"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU, AYANO! HOW COULD YOU?!"
The crash of glass and porcelain against tatami shook the room.
"SAKUMO—HE TREATS ME BETTER THAN YOU EVER DID!"
Her voice, sharp and broken. White hair, streaked faintly with gray, shook as she screamed.
"Stop it… please, stop…"
My voice. Small. Six years old. Knees pressed to my chest, hands clamped over my ears.
"STAY OUT OF THIS, BOY!"
The shove knocked me down, the tatami rough against my cheek.
Silence.
When I looked up again, they were still. Both of them. The tatami beneath them dark with red.
My hands—stained.
My chest—tight.
"HUFF!"
"THUMP!"
The nightmare snapped.
I woke in my futon, breath tearing through my lungs. Sweat clung to my thin frame.
Bathroom. Light buzzing overhead.
Mirror.
Spiky white hair, longer, unkempt. Pale skin, ribs showing through.
But the reflection didn't stop there.
Half my face was drowned in shadow. In that darkness—an eye. White, unblinking.
I blinked. It didn't.
"…Sigh."
The shower hissed alive.
Twenty minutes later.
The dining room smelled faintly of grilled fish and miso. Two lacquered ozen trays sat on the low wooden table. Cushions arranged neatly, as if waiting for company that never came.
"Satori dear, dinner is ready!"
Obaachan's voice carried up the stairs.
"…Coming."
I descended. The wood creaked under each step.
Obaachan sat across from me, smiling faintly. Her hair was gray, streaked with remnants of black. A pink-flower nemaki folded neatly across her frame. Her eyes caught the light strangely, but I didn't think much of it.
"My Satori-chan. I made your favorite."
I ate quietly. Chopsticks clinked against the tray.
Her smile didn't fade.
"So, Satori… have you thought about which kōkō you'll attend this April? Time moves fast, doesn't it?"
The chopsticks paused in my hand.
The boy stared down at his tray.
The woman watched him.
Only the ticking of the clock broke the silence between them.
"I haven't thought about it yet," Satori said. His eyes stayed low, fixed on the half-empty plate. A pause stretched too long. Then his voice broke it.
"Obaachan… you remember the nightmares I told you about?"
The old woman ate slowly. "Yes, dear. I remember."
"They never went away. They started the night Mom and Dad died. I saw it—something in the room. A shadow. It killed them so ruthlessly. Their bodies—dismembered, their eyes—"
A sharp sound. Tatami creaked under sudden weight.
"Enough, Satori."
The woman stood. Her hair fell forward, shadowing her face. Behind the strands, the edge of her mouth curved faintly upward. The smile went unnoticed.
"We've gone over this again and again. There was no shadow. No demon. Your parents were murdered, brutally, yes—but by a man. A maniac. Nothing more."
Silence pressed on the room.
Satori rose as well. His chair dragged back across the floor. "No… Obaachan, I know what I saw. That thing wasn't natural—it was a demon!"
The room did not answer.
Then a whisper.
Not from her.
Not from the air.
"You are me. And I am you. We are one. We are the same."
"Satori. We will not be discussing this any further."
Obaachan's eyes stayed hard, her voice flat.
His fringe hid his expression. He stood abruptly, chair legs scraping, and left the room without a word.
Footsteps. The rush of air up the stairwell.
"BOOM."
The door upstairs shut like a gunshot.
In the quiet that followed, a low sound—almost a groan—escaped him. Satori sat on the edge of his bed, fingers pressed to his temples.
Flashes. His mother's scream. His father's hand reaching. Then a street lined in white chalk, the outline of a body blurred by rain.
He opened his eyes. The images were gone.
Why won't anyone believe me. What's happening. It's right in front of them.
His teeth clenched. He stumbled into the bathroom, gripped the sink. The mirror gave him back only himself. No shadow this time.
A breath. Then his fist moved before he could think.
Crack.
The glass split outward, scattering his reflection into shards.
Chapter End