The next morning, Akihiro woke restless. Sleep had done little to erase the image of the black hand clawing out of the mirror. The memory clung to him like a shadow, cold and unsettling.
He went to the bathroom, determined to prove to himself it was just exhaustion. The mirror loomed in front of him, ordinary and still. He leaned closer, studying his reflection. For a heartbeat, nothing looked wrong. Then his chest tightened. The glass didn't show his face at all.
His reflection was gone.
Akihiro's breath hitched as goosebumps crawled over his arms. He blinked once, twice—and suddenly his face returned, staring back at him as if nothing had happened. The air felt heavy. His hands curled into fists.
The door creaked open.
"Akihiro…?" Ayame's voice was soft, almost hesitant. She had come to wake him for college, but paused when she saw him frozen, staring at the mirror with a look she rarely saw on his face.
He turned to her without a word, brushing past. Ayame lingered by the doorway, eyes narrowing slightly. Whatever he had seen in that mirror, it unsettled him more than he would admit.
At college, the days felt restless. The whispers of the championship followed him everywhere, yet his mind kept circling back to the mirror. Was it real? A dream? Why did it feel like the glass was watching him?
The championship was only days away. Training became unavoidable. Reluctantly, he joined the sessions, paired with the golden-eyed Sola who carried herself like she was born for the track.
One afternoon, when the two of them trained alone, something shifted.
Akihiro ran. At first steady, then faster, his body moving with a rhythm he hadn't felt since before the accident. The ground blurred beneath him, the air cut sharp against his skin. Without meaning to, he surged past the limits anyone expected of him.
When he stopped, the timer was clear.
He had broken her record. Not by seconds. By two full minutes.
The Sola froze, her chest heaving, golden eyes wide with disbelief. Two minutes… impossible. She had held that record proudly, untouchable. But now? This boy, who showed no interest in anything, who had nearly matched her once before, had just shattered it without effort.
Her thoughts spiraled: At the selection… was he holding back? Did he never even show his full potential?
She watched him walk calmly back to the bench, expression unreadable. It unsettled her more than any victory or loss ever had.
That night, after training, Akihiro stayed behind. The gym was quiet, the wide wall of mirrors reflecting the dim glow of overhead lights. He slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to leave—when something in the mirror flickered.
He froze.
His reflection lingered a second too long after he moved. Then it changed.
The glass shimmered, and standing where his reflection should be was not himself, but a woman.
Her beauty struck him like a blow. Long silver-white hair cascaded down her shoulders, her violet-gold eyes sharp enough to pierce through him. She stood tall, regal, wrapped in flowing garments that shimmered faintly as though woven from moonlight. Every detail of her presence radiated power and danger, yet he couldn't look away.
His breath stilled. Goosebumps crawled across his skin. For the first time in years, he was utterly captivated—not by fear, but by her impossible, dangerous beauty.
Her eyes locked with his, unblinking, commanding. For an instant, her lips curved into the faintest smile—knowing, haunting, as if she had been waiting for this moment.
Then the image flickered. His reflection returned, ordinary and empty.
Akihiro stood rooted to the spot, chest tight, mind racing. He had seen her. He was certain of it. This wasn't imagination. This wasn't a dream.
His aunt's words echoed louder than ever. "The mirror is a gateway…"
He clenched his fists, turning sharply and walking out of the gym. But no matter how far he went, the image of the woman in the mirror burned in his mind—her eyes, her presence, the smile that had unsettled him to his very core.
For the first time, he wasn't just haunted. He was drawn in.