The wide, quiet streets of the wealthy district of the Kamitani household disappeared. The road changed, becoming narrow and crowded with shadows.
Small, old houses stood close together. Black cars were jammed along the sides of the road, their tires biting into the dry dirt. At the corner, a white police car sat in the darkness. Its blue and red lights were turned off, but it felt like a cold eye watching the street.
At the end of the lane stood a two-story house with fading grey paint. A black ribbon hung limp from the gate. This was the Amamiya house. It was a home built on hard work and small meals, and now it was filled with the heavy weight of death.
Inside, the air was sticky with the smell of cheap incense and the heat of too many people.
"I heard the sound," a woman whispered, leaning toward another woman. "It was 3:00 AM. A loud thud, like a heavy bag of wet sand hitting the floor. Then, just silence. No brakes. No screaming."
"My husband saw her before they covered her up," the other replied, her eyes wide. "He said she didn't even look like a girl anymore. Her dress was shredded and red. Her legs... they were twisted behind her like a broken doll's.
The car hit her so hard she was thrown twenty feet into the dirt."
A third woman laughed softly behind her hand. "The whole neighborhood was awake from the noise, yet Mrs. Amamiya was fast asleep. She was probably too tired from working that waitressing job to even notice her daughter was gone."
"It's a curse on this house," the first woman added. "First the father dies ten years ago—falling off a construction site because he was clumsy—and now the daughter dies because she's wandering the streets at night. Without a man to lead them, these Amamiya women are just trouble."
In a dim corner, a boy sat on the floor with his back against the wall. He looked eighteen, with broad shoulders that were now down in defeat. His eyes were red and fixed on a stain on the rug. He looked like he was drowning in the middle of the room.
A girl stepped through the crowd. She was dressed in black, but she looked bored. She held two cans of cold coffee.
"Kuze, stop being so dramatic," she said, sitting beside him. "I asked you an hour ago to go to that new cafe with me. It's so boring in here. Let's go get some real food."
The boy did not move. He didn't even look at her.
"Whatever," the girl snapped, opening her drink.
"I was only trying to be a good friend.
Yesterday was her birthday, and I waited until midnight was over to call her. I told her to come to my house to get her present but she made a stupid choice by walking on foot like a beggar and now everyone is acting like I pushed her into the road."
The boy's head slowly turned. He looked at the girl, and for a second, the room felt ice-cold.
"You are a disgusting human being," he said. His voice was low, but it cut through the room like a blade. "You invited her out at 3:00 AM because you were too lazy to walk to her. You used her. You are nothing but a loud, empty noise in this house. Get out of my sight before I lose my mind."
The girl's face turned a bright, angry red. She stood up, spilling her coffee on the floor.
"How dare you speak to me like that, Kuze Shintaro!" she hissed. "I'm the one who is alive! I'm the one who can actually give you a future. That girl is just a mess of broken bones in a cold morgue now. It was just school love, Kuze. It wasn't real. She's gone, and she's never coming back to hold your hand."
Kuze stood up. He didn't hit her. He just pointed a shaking finger toward the open door.
"Leave," he whispered. "Now."
The girl frowned. She fixed her hair, and marched out into the street.
Kuze slid back down against the wall. His strength left him all at once. He pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in his arms. The house was full of people, but the only person he wanted was the one who was missing.
I should have walked with you,' he thought. The memory of Asuka's smile felt like a bruise on his soul. 'I should have been there to hold your hand. I should have been the one in the dark, not you.'
He did not make a sound, but his shoulders shook with every breath. He wept silently, his tears soaking into his sleeves. He was not just crying for a girl; he was crying for a light that had been blown out too soon. He grieved for the girl who only wanted to be happy on her birthday, but found a cold road instead.
Outside, the blue lights of the police car kept spinning, but for Kuze, the world had gone completely dark.
The back room was a place where the morning sun was not welcome.
The curtain was thin and torn at the edges. It moved weakly in the cool morning air, brushing against the cracked wall like a ghost's hand. Outside, the world was waking up, but inside, a single light bulb hung from the ceiling. It flickered with a tired, buzzing sound, struggling to stay alive against the grey light of dawn.
On the bed, Mrs. Amamiya lay as still as a statue. Her hair was a messy web of black lines across the pillow. She wore a wrinkled black dress, and her eyes were wide open, staring at a dark corner of the ceiling. She looked like she was watching something invisible crawl toward her in the early light.
Mrs. Kamitani stood near the door. Her expensive black clothes were damp with sweat. Her hands shook so hard she had to hide them.
"Yuriko..." she whispered.
No answer.
"Yuriko... please."
Mrs. Kamitani stepped closer, her slippers scraping softly on the wooden floor. She reached out and placed a trembling hand on Mrs. Amamiya's shoulder. She gave her a hard shrug, trying to pull her back to reality.
"Yuriko! Look at me!"
Suddenly, Mrs. Amamiya snapped. She sat up so fast that Mrs. Kamitani jumped back, her heart hammering against her ribs. Mrs. Amamiya looked terrifying. Her face was a pale, flat mask, and her eyes were hollow.
"Why are you making so much noise, Yuna?" Mrs. Amamiya's voice was a dry rattle, like dead leaves blowing over a grave.
Mrs. Kamitani's breath hitched. "Was it... was it a normal accident? Was Asuka's death... just a mistake?"
Mrs. Amamiya began to laugh. It was a sharp sound that filled the small room. Her face was twisted into a smile, but her eyes remained dead and scary. Mrs. Kamitani watched her, her own face white with pure fear.
"A mistake?" Mrs. Amamiya said in a low voice. "No. That girl was a curse! She was careless. She walked through the world like it owed her something. She was a fool, Yuna! A stupid, smiling fool who invited the dark to follow her home. I hope the earth is heavy on her. I hope she's happy now, leaving me here to face the whispers of these strange people!"
"Yuriko, stop! She was your daughter!" Mrs. Kamitani cried, her voice breaking.
"And her father was a liar!" Mrs. Amamiya screamed. Her voice sounded like breaking glass. "He tricked me! He promised me a life, but he gave me a grave! He knew our blood was cursed. He knew the children were marked for the dark! He died and left me here to pay for his secrets. I hate him. I hate the name Amamiya. It is a cage made of bones!"
Mrs. Kamitani broke apart. she fell to her knees, her body collapsing as if her bones had turned to water. She began to sob—a high, thin wail of a wounded bird.
"What about my boys?" Mrs. Kamitani cried, her tears soaking her face. "I love them both... Kento, Shido... they are all I have. Tell me the truth, Yuriko. Is there...?"
Mrs. Amamiya's anger vanished. She leaned down and grabbed Mrs. Kamitani's wrists. Her grip was cold and tight.
"There is a ritual, Yuna," she whispered. Her voice was low, like a secret being told by the wind. "When a child is fifteen to seventeen years, the Priest comes. He does not pray to the light; he speaks to the shadows. He calls out to the things that hide deep inside the skin. It is a trial of the soul. If the Mark fades into the skin during the ritual, the child is granted life. But if the shadow stays... the Mark remains dark and won't go away..."
Mrs. Kamitani looked up, her eyes wide with a new, sharper horror. "And... Asuka?"
The room went completely silent. The bulb above them flickered one last time. The grey morning sun hit the dust in the air, making it look like tiny spirits.
"The Priest prayed until his hands bled," Mrs. Amamiya whispered, a single, heavy tear finally falling. "But Asuka's Mark... it never went away. The dark wanted her. And it took her."
Suddenly, the light bulb burned out with a sharp pop.
Even though it was morning, the room felt like it had been swallowed by a thick, heavy blackness. The only sound left was the terrified sobbing of two mothers—one mourning the daughter she had already lost, and the other trembling for the sons she was now terrified to lose.
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