—Morning light cast a slanted lattice across the shōji; the white of the notebook on the desk stabbed at his eyes more than it should have.
Sekou Kagetsu twirled his pencil and turned the page with a sigh. Across from him sat Ikue, black-and-silver ponytail tied neat and high. She pushed up the bridge of her glasses; her tone had its usual "correct-answer" shape.
"Then—slope of a linear function. Conditions for increase and decrease?"
"Positive slope means increasing, negative means decreasing. Zero is constant."
"Good. —Next: the relation between phase angle and angular velocity."
"Uh..."
He answered—and got it. The question changed—and he got that too. But his eyes drifted somewhere behind the notebook, and his posture looked ready to bolt out the window.
"...Hey, Ikue. When we're done, give me some kind of challenge, yeah? Something where I can test myself."
"There's no need to rush. Statistically speaking, your potential is 'skyless ceiling.' All you require is time."
"'Just' time is the hardest part."
Ikue snorted softly and tipped her chin a fraction. "Granted—no matter how far you grow, you still won't reach me."
"You're really saying that yourself?"
"A declaration of fact. Hands moving, please."
Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Pages advanced. His mind didn't.
At length, Ikue closed the notebook. "That's enough for today. Stuffing information requires a cooling period. Rest."
"Thanks. My head was about to overheat."
Out in the yard, sunlight shredded on the surface of the water. The little detached-house pool held a noonday quiet too fine for everyday. Sekou stripped and dove without hesitation.
On his backstroke he lifted one hand. If he called, it would come—thinking that, he called his weapon by name.
Weight dropped into his palm. The ancient three-pronged staff—Vajra.
"Phew."
He twirled it over the water and gave a light thrust, and in that instant—
A blue-white spark cracked across the surface.
"Yow!"
Numbness ran from shoulder to fingertips and the staff slipped from his hand.
"Hey now, maybe don't electrify the pool."
A voice from behind. Sitting on the edge was Yukika; she snatched the flying staff out of the air with one hand. Her twin-tails danced in the breeze; only her lips curved in playful mischief.
"Forget something?"
"Like I'd forget it. I was just... impatient."
"Impatience tax—bzzzt."
Laughing, Yukika handed the staff back and lifted a shoulder. "Too much studying is bad for the body. Tonight—let's go out."
"Sold. Sports, games, and... you wanna rap?"
"All of it."
The instant answer softened his cheeks without trying. "My wallet's gonna cry."
"We'll submit the receipts to Shib later. She'll stamp without reading—probably."
◇
As the sun started to tilt, the city filled with sound.
First, a live house. Bass swirls that skipped eardrums and rattled bone. Sekou carried the rhythm in his shoulders; Yukika waved in time with the crowd's swell.
Next, a gym. A local basketball game. Sweat drew lines on the floor; sneaker screams climbed to the rafters. At a dunk, he high-fived a stranger.
Then an arcade. In front of an old cabinet they mashed buttons, trading wins and losses round by round.
"Hey hey, your combo's dropping."
"My fingers are gonna fall off!"
Outside again, the sky had turned a color like indigo dusted with black powder. Streetlights were still unsure; wind slid into gaps of shadow.
"Time to head back... but," Yukika tipped her chin down the block. Around the corner stood an older movie theater.
"We could cram in one more."
"Didn't know I had room left."
No one stood at the ticket kiosks. The posters were faded; the entrance glass was faintly cloudy.
The doors parted without resistance—and at once, the smell was wrong. Not sweet popcorn. A metallic taste, like licking iron, and the ghost of disinfectant arguing its case from the past.
Something lay piled on the floor.
Shadows—no, overlapping human shadows.
Yukika's smile vanished in an instant.
"Behind me."
Low. Short. Sekou slid to her back on reflex and raised Vajra.
"What is it—"
"Don't know. Which is why—carefully."
Yukika didn't draw her scissors. She made her steps as small as silence and approached the stacked "things."
The aisle to the seats was dark; only the guide lights along the wall seemed to breathe. The bodies were folded without pattern, arms and legs pointing the wrong ways.
Some had holes in their throats. Some had breastbones split from the inside. There were few tears in the skin—yet the angles of the bones didn't match anything human should do.
Yukika crouched and, with her fingertips, checked a rough thread on a sleeve, the temperature of skin, the way blood had dried.
"...Fast. Soundless. —And obscene in its technique. Not your average pack-yōkai."
"You've seen this?"
"Something like it. But this is another tier. The method, how it relaxes force, even the taste."
Her shoulders tightened a shade. "Sekou—eyes up. End of the aisle. Something moved."
Far off—behind the screen, or in a wall's shadow.
A serpent's tail of darkness slid along the dead angle of the lights—and flicked out.
It vanished from sight faster than it could reach the ear. No footfalls. No scent.
Only his own breathing sounded too loud.
"Did it run... or did it show us that," Yukika murmured, half-drawing her scissors—then putting them away.
"This many, in this short a time. And no commotion. Too clean. Chasing here is a bad play."
"But—"
"Precisely because of that. This one's a 'report case.'"
She stood and guided Sekou back with her shoulder alone. "Contact Shib. Now. The pattern's different. It's strong. ...It smells like trouble."
They headed for the entrance. The doors opened politely; night air flushed their chests clean.
The city still wore a face of ignorance. Neon winked; laughter popped far away; a green light wet the street.
Yukika glanced back once, staring into the dark beyond.
Nothing remained. Not a single shadow.
But in the back of her gaze, a burr of wrongness stayed lodged and wouldn't come out.
"—We're going. We report. Playtime's over for tonight."
"Got it."
Sekou tightened his grip on Vajra and set his mouth hard.
A fun night ended without warning.
And the quieter the ending, the bigger the beginning that follows—on that, at least, they both were sure.
—-