Haruto didn't sleep that night.
He sat on the edge of his futon, back against the wall, staring at his right hand in the dim glow of his phone screen. The translucency had faded—mostly. Edges still shimmered faintly, like heat haze over asphalt. If he stared long enough, he could see the futon pattern through his skin. A ghost in his own body.
What the hell was that thing? And why me?
The voice hadn't spoken again since the alley. But it lingered. A pressure at the back of his skull, patient. Waiting.
Morning came too soon. Alarm blared. He ignored it, dragged himself to school on autopilot. The Yamanote Line felt different today—crowd still ignored him, but now he felt... heavier. Like the shadow under his feet weighed more than it should.
Class dragged. He kept his hand under the desk, flexing fingers, testing. Normal. Mostly.
Lunch. Rooftop again. Rain had stopped; sky was bruised gray. He sat against the fence, untouched bento in lap, mind replaying the alley over and over.
A voice cut through the quiet.
"Oi, loner. You gonna eat that or just stare at it like it owes you money?"
Haruto's head snapped up.
A girl stood at the rooftop door—long black hair tied in a high ponytail, sharp red eyes glaring like she was personally offended by his existence. Seika High uniform, but blazer sleeves rolled up, tie loose. She looked like trouble wrapped in confidence.
Aoi Hoshizora. Class 2-A. Popular. Loud. The kind of girl who commanded attention without trying.
He blinked. "...Me?"
"No, the invisible guy behind you. Yeah, you." She strode over, plopped down a meter away without asking, cracked open her own bento. "You've been zoning out for three days straight. People notice, you know."
Do they? News to me.
He shrugged. "Not really my problem."
Aoi snorted. "Edgy. Cute." She stabbed a piece of tamagoyaki with her chopsticks, pointed it at him. "But seriously. You look like shit. Like you saw a ghost. Or became one."
Haruto's stomach dropped. His hand twitched under the sleeve. "What makes you think that?"
She leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Because last night, around 7 PM, half the block near the konbini went dark for thirty seconds. Lights flickered, phones died, people freaked. And guess who was seen stumbling out of the alley looking like he'd seen death?"
Haruto froze. "You were there?"
"Not exactly." She smirked, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I felt it. The surge. Like someone punched a hole in reality."
She set her bento down. Rolled up her left sleeve.
On her forearm: faint red lines, like burn scars in the shape of flames. But they pulsed—subtly, like embers under skin.
Haruto stared. "What the—"
"Enen," she said quietly. "My shadow. Fire type. Been with me since I was twelve. Almost burned my house down the first time it woke up."
She looked at him—really looked. No pity. Just recognition.
"You've got one too now, don't you? The cold kind. The empty kind."
Haruto's mouth went dry. "How do you—"
"Because I hunt them. Or rather... we do." She stood, brushed off her skirt. "Come with me after school. Rooftop of the old storage building behind the gym. Don't be late, or I'll drag you there myself."
She walked away before he could argue.
The rest of the day blurred. Haruto barely heard the teachers. His mind raced.
She knows. She has one too. And she's not scared.
After final bell, he went. Heart pounding. The old storage building was abandoned—rusted door half-open, graffiti on walls. He climbed the fire escape to the roof.
Aoi was already there, leaning on the railing, city skyline behind her. Sunset bled orange across the clouds.
"You came. Good boy."
"Cut the crap," Haruto muttered. "What do you want?"
She turned. "Proof you're not hallucinating. And maybe... to keep you from killing yourself or someone else."
She extended her hand. Palm up.
A spark. Then flame—small at first, then roaring. But it wasn't normal fire. It rose from her shadow on the concrete, twisting into a coiling serpent of black-edged flames. Heat rolled off it, but the shadow itself stayed cool, dark.
"Control is everything," she said. "Lose it, and it consumes you. Your body. Your memories. Everything."
Haruto swallowed. "Mine... spoke to me. Said it was the part everyone forgot."
Aoi's expression darkened. "Yokai. Ancient ones. They latch onto people like us—forgotten, angry, empty. They give power. Take existence in return."
She extinguished the flame with a flick. Shadow sank back.
"Now show me yours."
Haruto hesitated. Then stepped forward. Closed his eyes. Focused on the anger from last night—the loneliness, the invisibility, the rage at being nothing.
Nothing happened.
Aoi sighed. "You're blocking it. Let it in. Just a little."
He tried again. Thought of Mumbai trains. Of being lost. Of his mother's promise that never held.
The shadow under his feet rippled.
Then surged.
Black chains erupted—coiling up his legs, wrapping arms like living restraints. Not painful. Empowering. Strength flooded in, raw and cold. His hand—fully visible now, but edged in darkness.
Aoi's eyes widened. "Kage type. Pure void. Rare. Dangerous."
Haruto flexed. Chains lashed out—whipped across the roof, sliced a rusted vent in half like paper. Sparks flew.
Power sang in his veins.
Then pain.
Sharp. Deep. In his chest.
He gasped. Dropped to one knee. Chains retracted violently. His left arm flickered—translucent again, worse than before. Skin like glass, veins visible underneath.
Aoi rushed over, grabbed his shoulder. "Breathe! Pull it back!"
Haruto gritted teeth. Focused. The shadow retreated—slowly. Pain eased. But the fading lingered on his forearm now. A permanent mark.
Aoi cursed under her breath. "You're progressing too fast. The yokai's hungry. If you don't learn control, you'll vanish completely."
Haruto looked up, breathing hard. "Then teach me."
She stared for a long moment. Then smirked—tsundere mode back on.
"Fine. But don't think this makes us friends, baka. You're just... a liability I can't ignore."
She offered her hand. He took it—cold fingers meeting warm.
As the sun dipped below the skyline, their shadows stretched long across the roof—entwined for a second, then separate again.
But Haruto felt it: the first crack in his isolation.
And somewhere deep inside, the shadow whispered approval.
Good. Now we begin.