"Hello? Kōki, are you there? Is everything alright? What happened?" Natsumi's voice pressed through the speaker, tight with urgency.
Kōki stood frozen, his pulse hammering in his ears. The phone felt heavier than it should, as if it were pressing his hand toward the ground.
He swallowed hard, forcing air into his lungs, then stooped down and picked it up. "Yes, everything's fine. I'll explain the whole situation to you another day, I promise. I'm going to hang up now," he said quickly, his voice lacking its usual steadiness.
"No, Kōki, wait!!" Natsumi shouted, her voice sharp with panic. But the line went dead.
At the police station,Natsumi lowered her phone with trembling fingers before throwing it down onto the desk. The sharp clatter echoed across the quiet office. She pressed the heel of her hand against her temple, agitated and exhausted.
"Unbelievable… I spent hours combing through that file, pulling together every scrap of information for that kid, and he just cuts me off? He knows something—he has to. And yet…" Her voice trailed into a sigh as she reached for her coffee mug, only to find it empty. Her shoulders slumped. "Tch. Coffee. I need more coffee… I'm so damn tired."
Back in the brightly lit classroom, Kōki's grip on the phone tightened. His chest rose and fell in short bursts, his thoughts racing.
"The pieces are all coming together now," he murmured to himself. His eyes drifted to the window, where faint traces of sunlight leaked in. "The corpse found in the old section of the school five years ago… it belonged to none other than Takuto. But…" His jaw tightened, breath catching. "…there's still no proof he had anything to do with Sayoko's death. Maybe he was just in the wrong place, trying to help her, and paid the price."
The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his fists, struggling to keep his thoughts straight.
"For now, I can't tell Sayoko or Takuto about this information. Not yet. It's too dangerous. I don't even know what he knew before he died… or what else might be watching."
"Who was that just now? On the phone?" asked Sayoko, her translucent form floating near him, her voice soft and concerned.
Kōki stiffened. His eyes flicked to her briefly, then away. "It's no one important. Don't worry about it."
Sayoko's brows furrowed, but before she could say more, another voice pierced the air.
"Which ghost were you talking to? Could it be the female one?"
Kōki's blood ran cold. His head jerked around. Standing there, arms crossed, her dark hoodie pulled up over her uniform, was Kureha. Her bangs shadowed tired eyes, and her expression was unreadable.
"Crap… I almost forgot she was here," Kōki muttered under his breath, dragging his palm down his face. "I got careless."
He took a step forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "So now that you know I can see and talk to ghosts, what exactly are you going to do with that information?" His tone was sharp, defensive.
"I don't plan on exposing you," Kureha replied flatly. She hugged her arm with her opposite hand, her nails digging slightly into her sleeve. "Even if I did, no one would believe me. They'd just laugh and call me insane."
Her voice dropped lower. "…What I really want to know is… can you see it?"
Kōki blinked, thrown off. "See what?"
A faint tremor passed through Kureha's lips. "So you can't… or maybe you can't even sense it. That makes sense. It must be strong—far stronger than anything else—if it managed to latch itself onto me."
"What are you talking about?" Kōki asked, his confusion deepening. His shoulders stiffened, unsure if he should brace for an attack or more revelations.
Kureha's eyes darted down to the floor. The fluorescent light above them flickered faintly, a single bulb struggling against the daylight seeping through the classroom windows and in the silence between words, Kōki could hear her unsteady breathing.
"I've been haunted by something for almost three years now," she said quietly, her voice trembling just enough to betray her exhaustion. "And it's my fault. I brought it onto myself."
Kōki's stomach twisted. Kōki's stomach twisted. For the first time since meeting her, he really looked at Kureha. The sharp, creepy girl who had always been tailing him suddenly seemed fragile. Her skin was pale, almost sickly, stretched thin over a face that looked drained of color.
Dark circles weighed under her eyes, proof she hadn't been sleeping, and every blink seemed heavy, as if it took effort. Her lips quivered when she spoke, and he noticed her shoulders trembling faintly, like someone constantly bracing against something no one else could see. She wasn't just prying into his life—she was suffering. Tormented.
A pang of guilt cut through him. All this time, he had written her off as nothing more than a nuisance—a stalker with unsettling eyes and too many questions. But standing there in front of him now, she looked less like a threat and more like someone quietly breaking apart, carrying a burden she couldn't share.
She took in a slow breath and began, her gaze drifting away as if replaying a nightmare.
"It started when I turned twelve. Back then, I was… stupid. Naive. I believed everything people told me, even when they were using me. I just wanted attention. I wanted people to know me… to need me. I thought that if I had that, I'd be happy." Her hand unconsciously tugged at her sleeve again, her knuckles pale.
"My parents… they weren't rich, but we weren't struggling either. They always tried their best for me. Always." Her voice cracked slightly, but she forced herself to continue.
"The friends I made then… they were different. Loud, popular, from families with money. They had the newest phones, the nicest clothes. They'd brag about it every single day. And everyone admired them for it."
Kureha's lips trembled into a bitter smile. "I was jealous. I wanted to stand where they stood."
Her shoulders sagged, the memory weighing on her. "So I begged my parents to buy me those things. The phones, the gadgets, anything. But of course, they couldn't afford it. They told me no. And when I showed up at school without those things, my so-called friends… they started leaving me behind. Laughing. Looking at me like I was trash."
Kōki's throat felt dry. He wanted to speak, to interrupt, but her voice cut through him.
"I panicked. I didn't know what to do. And instead of blaming them, I turned it on the only people who actually cared about me." Her fists trembled, her nails digging crescents into her palms.
Her voice dropped into a shaky imitation of her twelve-year-old self:
'Why do we have to be so poor? I lost all my friends because of you! Why can't you find a proper job? If you had one, I wouldn't be in this mess! I hate you so much… I hope both of you drop dead!'
The air in the hallway seemed to freeze. Kōki's eyes widened, his chest tightening painfully.
"I… I had no idea… those would be the last words I ever spoke to them," Kureha whispered, her eyes glassy. "Not long after, they were in a car accident. Neither of them survived."
Her knees bent slightly as if the memory physically weighed her down. "I was devastated. I wanted to take it back. But I couldn't. The words were burned into me. They still are."
Kōki's lips parted, but no sound came out. The shock had struck him silent.
Kureha wrapped her arms around herself, her hoodie sleeves brushing against her cheeks. "I stopped going to school. My aunt took me in, but I wasn't really living anymore. I just… existed. One day, while scrolling online, I stumbled on a strange site. An article about communicating with the dead."
Her breathing quickened slightly, and she rubbed her wrist nervously. "I didn't know anything about rituals or curses or whatever that was. But I was desperate to see them again. To apologize. So I followed everything that site told me. The candles, the circles, the words. I thought maybe… just maybe… I'd hear their voices one last time."
Her voice grew thinner, fainter. "…That's when it started. The thing that's been following me ever since."