstep. He was bald like a monk, but his smile was sly and predatory. He rapped on the door.
A young woman named Ritsuko Tanemura opened it. "Can I help you?" she asked, startled.
The old man's lips curled. His hand, mottled with age spots, brushed against her wrist. "Don't you recognize your own grandfather?"
A fog clouded Ritsuko's mind. The stranger's face suddenly seemed familiar, beloved. "Grandfather," she said, her voice dazed. "You're home." She led him inside, treating him as the guest of honor, serving him sushi and tea while he leisurely critiqued the food.
It wasn't until her brother, Kyosuke, arrived that the spell was broken. "Ritsuko, who is this?"
"It's Grandfather," she said, confused by his question.
"Grandfather? He's been dead for ten years!"
The words shattered the illusion. Ritsuko stared at the old man, who now seemed utterly alien. A chill ran down her spine. She remembered the old tales, of a Yokai, a demon, called the Nurarihyon—a slippery trickster who enters homes uninvited and makes himself the master of the house.
Kyosuke stepped forward, his voice hard. "Who are you?"
The old man simply waved his sleeve. A wave of hypnotic power washed over the siblings, and their resistance crumbled. "Grandfather!" they chorused, returning to their duties as his obedient servants.
Elsewhere, the night parade was in full swing. A group of child-like figures hopped down the street. A passerby glanced at them and froze in horror. Their hair hung low, parting to reveal not two eyes, but a single, baleful eye in the center of their foreheads. The Yamawaro, the mountain children. The man knew the legends: see them and fail to turn away, and you will be struck by a sudden sickness. He quickly covered his eyes and fled.
In the lobby of a modern skyscraper, a woman of impossible height strode in. Dressed in a traditional kimono, she stood over eight feet tall, most of that height consisting of her impossibly long legs. She drew stares of shock, not admiration. When she tried to enter an elevator, she had to stoop low.
"This lift is too short for me!" she screeched, her powdered white face contorting with rage.
"You could take the stairs," someone in the crowd muttered.
"Why should I take the stairs when you all ride the elevator?" the tall woman shrieked, perceiving a slight. "Are you discriminating against my height?"
She slammed her palm against the elevator doors. Flames erupted from her hand, engulfing the lift in a blaze. "All who mock my height will die!" she cackled. The Takaonna, the Tall Woman, had made her presence known.
The reports flooded into the Tokyo headquarters of the Public Security Intelligence Agency (PSIA). Director Hirota's face was a thundercloud. The National Police Agency had dumped the case on him, citing "national security concerns."
"A hundred demons take a stroll through Nara and suddenly it's a matter for counter-intelligence?" he roared at his subordinate, Deputy Director Ozaki. "That sly old fox at the NPA deserves to be sectioned!"
Before the Kyoto miracle, he would have dismissed this as a cult stunt. But he had personally visited the cordoned-off site in Kyoto. He had seen the shimmering, untouchable projection of the sacred tree. His scientific worldview had been shattered.
"Sir," Ozaki said, his own face pale as he reviewed the files. "The reports are… specific. Nurarihyon, Yamawaro, Takaonna… with photographic evidence. This isn't a job for spies. This is a job for... professionals."
Hirota's eyes narrowed. "An excellent suggestion, Ozaki. Since it was your idea, you're in charge. Find me these 'professionals'. Now."
Defeated, Ozaki made the calls. Soon, two men were seated in his office: Tomioka, one of Tokyo's most renowned Shinto priests, and Tanaka, a famous Onmyoji. Both were, in reality, master charlatans who had built careers on mystique and clever talk.
Ozaki, however, now believed. He treated them with the utmost reverence. "Masters," he said, pushing the case file across the desk. "We need your help."
The two men glanced at the photos of real Yokai and felt a cold sweat bead on their foreheads. This was far beyond their usual repertoire of blessings and exorcisms for the wealthy and gullible. They had to get out of this.
"The situation is dire," Ozaki pleaded. "Please, drive these Yokai back to where they came from."
Tomioka, the priest, spoke first, his face a mask of grave contemplation. "This is a serious matter. The barrier between our world and Yomi has weakened. To force them all back… I fear my own spiritual power is insufficient."
Ozaki's face fell.
"However," Tomioka continued, a glint in his eye, "I know one who possesses such power."
"Who?" Ozaki asked, hope rekindled.
"The Great Priestess Reiko."
Tanaka, the Onmyoji, almost sighed in relief. Brilliant, he thought. Shift the burden to the only person who's actually done something. He immediately chimed in, "An excellent point. The Great Priestess Reiko, who communes with the Primordial Father himself, is our best hope. Her spiritual power is unparalleled in this age." He then added a bit of flair, "Of course, if the legendary Tsuchimikado clan of Onmyoji still existed, their Twelve Shikigami Generals could have resolved this easily. A true pity they are lost to history."
Tomioka shot him a look. They were in this together, but a little professional rivalry was irresistible. "A tragedy indeed," he said smoothly. "Just as it was a tragedy when the Tsuchimikado clan and their rivals, the Harima school, wiped each other out in a great magical war during the Azuchi-Momoyama period. So much power, lost forever."
Tanaka's eye twitched. They hadn't wiped each other out; they had simply faded into obscurity. Tomioka was rewriting history on the fly to diminish the Onmyoji. It was a masterstroke of professional bullshitting.
Ozaki, however, listened with rapt attention, scribbling notes. He was getting a secret history lesson from the masters themselves. This was the truth you couldn't find in textbooks.
Just as he was about to ask another question, his phone rang. It was the Prime Minister's office. He took the call, his posture rigid. "What?... Yes, sir. I understand. We are handling it. Yes, immediately."
He hung up, his face grim. He turned to the two masters, bowing deeply. "The Great Priestess Reiko is still in a coma, exhausted from summoning her god in Kyoto. The situation in Nara is escalating. The Prime Minister has ordered us to contain it at all costs."
His eyes were filled with desperate hope. "It falls to you."