—Hokkaidō.
Morning air, cold and dry like polished bone. Ikue moved between the black rows of Sakhalin firs without a sound. Her soles didn't crush the frost grains; her breath vanished in a white line after three steps. Only at the edge of her vision lingered a faint white, like the last of the snowmelt.
(Temperature, humidity, wind—no anomalies. But the "scent" is wrong.)
A taste like licking metal. A prickle of weak acid deep in the sinuses.
Soon she reached the village outskirts. A shed listing at an angle, snow shovels, drying nets. Black specks on the ground—no, not specks. Scales. Thin flakes the size of a pinky nail, glinting a dull green-or-black depending on the angle of the sun. On a nearby post, spatter marks; the wood was pitted, as if foaming under an etching bath.
(Acidic. But not a pure acid. Proteolysis + coagulation promotion—mixed toxin. Clinical picture: respiratory-predominant.)
A faint groan came, sliced thin by the wind.
In the shadow of the barn—two people. A man and a woman. Ashen cheeks, lips a pale violet. Shallow, irregular breathing. Two fine punctures on the arm, and a thin green spread along the superficial vessels.
"Can you hear me?"
The woman's eyes cracked open; an unfocused gaze slid across Ikue's cheek.
"...r...un..."
"I won't. First—breathe."
Across the road, a sign: Clinic. The door was unlocked.
"Borrowing this."
From the crash cart: oxygen, masks, IV sets, steroids, antihistamines, a bronchodilator—bare minimum. Lucky.
She moved the pair under the eaves and secured their airways. Low-flow O₂ on the woman; on the man, auscultation—dampened breath sounds bilaterally, bronchospasm present.
"Inhale. Slowly."
She maintained the nebulizer while placing lines. Small-dose steroid; antihistamines in combination. Blood pressure holding. Extremities ice-cold, but peripheral perfusion trending back.
(Unknown toxin. Continue symptomatic management. Coagulopathy—no obvious signs yet.)
Fifteen minutes. Twenty.
Spasms waned; "here" returned to the woman's eyes. The man's pulse settled; respiratory rate fell.
"...Are we saved?" he asked.
"Temporarily stabilized. Don't relax yet."
The woman wet her lips, speaking in fits and starts.
"A 'monster'... in the back field... it smashed the earthen storehouse with ridiculous strength... it found us, we tried to run... and then... I couldn't breathe..."
The man continued. "Never saw its face. Dark, fast. Not human. It was searching for something—tossed the shelves, dug at the ground... When it didn't find it, it suddenly—was gone."
"Gone?"
"Like it vanished."
He pointed to shrubs and rock. Tracks—none.
(No egress. Presence suppression—pro-level. Not 'disappeared'; likely 'retreated to another layer.')
"Can you remember which direction it went?"
The couple looked at each other and shook their heads.
"Right in front of us, it just—poof..."
"Understood. Keep the oxygen until your breathing's easy. When the physician returns, get examined. Don't walk anywhere."
Ikue tweezed up scale fragments and bagged them, plus a sample of the wood erosion.
She opened her field notebook:
— Site: NW village edge, by barn
— Traces: micro-scales (dark green / layered), acidic toxin spatter (wood foam-etching)
— Victims: 2 (M/F) dyspnea + spasms → improved with symptomatic care
— Witness: "Face unknown," "inhuman," "was searching," "unfound → vanished"
The wind freshened. (Still here.)
She tucked blankets around the couple and headed toward the village center.
The next hamlet was half-cradled in the mountain's lap. The soil went soft; dogs barked on and off in the distance.
A door slammed when they saw her; a shout from the back lane: "There it is! It's back!"
(Misidentification.)
Ikue dismissed her bow, lifted both hands a little, shortened her stride, lowered her gaze.
"I'm not here to fight. Kibu clan. I'm here to assess damage and render aid."
No reply. Ten frightened eyes peered through door cracks.
She drew a talisman from a small pouch at her waist. A purple seal—enough to convey only "authority" and "responsibility."
"You don't have to read it. I'm not your enemy."
The silence softened a fraction. At last a graybeard opened up and held out a paper.
"...Take this. Someone left it. Creeped us out. Tried to pretend I couldn't read it—but... I could."
Fine washi. Ink barely dry. A steady hand—without the tremor of being human.
"We welcome the Kibu clan to the Trial. Don't hold back—raise your names. Details to follow—"
("Trial"—Trials. Invitation or notice? The 'searching' behavior and this calling card are linked.)
"Did anyone see who left it?"
"Nope. It was just there when we noticed."
"Any footprints?"
"None. Snow and mud undisturbed. Like it came from the sky..."
(*No entry trace; no exit trace. Across space.)
A chill—not of ice—ran her spine.
(They're reading our moves. We're being watched.)
She arranged emergency transport for the couple. For the hamlet, she gave the minimum, concrete instructions.
"Lock up. No going out alone after dark. If you use dogs, use several. If the sound suddenly stops, kill the lights, step away from the windows— I'll be back soon."
Up on a hill, she opened her communicator.
First, Shibukanu:
Kita-dō ×× District ××. Scales / acidic toxin / 2 victims. Nonvisible movement; calling card left. Wording invites to "Trial." Source unknown. Sending coords.
Send—failed. Retry.
Noise. Sandstorm scraped the inner ear; the code was always half a step off, unreadable.
Next, Aki: How's the situation on Honshū? — signal bars, no response.
Yukika: Have a suspect list for people who like this kind of "game"? — wouldn't even send; the line "bent" and flowed somewhere else.
(Jamming. Not natural interference. Deliberate denial. Scope: local? Or just me?)
For a heartbeat, the hill wind stopped.
A quiet you get when your sound is being watched.
Ikue closed her eyes and let her awareness drop inside her bones. She lowered her own "hardness" to the floor and spread only the membrane of sense.
—No one, nowhere.
Which is exactly why: a lie.
(Someone close can read comms. Whoever says "Trials" is looking. ...Snake? Spider? Or a different layer.)
She closed the notebook and pocketed the talisman.
"I'll get the report through. One way or another."
Her words turned to white breath and vanished. She turned her back on the village.
Beyond the ridge the clouds split, and a thin winter sun slanted in.
The "welcome" was courteous—the kind of courtesy where a beast strokes the grass to leave its scent before a hunt.
Inside her gloves, her fingers clenched; her joints clicked, quiet.
"...Don't rush. If I rush, I'll be forced into their speed."
She told herself, evened out her stride.
To the next village. The next trace.
With the silence of the network pasted to her back like a cold shadow—
Ikue kept walking.
—-