The cemetery stretched wide under a silver moon, rows of stone markers jutting from the earth like broken teeth. Mist clung to the ground, curling between the graves, and the air was thick with whispers.
Rika walked slowly between the tombs, her hands at her sides, her eyes calm but sharp. The book pulsed faintly against her back. She could feel them. Dozens of restless spirits lingering here, bound by regret, hatred, hunger.
She stopped at a central clearing where a weathered statue of Jizō stood, draped in moss and faded prayer cloths. The earth beneath her feet vibrated faintly.
"They're here," she whispered.
One by one, shadows peeled away from the gravestones. Pale forms of men and women twisted in agony, their mouths open in silent screams. Some crawled. Others floated. Their hollow eyes burned faintly in the dark.
The cemetery erupted.
The spirits charged her in a wave of shrieks.
Rika raised her hand and the air cracked. Reality bent like glass, slowing their movements. She opened the book, its pages glowing with white fire, and willed their essence into the prison.
One spirit dissolved into ink, then another, then another. Her body trembled from the strain, but she pushed harder. She was no longer fighting for survival—she was writing.
Her grandmother's blessing steadied her, guiding her hand.
Soon the cemetery was silent. The mist drifted, empty now of its shadows. Only Rika remained, clutching the book that thrummed with new weight.
She opened it, scanning the fresh pages. Each ghost had become a story, their pain reduced to ink and memory.
But before she could close it, a voice broke the silence.
"You're efficient," a man said.
Rika turned sharply.
At the edge of the clearing, Keizo stood, his long coat brushing against the grass, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. Beside him, Tamao lingered in the shadows, her small frame tense, her eyes fixed on the book.
Rika narrowed her gaze. "You've been following me."
Keizo smirked, flicking ash to the ground. "Not hard, when you light up the city like a bonfire every time you open that thing."
Rika said nothing. The book remained in her hands, heavy and silent.
Tamao stepped forward, her voice low but urgent. "That book… it's dangerous. Do you even know what you're carrying?"
"I know enough," Rika replied evenly.
Keizo's smirk faded. "Then you know it's not just some toy for catching spirits. That thing isn't a net—it's a prison. Every ghost you stuff inside is screaming against its walls. Do you think you can hold them all forever?"
Rika's fingers tightened on the cover. "I don't think. I know."
Tamao frowned. "But the more you capture, the stronger the book becomes. It isn't just yours. It's watching you. Testing you. One day, Rika, it may turn on you."
The night air grew heavier. The three stood in tense silence among the graves, only the faint buzz of insects breaking the quiet.
Finally, Keizo stepped closer, his tone sharper. "Listen, girl. I don't care how strong you've gotten. You've been lucky. But you're walking the same path as someone else I knew—someone who thought they could master the book. They didn't last long."
Rika's eyes flickered, but her voice remained steady. "My grandmother created it. Her blood runs in me. I won't fall the way others did."
Keizo's expression hardened at that. His cigarette dropped into the dirt, crushed under his boot.
"So it's true," he muttered. "You're her descendant."
Tamao's eyes widened. "Keizo… that means—"
"Yeah," he cut in, his gaze fixed on Rika. "It means this girl isn't just playing with ghosts. She's holding the key to something much bigger."
Rika felt the book thrum against her back, almost in agreement. She lifted her chin. "If you came here to threaten me, leave. If you came here to stop me, try. But if you came here to help…" She let the sentence hang, her eyes never leaving his.
For the first time, Keizo didn't have a ready answer. His smirk was gone, replaced by a calculating stare. Tamao shifted uneasily, glancing between them.
Finally, Keizo spoke. "We'll be watching you. But know this—if you lose control, if that book starts writing your story… we'll be the ones to close it."
Rika didn't flinch. "Then I'll make sure it never comes to that."
The hunters turned and walked into the night, their figures vanishing into the mist.
Rika stood alone among the graves, the book heavy in her hands. For the first time, she felt not just the weight of her ghosts, but the gaze of the living upon her.
Keizo and Tamao weren't wrong. The book was dangerous. But it was also hers.
And as long as she could keep writing the stories, she would not let anyone else hold the pen.