The world felt like a fragile sheet of glass, and we had just discovered a spiderweb of cracks spreading from its center. At the heart of that web was a boy named Ryoichi Tanaka. And our only path to him was through the self-appointed guardian of his memory, a dragon who was desperately trying to pretend his hoard of treasure never existed: Renji Kurobane.
Hina, with her newfound, somber stability, parted ways with us at the station, clutching her sunflower charm like a prayer bead. Her battle, for the moment, had been won. Ours was just escalating. That left the three of us—the core of what I was starting to think of as the Anomaly Investigation Squad—standing under the fluorescent hum of the station lights. Me, the unwilling psychic; Aoi, the stoic data analyst; and Yuki, the ghost with a case of amnesia, her presence a cool spot in the warm evening air.
A frontal assault on Renji had failed spectacularly. Brute force, emotional or otherwise, would only make him build his walls higher. We needed a new plan.
"Tactic: Strategic Withdrawal and Re-evaluation," Aoi stated, as if she were commanding a battalion and not two social outcasts and a ghost. "We require a neutral location to analyze the variable 'Renji Kurobane' and formulate a new approach."
"You mean we should go somewhere to talk?" I translated.
"That is an overly simplistic but functionally accurate summary, yes," she replied.
"I know a place," Yuki piped up, her voice regaining some of its usual lightness now that the initial shock of the photograph had passed. "There's a family restaurant a few blocks from here. Their strawberry parfait is a legitimate spiritual experience. It's so good, even I can almost taste it."
And so, the Anomaly Investigation Squad convened its first official strategy session at a brightly lit WacDonald's knock-off, huddled in a corner booth. The air smelled of cheap coffee and fried potatoes. A cheerful, synthesized jingle played on a loop overhead. It was the most absurdly mundane setting for a council of war against the fundamental laws of reality.
Aoi laid her notebook on the table between a plate of untouched fries and my glass of water. It felt like placing a classified government document next to a happy meal.
"Subject: Renji Kurobane," she began, her voice low and clinical. "Defense mechanism: aggressive denial, reinforced by targeted cynicism and projection. Primary emotional drivers: fear and unresolved grief. Objective: to acquire a potential Master Artifact—his personal camera—from his possession without triggering a total psychological collapse."
"You make it sound like we're trying to steal a nuke from a paranoid dictator," I muttered, sipping my water.
"The analogy is not without merit," Aoi said gravely. "The potential energy contained within a Master Artifact is unknown. A 'total psychological collapse' in a sensitive individual like Kurobane could have unpredictable, possibly catastrophic, consequences."
"She's right," Yuki added, her translucent form perched on the edge of the seat beside me. "Renji's denial isn't just a wall; it's a dam holding back a flood of memories and grief. If we blow it up, we could all drown. You can't fight a memory. You have to... invite it in."
"Invite it in?" I asked. "He just tried to strangle me for even saying Ryoichi's name."
"Because you were trying to kick down the door," Yuki explained. "You can't force your way into someone's heart, Kaito. You have to find the key that was left under the mat."
"A key," Aoi mused, tapping her pen on her notebook. "Metaphorical. Therefore, imprecise. However, the core concept is sound. We cannot breach his defenses. We must identify a method to convince him to lower them voluntarily. We need a catalyst."
We spent the next thirty minutes brainstorming. My suggestion to just wait until he left his bag unattended and "borrow" the camera was immediately shot down by Aoi on the grounds of being "ethically dubious and tactically clumsy." Aoi's suggestion of creating a complex social media misinformation campaign to subtly influence his emotional state was shot down by me on the grounds of being "terrifyingly manipulative and probably taking three years to work." Yuki's idea of haunting him until he gave it up was a non-starter for obvious reasons. We were getting nowhere.
Frustrated, I pulled the photograph from my pocket. I needed to look at it again, to remind myself of what was at stake. The image of the shrine, the impossible girl in the corner, the captured light. It was Ryoichi's last will and testament.
"Wait," Aoi said, her eyes locking onto the photo. "The catalyst. It's right there."
I looked at her, then at the photo, then back at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Kurobane's core identity, prior to the erasure, was intrinsically linked to Ryoichi Tanaka through the medium of photography," she explained, her thought process accelerating. "He doesn't just miss his friend. He misses the art they shared. This photograph... it is not just proof of Tanaka's existence. It is a sample of his unique, inimitable talent. It is a lure."
A slow-burn idea began to form in my mind, a combination of Aoi's cold logic and Yuki's talk of keys and invitations. "We don't show it to him," I said. "Not directly. We let him see it. By accident."
Yuki snapped her fingers, a sound only I heard. "I like it. It's a trap made of bait he won't be able to resist. He's a photographer, Kaito. He'll recognize the work of a master. He won't be able to stop himself from looking closer."
"The probability of him being in the same physical space as you to facilitate this 'accidental' viewing is low without direct intervention," Aoi pointed out.
"So we create the opportunity," I said. "I'll find him tomorrow. I'll be looking at the photo. He'll see it. He'll get suspicious. He'll ask what it is. And I'll tell him..." I paused, searching for the right words. "...I'll tell him I found it in the old clubroom, and I'm going to the place it was taken to see if I can replicate the shot."
"You will establish yourself as an admirer of Tanaka's work," Aoi deduced. "This alters your position in his perception from 'threat' to 'potential fellow acolyte.' He will be compelled by suspicion and artistic curiosity to follow you."
"And where are we leading him?" I asked.
Aoi flipped a few pages in her notebook. "The photography club's logs show multiple off-campus trips. There is one location they frequented more than any other for 'nightscape and celestial photography'." She tapped a location on a map she had, of course, already printed out. "The old Kirigamine Observatory. On the summit of what the locals call 'Ghost's Hill'."
"An observatory on a place called Ghost's Hill," Yuki said with a delighted grin. "Oh, the universe has a sense of irony. It's perfect."
It was a crazy, multi-step plan that relied on psychological manipulation, predictable human behavior, and a whole lot of luck. It was the best we had.
The next day, the hunt was on. Finding Renji Kurobane wasn't difficult. He had a routine. During lunch, he always sat on the same isolated bench at the far end of the school courtyard, exuding an aura that repelled social interaction like a force field.
My heart hammered in my chest. This was performance art, and the entire plan hinged on my ability to act natural. Aoi was observing from a second-story window, a pair of binoculars held to her eyes. She was probably taking notes on my posture. Yuki was beside me, a silent, encouraging presence.
"Showtime," she whispered.
I took a deep breath and began my slow, meandering walk across the courtyard, my path calculated to pass within ten feet of Renji's bench. I pulled the photograph from my pocket, my eyes fixed on it, my expression one of deep, artistic contemplation. I was trying to channel the art snob I'd seen in movies.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Renji look up from his phone. His eyes narrowed. He'd spotted me. He watched me for a moment, his expression a mixture of contempt and annoyance. Then his gaze dropped to the photograph in my hand.
He froze.
Even from this distance, I could see the change in him. The bored indifference vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He recognized it. Not the specifics, perhaps, but the style. The light. The composition. He was looking at his best friend's soul on a piece of paper, and he didn't even know it.
I walked past, pretending not to notice him, and sat on another bench about thirty feet away. I continued to study the photo, holding it up to the light, turning it over, feigning deep thought. The bait was in the water. Now, I just had to wait for the fish to bite.
It took three excruciatingly long minutes.
"What is that?"
Renji's voice, low and suspicious, came from right behind me. I feigned a startled jump.
"Kurobane-senpai," I said, quickly trying to hide the photo. "I didn't see you."
"Don't play dumb with me, Hoshino," he growled. "That photograph. Where did you get it?"
"I... I found it," I said, letting him see a corner of it. "In the old photography clubroom. It was in a stack of old prints."
His eyes were glued to the image, a storm of conflicting emotions warring on his face. He was drawn to it, but he was terrified of it. "It's nothing," he said, the denial automatic. "Just some student's work. Throw it away."
"Throw it away?" I said, feigning disbelief. "Are you kidding? This is... brilliant. The use of light, the composition... it's professional-level stuff. I've never seen anything like it." I was laying it on thick, but every word of praise for Ryoichi's work seemed to both hurt him and intrigue him.
"I was thinking of heading over to Misaki Shrine after school," I continued, delivering the final line of the trap. "I want to see if I can find the spot where this was taken. See if I can figure out how he did it."
I stood up and started to walk away. "Well, see you around, senpai."
I didn't look back. I just walked. Every step was an agony of suspense. Turn around, you cynical bastard. Take the bait.
"Wait."
The word was quiet, strained. I stopped, a wave of relief washing over me.
I turned. Renji was standing there, his fists clenched. "You're an idiot," he said, his voice rough. "That photo wasn't taken at Misaki Shrine."
My heart skipped a beat. A flaw in the plan.
"The angle of the light, the species of the tree... that's not the shrine grounds," he continued, the photographer in him overriding the denier. "That's Kirigamine. On Ghost's Hill. The picture was taken from the old observatory." He spat the words out like a bad taste in his mouth.
He knew. Of course, he knew. He'd probably been there with Ryoichi a hundred times.
"Oh," I said, playing dumb. "Well, guess I'll go there instead."
I walked away, and this time, he didn't stop me. But I could feel his eyes on my back, burning with suspicion, confusion, and a deep, undeniable longing. The trap hadn't just been baited. He had just corrected the coordinates for us. He would be there.
The Kirigamine Observatory was a relic from another time. It sat on the highest hill overlooking Kitahama, a domed, white structure that was now peeling and stained with rust. The road leading up to it was cracked and overgrown with weeds. It was a place the city had forgotten, left to the ghosts and the sky.
The view, however, was breathtaking. The sun was setting, a spectacular explosion of crimson and violet over the distant mountains. Below, the city was a sprawling grid of concrete and glass, just beginning to glitter as thousands of lights blinked on in the twilight.
"Wow," Yuki breathed, standing at the edge of the hill. "Ryoichi and Renji had good taste."
Aoi was, naturally, unfazed by the beauty. She had a small device out and was measuring the ambient electromagnetic field. "Negligible EM interference. High altitude. Clear lines of sight. It is an optimal location for both astronomical and paranormal observation."
We waited. The sky deepened from orange to indigo. The first stars began to appear, faint diamonds on a velvet cloth. The silence was absolute, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the sigh of the wind. In the quiet, my conversation with Yuki from the rooftop replayed in my mind. Her confusion, her fear of her own forgotten past. This wasn't just about Renji anymore. It was about her.
"Are you scared?" I asked her quietly, while Aoi was busy examining a patch of unusual moss.
Yuki was quiet for a moment. "I thought I'd made peace with being a ghost," she said. "I had my story. I was Yuki Amasawa. I was erased. It was sad, but it was simple. Now... I don't know what my story is. Not knowing who you are is a different kind of fading, Kaito. It's colder."
"We'll figure it out," I said, the words feeling clumsy but necessary. "That camera is the key. To Ryoichi. To Renji. And to you."
She gave me a small, grateful smile that seemed a little more solid than before.
A twig snapped behind us.
We both turned. Renji Kurobane stood at the edge of the clearing, his lanky frame silhouetted against the last dying light of the sunset. He looked like a wraith, haunted and angry.
"I knew it," he hissed, his eyes blazing. "What is this? Some kind of trap? What are you and the robot trying to pull?" He gestured towards Aoi.
"Aoi Serizawa's designation is not 'robot'," Aoi stated calmly, not looking up from her moss sample. "And this is not a trap. It is an engineered environment designed to facilitate a necessary dialogue."
Renji ignored her, his focus entirely on me. "Why are you here, Hoshino? Why are you digging into things that don't concern you?"
I didn't answer his question. I looked out at the glittering city lights below. "He loved this view, didn't he?" I said softly. "Ryoichi-senpai."
The use of his friend's name, spoken calmly and with respect, seemed to catch him off guard. The anger in his posture lessened by a fraction.
"He said the city at night looked like a fallen constellation," I continued, channeling the feeling I'd gotten from the photograph. "A galaxy of human lives, each one a tiny, burning star."
Renji stared at me, his mouth slightly agape. "How... How did you know that?" he whispered. "That's what he always said."
"His photograph told me," I said, meeting his gaze. "He was brilliant, senpai. He could capture not just an image, but the feeling behind it. The soul of a moment."
Renji was silent. The location was doing its work. The memories were bubbling up, too strong to be contained by his anger. He looked away from me, out at the same view he must have shared with his friend countless times. His carefully constructed walls were beginning to crumble.
"He wanted to take a picture of Andromeda from here," Renji said, his voice barely a whisper. He wasn't talking to me anymore. He was talking to the ghost beside him. "Said you had to wait for a clear night in winter. After the rain, when the air was clean. We were planning to... we were supposed to..." He trailed off, his voice thick with an emotion he could no longer suppress.
"Why are you so afraid of remembering him, Renji?" I asked, my voice gentle. "What happened?"
Renji squeezed his eyes shut. A single tear traced a path down his cheek. The fight was gone. All that was left was a deep, soul-crushing exhaustion.
He sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking. The confession, when it came, was a choked, broken whisper, carried on the cold night wind.
"Because he was erased for me."
My blood ran cold. Yuki gasped beside me.
"He found something," Renji choked out, burying his face in his hands. "Something about the Phenomenon. A way to stop it, or predict it. He was so excited. But he saw... he saw that I was next. My name. My face. I was scheduled for erasure."
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with a terrifying, ancient guilt.
"He was my best friend," Renji whispered, his voice cracking into a thousand pieces. "So he found a way to take my place. He traded his existence for mine. Ryoichi wasn't just erased, Hoshino. He committed suicide by reality."