The rest of homeroom passed in a haze of names I barely registered and a chalkboard full of equations that looked vaguely familiar but felt alien in this new body. My brain still had the old wiring—years of debugging logic loops and late-night wiki dives—but the hands holding the pencil were someone else's. Smaller. Less steady.
I kept my eyes on the notebook, doodling meaningless spirals to avoid looking too out of place. Every few minutes the static prickled again. Not strong. Not close. Just… present. Like background noise you only notice when it stops.
Aira didn't talk to me again during class, but I caught her glancing back twice. Once with a half-smile that could've been curiosity. Once with a frown that might've been suspicion. Hard to tell. She radiated the kind of confidence that made normal people feel like they were intruding on her personal spotlight.
When the bell rang for the first break, the classroom erupted into motion—chairs scraping, voices overlapping, someone already complaining about the cafeteria menu.
I stayed seated. Safer that way.
Aira didn't.
She sauntered over, hip cocked, one hand twirling a strand of pink-streaked hair like it was a weapon.
"So, Haruto-from-around," she said, leaning against the edge of my desk. "You gonna tell me why you slapped the air like it owed you money?"
I froze mid-doodle. The spiral turned into a jagged line.
"Fly," I repeated, weaker this time.
"Uh-huh." She tilted her head. "Big fly. Invisible. With a grudge."
I forced a shrug. "Maybe I'm allergic."
She laughed—short, bright, a little mean. "You're a terrible liar. But it's cute. In a pathetic way."
Before I could decide whether that was an insult or a compliment, the static spiked again. Sharper. Closer.
Not in the classroom.
Outside.
I glanced toward the window without thinking. Second floor. Courtyard visible below: students milling around, a few couples sneaking behind the equipment shed, cherry trees still bare. Nothing obvious.
But the prickling moved—sliding along my left arm like cold water dripping under the skin.
Aira followed my gaze. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"I'm fine," I lied.
She studied me for another beat, then shrugged. "Whatever. If you're gonna be weird, at least be interesting-weird. See you around, transfer boy."
She walked off, hips swaying just enough to make half the guys in the room forget their own names.
I exhaled slowly.
The static didn't fade.
It followed me.
---
Lunch break. I skipped the cafeteria chaos and found a quiet corner on the roof—unlocked, somehow. Classic anime trope, but it felt earned after the morning I'd had.
The city sprawled below: gray rooftops, distant high-rises, the faint blue line of the bay on a clear day. Kamigoe looked almost peaceful from up here. Almost.
I sat against the chain-link fence, unwrapped the convenience store onigiri I'd grabbed on the way to school. Salmon. Safe choice.
Halfway through the second bite, the static turned into a low buzz.
Closer.
Above.
I looked up.
Nothing at first.
Then a shadow detached from the water tank on the far side of the roof—small, hunched, humanoid but wrong. Skin like wet newspaper. Eyes too big. Fingers ending in splintered wood instead of nails.
A low-grade spirit. The kind born from neglected maintenance and petty resentment—probably some janitor who hated students leaving trash everywhere.
It didn't attack right away.
It just… watched.
Tilted its head. Sniffed the air.
Then it spoke, voice like rustling garbage bags.
"Fresh… outsider. Smells like… not from here."
My heart kicked hard against my ribs.
I set the onigiri down slowly. Hands empty. Ready to run or swing.
"You're not supposed to be here," I said, because saying nothing felt worse.
It giggled—wet and bubbling. "Neither are you. Different stink. Different meat."
The static in my head pinged again.
**Supernatural Sense – entity identified: Minor Grudge Spirit (maintenance variant). Threat level: low. But persistent.**
I swallowed. "I'm just eating lunch."
It took a step forward. Wood-finger claws scraped concrete.
"Everyone eats. Some get eaten."
Classic yokai logic. No reasoning with hunger that isn't really hunger.
I stood up slowly. Backed toward the door.
It didn't rush.
It glided—slow, deliberate, like it knew I had nowhere good to go.
**Echo Mimic – viable target detected. Trait: gliding drift (weak aerial maneuverability). Copy attempt? Stamina cost estimated: 18%**
I hesitated.
Running might work. The door was only ten meters away.
But if it followed me down the stairs…
I focused.
**Copy attempt initiated.**
Stamina bar (felt, not seen) dropped like someone pulled a plug.
My feet lifted—just a centimeter. Wobbly. Like standing on very thin ice.
The spirit paused. Head tilted farther.
"Interesting," it rasped. "Borrowing tricks already?"
I didn't answer.
I just drifted—awkward, sideways—toward the door.
It lunged.
Not fast. Just inevitable.
I twisted mid-drift, slammed the door open, and stumbled inside.
The spirit hit the chain-link fence with a wet smack. It didn't try to follow. Roofs had rules, apparently.
I slammed the door shut. Locked it from inside. Leaned against the cool metal, breathing hard.
**Echo Evolution update:**
**Trait acquired – Minor Drift Glide (passive: brief hovering when falling or evading low-speed threats. Duration: 2–3 seconds max).**
**Stamina recovery penalty applied for 30 minutes.**
**Last pride status: Still attached. Barely.**
I laughed—shaky, breathless.
The system didn't congratulate me.
It just added one more line:
**Note: Spirits talk. They remember faces.**
Down the stairwell, the bell rang for afternoon classes.
I straightened my blazer.
Tried to look normal.
But I could still feel the static lingering on my skin—like a promise that the next encounter wouldn't be so polite.
Like my story drop comment
**End of Chapter 3**