I woke up to the sound of sizzling oil and a man confidently humming off-key.
That was how I knew two things immediately.
One, I was alive.
Two, my father was cooking.
I rolled over in bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the smell of eggs and something vaguely burned drift into my room. My body ached in places I didn't want to acknowledge yet. Spirit fatigue wasn't the same as muscle soreness.
From downstairs, I heard something.
"Good morning, sunshine! Rise and shine! The early bird gets the worm, and the late bird gets—uh—emotionally judged by his family!"
…Yeah.
That guy.
Kouki Ririku.
My dad.
Certified goofball, professional bad-joke enthusiast. Five-foot-eleven, athletic build, and somehow still acting like a man who peaked in a middle school talent show. He took pride in his cooking the same way he took pride in his jokes—completely unearned, but relentless.
I dragged myself out of bed.
As I shuffled downstairs, I nearly tripped over my mother.
She was on the floor.
On her back.
One leg stretched straight up, the other bent behind her head, arms twisted in a way that took just being flexible to its extreme.
"—and this engages the core while aligning the soul," she said calmly.
Hazuki and Kana sat nearby, watching with varying levels of concern.
"Ohhh," Kana said, eyes sparkling. "That one looks painful. I like it."
Hazuki tilted her head. "Mom… are you sure that's healthy?"
My mother—Furuya Ririku—grinned upside down.
"Pain is your body notifying you about your growth."
That… was also her philosophy on life.
My mom was very tall, she and dad were the same height, both athletic, both absurdly fit, which made sense. Mom was the weirder one, though—shockingly so. Dad joked around like it was a sport, but Mom? She invented stretching routines. She made diagrams. She named them.
And yet—when it came to their work—both of them flipped. Serious. Focused. Passionate. Like completely different people.
That contrast had intrigued me my entire childhood.
"Morning," I muttered.
Kana snapped her head toward me. "You're alive."
Hazuki smiled lazily. "Barely."
Dad slid a plate onto the table. "Ah yes, the return of the prodigal son! Did you conquer the night? Slay your demons?"
"Both," I said, sitting down.
Mom finally untangled herself from the floor and stood up. "Time for the world famous Ririku family breakfast."
Breakfast was simple—eggs, rice, miso soup.
This is comforting.
Hazuki ate quietly, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded. She was two years younger than me, track and field runner, deceptively chill until something snaps and then—boom—verbal and physical murder.
Kana, three years younger, had no such warning signs. She was brazen all the time. Loud. Sharp. Aggressively energetic. Also track and field. Also terrifying.
They didn't go to my school. Thank god.
"You look tired," Hazuki said casually.
Kana leaned closer. "You look haunted."
I swallowed. "Didn't sleep much."
Dad nodded sagely. "Youth."
Mom eyed me for a moment longer than necessary. "Stretch before you leave."
"…I always stretch."
She smiled. "Not like I stretch."
I shuddered.
After breakfast, I slipped out before Kana could start interrogating me again. Outside, the morning air hit different.
The city had reset itself overnight.
I stretched—normally, and focused on my breathing. In. Out. My body still felt… heavier. Not injured. Just worn.
Feels like I've been wrung out to dry.
…..
I left my bike in that alleyway yesterday didn't I?
…..
This is such a pain.
I told my family I was leaving and set off to retrieve my bike.
——
Sweet, my bike is still here. Lucky.
I grabbed my bike and rode toward the convenience store, letting the wheels hum beneath me. My town looked the same as always—quiet streets, familiar corners, the comfort of repetition.
I bought a drink I didn't need and leaned outside the store, sipping slowly.
No ghosts.
No charms.
No blood.
I thought about yesterday. About Aka Manto. About the Lady in White. About corpse gardens and spiritons and the way my life had quietly slipped genres without asking permission.
Arata said he'd come find me when he needed me.
Good.
Because right now?
I needed this.
I hopped back on my bike and rode aimlessly through town, no destination in mind, letting the wind carry the weight off my shoulders.
Just for a little while longer, I was just Itsuki Ririku. Not a gravebinder.
Just a kid killing time until the world remembered he existed.