CHAPER 6

The sun had long set when Rika Hayami and Ami Mizuno walked side by side beneath the quiet streetlamps, their schoolbags lightly swinging behind them.

The cicadas had gone silent, and only the soft hum of electricity filled the space between them.

"You sure you're okay?" Ami asked, glancing over. "That fall looked like it hurt."

"I'm fine," Rika muttered, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I just fell. That's all."

Ami nodded slowly, then kicked a small pebble on the sidewalk. "What about him? That guy who ran into you?"

Rika didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to. Ami already knew.

"Asakura, right?" Ami said, scrunching her nose. “What even was that? Why was he running like some anime protagonist? And did you see his face? He looked like he'd been in a fight or something.”

Rika gave a halfhearted scoff. "Maybe he was. Who knows with that guy?"

They both laughed, but Rika's tone lacked its usual bite. Ami noticed.

“You’re going easy on him,” Ami teased, her eyes narrowing mischievously. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to feel bad for the gloomy guy.”

“What? No way!” Rika snapped, a little too quickly. “Why would I be interested in someone like him?”

Ami raised her hands with a grin. “Okay, okay! I was joking. Just… felt like something shifted back there.”

Rika stayed silent, lips pressed into a thin line.

Because she had seen something—something raw, and shaken, and human. Not in the way of a classmate or a crush.

But something harder to define.

He was trembling.

His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Ren Asakura walked slowly under the pale light of a streetlamp, his jacket faintly stained with dust and the scent of the alley still clinging to his sleeves.

It had been three days of chasing ghosts. Of finding almost-leads that dissolved like mist the closer he got.

And now… another dead end.

His legs felt heavy as he reached the small house tucked into the residential block. The porch light was on.

When he opened the door, a warm smell greeted him—soy, broth, and something faintly sweet.

Someone was cooking.

Ren blinked.

Then heard a familiar voice.

“Hey,” his foster father called from the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and humming a song he half-remembered. “You’re late.”

Ren stepped inside, confused. “I thought… you had work.”

“I did. But I moved some things around.” The man grinned, turning off the stove. “Wanted to spend dinner with my son.”

Ren paused at the doorway. He hadn’t expected this.

“…Thanks,” he said quietly.

“Go wash up. You look like you fought a storm.”

Ren gave a tired nod and headed to the bathroom. The light flickered as he stared into the mirror. His bangs were damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. The edges of a faint bruise peeked from under his collar.

Still him.

Still chasing shadows.

He washed up and changed into a high-neck long-sleeve and brown pants before returning to the dining table, where his father had already set the plates.

“You look exhausted,” the man said, raising an eyebrow. “You studying that hard?”

“Something like that,” Ren muttered. “Just stuck on some... things.”

His father didn’t press. Instead, he gave a soft smile and reached out, ruffling Ren’s hair.

“You’d look better if we trimmed this mop. You’ve got a good face under there, you know?”

Ren frowned, pulling away slightly. “Don’t mess with it.”

“Haha, come on. I’m serious.” The man laughed, but it was light, filled with affection.

A short exchange. A small tug-of-war.

But the warmth lingered—like a memory trying to stay.

After dinner, Ren helped with the dishes before heading upstairs. The night outside had deepened, the moon pale behind clouds.

He sat at his desk, finished a bit of leftover homework, and glanced at the clock.

11:47 p.m.

Ren opened his laptop.

The glow of the screen lit up his tired face as he clicked on a small folder labeled “Field Notes.”

He turned on his webcam.

His face flickered to life on the screen.

“21,” he muttered quietly. “Another lead gone.”

His voice was flat, exhausted. But behind the tiredness, there was still that spark—small, flickering.

“I was so close this time. But they slipped away again. Still have no idea who they were. No evidence I can use.”

Ren leaned back slightly, glancing to the side.

“…Still. I’ll keep trying. I have to.”

Click.

He stopped the recording and saved it.

The screen faded to black.

And in the reflection of the screen, he saw himself—his long hair casting shadows on his face, eyes dim but still watching.

Ren stared for a long moment.

Then sighed.