Act 2, Chapter 9.5: Ghost Stories

Yuna Aoki knelt at the genkan, tying her sneakers with the speed of someone late for a gig. Her part-time job as a supermarket stocker awaited—every yen hustled toward effect pedals to give her brown sunburst GSR180 the kick it deserved.

The front door was half-open when a cheeky voice exploded behind her. "Yuna-nee! Yuna-nee! Buy me potato chips!" Her 7th-grade brother, Yuta, barged out of the living room, eyes sparkling with maximum gremlin energy.

Irritation surged like a sudden thunderstorm. "Heck nah! Yuna-nee’s gonna be busy all evening." She stood, slinging her travel bag over one shoulder.

Yuta latched onto her hip like a koala and shook dramatically. "Oh, come on! Just this one, okay~?"

She knew the pleading was pure trolling. "Finish your homework first, or no potato chip." Yuna poked his nose hard enough to make him pout, then slipped out and shut the door on his sulky face.

On the way to the supermarket, her phone blared with a notification. It was the boss's message: rush-hour hell tonight through the weekend. Shelves are emptying faster, like panic buying, and some stockers are resigning or calling in sick left and right.

With wide eyes, she quickly tapped out a message on her phone to the Sakuragawa LMC group chat.

nepunepudesunee (Yuna): Sorry guys! Gotta call absent for tomorrow Friday—it's gonna be swamped at the supermarket.

mioakiyamachan (Mei): Same! Nagase Ramen’s gonna be rush-hour hell after midterm remedial.

morihashis4n (Kenta): Me too. Tomorrow Judo club would be a living hell.

The replies flooded in one by one, with Sara, Takane, Junichi, Gojou, and Daichi each sharing their own Friday chaos.

procoratsoranakamura (Sora, 2nd Admin): It’s cool. If anyone can’t make Friday’s meeting, just tell us.

Yuna pocketed her phone and sighed. "Aww, shucks! Tomorrow’s gonna be shitty—"

Something soft brushed her ankle. A gray tabby cat wove between her legs, tail straight up, meowing in pure euphoria.

"What are you doing?! Get outta here." She waved her hand like she was shooing.

The cat ignored her, flopped dramatically across her sneakers, and started purring like it owned the sidewalk.

"S-stop! I don’t have any food!" Irritation spiked, but the cat’s cheekiness only doubled.

Then the memory hit like a sudden wave of realization. Gray fur. Same smug face. Same upward tail. "S-S-Shokichi-san…"

The cat she’d overfed to death back in middle school—her beloved Shokichi, gone because she couldn’t stop sneaking him treats. Guilt had haunted her ever since, and now it seemed like his ghost had manifested in this random stray, seeking retribution.

Panic stormed in. "Aaaaaagggghhhhhh!!! I’m sorry, Shokichi-san!!!"

Yuna bolted, sneakers slapping pavement, praying the phantom feline wouldn’t chase her all the way to the supermarket. It wasn't a fear of cats. It was the dread that her deceased cat's spirit had returned to claim its due.