The hallway outside my room was narrow, wooden floors creaking under every step like they were judging me. The house smelled older than it looked—incense that had soaked into the walls years ago, mixed with the faint chemical bite of cigarette smoke that never quite left. I knew whose smoke it was.
I paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister harder than necessary. My new body felt wrong in subtle ways: center of gravity slightly lower, arms a little shorter, heartbeat too quick for no reason. Teenage nerves, maybe. Or the system quietly reminding me I was on borrowed time.
Downstairs, the living room was small and cluttered in that lived-in Japanese way: low table, cushions, a small TV in the corner playing morning news no one was watching. And there she was.
Seiko Ayase.
She sat cross-legged on the floor in a faded yukata, cigarette dangling from her lips, one hand lazily shuffling a deck of tarot cards while the other held a chipped coffee mug. Her eyes—sharp, almost glowing under the morning light—flicked up the moment my foot hit the bottom step.
"You're late," she said without looking away. Smoke curled from her mouth like it was part of her sentence.
"I… overslept." My voice cracked. Great start.
She snorted. "New body, new timezone in your soul. Happens. Sit."
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed *run*, but where? This was her house. I was apparently renting a room here. Plot convenience or cosmic joke—I couldn't tell yet.
I lowered myself onto a cushion across from her, knees awkward, back straight like I was facing an executioner.
She flipped a card without ceremony. The Fool. Upside down.
"Fitting," she muttered. "You reek of outsider. Not yokai. Not alien. Something… imported."
I swallowed. "I'm just a transfer student."
"Liar." Another card. The Tower. "But not dangerous. Yet." She tapped ash into a tray shaped like a grinning fox. "Momo's out already. Club stuff. You'll see her at school if you don't get eaten on the way."
"Momo?" I tried to sound casual. Failed.
Seiko's eyes narrowed. "My granddaughter. Psychic. Violent. Bad taste in boys. Don't get ideas."
"I wouldn't—"
"You would. You're male and breathing. That's enough." She exhaled smoke directly at me. It stung my eyes. "Rule one: don't bring trouble home. Rule two: if trouble finds you, clean it up before it stains the tatami."
I nodded like my life depended on it. It probably did.
She studied me for another long second, then flicked the last card. Death. Upright.
"Interesting." She smirked. "You're already marked. Something's sniffing around you."
My skin prickled. Not fear—something colder. Static. Like standing too close to an old CRT TV.
**Supernatural Sense (weak) – minor activation detected.**
The system pinged quietly in my head.
I glanced toward the window. Nothing visible. Just the street, a stray cat slinking along a wall, normal morning things.
Seiko noticed. "You felt it."
"…Maybe."
"Good. Means you're not completely useless." She stood, joints popping. "Get to school. And kid?" She leaned in close enough that I could smell tobacco and something metallic underneath. "If Turbo Granny shows up asking about fresh pride, tell her the room's rented."
My stomach lurched.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
I forced a weak laugh. "I'll… keep that in mind."
She waved me off like I was a fly. "Go. And don't die before lunch. Rent's due next week."
---
The walk to Kamikoshi High felt endless.
Kamigoe City in daylight was deceptively normal: convenience stores with bright signs, salarymen rushing past, schoolgirls in clusters giggling about something on their phones. But every few steps, the static returned—faint, fleeting, like someone brushing cold fingers across the back of my neck.
I kept my head down. Blazer too stiff. Tie crooked. Shoes scuffing the pavement like they didn't fit right.
The school gates loomed ahead. Classic Japanese high school: concrete walls, cherry trees just starting to bud, students streaming in like nothing in this city ever tried to eat their souls.
I joined the flow, trying to look like I belonged.
Inside, the halls were loud—lockers slamming, friends shouting, the smell of floor polish and teenage sweat. I found the staff room, got my class assignment from a sleepy teacher who barely glanced at my name.
Class 2-B.
Back row seat. Perfect. Invisible.
I slid in just as the bell rang. Heads turned briefly, then away. One girl with pink hair clips and an air of effortless confidence glanced over longer than the rest.
Aira Shiratori.
She tilted her head, sizing me up like I was a new accessory she wasn't sure matched her outfit.
"Transfer?" she asked, voice carrying just enough to make half the class eavesdrop.
"Yeah. Haruto."
"Cool name. Where from?"
"…Around." Vague was safest.
She smirked. "Mysterious. I like it."
Before I could respond, the static spiked—sharp, like needles under my skin.
I looked up instinctively.
Something small and dark scuttled along the ceiling vent. Rat-sized. Glowing eyes. Trailing thin threads of resentment like smoke.
A low-grade yokai. The kind that possesses petty grudges—stolen lunch money, failed tests, quiet jealousy.
It dropped.
Straight toward the desk of a sleeping boy in front of me.
My hand moved before my brain caught up.
**Echo Mimic – attempted activation. Target: minor speed burst.**
Stamina dropped—felt like someone yanked ten percent of my battery in half a second.
I slapped the thing mid-air.
It squealed, high and wet, then burst into harmless black mist.
The class didn't even notice. The sleeping boy snorted once and kept drooling on his notebook.
Aira blinked. "You okay? Looked like you swatted a ghost."
"…Big fly," I muttered.
She laughed—bright, sharp. "You're weird. Sit properly. Teacher's coming."
I exhaled slowly.
Heart still hammering.
First mimic attempt: success, barely.
**Echo Evolution update:**
**Minor trait acquired – Fleeting Speed Trace (passive: +3% reaction time against small threats).**
**Stamina recovery slowed. Don't spam it, idiot.**
**Last pride status: Still attached. Congrats on not fumbling your first swat.**
I stared at the mental text.
The system was already roasting me.
Outside the window, the sky looked normal.
But I could feel it now—deeper static. Something bigger, farther away.
Somewhere in this city, the real threats were moving.
And I had just painted a tiny target on my back.
**End of Chapter 2**