Chapter V: The Spirit’s Wrath

The Spirit’s Wrath

For several long seconds after Sora vanished, neither Aika nor Ren moved.

The night resumed slowly around them. Crickets began again. The wind returned to the trees. Somewhere far away, a car engine hummed faintly.

Reality stitched itself back together.

But something had changed.

Ren felt it at the base of his skull—a lingering pressure, like a hand resting lightly against the back of his head.

Not pushing.

Just there.

Aika exhaled shakily. “She’s free.”

Ren nodded automatically.

Free.

That was the correct word.

The hopeful word.

And yet—

His eyes lifted once more toward Kuroyama Hill.

The second-floor windows reflected moonlight. For a fraction of a second, he thought he saw movement.

Not Sora.

Something taller.

Standing behind broken glass.

Watching the shrine below.

Watching him.

He blinked.

The window was empty.

The Walk Back

They didn’t speak as they descended the rest of the path into town.

Daichi and his friends had already left. Good. Ren didn’t think he could tolerate their voices.

The streets of Kurotsuki looked unchanged. Convenience store lights flickered softly. A vending machine buzzed near the sidewalk. A stray cat darted between parked bicycles.

Normal.

Painfully normal.

Aika finally broke the silence.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?”

Ren didn’t pretend confusion. “Yes.”

She didn’t ask him to describe it.

Because description would give it structure.

Structure would make it real.

“It didn’t try to stop us,” she said slowly.

“No.”

“It didn’t try to stop her.”

Ren’s jaw tightened. “No.”

They walked past the small canal that cut through town. Moonlight rippled across the water.

“I don’t think it was hunting her,” Ren said quietly.

Aika glanced at him. “Then what?”

He hesitated.

“Watching.”

The word felt wrong.

But it fit.

The First Fracture

Ren barely slept that night.

When he closed his eyes, he saw the corridor—longer than it should be. He saw the distortion standing at the far end. He saw the moment the beam shattered midair.

And beneath it all—

He felt something else.

Recognition.

Not from him.

From it.

Near dawn, he drifted into uneasy sleep.

He dreamed.

He stood in the second-floor hallway again.

Only this time, the corridor stretched endlessly in both directions. Classroom doors lined both sides—slightly open, all dark inside.

He tried to move.

His feet did not respond.

At the far end, the distortion stood.

Closer than before.

Its head tilted slightly.

Then—

It began to walk.

Not glide.

Not teleport.

Walk.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Each step echoed.

Ren tried to scream.

Nothing came out.

The distortion stopped inches from him.

Its form wavered.

And within its shape—

For a split second—

Ren thought he saw something human.

A face.

Not monstrous.

Not twisted.

Just—

Empty.

He woke gasping.

His room was silent.

But his mirror—

For a brief second—

Reflected something behind him.

He spun around.

Nothing.

Only darkness.

Morning

The town felt strangely lighter.

Or perhaps that was his imagination.

At school, whispers spread quickly.

“They actually went.”
“Nothing happened.”
“See? Just rumors.”

Daichi tried to reclaim control of the story.

“I told you it was nothing,” he bragged loudly.

Aika ignored him.

Ren didn’t engage.

They entered English class.

Fujimoto-sensei stood at the front of the room.

Something about her was different.

Her eyes looked softer.

Less strained.

She began class normally.

Halfway through, she paused.

Her gaze drifted toward the window.

Then toward Aika and Ren.

“I had a dream last night,” she said quietly.

The class shifted with mild curiosity.

“In my dream,” she continued, “my daughter came to me.”

Ren’s pulse skipped.

Aika’s fingers tightened around her pen.

“She smiled,” Fujimoto-sensei said, her voice trembling faintly. “She told me she wasn’t afraid anymore.”

The room went silent.

Aika and Ren did not look at each other.

They didn’t need to.

“It’s strange,” she added softly. “After so many years, I finally woke up feeling… peaceful.”

A chill crept along Ren’s spine.

Sora had kept her promise.

She had been waiting.

And now she was gone.

But—

He could not forget the distortion’s final stance.

It had not disappeared.

It had not dissolved.

It had retreated.

The Unfinished Thing

That afternoon, Ren stood alone near the lockers.

The hallway lights flickered briefly.

Just once.

He froze.

The sound of distant footsteps echoed.

But no one was walking.

The reflection in the metal locker caught his attention.

He saw himself.

Pale.

Tired.

And behind him—

A faint vertical distortion.

Standing close.

Too close.

He turned instantly.

Nothing.

When he looked back at the reflection—

It was gone.

His breathing quickened.

It had not stayed on the hill.

It had followed.

Not aggressively.

Not violently.

But intentionally.

As if—

It had chosen.

The Realization

That evening, Ren stood at the edge of Kurotsuki, looking up toward Kuroyama Hill once more.

The school was still.

Quiet.

Freed of one presence.

But perhaps—

Not the only one.

Aika joined him.

“You’re thinking about it,” she said.

“Yes.”

She didn’t deny it.

Neither of them wanted to say it aloud.

But the truth pressed between them.

Sora had been a trapped spirit.

Lost in fear.

Waiting to be acknowledged.

But the distortion—

Was something else.

It had not radiated sorrow.

It had radiated awareness.

And when Sora disappeared—

It had looked at Ren.

Not with hunger.

Not with anger.

But with—

Interest.

Aika crossed her arms. “It didn’t attack us.”

“No.”

“It didn’t stop her.”

“No.”

Ren’s voice lowered.

“But it didn’t leave.”

The wind moved through the trees, whispering softly.

And deep inside Ren’s chest, understanding settled into place.

The spirit’s wrath had never been directed at Sora.

It had been directed at fear itself.

At the moment fear overwhelms.

At the breaking point.

Sora had broken.

And something had been there to witness it.

Something that feeds not on flesh—

But on the instant a heart gives up.

Ren closed his eyes briefly.

And for the faintest second—

He felt that same pressure behind him.

Closer than before.

Waiting.