Bogus Operandi

The ryokan dining hall was a battlefield of steaming miso and the frantic clatter of a hundred chopsticks. The charcoal-gray tracksuits made the students look like a massive, unified mob, but the social atmosphere was anything but balanced.

At the center of the room, the Occult Club sat like a crack in a glass window.

"Ugh, I think I’m gonna fall into a food coma…" Naomi slumped, cheeks stuffed, “why was the pickled radish so delicious…?”

"It’s just a radish." Eiji muttered, his gaze fixed stoically on his tray.

"Hah? 'Just a radish'?" Mitsuaki spat. He sat with his legs wide, one arm hooked over the back of his chair in a classic delinquent slouch. "Everything in these mountains has a spirit, Kanzaki. Don't go acting all high-and-mighty now."

He pointed a blunt finger at the bleached blonde delinquent. "And keep your eyes off my salmon. You’re not getting a piece of my protein!”

“I couldn’t care less about your stupid fish.”

"Ishida, sit properly. You're making the school look like a juvenile detention center," Hatsue snapped, her tracksuit zipped to the chin.

“Tch.”

"Why’d you click your tongue? And Naomi you…”

She looked at the peppy first year who had turned a shade of green.

“Nevermind, you already have different problems.”

Honoka, looking entirely too elegant for a polyester tracksuit, sipped her after-dinner tea already, with a poise that felt like a localized field of tranquility. "Now, now, Hatsue-chan. A little 'rowdy energy' is part of the mountain experience, isn't it?"

Around them, the whispers from the other tables were thick with unease.

"Is that really Takenaka-senpai? Why is she smiling at those thugs?"

"And Shiratori... she’s the Student Council's stickler. Why is she eating with the guy who trashed the second-year wing?"

“Look at Kanzaki. He looks like he’d kill us all for a side of rice.”

Eiji could feel the stares—a cocktail of jealousy and pure, unadulterated fear. To the rest of Shina High, he was a living hazard, and the fact that he had the "Flower of the Third Years" and the "Student Council Enforcer" at his table only made him more of a terrifying enigma.

⌁◉⌁

The boys' sleeping quarters were a standard twelve-mat tatami room. The air inside was so heavy it felt like someone had dialed up the gravity.

The two regular second-year roommates—boys whose names Eiji hadn't bothered to memorize—were currently vibrating with anxiety. They had already dragged their futons into the absolute farthest corners of the room, practically trying to phase through the walls to stay out of the Kanzaki Zone.

Eiji walked in, dropped his bag with a heavy thud, and began spreading his futon right in the middle of the floor.

Every time they attempted to look his way, their gazes averted almost instinctively.

On the opposite side of the spectrum was Mitsuaki Ishida. The final member of the group arrangement.

"Oi, scoot over, Kanzaki." Mitsuaki grumbled, dragging his futon across the tatami and slapping it down mere inches from Eiji’s.

The other two kids gulped anxiously. “He told Kanzaki t-to—“

Eiji glanced at the overlapping fabric. "You’re way too damn close, Ishida."

"Deal with it,"

Mitsuaki shot back, dropping onto his back with a heavy sigh. "If some freak crawls out of the floorboards tonight, I’m not running across the room to hit it." He turned his head, glaring at the two boys cowering in the corners.

"Oi! What’s your problem? Why are you hugging the walls like a couple of cowards? Get over here and sleep like men!”

"W-We’re fine here, Ishida-san! We like the corner! It's... cozy!"

Mitsuaki snorted and turned back to the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.

Eiji lay down and pulled the blanket to his chin, staring into the darkness. The sounds of the mountain forest were starting to bleed through the glass.

"Just shut up and sleep," Eiji muttered.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your hair in a twist."

As the lights flicked off, the room settled into an uneasy silence. The two boys in the corner stayed wide awake for the first hour, terrified of Eiji’s breathing, while Mitsuaki’s occasional snores sounded like an idling motorcycle.

Eiji didn’t sleep. He knew what he had to do. When everyone was fast asleep, he slid off his futon, and silently slipped out of the room.

“…Hm?”

⌁◉⌁

Outside, the mountain air hit like a bucket of ice water.

The forest path leading toward Hoshigane Shrine was swallowed in deep, ink-colored shadows. Eiji moved quickly, his shoes barely making a sound on the dirt.

“Eiji-dono.”

Meh flickered into existence, a small orb of pale light floating near his shoulder. The spirit’s single eye scanned the dark treeline with visible unease.

“Something uphill is being… disturbed. Meh wouldn’t call it malevolence but it’s deeply unsettling.”

"I know. Something weird’s been happening here." Eiji whispered.

He wouldn’t have gone out of his way to sneak out in the middle of the night otherwise.

He continued up the slope, but stopped when a loud SNAP echoed from a thicket of hydrangeas behind him. It was heavy, clumsy even.

Eiji pivoted instantly. He blurred across the grass, closing the distance in a few jagged strides. He reached the bush and loomed over it, his hand already crackling with the first jagged sparks of red lightning.

"Gah—!"

A figure scrambled backward out of the leaves, arms flailing before hitting the ground with a dull thud.

Mitsuaki looked up, blinking at the lightning in Eiji’s palm before quickly scrambling to his feet. He brushed off his track jacket, trying to salvage whatever pride he had left.

"Kanzaki. Dammit... thought I lost you there for a second," Mitsuaki grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. He took a step forward, eyes narrowed. "Where do you think you’re going in the dead of night without me, you dumbass?"

Eiji stared at him for a long beat. The lightning at his fingertips sputtered and died. Just like the interest in his gaze.

"Ishida..." Eiji let out a long, weary sigh. "Go back to the inn. You’re gonna get us caught."

"Not a chance," Mitsuaki countered, crossing his arms and leaning back with a defiant smirk. "You think you’re the only one who felt something off? Besides, a hero doesn't let his partner walk into a trap alone."

"So you’re saying… you felt something?”

“Damn right, I did!”

“It seems Mitsuaki Ishida’s dream dive really did tether him to the exorcist world somehow…”

“Huh? What’s that weird high pitched sound?” Mitsuaki grimaced.

He couldn’t clearly hear or see Meh however, as it seemed.

“Tch. Move your ass, then.”

Eiji didn't have the energy to argue. He turned and headed back toward the forest graves, Mitsuaki trailing behind him with all the grace of a stray dog.

“Knew you’d come around.”

⌁◉⌁

They reached the edge of the shrine grounds. The air here was heavy, smelling of wet earth and ancient rot.

Eiji pulled Mitsuaki behind the shadow of a large torii gate and surveyed a cluster of mossy headstones.

“What’s that… sound?” Ishida grimaced.

Eiji pointed towards the dark treeline.

There standing barely visible, two silhouettes were hunched over the dirt, the sound of shovels hitting soil tearing through the silence.

"Found it," one of them whispered. "This name tablet is Edo-period. The wood alone is worth a fortune in the city."

Mitsuaki’s jaw tightened.

"What the hell are these guys doing?"

"Move," Eiji commanded.

But the robbers were jumpy. One of them looked up, his flashlight catching the moonlight reflecting off Mitsuaki’s shiny pompadour.

"Shit! Someone's watching!"

"Run! Grab the sack and move!"

The two men bolted, darting between the thick cedars with desperate speed.

"Get back here!" Mitsuaki roared, breaking cover and sprinting after them.

Eiji took off a second later, moving much faster than his companion. They chased the silhouettes through the winding paths, their breath misting in the freezing air, but the robbers knew the terrain. The mist rolled in thick and white, swallowing the trail in seconds.

Mitsuaki stumbled forward, his foot landing hard on a hole made in the ground.

“Ah! Fucking shit!”

The delinquent tumbled and sunk into the soil.

The sound of retreating footsteps faded into the heavy silence of the mountain.

Eiji stopped a few steps ahead, huffing. The robbers were gone.

"Tch... they vanished," Mitsuaki spat, sprawled across the hole in the soil. "What even is this fucking—“

“It’s a grave.” Eiji realized.

“It’s a fucking what—“

Mitsuaki promptly climbed out.

Eiji didn't answer. He walked back to the spot where they had been digging.

An abandoned shovel lay in the fresh dirt. More holes had been dug, and anything of value within those holes were taken. Nothing but bones was left.

“Those freaks… have they no shame?”

“Apparently they don’t.” Eiji scanned the area, his phone functioning as a flashlight, “And judging by the number of holes, this has been happening frequently.”

Meh popped into existence.

Eiji-dono, if this continues…”

“They might disturb something they won’t be able to run from…”

⌁◉⌁

The morning sun over the Okutama valley was far too bright for anyone running on two hours of sleep. It bounced off the steep stone steps of the mountain trail with a clinical glare that made the back of Eiji’s eyes ache. Around them, the rest of the Shina High students were moving in a sluggish, gray river of identical clothes, the sound of dragging sneakers filling the quiet woods.

"Uuuaaaaagghhh..."

Mitsuaki let out a yawn so violent his jaw audibly clicked. He was walking with his legs wide, hands shoved deep into his pockets, but his signature red-brown pompadour was leaning dangerously to the left. "Damn mountains... Why is the air so... thin up here?"

"It’s not the air, Ishida," Hatsue snapped from the step above them, "It’s just your lack of sleep showing. You look like a delinquent-themed corpse."

"Huh! I-I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about," Mitsuaki grumbled, his voice a low, defensive rasp as he frantically tried to pat his hair back into place.

Hatsue didn't buy it. She turned her sharp gaze toward the center of the path, where Eiji was walking with his hands in his pockets, completely unfazed by the incline.

"You must have sneaked out without us," Hatsue deduced, crossing her arms as she kept pace. "Kanzaki looks..."

Eiji simply stared dead ahead, the dark, heavy circles under his black eyes serving as a permanent answer.

Honoka, gliding up the steps with a poise that made the polyester tracksuit look like an elegant gown, let out a soft, wry smile. Her green eyes flicked over Eiji’s stoic expression. "Same as... always."

"Senpai is immune to sleep deprivation!" Naomi chirped, bouncing on her heels, “He’s like a high-grade vampire! He doesn't need sleep, he just needs power!"

"Oi," Eiji muttered flatly, the single word instantly cutting through the noise.

⌁◉⌁

By the time they reached the top, the class had gathered in the main courtyard of Hoshigane Shrine. The ancient wooden structures stood tall against the dense, dark treeline of the protected forest.

At the front of the pack, the homeroom teacher and a local guide began to speak, their voices dropping into the heavy, droning cadence of school jargon. They talked about the architecture, the Edo-period historical significance, and the religious cultural context of the region. Within minutes, the students had completely checked out, drifting into groups to check their phones, gossip, or take photos near the stone fox statues.

Eiji took a slow step backward, detaching himself from the crowd.

While the teacher’s explanation faded into a distant murmur, Eiji followed a narrow dirt path branching off toward a secluded section of the shrine. The air here was noticeably different; cooler, shielded from the morning glare by the massive, overhanging branches of ancient cedars.

He stepped onto the moss-covered stone of a small, weathered altar. It was tucked away, facing the deep woods where the forest graves lay buried. There were no tourists here or chatter. Just the heavy silence of a mountain.

"I saw you yesterday."

The scratchy, dry voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

Eiji didn't jump. He turned his head slowly.

Standing near the edge of the altar shadow was the shrine keeper. He was an old man, hunched slightly in a navy samue, holding a traditional bamboo broom that rested against his shoulder. His skin was as wrinkled as tree bark, but his eyes were sharp, holding a weight that didn't belong to a normal civilian.

The old man didn't look at Eiji's bleached hair or his uniform. His gaze was locked entirely on Eiji's eyes.

"I know what you are," the old man whispered.