Dinner at the Ayase household was a masterclass in awkwardness. Seiko had prepared a massive spread—curry, rice, various pickled vegetables, and miso soup—and she served it with the unflappable calm of a queen hosting a dinner for warring diplomats. The food was delicious, but it did little to cut the tension that was thick enough to be a side dish.
Okarun, seated next to Rei, kept sneaking glances at him, his usual boundless curiosity tempered by a healthy dose of fear. He looked like he was sitting next to a live grenade and was debating whether to try and defuse it with a knock-knock joke. Momo sat opposite them, her arms crossed, her expression a stormy mixture of suspicion and grudging respect. She poked at her food, her glare alternating between Rei and Aira.
Aira was the quietest of all. She sat beside Seiko, picking at her rice with a delicate, almost hesitant precision. Every so often, her eyes would drift towards Rei. There was no accusation in her gaze, only a deep, searching confusion. She was looking at the boy who had let her die and the monster who had saved her, trying to reconcile the two.
Rei, for his part, ate with a slow, deliberate focus, as if concentrating on the mechanics of chewing and swallowing was the only thing keeping him anchored. He could feel their stares, their questions, their fear. It was an uncomfortable spotlight, a far cry from the anonymous shadows he preferred. The silence he had once cherished as a shield now felt like a void he was desperate to fill, but he had no idea what to say.
"So," Seiko said, finally breaking the silence as she refilled her tea. Her voice was light, but her eyes were like steel. "Let's put our cards on the table. Kazehaya-kun. You're not a yokai, not exactly. And you're not a psychic like Momo. That power of yours feels older. More… fundamental."
Rei swallowed a mouthful of rice before answering. "It's a spirit," he said, choosing his words carefully. "A powerful, lonely spirit. The mask is a part of it. When I found it, it merged with me." He left out the part about the attic, his father, and the chest. The fewer personal details, the better.
"A Hollow," Seiko mused, tapping a finger against her teacup. "A fitting name. An empty soul, driven by instinct. But you're not just a puppet. You're in control. Mostly."
"I try to be," Rei admitted.
"And this knowledge you have," Momo interjected, unable to stay silent any longer. "This 'fate' you talked about. How does that work? Do you see the future?"
This was the dangerous part. He couldn't tell them the truth—that their lives were a story he had read. It would break their reality, and worse, it would make him a god in their eyes, a role he was in no way equipped to handle. He needed a plausible lie.
"Not exactly," he said, looking down at his bowl. "It's more like… echoes. When I'm near a place or person with strong spiritual energy, my power sometimes shows me things. Glimpses of a single, unchangeable outcome. Like a river's current. You can struggle against it, but it will always pull you downstream to the same destination." He looked up, meeting Momo's skeptical gaze. "I saw Aira's death. But I also saw that it wasn't the end. I saw the possibility of her survival through the yokai. My only choice was to guide the river to the least tragic outcome."
Okarun's eyes were wide with wonder. "Whoa… so you're like a tragic psychic hero! You carry the burden of these terrible visions but use them to save people!"
Rei flinched at the word "hero." "I'm not a hero. I'm just… trying not to make things worse."
"But I died," Aira said, her voice soft but clear. It was the first time she had spoken directly to him. Everyone at the table fell silent. "I felt it. It was cold, and then… nothing." She looked at him, her eyes searching his. "You knew that would happen to me, and you let it."
The simple, unadorned truth of her statement was a punch to the gut. "Yes," Rei said, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry."
Aira held his gaze for a long moment. He expected anger, fear, resentment. Instead, he saw a flicker of empathy. "But I'm alive now," she continued, her voice gaining a bit of strength. "And that yokai… I saw her memories. She wasn't evil. She was just… sad. Like you."
The room went dead silent. Momo and Okarun stared at Aira, shocked. Rei felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. Like you. She saw it too. The loneliness. The sorrow that was the bedrock of his entire existence. But where Momo saw it as a strange, dangerous anomaly, Aira saw it as a point of connection.
Seiko smiled, a genuine, knowing smile. "It seems we have our answer, then." She looked around the table at the collection of misfits she had assembled. A psychic granddaughter, a boy cursed by a yokai, a girl newly infused with a spirit's power, and now, a human fused with an ancient, lonely entity. "The world is a noisy place. Things that go bump in the night are getting bolder. Aliens, ghosts, yokai… they don't care about our little human rules."
She turned her gaze to Rei. "You have power, boy. And a strange, detached way of looking at the world that might just be useful. We're not asking you to be a hero. We're not even asking you to be a friend. But we're all caught in the same river now. It makes sense to paddle in the same direction."
It wasn't a request for an alliance. It was a statement of fact. A declaration of a new reality.
Rei looked at the faces around the table. Momo's suspicion, Okarun's awe, Aira's quiet, unnerving understanding, and Seiko's pragmatic wisdom. This was it. The end of his life as a ghost. He was being offered a place at a table of strays, a role in their chaotic story. The Hollow inside him was quiet, watchful. For the first time, it didn't feel like a predator assessing threats. It felt like it was… listening.
"Okay," Rei said, the single word feeling heavier than any Cero he had ever fired. "I'll paddle."