Morning sunlight spilled across the quiet streets as Rika made her way back to her aunt's house. After the cemetery battle, after Keizo's words, she needed answers more than ever.
The book was heavy against her back, not from weight but from presence. Its silence was louder than whispers now, as if it knew what she was about to ask.
Her aunt greeted her warmly at the door, ushering her inside. They shared tea again, the scent of roasted leaves drifting through the small tatami room. But Rika wasted no time. She placed the book on the table between them.
"Auntie," she said quietly, "after Grandmother… who else used this book?"
Her aunt froze, eyes flicking to the black cover. For a moment, she didn't answer. Then she let out a slow breath, her voice trembling as though the words themselves were heavy.
"I did," she admitted.
Rika's eyes widened. "You?"
Her aunt nodded, fingers tightening around her teacup. "After Mother passed, the book chose me. I thought I could continue her work, that I could carry her burden. But…" She trailed off, her gaze distant.
Rika leaned closer. "Why did you fail?"
Her aunt's hand trembled. She set the teacup down before it spilled. "Because I didn't have what you and your grandmother had. That power. That… blood. I could capture, yes, but I couldn't control. The first ghost I sealed screamed so loudly in my head I couldn't sleep for weeks. The second one made me ill. And when I captured the third… I lost control. The book nearly consumed me. I barely survived."
Rika sat in silence, the weight of her aunt's confession settling like a stone in her chest.
Her aunt looked at her with tired eyes. "That's why I stepped away. Why I prayed the book would never choose you. But it did. And unlike me, you carry the power that Mother carried. The ability not just to seal, but to command."
Rika's gaze fell to the book. Its cover shimmered faintly, as though acknowledging her aunt's words.
"But Auntie," Rika said slowly, "the book… it keeps making new pages. It never ends. Why?"
Her aunt's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because it was never meant to end. Every time you capture a ghost, the book grows. Another page appears. Another story is written. It is not a journal, Rika. It is a prison without walls, one that expands as long as spirits roam the world."
Rika's chest tightened. An endless book. An endless task. Was she destined to spend her life capturing ghosts, filling pages that would never cease?
Her aunt's gaze softened, though sorrow lingered in her eyes. "You should know something else. The book is not just yours. It holds the stories of those who came before you. But those stories remain locked. You cannot see the ghosts Mother captured. You cannot see the ones I did. The book only reveals the pages you've written with your own hand."
Rika blinked. "Then… those pages can never be unlocked?"
Her aunt hesitated, then shook her head. "They can. But only if you prove yourself. If you capture at least one hundred spirits, the book will recognize your authority fully. Then it will open all its pages to you—the ones from your grandmother, from me, from every wielder before. Their battles, their failures, their secrets."
Her breath caught. A hundred spirits. That number pressed into her mind like a brand. She had captured many, but nowhere near that.
Her aunt's eyes darkened. "Do you see now why I failed? I couldn't even reach four. I thought the book would destroy me. And it almost did."
Rika stared at the black cover, the faint hum of power vibrating beneath her fingertips. She thought of Teke-Teke's claws, Kayako's hair, the Kubikajiri's hunger, Agubanba's cackle. Each page had nearly broken her at the time. But she had endured. She had written them into her story.
Her aunt reached across the table, her hand warm on Rika's. "Promise me something, Rika. If the burden becomes too heavy, if the voices grow too loud—don't try to carry it alone. That book does not forgive weakness. It will consume you the moment you falter."
Rika met her aunt's gaze. For the first time, she saw not just worry, but guilt. Her aunt had failed. She had barely survived. And now she watched her niece step where she had fallen.
Rika's voice was steady. "I'll reach one hundred. I'll unlock those pages. And when I do, I'll learn everything about Grandmother. About you. About why my parents disappeared."
Her aunt's eyes widened, then softened into a sad smile. "You sound just like her, you know. Determined to the point of danger."
Rika closed the book, its cover pulsing once before falling silent. She stood, slipping it onto her back.
"I'm not like her," she said quietly. "Or you. I'll go further."
Her aunt watched her go, her heart heavy. In her chest, a single thought whispered like a prayer.
Please, Rika. Don't let the book write your ending.