After walking for a while through the lively streets of Tokyo, Amane leading the way, they finally reached their school. Neither of them had said a word to eachother the entire walk. Itsuki had long since given up on asking questions that got no answers. He was drained — body, mind, and soul. He'd almost thrown up three times, nearly passed out once, and had demons shoved into his face more than he could stand. At this point, he couldn't care less about anything.
When they got to the school gate, Amane stopped, bowing politely as she thanked him for tagging along. Normally, he'd feel some level of awkwardness in this kind of situation, maybe mutter something back, but after the day he'd had, awkwardness didn't even register.
"Sure," he muttered, walking past her and the school gate without stopping.
He didn't even ask why she'd returned to school. "She's new,' he thought. " Maybe she's waiting for someone to pick her up.' he let out a low sigh and looked up. The sun was already gradually sliding down the horizon, faintly bleeding orange and gold into the sky as the sunset began to bloom. "Who cares anyway.'
His hands hovered over as he was about to take his headphones out of his bag. Then he remembered. Every time he put them on, the chance of seeing another demon shot up. He lowered his hand. "I've seen enough of those abominations for one day.'
After a brief walk, he got to the station and boarded the train home. Through the windows, Tokyo scrolled by — the neon hum of billboards flickering to life, the city's steel skeleton glowing under the slowly fading sun. After he got off the train, Itsuki tried to lose himself in the cool breeze drifting through the streets as he walked, carrying the fading warmth of the day. "At least the weather isn't against me'.
He arrived home later than usual. Normally, he left school the instant the bell rang, sometimes walking with Seiji, sometimes not. Either way, he'd usually be home early enough to grab a nap before dinner.
"She just had to ruin my entire schedule," he muttered under his breath as he slid off his shoes and set them aside after he had unlocked the door.
The apartment was empty. His mother wasn't back from work yet. Depending on her shift, she either came home early or late — and lately, it was almost always late. He suspected she was taking extra shifts at the restaurant where she worked, both to keep her mind busy and to give him space, probably thinking he was upset with her. She tried, but she didn't always understand him. He didn't blame her. This was why he preferred keeping his distance at times. He knew it hurt her, but pretending to be someone he wasn't — a happy, cheerful son—to him, was worse.
He trudged up the stairs and into his room. His bag hit the floor with a dull thud. He flopped on the bed with a heavy sigh.
"What a day you prepared for me piece-of-shit universe," he whispered, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts swirled.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright and dragged his rolling chair over to the desk by the wall. "Can't believe I'm about to do this," he muttered, pulling a notebook and pen from the shelf beneath the desk. He dug his headphones out of his bag.
"At least there's no one here now, and she got rid of the demon that was attached to me," he said softly.
He put the headphones on, hit play on his phone, took a deep breath, and stared at the blank page in front of him, tapping the pen to the rhythm of the music.
"Demons, huh…" he murmured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He opened the notebook and began scribbling, his thoughts spilling onto the page. In the center of the first sheet he wrote, in bold capital letters:
"VISION?!"
He circled it hard, then drew an arrow outward.
"First, I had that weird vision when I touched my Mom's fingers about a week ago,' he thought, writing beneath the arrow:
"AFTER CONTACT HAPPENED!"
Another arrow.
"Then, that very night — and for about a week straight — I kept having those weird looping dreams where I couldn't control my thoughts or actions. The same thing happening every single time ' He wrote at the end of the new arrow:
"CREEPY LOOPED DREAM."
"I've gotten a week of that every single time I fell asleep… and now, a week later, even though I've listened to music every day since then till now the same way I always do, I'm suddenly seeing demons'.
He paused, staring at the page.
"I've only seen two so far, even with crowds around me. Maybe it has something to do with the type of demons? Or the kind of people they're attached to? Amane did say something about the demon feeding on our teacher's corruption.'
He scribbled again:
"DEMONS ATTACHED TO CORRUPTION, PHYSICALITY OR SOMETHING ELSE?!"
"Now that I think of it, I had one attached to me too. I'm definitely not a pervert or a pedophile, so that can't be the only trigger. Plus, the demons were always attached to different body parts: mine was my back, Mr. Renji's chest then the man on the train's shoulder and head. Maybe that means something too.'
He wrote:
"POSITION OF DEMONS?"
Leaning back, he exhaled deeply.
"And then there's her.'
" The demon I saw come out of that hole wasn't attached to her at all. It looked like it existed in a completely different place and didn't seem interested in feeding on her corruption. When it emerged, all it cared about was the talisman she threw up.'
Itsuki rose and walked to the window. The sunset spilled across the floor of his room like molten gold. Tokyo glowed beneath the sky, skyscrapers catching the last light of day.
"What a drag…" he muttered.
He let his eyes trace the skyline a moment longer before returning to his chair.
"There are so many unknowns. The demons. The visions. The dreams. The girl. And of course, I'm the one stuck in the middle of it all."
He ran a hand through his hair, lowering it to eye level and staring at his palm.
"Kind of pisses me off,' he thought to himself, his face clearly showing the emotions he felt at the moment, "I dream about some guy with black eyes every single night but not once about the one person whose death I actually saw flash right before my eyes."
He smirked faintly at the thought, almost laughing at himself, then grabbed the pen again.
He made another line, and at the end, in bold letters, he wrote:
"WHO THE HELL IS AMANE?!"
He took another deep breath, letting the soft hum of music in his headphones seep into his nerves. He leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting out the window.
"Something about her stood out when she did the exorcism,' he thought to himself, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. "When she started saying whatever it was that got rid of the demon, it wasn't Japanese. The first time I heard it I wasn't sure — the headphones were on, and noise was everywhere — but the second time?' He exhaled slowly, brows furrowing. "It was clear. She spoke Zhongrel.'
His gaze stayed fixed on the ceiling as his thoughts spiraled. "Which is weird. She speaks Japanese perfectly. Her talismans all have Japanese writing and her name is in Japanese too. So why would she need Zhongrel to get rid of the demons?'
A quiet knock at the door broke his chain of thought.
"Itsuki, are you in?"
He turned in his chair, slipping the headphones off. "Yeah, I am."
There was a brief pause before his mother continued speaking. "Okay. I dropped by to leave some leftovers from the restaurant before heading back to my shift. You can have that for dinner since I won't be home until late."
"…Okay. Thanks."
Silence settled again until the sound of her footsteps eventually faded away. He stared at the door for a moment, his fingers gripping the headphones loosely. He knew he should do something — say something — anything. She was working herself to exhaustion, picking up extra shifts she didn't need to, and it was all because of him. Because he was being a terrible son.
But what could he do? Any attempt at conversation would end the same way: his throat tightening, his eyes burning, the memory of that vision clawing up from the back of his mind. Even hearing her voice now was enough to stir echoes of her, reminding him of the screaming in the vision he'd seen.
All he could do was sit there and try to piece together what was happening to him. Maybe, if he understood it, he could stop it. Maybe he could protect her. But for now, all he could do was avoid her.