The temple was silent except for the rustle of old scrolls. Candles flickered faintly, their flames barely holding against the draft that crept through the wooden halls.
Keizo set another stack of yellowed papers on the table, his jaw tight. He had been scouring the archives for days since the battle with Takeo Saeki, driven by a need he couldn't fully explain.
Tamao sat across from him, her pale hands carefully unfolding a brittle manuscript. Her psychic senses twitched with every page; these were no ordinary records but documents saturated with spiritual residue.
Keizo broke the silence first. "That girl…" His voice was rough. "She sealed Takeo like it was nothing. Do you understand what that means, Tamao? We've lost comrades to lesser spirits. Takeo's rage alone should've killed us."
Tamao nodded, eyes scanning the script. "I understand. But it wasn't nothing. She nearly collapsed. The book drains her as much as it empowers her."
Keizo's fist clenched against the table. "That book—whatever it is—shouldn't exist. It's not natural. No tool should hold that much power."
"And yet," Tamao murmured, her tone softer, "without it… without her… we'd be dead."
Keizo didn't respond. His silence was louder than argument.
---
Hours passed as they sifted through the records. Scrolls described cursed families, broken shrines, even rumors of yokai clans. But nothing matched the black book until Tamao gasped.
"Keizo. Look."
He leaned over. The parchment was old, its ink faded, but the drawing was clear enough: a dark book bound in cloth, with chains sketched along its cover. The script called it "The Kurosho," the Black Writ.
Tamao translated aloud. "It is said to be created by a woman who sacrificed her body and soul to bind spirits that plagued her village. A prison disguised as scripture. It cannot be destroyed, only passed on."
Keizo's brow furrowed. "A woman?"
"Yes," Tamao whispered. "A priestess from decades ago. Her name…" She squinted at the characters. "…Shizuka Aoyama."
The name hung in the air.
Keizo sat back slowly. "Aoyama… That's her grandmother's family name."
The truth slotted into place. Rika's grandmother hadn't merely used the book—she had created it.
Tamao's expression softened. "It explains why Rika's power is different. The book is tied to her bloodline. To her very existence."
Keizo's eyes hardened. "Which means it will destroy her, just like it nearly destroyed Shizuka."
Tamao shook her head. "Not quite. Listen." She tapped the parchment again. "It says only one descendant every few generations can wield the book without losing control. That child is marked at birth—chosen, bound by fate. They call her The Keeper of the Hundred Pages."
Keizo's jaw clenched. "The chosen one."
Tamao nodded. "Yes. One who can not only capture spirits but also stand against the great evil that escapes all bindings."
Keizo stiffened. "The entity her grandmother couldn't seal."
They exchanged a look, both thinking the same thought: the night her parents vanished, the shadow that eluded capture. The thing Rika herself would inevitably face.
---
Later, under the starlit temple courtyard, Keizo leaned against a pillar, staring at the dark horizon. Tamao joined him quietly, the scroll still in her hands.
"She doesn't even realize," Keizo muttered. "She thinks she's just sealing ghosts. She doesn't know she's walking into her death."
Tamao's eyes shimmered with unease. "Or… maybe she knows. Maybe she feels it. Why else would she keep fighting alone?"
Keizo turned sharply to her. "Are you sympathizing with her?"
Her gaze didn't waver. "She saved us. And not just us. Every spirit she seals can't harm another person again. You know as well as I do—if she didn't exist, the death toll would be unimaginable."
Keizo's fists tightened. His sense of duty clashed with his suspicion. He couldn't deny Rika's results. But he couldn't ignore the danger either.
Tamao's voice softened. "Maybe it's not about whether she'll be consumed. Maybe it's about whether she can finish what her grandmother started. The scrolls say the chosen one appears when the balance of the spirit world begins to collapse. Doesn't that sound like now?"
Keizo looked away, unable to answer.
---
By midnight, they stood before the altar, the ancient scroll spread between them. Tamao placed her palm over the final passage.
"It says this: When the hundredth page is written, the Keeper's path begins. Beyond the hundred lies the true hunt—the one that will decide whether the world remains whole, or falls to ruin."
Her hand trembled slightly as she looked up at him. "Keizo… Rika already wrote her hundredth page."
The words echoed in his skull. The hundredth page. The beginning of the path.
Keizo closed his eyes. The image of Rika sealing Takeo burned behind his lids, the fire in her gaze, the exhaustion in her body.
"She's not ready," he said at last, his voice low. "She thinks she's strong, but she doesn't understand what's waiting. If she goes after that entity, she'll die."
Tamao shook her head, though her expression was pained. "Or she'll succeed where no one else could. Keizo… whether you accept it or not, she's the chosen one."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as stone.
Finally, Keizo turned, his cloak shifting in the moonlight. His voice was like steel.
"Then we have no choice. We follow her. We dig deeper. And when the time comes, we make sure the chosen one doesn't fall."
Tamao allowed herself a small smile. "So you do believe in her."
Keizo scowled. "Don't mistake duty for faith. I'll watch her. And the moment she loses control… I'll end her myself."
Tamao looked at him quietly, hearing the lie in his words. Keizo didn't believe in her yet—but a seed had been planted.
The night wind carried the faint rustle of unseen pages, as though the book itself were listening.
And somewhere in the distance, Rika felt the weight of unseen eyes upon her.