Into the Wolf’s Den

The taxi came to a stop in front of the Nova Entertainment tower in Roppongi.
Eleven p.m.
The night had swallowed Tokyo whole, but the glass-and-steel skyscraper shone like a malevolent beacon—every floor illuminated, every exterior screen looping the smiling faces of the agency’s idols.

Aoi paid the driver and stepped out into the cold night air.

Somewhere behind her, hidden in the shadows of the district, Rei was watching. She could feel his presence through the Resonance—tense, worried, ready to strike. But the spiritual wards surrounding the building would prevent him from intervening quickly if things went wrong.

She knew it.
He knew it too.

The QR code Kageyama had sent her worked perfectly. The glass doors slid open in silence, revealing a deserted yet fully lit lobby. White marble. Chrome columns. And everywhere, massive screens silently broadcasting Nova Entertainment’s music videos—perfect faces singing perfect songs in perfect worlds.

The atmosphere was oppressive.
Too clean. Too quiet.
Like a trap patiently waiting for its prey.

The elevator carried her straight to the top floor without her having to press a single button.

The doors opened onto a panoramic office overlooking Tokyo. The city stretched below like an ocean of lights, indifferent to the tragedies unfolding in its depths.

Kageyama was waiting.

He stood with his back to the window, his elegant silhouette outlined against the nocturnal skyline. Impeccable charcoal suit. Perfectly slicked-back black hair. A predator’s smile.

“Mizushima-san.” He inclined his head slightly, a gesture of politeness perfectly calibrated. “I’m delighted you accepted my invitation.”

He gestured toward an armchair facing his massive dark-wood desk.

“Tea?”

Without waiting for her answer, he poured an amber liquid into two fine porcelain cups. The motion was precise, ceremonial—a parody of civility that fooled no one.

Aoi sat down, refusing to show her nervousness. The cup remained untouched in front of her.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Kageyama took a seat across from her, crossing his legs elegantly. His red eyes glinted with amused light in the dimness.

“Straight to the point. I like that.” He took a sip of tea. “I asked you here because I know everything about you, Aoi. And I believe it’s time you knew everything about your past as well.”

Aoi’s blood ran cold.

“Four years ago,” Kageyama continued, “a curious young idol saw something she should never have seen.”

The words hit Aoi like a punch. Fragments of images resurfaced—memories she had buried so deeply she had nearly forgotten they existed.

“You were looking for a fellow idol that night. After a concert. You heard strange noises coming from a dressing room. And you went inside.”

The teacup trembled in Aoi’s hands. She hadn’t even realized she had picked it up.

“What are you—”

“You saw a producer—an oni, to be precise—feeding on an idol. Not metaphorically.” Kageyama’s smile widened. “Literally. Flesh infused with negative emotions. Delicious, I’m told.”

The images exploded in Aoi’s mind.

A dressing room. Dim lights. Her fellow idol—Mika, her name was Mika—lying on a couch, glassy-eyed. And above her, a massive figure, horns piercing through a human forehead, a mouth opening too wide, far too wide, too—

The cup slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

Aoi didn’t even hear it.

She was back in that room. The stench of blood and despair. The wet sound of something feeding. And then the monster lifting its head, seeing her, smiling with red-stained teeth—

“You screamed,” Kageyama said, his voice distant, almost dreamy. “Then everything went black. Selective amnesia. The human brain is fascinating—it erases what it cannot endure.”

Aoi was trembling from head to toe. The memories came back in waves, each more painful than the last.

“But afterward, you started asking questions. About your friend’s disappearance. About the unease you felt around certain people. About the shadows you began to see.” Kageyama leaned forward. “You were becoming inconvenient, Aoi. Your onmyōji blood was awakening.”

“So it really was you…” Aoi whispered, her voice shattered. “The scandal before my fall…”

“Nova Entertainment has considerable resources.” Kageyama shrugged. “Destroying an idol’s reputation in a few days? Child’s play. We hoped your despair would create an interesting yūrei. Your onmyōji blood could have produced something… magnificent.”

Rage rose in Aoi’s chest, burning, purifying.

Four years. Four years of shame, pain, and drifting. All because she had seen something she was never meant to see.

“Unfortunately,” Kageyama continued with a disappointed pout, “you survived. Broken, yes—but alive. And now our friend Rei has awakened what we tried to smother.”

He stood and walked around the desk toward her. Aoi instinctively recoiled in her chair.

“I’ll repeat my offer, Mizushima-san. One last time.”

He crouched in front of her, his red eyes boring into hers.

“Join Nova Entertainment. You won’t die. I can give you back everything you lost. Your career. Fame. The stage. The spotlight.” His voice was soft, almost seductive. “Our lawyers can erase the scandal. Our narrative engineers can turn you into a tragic heroine. You’d be bigger than ever.”

“In exchange for…”

He smiled. “Not interfering with my plans. Occasionally helping manage a few complications. And above all, forgetting that little fox who filled your head with dangerous ideas.”

Aoi stared at him—this monster in a three-piece suit who had destroyed her life out of convenience, who cultivated suffering the way others cultivated flowers.

“Never.”

The word came out firm. Final.

Kageyama sighed, but his smile didn’t falter.

“That’s regrettable. Truly regrettable.”

He turned back toward the window.

“I heard what happened at the hospital. With Yuki.” He chuckled. “Amusing, really. It’s… annoying. She was one of my favorite test subjects.”

He turned back, hands in his pockets.

“But you know what? I’ll give you a gift. To thank you for the entertainment.”

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through a few images.

“Your informant gave you three names, didn’t he? Akane, Tsubasa, Ren.” His smile widened. “I confirm it. They are indeed my other test subjects. The pillars of my ritual. But what your informant doesn’t know is that they’re only the most important among hundreds of others.”

Aoi’s blood ran cold.

“Hundreds…”

“Hundreds.” Kageyama slipped the phone back into his pocket. “The entertainment industry is an endless buffet, Mizushima-san. Every idol, every influencer, every minor celebrity harassed online—they all feed my ōyūrei. Yuki, Akane, Tsubasa, Ren… they’re just the main courses.”

He gestured gracefully toward the exit.

“You may leave. I won’t keep you.”

Aoi stood, wary. Every fiber of her being screamed that it was too easy.

She walked toward the door, feeling Kageyama’s gaze on her back.

“Ah, one last thing.”

She stopped, her finger hovering over the elevator call button.

“The elevators no longer work. You’ll have to take the stairs.”

She turned around. Kageyama was smiling—that carnivorous smile that never reached his red eyes.

“Enjoy the descent, Mizushima-san.”

Aoi understood.

The trap had just closed.