Chapter 17: The Passive-Aggressive Poltergeist

The week following the showdown is one of the strangest in the mansion's already bizarre history. Yui, PR genius that she is, spins the abrupt end of the livestream as a massive power surge caused by the idols' "uncontainable spiritual energy," a story the fans absolutely devour. Speculation runs rampant online. Was it a publicity stunt? A technical marvel? The incident, which we privately refer to as 'The Critique,' paradoxically makes both groups more famous than ever. The rivalry, the mysterious ending-it's all perfect fodder for the fan-driven narrative.

The Ghoul-axy Idols' punk-pop song, which the fans immediately nickname the 'Anti-Silence Anthem,' goes viral. They are an overnight sensation, the edgy, unpredictable counterpoint to the Phantom Idols' polished drama. We are, on paper, more successful than ever.

In reality, we are being haunted by the world's most annoying, passive-aggressive entity.

The shadow creature, which Joshua has cheerfully nicknamed 'The Critic,' doesn't make another grand appearance. Instead, it engages in a campaign of minor, infuriating acts of supernatural sabotage. It's a poltergeist with an artistic agenda.

The haunting begins in the music room. Ren is practicing his scales, his powerful baritone voice filling the air. Suddenly, his sheet music is flipped to a completely different page-an avant-garde piece consisting of a single, sustained note held for three hours. A note written in the dust on the piano reads, "TRY MORE MINIMALISM."

Later, Nana is in the middle of a face-melting guitar solo, pouring all her punk-rock fury into her instrument. Mid-shred, her amp cuts out. A moment later, it turns back on, but the sound coming out is not her distorted power chords. It's the gentle, ambient sound of whale songs. Nana lets out a scream of pure, unadulterated rage that is more terrifying than any ghostly wail.

The Critic is everywhere and nowhere. It never shows itself, but its presence is constant. It swaps the sugar with salt, but only in the coffee meant for Mika, who likes her coffee sickly sweet. It rearranges the books in Shiori's spectral library, not alphabetically, but by the "aesthetic cohesion of their cover art." It even haunts our technology. Yui's meticulously organized spreadsheets are randomly reformatted into inscrutable modern art, and Joshua's phone starts auto-correcting every word he types to "cacophony."

Its main target, however, is me. My workshop, once my sanctuary, becomes its primary playground. I come in one morning to find all my brushes arranged in a bizarre, non-functional sculpture. My ink pots are sorted by "emotional temperature," whatever that means. A message is scrawled in reversed calligraphy on a blank scroll: "YOUR ART LACKS A CENTRAL THESIS. IT IS MERELY CRAFT."

"That's it!" I shout to the empty room, holding up the offending scroll. "You want a thesis? I'll give you a thesis! It's called 'A Study in the Art of Making You Shut Up'!"

The strange thing is, the constant, low-level harassment is having an unintended side effect. It's forcing the two rival idol groups to work together. Their shared animosity towards The Critic is proving to be a more effective team-building exercise than anything Joshua or Yui could have devised.

The first sign of this new unity happens in the kitchen. Mika is complaining that her favorite glittery nail polish is missing, only to find it replaced with a single bottle of matte black polish. "It's that lame-o shadow again!" she whines.

Kaito, who is nearby trying to figure out why his favorite grog mug is now filled with artisanal, room-temperature water, slams his fist on the table. "Harrr! The bilge-rat dares to mock us! We be needin' a plan of attack!"

Reiko, who is re-writing the house rules to include a new section on "Dealing with Incorporeal Art Snobs," looks up from her clipboard. "An offensive maneuver is logical. The entity is predictable in its targets and methods. We can set a trap."

Soon, the entire mansion is a flurry of activity. The idols are no longer rehearsing their songs; they are planning a counter-haunting. It is the most ridiculous war council I have ever witnessed. Ren and Reiko are at the head of the table, designing a "dramatically and orderly confrontation." Nana and Kaito are in charge of "aggressive negotiations," which seems to mostly involve them planning what to yell at the shadow when they find it. Mika and Emi are designing "aesthetic traps," attempting to lure The Critic out with things it might find "artistically offensive," like clashing color palettes and boy-band posters.

I am, of course, dragged into this. My job is to create the magical components of their insane plan. They want a talisman that can track the Critic's energy signature, a ward that can temporarily contain it, and, per Nana's request, a charm that can make her guitar "so loud it makes the silence cry for its mommy."

As I work, hunched over my table, a strange feeling settles over me. The familiar, soul-deep annoyance at Joshua and this whole situation is still there, a constant hum in the background of my life. But it's accompanied by something else now. A current of excitement. Of purpose. I'm not just making maintenance talismans anymore. I'm crafting weapons for a supernatural Cold War against a picky shadow monster.

My research into what The Critic might be is proving difficult but fascinating. The clues point to a rare, ancient type of entity known as a 'Nox.' A spirit of absolute nothingness, a consumer of energy and sound. They are said to be drawn to places of great power, hibernating for eons until a significant event-like, for instance, a ridiculously high-energy idol competition-wakes them up. The old texts say they cannot be destroyed, only repelled or lulled back to sleep. They feed on energy, which means our idols' growing fame is literally making our enemy stronger every day. It's a perfect, vicious cycle.

I try to explain this to Joshua. We are sitting on the porch swing one evening, a rare moment of quiet. "Every time they perform, every time a new fan follows them online, we are feeding the Nox," I tell him, my voice serious. "Your marketing is its dinner bell."

He looks at me, and for once, he's not smiling his usual goofy smile. He looks thoughtful. "So the bigger they get, the bigger the monster gets."

"Exactly," I say, relieved that he finally understands the gravity of the situation.

He is quiet for a moment, then a slow grin spreads across his face. "So what you're saying is... if we want to beat it, we have to become the biggest thing it has ever seen. We have to generate so much energy, so much light, so much noise that it chokes on it."

I stare at him. That is the exact opposite of the conclusion any sane person would have reached. My plan was to lay low, to try and bore the Nox back to sleep. His plan is to punch the ancient entity in the face with the power of pop music.

"That is the single most reckless, idiotic, and dangerous plan I have ever heard," I say, my voice flat.

"I know!" he says, his enthusiasm returning at full force. "Isn't it great? This isn't just an idol project anymore, Amy. It's an exorcism! A really, really loud exorcism with choreography!"

He stands up, buzzing with this new, terrible purpose. I remain on the swing, watching him go. I should be horrified. I should be packing my bags. I should be calling the real supernatural professionals (if Yui's family isn't already the top of that list). But I'm not. A part of me, a deep, traitorous, adrenaline-junkie part I never knew existed, is actually intrigued.

Fighting an ancient evil with J-pop. It is monumentally stupid. It is probably a suicide mission. The regret I feel is immense, a vast ocean of poor life choices. But for the first time, I feel like I'm surfing it. And maybe, just maybe, it's starting to be a little bit fun.