Epilogue

Sunday morning.

The sunlight filtered gently through the stained-glass windows of the newly built church. The music faded, and the congregation settled into the rows of folding chairs. Pastor Reiji stepped forward, adjusting the microphone. His sermon flowed calmly, touching briefly on the seven sins and how grace was greater than them all.

There were no listed visitors that day, but midway through the message, the back door eased open with a creak. A teenage girl entered quietly and took the last seat in the back row. No one seemed to notice—except the pastor, who caught her eyes for a fleeting moment.

After the service, fellowship followed as usual—homemade curry, bread rolls, coffee, and laughter in the air. Pastor Reiji made his rounds, offering handshakes and blessings.

Eventually, he found the girl near the snack table, holding a paper cup of juice.

“Glad you could join us,” he said warmly. “What’s your name?”

The girl smiled and extended her hand. “Yuri.”

There was something about her eyes. A flicker of something he couldn’t place. He squinted slightly.

“Have we met before? Your eyes… they look familiar.”

The girl tilted her head and gave a slow, small smile.

“I think so,” she said. “I already slashed some time to come.”

She turned, thanked him politely, and walked toward the exit.

Pastor Reiji stood in place, hand still hovering midair, the faintest chill brushing across his arm.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees.

Thus ends the first tale of The Soundless Cut. Seven souls, bound to sin and story, have met their fate. The inkblot, once a symbol of power, has turned against its wielder. The souls she executed have been freed—not by vengeance, but by grace. Forgiveness, quiet and strange, scattered like ash in the wind.

As for Kenshin, the headless samurai, and Kuro, his black steed, gallops with no destination, only memory. Their centuries-long duty fulfilled—but their curse, still unanswered. A blade without a master. A soul without rest.

And Yuriko?
Her body lay cold in Toyohashi Station. But the soul that called itself judge may not be gone. The line between reincarnation and possession blurs when sins whisper louder than fate.

In the shape of a girl named Yuri, she may walk again.

The inkblot has no end. Only a pause between stanzas.

Until the next cut is made.