Title: Onryou

Disclaimer: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi is Shungiku Nakamura's masterpiece, not mine

Credit: Immeasurable thanks to my beta reader, Mewgia Mirrorcoat; also thankingGood Evening for the suggestions & Rawritsakookyefor the first draft grammar check

Warnings: This fic is rated M for more reason than one, so keep off, kiddies! It's the sequel for Coffee: Then and Now, although either fic can be read independently. Beware of the different genres, though; "onryou" means "vengeful spirit," so this one contains horror and supernatural elements in addition to the limey romance and drama. Also, if you're the type who get offended because of the quotations of religious scriptures in a fiction, now is the high time to turn back. A thesaurus may be required for some parts of the fic.

Notes:

Achluophobic = a person who suffers from achluophobia / fear of darkness

Okami = the proprietress and general manager of a traditional inn; not to be confused with ookami (wolf)

Based on the angle to which it is performed, there are five classifications for bows:

The cursory bow: Bow to an angle of five degrees; indicating a basic nod of "Hello" or used for conveying a reply by a superior when a subordinate bows first.

Eshaku / the shallow bow: Bow to an angle of fifteen degrees; indicating common salutations of "Good Day" greeting. (This bow is used by Ritsu while thanking the vendor for his compliment.)

Keirei / the ordinary bow: Bow to an angle of thirty degrees; indicating the most common, respectful bow to be used especially when expressing appreciation. (This bow is used by the female train passenger while thanking Takano.)

Saikeirei / the polite bow: Bow to an angle of forty-five degrees; indicating deep respect or to expressing extreme gratitude or highest respect or an apology. (This bow is used by Ritsu while thanking the vendor for his help.)

The ceremonial bow: Bow to an angle of ninety degrees; reserved for ceremonial occasions such as a visit to a shrine or a temple. (This bow is used by Ritsu while praying.)

Kyouma tatami = reed mat used in the Kansai area, measuring 95.5 x 191 x 5.5 CM each, so 12 tatami is roughly equal to 35 square meters (Kantouma tatami, which is used in Kantou area, measures 88 x 176 x 6 CM each)

Although several locations mentioned in this story are real places, there are exceptions: the Ajisai / Hydrangea Inn, the family restaurant, the places of worship, the psychiatrist's house, and the electronic stores. As a matter of fact, there is no daibutsuyou temple in Osaka; the only two surviving buildings in the pure daibutsu architectural style are the Joudodou (Amida hall) of 1194 at Joudoji, Hyougo Prefecture, and the nandaimon (great southern gate) of 1199 at Toudaiji, Nara. Likewise, although a few Neo-Gothic churches do exist in Osaka, the church mentioned in this fic is fictional.

Hachiman is the Japanese syncretic god of archery and war, although he is more correctly defined as the tutelary god of warriors and is also associated as the divine protector of Japan and the Japanese people as well as worshiped by peasants as the god of agriculture and by fishermen who hoped he would fill their nets with much fish.

According to the folktale Kibitsu no Kama, the spirit of a deceased can only stay in the realm of the living for 49 days after the person's death; however, movies like Ring and Ju-on: The Grudge don't give such a spirit any time limit. This story adheres to the latter notion.

Pontochou is one of the most famous red-light districts in Kyoto—the old capital of Japan and renowned for its traditional arts and architecture. The city itself is located northeast to Osaka (the setting of this fic), roughly half an hour by train.

In Shintoism, salt is believed to be one of the things that ward off evil.

The "Thread of Love" mentioned in this story is an allusion to an oriental myth, in which the gods tie an invisible red string around the ankles (in the Chinese version) or fingers (in the Japanese version) of a pair of lovers that are meant for each other, regardless of time, place, or circumstances. The nearest equivalent in western culture would be the allegory in Plato's The Symposium, where Aristophanes states that humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces, but Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them.

In Japanese cities, most taxis are equipped with driver-operated remote-control doors, so passengers don't need to open or close the door when they get in or out of the car.

A Japanese monk wears a collared white cotton undershirt named juban under his kosode—a kimono with less-than-huge sleeves and typically light colored (white, light gray, or taupe). Therefore, the kosode is covered with a koromo, which was also known as houe (lit. dharma robe). Koromo has long sleeves and a collar, is tied around the waist by a sash-type of belt called obi, and is traditionally worn shorter than the kosode, which is seen underneath. Its lower, skirt-like part has seven box pleats. Over a koromo, a monk wears a shawl-like ceremonial "vestment of liberation" that drapes one shoulder and diaphragm to knees called kesa (this is what the mostly seen kesa worn by Zen monks nowadays, but historically, the full-length Indian version can reach 10 feet and 1 inch). Kesa is constructed in a quilt-like manner with several pieces of fabric arranged in rows, overlapping and underlapping in some areas to form a pattern reminiscent of a rice field. The number of vertical divisions, known as jo, denotes the rank of the wearer; the higher the number of jo, the higher the rank of its wearer. A bib-like, shorter variation of kesa that provides more comfort for traveling, known as rakusu, can also be worn as an alternative. Samue is an austere, yukata-like jacket worn by a monk while doing menial duties, such as farming and gardening. Typically, it's either dark blue or black. Matching trousers for the samue are known as kukuri-bakama.

Namu amida butsu—one of the most prominent Buddhist chants—is untranslatable literally, but its meaning is something akin to one's faith in the person and work of Amida Buddha.

All the rituals described in this fic are merely parts of the process, as the complete ones are more fastidious and time-consuming. Likewise, the religious quotations used in this story are not the complete versions of the respective scriptures either. The Roman Ritual stated below is actually mixed with Psalm 67:2-3, Job 42:2, and Ephesians 6:12. For those who wonder why there's no involvement of Folk Religions, Hinduism, Islam, Jainism, Judaism, Neo-Pagan Religions, Sikhism, and other religious groups, obviously because these religions can't easily be found in Japan—the locational setting of the story.

Oyako-don (literally "parent-and-child rice bowl") = a bowl of rice topped with a piece of chicken cooked with egg (hence parent-child or "oyako"), sliced scallions, sliced onions, and a special sauce made of bonito stock, sake, mirin, and soy sauce.

The honorific "-han" is the Kansai dialect equivalent for "-san."

Shikan = Shinto priests at low-level village and hamlet shrines; those serving so-called "people's shrines"; not to be confused with "shinkan," which is the general term for Shinto priest.

The six syllables in "om mani padme hum" represent the purification of the six realms of existence:

- Om = Generosity that purifies Pride representing Deva-gati / the Realm of the Gods

- Ma = Ethics that purifies Lust & Jealousy; representing Asura-gati / the Realm of the Titans

- Ni = Patience that purifies Passion & Desire; representing Manusya-gati / the Realm of the Humankind

- Pad = Diligence that purifies Ignorance & Prejudice; representing Tiryagyoni-gati / the Realm of the Animals

- Me = Renunciation that purifies Poverty & Possessiveness; representing Preta-gati / the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts

- Hum = Wisdom that purifies Aggression & Hatred; representing Naraka-gati / the Realm of Hell

Okaeri = Welcome back; conventionally responded with "tadaima," which means "I'm home."

There are some Japanese terms mixed in this fic (hishaku, omikuji, etc.), but explanations are provided very close to the respective words.

I

"Here," Takano handed a sports bag to a girl in her early twenties. He had seen her trying with difficulty to get it down from the rack above the seat a moment before and offered to procure the heavy-looking bag for her.

The bag owner accepted with a coy smile, "Thank you."

"Dear passengers, we will shortly be arriving at Osaka Station," the voice recording of the train announced, "The doors will open on the right. Please take care not to leave anything behind as you exit the train." At this, the girl offered Takano a shallow bow before going her way.

"Takano-san is such a gentleman—no wonder ladies fall for him," Kisa commented with a chuckle from a neighboring seat.

Mino sneered, while Hatori said nothing, although the gleam in his eyes stated, 'For your own good, mind your own business.'

Ritsu could only manage a small "oh." His mind was racing. How many people have been impressed by Takano's kindness indeed? It was small things like this that made him fall in love with Saga-sempai in the first place, fourteen years prior, when the upperclassman fetched a book for Ritsu, whose inferior height denied him access to the upper shelf.

Ritsu shook his head. Even if Takano had managed to attract a hundred people and slept with them, that was none of his concern—well, it was not supposed to be, anyway.

The Emerald team stepped out of the train, each man carrying one or two valises, in addition to a laptop bag. They were going to stay in Osaka for three days and two nights, as they were required to attend the annual anime and manga convention alongside the selected mangaka. The convention itself had lasted for three days in Tokyo and would last for another three in Osaka.

"Look, look, Ricchan!" At the station exit, Kisa nudged Ritsu and pointed at an imposing building on the background. "It seems our fate is connected in a circle after all—we work at Marukawa and here we see Daimaru Department Store."

"Um…" Ritsu was uncertain on what to reply at the lame joke. While it was true that the word "maru" meant "circle," couldn't his colleague cook up something better?

Since there was no way the five of them, plus their luggage and the driver, could fit in a single car, Hatori divided the team into two groups and hailed two cabs. They reached their destination—the lodging—in just over twenty minutes.

There were times when Ritsu felt jealous at Takano's capability, if not luck, and the fact that the chief editor managed to find a great inn at half price was one of such occasions. It was a traditional inn—a rustic ryoukan constructed of cedar and cypress—but, more importantly, it was located just three subway stations away from the convention hall.

The inn was noticeable from the big paper lantern in front of its edifice. Once they crossed through the gateway, they were faced with the kaiyuu-shiki-teien garden covered in seasonal greenery and surrounded by a low bamboo fence. The Emerald Team heard the water gently murmuring from the bamboo spout as it flowed into a small pond of Nishikigoi carp. A family of four was taking a stroll there, their geta wooden clogs clacking noisily against the stone pathways that connected the landscaped promenade garden to the verandah.

"Ah, I wish we could just relax and wear our yukata, just like them," when Mino noticed one of the children smoothened the creased hem of her casual cotton kimono, he sighed—a rather odd sight, since he did so without dismissing his constant smile.

Straight-faced as always, Hatori reminded him, "But reality proclaims that we won't even have time to wait until the room assistant brings us some green tea and sweets. The check-in time is 15:00, but the okami has given her permission for us to store our belongings there even at this early hour of morning. We need to leave for the convention hall right away."

As soon as the five Emerald editors stepped inside the lattice entrance, they received a courteous welcome greeting from the attendants, led by the graceful inn proprietress. As the corridor had wooden flooring, all guests were requested to remove their shoes and wear indoor slippers at the stone-paved entryway of the genkan.

Takano removed his shoes quicker than the others and headed straight to sign the register at the front desk. He declined the invitation to take a seat in the lobby, saying, "We are in a hurry; not a minute to be wasted. Also, we'll return after 22:30 tonight and tomorrow night, so we won't need dinner."

The five guests were ushered to the room by the nakai. As soon as the designated staff opened the door for them, the aromatic scent of wood pervaded the air. Each room at the Ajisai Inn was named instead of numbered, and they stayed at the Mutsumi Room. There were reasons why the room's name meant "harmony." As was typical with the Japanese-style guestrooms, the washitsu they were staying in overlooked the panoramic garden. Wood-framed glass sliding doors allowed the occupiers to step out onto the engawa, of which floor was also made of wood in accordance to the customary traditional porches, and into the garden straight from this room.

Amply comprising the space of twelve Kyouma tatami, the center of the room hosted a low wooden table surrounded by six cushioned seats, which would be put away and replaced by the bedding equipment currently stored in the large oshire on the opposing wall. Even the lighting was provided by traditional-styled lanterns: the wall-mounted kake-andon; the free-standing bonbori; and the portable bedside ariake-andon, which would undoubtedly cast soft glows in the room when lit at nighttime.

As they settled their luggage on the wooden floor of the agari-kamachi, Takano told them not to take off their indoor slippers. No member of the editorial team wasn't eager to feel the tatami under their shoeless feet and appreciate the full extent of the room's splendor. Even the kakejiku scroll bearing the calligraphy "kachou fugetsu"—the natural beauty of the four season represented by the kanji character of "flower," "bird," "wind," and "moon" on the alcove was beckoning the guests to inspect its eloquently flowing brushwork in greater detail. Alas, the editor-in-chief forbade his team from entering the room further due to time constraints.

For the convenience of discussing their work, the Emerald Team staff were huddled together in one large room. This was relieving news to Ritsu; if each room was to be shared by two people, who knew what scheme Takano would employ to get him as his roommate? Then, what had transpired between them the week before, during one of those God-knows-how-many-occasions-already Takano took the liberty to admit himself into Ritsu's apartment, would undoubtedly repeat itself.

###

"Taka—"

'Why is the mouth that chides me with sarcastic remarks at work now kissing me so gently? Why are the hands that criticize my edited pages with so many red marks now holding me so tenderly? Why is he treating me as if I were something precious? At this rate, how can I resist him any longer?'

"Takano-san, stop…" Ritsu sighed into his seducer's mouth with the last bit of pride and conscience left in his possession. Even so, he never learned that his teary-eyes, trembling lips, and erotic expression would only instill his partner with a renewed desire to kiss him all the more.

"Ta—mpf!"

Although Ritsu didn't want to allow that cruelly sweet caress of Takano's tongue shred the barrier of his perseverance and let desires seep through the rational part of his mind, sex with this man had always been mind-blowing. Their clothes strewn in disarray on the floor next to the bed, but the chagrined Ritsu could only watch dazedly as one by one, Takano peeled the articles of clothing off his body.

"I can't stop. I won't stop now, Ritsu," the senior editor breathed fervently on the younger man's ear. With that, his ardent fingers traced his lover's curvatures.

Ritsu eyed Takano pleadingly, but the taller man reciprocated with that heavy-lidded look that made the nerves underneath his skin tingle. The exquisite sensation of his seducer's bare flesh against his own roused a new heat at the pit of his stomach. Embarrassed, he closed his eyes, only to heighten the sensation of his partner's flesh gently surging against his rear.

'Takano-san, don't make me want you any more than this…'

Takano entered Ritsu—long, tumid, implacable, delayed by his partner's tightness, but unceasing.

'Even though I know I should push him away, my hands are moving on their own.'

Takano continued to move inside Ritsu, applying just enough pressure so as to make the pain pleasurable, while the body underneath writhed as its tightness absorbed him.

'Why is it that, when it comes to this man, I can't bring myself to dislike him?'

Before long, Ritsu was arching and undulating, responding eagerly to Takano's every thrust. As their two bodies moved rhythmically over the other, limbs intertwined, each man heard the rapid beating of the other's pulse echoing into his ears.

'Why, all my life, nobody except him can make me feel this way? Takano-san is … sempai is…'

Breath emerging in short gasps, Ritsu slung his arms around Takano's shoulders and brought the older man's body closer to his own. Amidst the drips of sweat and the rolls of their hips, Ritsu heard his partner murmur words of love and felt him thrust deeper. And deeper. And deeper still.

"Ahh!"

Tremor seized Ritsu; the core of his very being quivered with a need he refused to name. He shut his eyes in embarrassment, not wishing to see the other man watching the way he blushed. What else could he do? Dignity be damned! He loved this man more than anyone and anything else in the world—even though he'd rather die than concede the truth to the loathsome entity known as Takano Masamune.

###

"Oi, Onodera, make sure you don't give any spoilers while assisting Saitou-sensei's manga workshop," Takano reminded his junior editor as the five editors walked from the subway station to the convention hall.

"Yes, yes," Ritsu replied without bothering to conceal his irritated tone. While it was true he had accidentally let slip a tiny bit of info from an unpublished chapter on the Tokyo convention two days prior, and had been saved by Takano's interference, couldn't the efficacious editor-in-chief believe in him that at least he was sensible enough not to repeat his past mistake?

"It's enough to answer 'yes' once."

"Yes, mister editor-in-chief." Ritsu resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Takano didn't possess a megalomaniacal nature. Nor had he ever rebuked Kisa, Mino or Hatori in this manner. The words, as a matter of fact, sounded more like teasing—which was why it was no mystery that he and he alone became the subject of Takano's chastising.

The Emerald Team's destination was easy to find, since the building was noticeable for the half-tubular dome and glass front of its towering plaza. One of Japan's largest international exhibition centers, the International Exhibition Center—often shortened into Intex Osaka—covered 70,000 square meters of exhibition space and regularly served as a venue for various events such as trade shows, exhibitions, concerts, and meetings.

At the Intex Osaka entrance, a group of three teenage cosplayers exchanged glances and whispered as they passed by—the convention was not open yet, but some visitors had prepared themselves to queue for certain limited stock items. The girls nudged one another, giggling, until at last the tallest of them stepped forward and addressed Takano.

"Um, excuse me, are you a model?"

"No," the editor-in-chief answered without any elaboration.

The teenager did not look abashed, as though she had expected this answer. With a flirty tone, she said again, "Oh I see. That coat really looks good on you, so my friends and I just thought… But anyway, can we take your picture?"

"Sorry, we're in a hurry." Takano's eyes met his speaking adversary in a piercingly cold stare.

The Emerald editors could still hear the three cosplayers' grumbles about Takano being a cheapskate when they slipped through the doorway.

"They do have a point about that coat, though," Mino remarked jokingly, his head cocking at Takano's beige gabardine coat. "It looks like a top brand product when you're the one who wears it."

'It's true,' averred the little voice in Ritsu's mind, 'and that's not all. Practically everything looks better when Takano-san wears it.' Argh! How the junior editor hated himself for noticing.

Takano shrugged, yet stole a glimpse at Ritsu from the corner of his eyes. "You think so?"

Kisa said, "Yup, definitely," while Hatori nodded. As the only one who had not voiced his comment, Ritsu tried to sound as flippant as possible and spoke, "There's nothing special to it; don't all Takano-san's clothing leave the same impression?"

"Ah, Ricchan is so strict with his comments," Kisa replied.

Although Hatori simply remarked, "That's what makes one a good editor," his tone hinted a slight annoyance prompted by Kisa's early editorial days, in which the recently-employed editor had been too lenient with the changes of the manga drafts. It had become Hatori's task to supervise Kisa's corrections, which resulted in coming home around midnight quite often.

On they walked, but Ritsu did not miss the tiny smirk on Takano's lips. 'Crap! He'd better not interpret my words as "Takano-san, you look handsome regardless of what sort of clothing you wear."'

If Ritsu thought that their individual assignments to different panels—with storyboards to prepare—amid the frenzy of the cosplay masquerade contest, seiyuu talks, anime screening, game tournament, manga workshops, and action figure auction—could take Takano off his mind, he was off the mark. True, he managed to station himself at the far end of the Marukawa stall, which was the farthest spot from Takano, and he successfully evaded Takano's offer to have lunch together, as well. However, there was nothing he could do to avoid a little time together when the editor-in-chief claimed, "We're running low of Kaitou-sensei's manga. Onodera she's in your charge, isn't she? Come with me to grab more copies upstairs."

"I can go by myself," Ritsu replied, a bit too quickly for Takano's liking.

"Moron, are you going to carry a hundred tankoubon by yourself all the way down from the second floor?"

Thus, the junior editor had no choice but to follow his superior. They passed the crowded escalator on their way, but Takano ignored it. Ritsu's initial guess was that his senior needed to use the toilet, but the older man approached the stairs instead.

"Um, Takano-san, the storage room is located right next to the escalator in Hall #6, so why are we taking the stairs, which leads to the far corner of Hall #5?"

"Isn't it expected for a man to endeavor everything within his capacity to spend the time alone with the one he loves, even if it's just for a minute longer?"

When the junior editor heard that smug voice, a tinge of scarlet bloomed on his cheeks. The two of them were the only ones taking the stairs and, unless they shouted, the other visitors were out of hearing range. Ritsu dashed past Takano, climbing the stairs more rapidly—at least, when he ran out of breath while reaching the top, he'd be able to use it as an excuse for his racing pulse.

"Oi, Onodera, slow down! Why are you so against the idea of being together with me?"

But Ritsu kept on spurring his feet.

"Quit pretending you didn't hear me." The angry words left Takano's mouth.

"Quit pretending you didn't know the answer!" Ritsu snapped without looking back as he advanced with heavy stomps. 'It's not as if you couldn't figure out how I feel; despite us being together so often at the office and on the way home, you've always found a way to make my heart do flips.'

Takano followed closely behind, and the younger man could still hear his superior maundering, "Tsk! In high school, you used to be so upfront with your feelings."

Shortly afterwards, they reached Room 6─6, which the Marukawa Publishing rented as the storage for their merchandise, but Ritsu spent three seconds balking in front of its door. He could guess what lay ahead the moment he grasped the metal handle and pushed the door open. As the wooden slab swung inwards, it revealed the room behind it. The first noticeable objects were a wall-mounted whiteboard flanked by two conference tables stacked with unsealed card-boxes and surrounded by twelve chairs. It was on one of these chairs that the man nicknamed the "Marukawa's wild stallion" sat.

'Of course,' thought Ritsu, mentally preparing himself for Yokozawa's brazen greeting. The sales department sent three employees to take care of the merchandise. Mercifully, they had to depart earlier and leave later than the editors, so both parties were given separated travel and accommodation arrangements. Since the salesman was alone, his two colleagues were likely surveying the quality and quantity that prompted purchases at the convention.

"Why are you here?" The senior employee of Marukawa sales department peered over his laptop.

"The stock of Kaitou-sensei's manga is running low. We need—"

Before Ritsu finished, Takano appeared behind him and finished the sentence for him, "Yokozawa, give us a hundred of those." He pointed at the book piles on the left corner of one conference table.

"Help yourselves; I can't leave this chart for now," replied the sitting man without taking his gaze off the monitor, "And don't forget to state the number of books you take when you sign the registry, Takano."

'Why "Takano"? Unless communicating in the presence of other Marukawa employers, Yokozawa-san usually used "Masamune" in front of me before. Did something happen between them?' Ritsu wondered. 'And come to think of it, why has Takano-san never referred to him as "Takafumi"?'

Ritsu's mind was cleared from the thought soon enough; his breath hitched at the not-so-accidental brush of Takano's fingers when his boss was handing him some the tankoubon.

'Damn, even though I've slept with him repeatedly, why do his light touches still send shivers down my spine?'

Thanks to the piles of books in their arms, Takano couldn't conduct any lewd approach on the way down. Afterwards, Ritsu assisted the mangaka Mutou Yukina in a Q & A session with her fans, so he barely had to interact with Takano.

The convention closed at ten, but the editors had to help store the merchandise and tidy up before leaving. The clock nearly struck eleven when the Emerald Team arrived at the inn, dog-tired from the piling exertions of their Tokyo-Osaka itinerary and the anime convention. After changing into yukata, Hatori and Mino still had the strength to take a dip in the large open-air bath, but Ritsu went straight to his futon and fell asleep as soon as he lay himself down.

II

Barely two hours had passed when Ritsu was awoken by the need to use the bathroom. The night was brumal even though it was already May. Shivering, Ritsu pulled his hands into his yukata sleeves and made a mental note to adjust the temperature of the air conditioner after returning from the toilet. Sleepily, he ambled. He thought there was something white in the bedroom corner that had not been there before, but that could be a large vase that he had taken no notice of. Whatever that was, he could look at it in the morning.

Nearly everything in the toilet of the Emerald Team's en-suite room was made of wood, from the floor to the bidet seat. Even the smaller paraphernalia, such as the rectangular furo-isu bathing stools and a circular oke basin containing soap, shampoo and other bathing essentials, were also wooden.

'It's really nice in here,' thought Ritsu. 'Maybe I'll return for a vacation someday.'

Compared to the fully-lit bathroom, the bedroom seemed like an alienated dusky realm, and its waxing dimness crept into the floor Ritsu was standing on the moment he opened the door. He stared into the umbrageous area below and found out that the pitch-black murkiness had devoured his shadow.

After he slid the bathroom door close, something seemed to pass in front of him, but it was so fast that he could not recognize the walker. Or runner. Ritsu blinked. Did one of his colleagues want to use the toilet? But he saw no one.

"Kisa-san?"

There was no answer.

"Mino-san?"

No reply again.

"Uh, Hatori-san?"

More silence.

"T-taka—" 'Ugh, forget it! This is ridiculous. It must be just my imagination.'

Ritsu took another step, and this time, he became aware of the soft thud of his slippers against the floor. Other than this, there was no sound in the room. He knew he should be glad about the fact that none of his roommates were snoring noisily, but somehow, this muted atmosphere did not bring him peace of mind. Against such quietude, his footstep counted as a noticeable shifting; it was as though the edifice had just sighed.

Ritsu took a deep breath, trying to clear off his mind. 'It's all right,' he told himself. He wasn't achluophobic or anything.

As he walked back to the sleeping area, Ritsu intended to search for the air conditioner remote control, but much to his astonishment, the air conditioner itself was switched off. He searched for a radiator next, but found none—typically, hotels and inns provided the rooms with additional heating only during winter. It was then that he also noticed that the white chunk at the corner was no longer there. He paused and squinted; the thing was still not there.

'Oh well, maybe it was never there to begin with,' he shrugged and settled on his futon, pulling the quilt.

The silent minutes passed by. The garden directly outside the Harmony Room was silent, except for its lisping fountain, and no leaf stirred in the strenuous stillness. The night was still, so still that it was even devoid of the lonely wail of the occasional wind. No matter how hard Ritsu squeezed his eyes, he couldn't win the favor of sleep. The shifts in air here were unnaturally hiemal; it was more like the grasp of frosty fingers than the passing of draughts from the window.

Even as Ritsu curled inside his thick quilt, his teeth were still chattering from the intemperate night air. He was sure it was this—rather than anything else—which kept him awake for a long while and rendered his eventual slumber restless and broken. Even Tokyo in in the rage of the wintry January nights wouldn't be so arctic; was Osaka supposed to be this frigging cold? But his colleagues were all sleeping soundly, unbothered by the gelidity. Could it be that he was feeling unwell and became sensitive to coldness more so than the others did?

Ritsu reopened his eyes. The ceiling consisted of large panels of richly grained old cedar that invoked an image of an ancient and distinguished family household. When light was ample, its rich and warm umber ambience impressed him with the sense of a space that somehow transcended time. Right now, however, the wooden beams turned charcoal-colored, immersing him in a feeling of unease. Something more than the obscurity of the night seemed to adhere to its tenebrous construction. In his feverish fright, Ritsu couldn't be sure whether the beams had always been there or had craftily moved position.

Outside, somewhere far down the road, a dog began to howl—a long, terror-stricken yelp, as if from a threat that humans could not comprehend. The ululation was taken up by another dog, and then another and another, borne on the sighing wind. Wild howling prolonged like some bestial ceremony, coming from all over the neighborhood through the gloom of the night.

Then, amid the mad howling of the dogs, something sliced through the oppressive night air—an entirely different noise and definitely closer. Ritsu recognized that sound. It was the unmistakable din of a coin spinning on wooden floor. The clang of flat metal against hard stone. But before the hollow whirl could die into a dull thud, the coin was twirled again.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

'Geez, that bastard has no consideration that other people need to rest!'

Ritsu's attempt to sleep came to no avail no matter how hard he tried to clear his mind, even pulling his pillow over his head. He shut his eyes, but there was nothing he could do to shut his ears. The noise had not ceased even after the fifteenth rotation.

Sixteen.

Seventeen.

Twenty minutes had passed. Shouldn't it be the time for whoever played with the coin to be tired? In Ritsu's head, curiosity started to mingle with astonishment.

Sixty eight.

Sixty nine.

Seventy minutes had passed.

'God, make it stop! Please!'

The sound became regular while the twang lost its first superficial excitement and began to beat like a steady pulse. Ritsu lay there, trembling and listening, initially with doubt, but then with dread to the sound breathing at him in the extreme quietude. The walls remained obstinate in their mute stare. The combined shadows of the calligraphy scroll and the dwarf pine bonsai on the alcove were long and oddly shaped. The nocturnal air breathed cold even though the windows were tightly shut.

At last, at long last, the noise of the coin flipping ebbed away into the distance. Ritsu gathered his thoughts; the clock of the cellphone next to his pillow had already displayed 02:49.

Outside, the canine howls still went on and on, but otherwise an infrangible silence lay upon the inn. Then, without preamble, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to his ears, clear, resonant, unmistakable. A thin, sinister laugh out of the darkness chilled them and set Ritsu grabbing for his quilt, goose bumps erupting all over his body. The voice didn't come from afar; it certainly was in the same room as he was. Along with it, a new sliver of cold wedged in the heart of ryoukan room. Ritsu waited with every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the beating of his own heart.

Then the laughter took on renewed activity. The voice rose, remote and unearthly, and becoming a shrill guffaw. It was the cackle of a woman—the uncontrollable, carefree snorts of one inebriated by an excessive amount of alcohol. Ritsu's breath hitched as he listened. 'What is wrong with place?'

He did not want to think about it and forced himself to sleep. However, as his eyelids were about to close, he received an impression of movement in the frozen gloom: above, a strange shade was flitting across him.

Ritsu's body stiffened. Something of an unknown nature was lurking, crouching above one of the wooden beams on the ceiling, cloaked in shadows. With a sweaty palm, the youngest Emerald editor snatched up his cellphone and pointed its flashlight at the ceiling. His eyes couldn't make out any animate object, but the vastness of the room, with its somberness, still struck a chill to the marrow of his bones.

He gulped. There was something up there, something peculiar. Although he could not see what it was—or who that was—its shadow made his heart race. He hoped with all his might that it wouldn't be what he thought it was. 'But ghosts only exist in stories, right?'

Then, Ritsu felt a strange tugging at his guts, for a scent of blood tainted the air. From the first inhalation, his head seemed to expand in an explosion of horror and every particle of his sinews felt like it had moved to a whole new plane of macabre. It was as though he was choking, his body constricted. Something was on top of him, pinning him down to the futon with its sheer weight. He could sense its abhorrent presence. He could feel its unwholesome coldness. Yet, that thing—that horrifying hindrance on his chest—didn't allow him to open his mouth, condemning him to muteness.

In his defenseless state, Ritsu tossed his head wildly to the side to seek help from his roommates. To his right, Hatori and Mino slept unperturbed. Kisa was sleeping just fine on Ritsu's immediate left, but Takano, who lay nearer to the window than the others … something was perching atop the editor-in-chief's sleeping figure. Something white.

A chill sharper than that of the frosty night—a chill of macabre—smote Ritsu. With goosebumps sprouting on his flesh, he clenched his fists. He intended to steel himself, but an icicle lodged in his heart, freezing his soul. Sound came, but could not escape his lips.

The white thing was a kimono—a long, bedraggled bridal kimono, worn by a woman almost as white as the fabric itself. Ritsu wouldn't have been able to distinguish her skin from her attire, had it not been for the blood oozing from her face and hands. She squatted over Takano, her entire body hovering in the air. Ritsu saw, from between the trails of her disheveled hair, that her lips were parting and forming a pucker—akin to soup slurping.

Ritsu's eyes dilated. He had to warn Takano; he couldn't see what exactly she was sucking, but he knew she was harming the sleeper. The Emerald's youngest editor stared, seized by fright, while the moon crept sluggishly across the ebon sky. His lips were as heavy as lead slabs. Even breathing became a herculean task; the rise of his chest was inhibited by the crushing weight.

In his twenty-six years in of life, never had Ritsu experienced such a degree of intimidation. His muscles were cramping and his body numb with insoluble fear. And yet, he had to fight this. He needed to move. Needed to get up. Needed to stop her. Needed to…

Ritsu squeezed his fingers tight around his quilt and cast it aside.

'Takano-san!'

Scrambling to his feet, Ritsu forced his voice out. He had to shout. He had to warn the sleeper. But an invisible substance jammed his throat, hindering his vocal cord from working. His lips and parched tongue propelled spasmodically together in the endeavor, yet what was issued from his cavernous lungs, heaving and palpitating, was no more than a feeble croak of Takano's name.

The thing in the white kimono turned to him. As though in a nightmare, her eyes were fixated upon him. Her whole sockets were occupied by some morbidly unnatural, melanite-like substance. Even in the absence of the sclera, their persistent gaze was inescapable.

It took much effort, but he grasped what courage he had. 'Go away!' his voice strained.

'Who are you? Why are you targeting Takano-san? What are you doing to him?' were all at the tip of Ritsu's tongue. And yet, he could not say it; he could barely spew anything significant of what he intended.

The creature's lips curved upward, her rictus grin interminably fixed on him, before she disintegrated evanescently into thin air, leaving no trail of presence. The only testifier of her visit was Ritsu's pounding heart.

Outside, the neighboring dogs ceased their howling. All blood putridity vanished and the chilly air grew milder as if liberating Ritsu from his invisible constriction. Then his buckling knees gave in and he slumped onto the reed tatami between Kisa and Takano's futons. An unknown relief washed over him. The speech impediment had been lifted.

"Takano-san," he called.

The sleeper gave him no answer.

"Takano-san," he called again, this time, he crawled toward his superior, as well.

Still no answer.

"Takano-san," he shook the taller man. Much to his dread, Takano's body was cold and his pulse was infinitesimal. "Takano-san! TAKANO-SAN!"

"Ricchan, what is it?" asked Kisa. The other staff stirred, roused by Ritsu's bawl.

"Takano-san—he … he … there was that white thing and … it … she…" he fambled.

"Whoa, calm down, Ricchan. Tell us slowly."

The rest of the Emerald Team showered Ritsu with a look of pity after they heard his account. Kisa even patted him at the back, just like a patient older brother calming a trouble child. "You're tired and you were having a nightmare."

Ritsu looked at his colleagues in disbelief. How could they treat him like a child who could not distinguish dream from reality, when Takano's condition could aggravate with the passing of time! He was about to voice this indignation when a sudden suspicion invaded his mind: the other three editors simply avoided accusing him with three worse possible charges.

"Look, I'm not lying and I'm not mad. That wasn't a hallucination either." Ritsu's jaw clenched and unclenched. "She was there; I saw her!"

The staff exchanged an exasperated look before Hatori suggested, "Why don't we talk about this in the morning?"

The others were quick to agree. Without stifling their yawns, they returned to their own futons. Ritsu clenched his fists, the vision of what the spooky thing had done to Takano still parading through his mind. If only he had a proof! But the thing—ghost or whatever it was—did not leave a trail of blood or any physical bearings.

Shivering alone under his blanket, Ritsu could not sleep. The dark night was full of claws, full of the awful unknown and menace. As the hours rolled by, an interminable dawn faded the stars out, and the light, sad and gray, filtered into the window at last. Again and again, Ritsu's eyes scanned the room in precaution for the return of that thing, but as the ghost failed to materialize, his mind became fervently preoccupied with Takano. Something was definitely not right. After months of traveling together, Ritsu had never as much as tapped Takano on the shoulder to rouse his boss from sleep. Takano had always been a light sleeper who'd wake up without the need of yelling in the shinkansen on their way home from work. But right now, he wouldn't budge.

When morning illuminated the Hydrangea Inn and it was time for all of them to get up, Takano did not react no matter how loud the other staff shouted or how hard they nudged him. Mino even sprinkled him with water, but to no avail. With baggy eyes, Ritsu watched his three colleagues turning pale.

In the end, Hatori told them, "We have to resume work without Takano-san today. The three of you should go to the convention first. I'll arrange an ambulance to bring him to a local hospital and catch up with you later."

III

Restless and distraught while attending the Marukawa stall in main hall of Intex Osaka, Ritsu gazed longingly at his side, where Takano had been standing yesterday. As he reached out, the taller man's phantom presence faded away and he found himself touching nothing but the empty air. Second by dragging second crawled by and he counted the torpid minutes in a haze. Yet, only by hearing the state of Takano's health would his weary heart be remedied.

"How is he?" asked Ritsu as soon as Hatori arrived from the Osaka Central Hospital, nearly two hours later. The hall was buzzing with noises from the diversity of kiosk sellers and visitors, but Hatori's voice was the only thing that reached Ritsu's ears.

There was a suppressed sigh within Hatori's answer, but he refused to allow emotion rule over. "Takano-san was still breathing, but in a coma. The doctor couldn't tell what was wrong with him. The cardiogram reading showed a single flat line ran all the way across it, with only a few small bumps indicating that he was even still alive—typically, this kind of result belongs to a patient with critical health condition. Hence, Takano-san's blood sample is currently being analyzed at the laboratory as we speak. I think it's best to let Takano-san be hospitalized there for a while in spite of our return to Tokyo the day after tomorrow."

On hearing this, Ritsu insisted, "Hatori-san, please let me stay at Takano-san's side until he recovers. I'll ask the authors to fax all the materials I need and edit in the hospital."

"Onodera, I understand that you're worried about Takano-san, but your presence next to his sickbed will make no difference to his health. If anything, there's no guarantee that the disease isn't contagious."

Ritsu's gaze fell, downcast. He clenched his fists, but no words left his mouth. Instead, at lunch, he sneaked out to visit the nearest shrine to the convention hall. It was a small, no-name shrine of Hachiman-type. Even the size of its chozusha reflected the size of this shrine; there was only one bamboo ladle in that basin of water. Thankfully, no other visitors were using this facility, so Ritsu did not need to queue for the misogi harai purification ritual.

After rinsing his hands and mouth, Ritsu headed straight to the haiden, where people normally worshipped. There, he tossed some coins into the slats of a large wooden box and pulled the dangling rope above the offering box to sound the bell at the top, announcing his presence to the deities. Standing solemnly before the shrine, he took two deep bows, and then brought his hands closed before his chest, making them clap twice.

He pleaded, 'Gods, you are the almighty protectors and comfort in sickness. Please show Takano-san your compassion. Grant your merciful aid to him and keep him from harm. Save him. I know at work I don't live up to his standards yet, and I frequently quarrel with him, and I haven't been a good neighbor to him, but please don't take him away from me.'

The memory of the business trip to Touhoku, three months prior, flashed through Ritsu's mind. During which, he had learned for the first that Takano's shoe size was twenty-eight. Even so, the knowledge for Takano-related triviality had given him unsurpassed elation.

'There are still many things I want to learn about Takano-san,' Ritsu resumed his prayer. 'Please give me another chance to be a better man who is always by his side and shares his burdens. He is dearer to me than I could ever tell him. From the first moment I saw him, until the last breath I draw, it will be him that I love. It will always be him. If he never opens his eyes again, I…'

Ritsu bit his lip and squeezed his eyes tighter. 'Please Gods…'

The silent prayer was followed by one final ceremonial bow. He decided to visit visited the shrine kiosk before leaving.

"Excuse me," he called the kiosk owner.

The owner, a gap-toothed elderly man, peeked from behind his newspaper and asked in a thick Kansai dialect. "What is it, young man?"

"I'm looking for a protective charm, but I don't see any ofuda or hamaya here," answered Ritsu, his eyes once again darting among rows of merchandise.

"That's to be expected," the old man answered with pursed lips. "It's May; in a small shrine like this, talismans and evil-destroying arrows are on sale only when New Year's closing in. What I have at this stall right now are just ema—votive tablets, omamori—amulets, and omikuji—divination slips."

"Oh no, what should I do? I don't even know where to find them."

Not failing to notice the genuinely worried look on the young man's face, the kiosk seller asked, "Why do you need them so urgently?"

Hesitation clouded the young editor, but since this old man's job was related to the supernatural, there was still hope that he wouldn't consider Ritsu crazy or making up some stories, right?

"A female ghost harmed a friend of mine," the temple visitor answered truthfully.

The vendor put down his newspaper. With raised brows, he queried, "What sort of harm is it? If you're not specific enough, I won't be able to write the correct incantation."

"You're going to make a charm for me? Thank you very much," Ritsu uttered with a smile of relief. He then gathered his thoughts in recollection of his encounter with the ghost and narrated the event to the old man.

"Hmm, based on your description, that ghost is likely to be an onryou—a spirit of the dead who has returned to the physical world in order to seek vengeance. Your friend was having his soul sucked up, but you interrupted the onryou before she finished. She will definitely come back to reclaim her prey tonight," the kiosk seller commented at the end of Ritsu's story. "Yong man, are you familiar at all with the tale of Kibitsu no Kama?"

"The Cauldron of Kibitsu? You mean the one about an unfaithful husband who runs off with a prostitute and, after the wife dies, her spirit haunts them both?"

"Yes, that one, precisely. You're quite impressive; not many youths these days are still interested in folklores and legends," the elderly man remarked with unfeigned surprise.

With a shallow bow, Ritsu rubbed the back of his head, feeling some modest embarrassment. The Cauldron of Kibitsu was one of the nine stories that composed Tales of Moonlight and Rain or Ugetsu Monogatari, which was first published in 1776. He would not have read the Edo period literature had his Saga-sempai not read it in the first year of his high school.

Takano-san… Ritsu clenched his fists.

"But my friend isn't the type who would do such—" Ritsu did not continue. Come to think of it, Takano did say something about him being promiscuous during his university days. It wouldn't be impossible if he had bedded this woman once back then, wouldn't it? And perhaps she had committed suicide because he had abandoned her.

No, no, no, no, no, no! Ritsu shook his head. The ghost was clad in a bridal kimono. No matter how inebriated Takano could have been, he wouldn't have proposed to anyone.

"Ah, anyway, how is the Cauldron of Kibitsu related to the ghost from last night?"

The kiosk vendor inhaled deeply. "Listen to this, young man," he invoked, "Shortly after World War II, when this country's economy had not yet recovered from the ravage of war, there lived a young woman named Matsushita Kazue. She was a wealthy merchant's only child, but betrothed to a lowly foot soldier, who was jobless after the war—rather than having her unmarried and bringing shame upon the family, her parents promised the groom-to-be a substantial amount of dowry. The bride-to-be had been smitten with passionate love the moment she was presented with her prospective husband's photograph. As for the young man, he agreed to marry their daughter because he did not know about her cleft lips; however, as soon as he learned the truth at their first encounter, he left. Rumor had it that he eloped with a geisha from Kyoto's Pontochou district."

The wizened man shook his head before continuing, "Ever since then, Kazue kept waiting in misery in her bridal kimono upon herself, flipping a coin day and night and making believe that if it was head, her supposed husband would return to her; otherwise, he wouldn't. Nevertheless, no matter what the result was, he never came back. Excessive grief kept Kazue from food consumption and she barely lasted for a month. However, even long after her death, people can still hear the sound of a flipping coin at night. Apparently, the Ajisai Inn, where you and your friends are staying, used to be the Matsushita residence." The charm seller ended his tale with a heaving sigh.

Ritsu took a sharp breath. Although there were differences here and there, such as the bride and groom's status as well as the location, the story did bear some resemblance to that of the early part of Kibitsu no Kama.

"You must have realized by now that in both stories, it was a man's infidelity that turned a woman into a vengeful spirit," the old man spoke again. "In life, these women suffered tremendously as powerless creatures of the fairer sex, but death strengthened them."

The kiosk seller opened the top drawer underneath the stall and took out a thin pile of empty paper-charms. "It'll take a while to finish them all, and I'll still need to get them blessed by the head priest before I can hand them to you, anyway. Why don't you come back here to collect them around the kiosk's closing time, at five?"

Ritsu smiled. "I will do that. Thank you very much," he bowed deeply.

###

Later that night, when the whole Emerald Team had returned to the inn, save for the hospitalized Takano, Ritsu laid three omamori-bukuro on the tatami. Their pouches had different colors, but the same decorative pattern, which was too flowery for guys. The junior editor asserted, "I know it's very selfish of me and that my request will inconvenience you all, but would you please wear these?"

Kisa was the first to agree. With light steps and an untroubled face, he picked one of the omamori pouches. "If it puts Ricchan's mind at ease, I don't mind."

"Well, Onodera must have his own reasons," Hatori averred.

Mino took the protective charm without further ado.

"Thank you so much, guys." Ritsu bowed deeply. He would show more appreciation at any other time, but he was in a rush tonight.

"Ricchan," Kisa called as Ritsu passed him in a dash towards the door, "It's past eleven; where are you going?"

Without stopping, Ritsu swerved for a brief second to show another omamori in his hand and declared, "I need to put this around Takano-san's neck."

"And how do you expect the security guards and the patrolling nurses in the hospital will let you in?" Hatori's question made Ritsu halt.

The junior editor hastily thrust the charm back into his pocket and gripped it tight. "I'll … uh … I'll manage somehow."

After letting out a rather long sigh, Hatori proclaimed, "210—that's Takano-san's room number."

"Thank you, Hatori-san!" Once again, Ritsu dashed towards the shouji and soon disappeared behind the black lacquer-framed paper-paneled sliding door.

"Gee, I'd never have guessed that he could be so superstitious," commented Mino as soon as the sound of Ritsu's footsteps vanished.

"Well, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover," replied Kisa, "What surprises me more is how much Ricchan is worried about our chief, though. They quarrel on nearly daily basis, just like cat and dog—"

Kisa stopped abruptly, astonished by his own words. He remembered that in BL manga, the relationship between a cat and a dog represented that of an uke to his seme. But Ritsu and Takano couldn't be lovers … or could they?

A little less than an hour later, the junior editor was still catching his breath as he stood next to his chief's bed—he had just taken the fire escape route to avoid eye-witnesses while slipping away to this room. He wiped his perspiring forehead and exhaled in relief that he managed to achieve this far. Finding the taxi to get to the hospital had been difficult. Moreover, a patrolling security guard noticed him straightaway the moment he took the first step out of the vehicle. Thus, under the pretext of acute botulism, he queried for the direction to the emergency unit, but headed to Takano's room as soon as the guard was out of sight.

Ritsu uttered a short prayer in his heart again before sprinkling the floor around Takano's bed with the purified salt that the head priest had given him earlier, along with the amulets. Next, he draped the lanyard attached with the omamori-bukuro around Takano's neck. Lastly, he stuck eight paper ofuda—from east to northeast—on Takano's bedframe.

When he was done with the preparations, he patted Takano's hair softly, half-expecting the unconscious man to wake up, half-worrying how embarrassed he would be if Takano caught him showing so much affection like this. But Takano did not open his eyes.

Taking a seat next to Takano's bed, Ritsu contemplated about their relationship through the sorrowful hours of the night.

###

There used to be times when teenage Ritsu fawned over Saga-sempai—he knew that much; but still he did not know why his current, jaded self felt exactly the same emotion as those experienced by the naivety of his youth over a decade ago.

'Out of everything in the world, I want to defy you the most. But why is it that although so many years have come and gone since I first met you, I still yearn for you, and for every passing second, I love you even more?'

When the twelve-year-old Ritsu raised his eyes to the face of the stranger who had fetched him the book, he seemed to see more thought there, in one look, than he could have studied out in a lifetime. From that point on, his heart had no longer been his own. He read every book that Takano laid his hands on, watched every detail of Takano's move, and secretly admired the tall boy from afar for the three years that followed. All those times, he preserved the queasy feeling of infatuation in his bosom, for he thought that the unrequited love of his was like a flower bud that could never blossom. But then, his dream came true, thanks to a single book on the library shelf—before he knew it, his confession was taking place and Takano asked him out.

Fifteen-year-old Ritsu would feel his chest tightening just because Saga-sempai spoke to him; or how the inside of his head became all muddled up just because Saga-sempai sat next to him; or how his heart nearly stopped beating just because Saga-sempai held his hand. Even though it had been five days since they first had carnally known each other, a shade of cinnabar still graced the high school freshman's cheeks, quite uninvited, at the tiniest speck of affection. No, it didn't take sex, kisses, or even handholding to set Ritsu's heart aflutter; a single eye contact would do.

Saga's class was located on the third floor, facing the schoolyard. It was also Ritsu's habit to look at the window of his beloved sempai's class when he passed the school gate. Not that he relied too much on the coincidence that the precise moment he looked at the window, his idol would just happen to be standing by the same window. In fact, ninety-nine point nine percent of his months of "Saga-sempai Window-Hunting Project" had come to no avail.

Never had he imagined that the remaining slim chance of zero point zero one percent would come true one spring morning. There was no wind rustling, flower petals fluttering, or birds singing. Or perhaps there were. Ritsu could not tell. For all he knew, the moment Saga-sempai locked eyes with him, the earth no longer revolved, and the ground ceased to exist. Even the flow of time seemed to dissolve in the whirlpools of bliss that were Saga's eyes.

Ritsu would probably just stand there in a stupor, trying to remember what his name was, had his beloved upperclassman not smiled and waved his hand. More of an instinct than a deliberation, the freshman's lips curved upward and melded into a smile. As for waving back, his courage granted him barely three seconds before he broke into a run.

'I've seen the love of my life and he has seen me. What do I do? What do I do?'

Upon reaching the classroom, some of his classmates asked why his face was red up to the tip of his ears.

###

When two bookworms went on dates, it was bound to occur that meeting after school at the library on a daily basis became an unspoken agreement. It would actually be more accurate to call these "dates" as "sharing one library desk," as each boy was immersed in his own book, and made very little conversation. But hey, it was his crazy heartbeat throbbing that really counted, right?

In all honesty, there was no way Ritsu could fully concentrate on his reading in his beloved sempai's company. Every few minutes, his mind would switch back and forth between the reading material and the endless train of "I love you"s. When he caught a glimpse of Saga's hand flipping a page, he would imagine the feel of those fingers against his own hands.

'Sempai, if only you could know what I'm dying to ask…'

As the hours ticked away, the library grew quieter and quieter. Ritsu stole a glance—yet again—at the seat next to him. Saga was there, just an arm's reach from him. The younger boy repressed a sigh; distance was not the issue here, but what it would take for him to pluck up enough courage to touch his sempai's long fingers?

At the library's closing time, the omnilegent Saga closed his book, beckoned to his underclassman's book and spoke, "Is it good?"

Ritsu nodded, but his stomach twisted with guilt. The piece of literature nestled in his hands did have excellent content, but he had spent his time reading it with half his mind thinking about what if Saga-sempai invited him to visit his house again … and what if he didn't? Would he take Ritsu in the library again, just like the day before, when the music students were still practicing outside and all?

The memory of Saga's embrace alone was enough to make Ritsu's cheeks feel no less hot than boiling kettles—how his beloved sempai called his name with their limbs still entangled, and whichever part of Ritsu's skin that Saga caressed became a trail of fire.

'With his warmth, he fills me up.'

'The tepid puffs of his breath…'

'The covetous longing in his eyes…'

'The possessive grasp of his fingers…'

A part of Saga was so deep within Ritsu. Pressing. Spreading. Penetrating him. A flash of pain, followed by delight. Sweet, incomparable delight. What could he do to forbid the wave of pleasure to crest inside him? The younger boy's head thrashed from side to side, but when his sempai's fingers laced with his, they carried a mysterious power to still him. His eyes fluttered open, only to close again as soon as Saga's lips claimed his and swallowed his moans.

"Ah! Sempai … sem … pai…"

Locked in each other's embrace under the benign light of the moon on the window of Saga's bedroom, their two bodies incorporated into one.

###

Yes, back then, everything was so blissful; yet, even now, the feelings Ritsu intended to cast away lingered and grew stronger in his heart. He knew he couldn't blame Saga-sempai for capturing his heart years ago, but it was fully and incorrigibly Takano-san's fault not to let go. With the scar of first love with Saga too deep to be healed, he became traumatized to fall truly in love ever again. In spite of trying one girl after another during his high school years in Great Britain, none of his relationships could last. Nevertheless, working at shoujo manga section of the Marukawa Publishing incite his desolated heart to rekindle the sparks of the long-forgotten flame—regardless of his denial to such a fact; it took more than a mere mortal's effort to elude the craft of Destiny.

The current Ritsu eyed the unconscious Takano, his gaze not without longing. Just a few weeks after he had joined Marukawa, Takano told him, "No matter whom I was with, I could never forget you. That's why I'm going to make you confess that you love me again."

"Takano-san, you can't die yet; aren't you a capable worker who hasn't achieved what you promised?" he murmured beseechingly.

Takano's dormant figure lay still, offering him no answer.

'There are mountainous things I need to tell you. I never had the courage to acknowledge the truth, but I love you. I love you. I love you. I always did. I always will. Please don't leave me … I can't bear any more long years living a mere façade of life without you.'

Ritsu leaned forward, gazing at the man's still face. One hand brushed Takano's cheek, his own warm breath falling upon chilled skin, and with a gentle whisper, quietly knelt down to let their lips touch.

The younger man suddenly became aware of another presence to his left.

IV

Ritsu jolted away. Something felt wrong. Dreadful muteness hung in the room. The air carried the putrid scent of blood. Slowly, he came to realize that it was not air at all; it was terror—the manifestation of terror in its purest form. A glow appeared from the ceiling, its light unearthly. Then, something long and thin and black that began to spill just above Takano's sleeping form greeted Ritsu. The black hair that framed the ghost's pale physiognomy cascaded to all directions as its owner gradually materialized, hovering in mid-air.

Ritsu held his breath. His body was a rigid board of fear. The little hairs on his arms, legs and back were standing to attention. An unremitting terror closed about him, gelid and relentless.

The ghost turned to Ritsu, sneering at first. Nevertheless, the moment her gaze found the protective charms on and around Takano, her visage contorted into a mask of extreme hatred. And it seemed to Ritsu that this temporary mask would dissolve at any moment, and leave him face to face with a wakeless realm of unappeasable malignity that lay inside her eyes. He could imagine her skin pulling back and her skull emerging from the mouth.

Preluded by a strident, baleful laughter, the ghost spoke, "You think you have triumphed over me, already a step too late though you are. You may prevent my entry with those pathetic charms, but the part of this man's soul that I have taken shall not return. Never again shall he awaken to see the light of day."

Ritsu couldn't help shrinking back his body in fright: the scratchy tone that came from her mouth echoed through his head as though emanating from deep within. It was an irrefutable voice that reverberated in the bones of his skull. Yet, he clenched his jaw and resolved to speak, "P-please … don't harm Takano-san anymore. He has never done you wrong."

The ghost floated closer and bent, her figure looming over him. Her face was a breath away from Ritsu's and from her eye sockets, black liquid dripped down. It assumed the caliginous appearance of tar, but emanated the febrile scent of blood.

Breath got caught somewhere on his throat, Ritsu could do nothing but stare.

"And what is your compensation for this? Would you rather die in his stead?" she asked.

Ritsu's eyebrows knitted for a while. He had not achieved his life's aspiration to be the editor of books that sold for millions of copies with his own skills. He had not thanked his parents for raising him thus far. He had not apologized enough to An-chan for breaking her heart. There were countless things he had not done yet, and now his life was going to end?

But then, he brushed his fingers across the cheek of Takano's sleeping figure. Glimpses of their editorial days at Marukawa Shoten flicked through Ritsu's mind. When Takano's gaze was directed to a manga script, he poured all his concentration into what he read—and everything he handled came out with copacetic result. How could Ritsu not fall in love with him over and over again? Then, there was also the memory of their high school selves discussing Usami Akihiko's Koharu Short Stories over the table of a fast food took a long way to realize that this man was, and always would be, special to him.

'Fourteen years ago, as I watched you from behind the row of library shelves, I said to myself, "Ah, I'm my going to love him till the last day of existence."—I'm glad that it has come true now.'

Resoluteness flared in Ritsu's heart, he turned briskly toward the ghost and nodded.

"Why?" she asked with a shrill voice.

Ritsu cast a glance at the senior editor's figure again, scarce daring to breathe, but with the trace of a smile this time. Could a mere delay in death compare to the ripping of his soul of the fallow field of love for Takano?

"He is an important person to me." 'Even though I can't afford to let him know my true feelings.'

She emitted the most fricative laughter he had ever heard, "You insufferable whore! I bet you can wiggle your hips with far more dexterity than is needed by a decent man."

Face turning beet-red, Ritsu nearly blurted a rejoinder. For a flicker of moment, his indignation overgrew his fear, but he had realized before it became too late that he ought not to talk back to the ghost and anger her further when Takano's life was still in her clutches.

Ritsu spoke in the softest tone he could muster, "When you love someone, it feels inexplicably happy just to be at that person's side, Matsushita-san."

"Matsushita?" she asked him back, then, without waiting for his reply, she started to laugh. The high-pitched sound of her cackle was so shrill that it was almost like the screech on glass surface. "You mistook me for that cleft lip wench?"

"Um…" Ritsu was unsure what to say. The ghost did not have cleft lips, but she wore a bridal kimono, just as the ghost of Matsushita Kazue would. He gulped and took a sharp breath before mustering his courage to ask, "I-if … you aren't Matsushita -san, who are you?"

She peered at him, her eyes burning with unfailing luster of hatred. "Who I am is a matter of no importance. Now, remove those seals so that I can return your pathetic lover's soul and prepare yourself to substitute him."

"But, how do I know that you will release Takano-san after you take my soul?" Ritsu asked with a great hesitation in case he offended the onryou further.

The ghost sneered. "There shall not be a second offer; take it or leave it."

The Emerald editor chewed his lip despondently. Then, taking a deep breath, Ritsu started to peel the ofuda off the bedposts. A voice inside his head insisted that this was the wrong thing to do, and yet…

'Takano-san…'

If it were for this man, Ritsu would cast aside his ricochet to fear. He continued with the omamori-attached lanyard around Takano's neck and finished with the dusting off of the salt on the floor. As he stood up from his crouching to put the salt grains away, the feeling of unease had gripped him once again. It was anxiety so tremendous that made his heart throb with a wordless warning that his entrails were about to implode. Above him, two rows of teeth gleamed. The onryou had been waiting for him, leaping like a tigress at the sight of a deer.

The teeth began to descend closer and closer, almost sinking into his flesh. To Ritsu, it was as though they came on their own without benefit of jaw and face, for his concentration was upon them—them and them alone. The mindless prompting of panic urged him to flee, but a surge of numbness shot through his body. Even though his visage contorted into a screaming expression, no sound could escape in contrast to his rising brow and rictus mouth. The duress of an intangible gag muzzled his throat, jamming him with the same speech impediment as the night before.

"Ssh," hushed the ghost in a whispered reply to his unarticulated shriek.

When her flesh-skimped fingers entwined themselves around his shoulders, Ritsu wondered if passing through a curtain of ice would feel like this. Through the narrowing distance between her countenance and his, he could not move a muscle, let alone shout. All he knew was the horrendous sensation pulling him—something from inside his chest being forcibly sucked out through his throat.

Ritsu watched wide-eyed as the sensation developed into sickening descent akin to the plummeting ride of a roller coaster: a part of him lifting of its own accord, his stomach somewhere under his chin, his head feeling as though it had been left up there, on the summit of the rail track.

He underwent an odd feeling that an invisible blade was stabbing his skull, that the inside of his brain had been scoured, that whatever layers of consciousness protected the mind's inner core had been scraped crudely with a trowel. It was as though she could know every feature of his being, could sense even the smallest tremor in his every nerve. A dark mist of ghastliness stifled his thoughts. Even so, he was unable to shiver. Or twitch. Or move at all.

He felt no pain; the world was fading and all his senses grew dull, distant. He did not know how long the ghost performed this obscure sucking ritual, but he could still barely perceive something rising from his open mouth, curling in the air like an obscurely-defined wispy vapor, and it ascended to the murkiness above him. He could do nothing as tendrils of fear wrap themselves with more determined rigorousness around his mind, if the said mind still belonged to him.

He was in darkness. It felt open, empty, without boundary, but despite this, a prison. Although he wanted to scream for help, no one else was within sight. There was that lack of anything, with no stimulating touch of wind, no echoing sound, no taste or smell to pervade what was left of him.

What was left of him? Everything that made him alive and human—senses, breath, pulse—were gone. He felt airy and light, a small flickering flame alone amidst the stretch of blank plane, nothing more than a hitodama or will-o-wisp.

He tried to move and found himself floating within the void. The viscous dimness greeted him, beckoning him further into its fathomless depths. All he felt was a mind-unhinging fear of this strange realm filled with nothingness that might swallow and smother his little soul, or leave him lost for all eternity. The place looked just like night—an insulated region of daunting quietude that upheld nothing but forlornness. The farther Ritsu drifted on, the blackness seemed to grow even darker, denser, like congealing grease or motor oil. And yet, after a while, in this gloomy, umbrageous realm, a sliver of hope sprung into being, for he sensed the familiar presence of Takano Masamune.

Takano was just standing and looking lost. He wasn't quite a hitodama like Ritsu, but the older man's appearance was transparent and indistinct, not unlike a charcoal pencil sketch after water blurred it.

'Takano-san, why are you still here? You have to leave this place. Now!' Ritsu wasn't sure the taller man could hear him; his voice resounded inside—rather than outside—his being, and neither of them had telepathy as far as he knew. He wanted to take hold of Takano's hand and drag the older man out of this accursed place, but he no longer had an arm to do so. He strived to push his little self at Takano's back, urging the man whom he held dearer than his own life to take the first step toward the exit—wherever it might be—but in his current, form of condensed vapor, he went through Takano's body instead.

Ritsu cried again. 'TAKANO-SAN!'

The other man wouldn't budge.

'What should I do?' Ritsu questioned himself. His present circumstances rendered him unable to emit so much as a sigh.

But at that precise moment, he noticed an entirely different matter. A third presence was now among them. It was a single object shining through the enfolding darkness, bright as the only point breaking through the expanse. It seemed so benign and inviting, and he found himself drawn to its alluring glow…

As the illumination drifted closer, Ritsu began to discern that it was closer to a viperfish luring its prey in the depth of the ocean than a ray of hope. He made out the shape of a woman in bridal kimono. Unlike Takano's hazy figure, hers was clearly defined; she could pass as a normal person had it not been for her translucence. Takano himself still stared off blankly into space, apparently unaware of any possible danger. Panic surged through Ritsu's arteries like waterfall.

'TAKANO-SAN! TAKANO-SAN!' Ritsu's soul shouted with utmost desperation. He had to get Takano out of here, away from this perilous threat.

But rather than closing upon them, the ghost halted a few meters away. "Anguished soul," she addressed Ritsu, "I heard your lament. Fear not, for I shall do everything within my capacity to deliver you and your treasured person back to the light."

Her words seeped into his being, soothing his soul, and the fear that had stirred inside Ritsu gradually subsided. She might be a ghost, but the aura of her presence did not share in the detrimental nature of the one who had brought him here. While surrounded by the icy-coldness that could give humans gooseflesh, she exuded no malicious intent. Less and less she appeared to be a darkling who lusted for blood.

'Are you perchance Matsushita Kazue-san?' Ritsu inquired upon noticing the woman's cleft lip.

The woman's head drooped into a soft nod. "It would appear that you have heard the oft-repeated tales of my wretched life."

'Pardon my rudeness, Matsushita-san,' Ritsu spoke to the ghost. Together with his trust, grew his empathy for her. He would have performed a saikeirei to express his apology if only he still had a physical body to bow down to her.

She assured him with a smile that would have been benignant, had her cleft lip not done its atrocious trick. "It's quite all right."

'Would you tell me why the both of us can hear each other, but Takano-san … this soul … cannot even sense our existence?' he began.

"The three of us are different. Only a part of that man's soul has been sent here; hence, without his full consciousness, he cannot regain his faculties in this realm. Your soul, on the other hand, has been completely absorbed, and as such, you have become a full resident. In my case, my soul is still my own. Although my body decayed long ago, my soul still possesses the liberty to go back and forth between this realm and the world of the living. But come now. This is no time for idle chatter, for the longer the both of you linger, the more difficult it will be for you to take your leave. Follow my lead; I shall take the two of you to the exit."

With that, she hovered over Takano and touched his forearm. Unlike the case with Ritsu earlier, her fingers didn't pass through Takano's flesh. He jolted, as though stung by either frostbiting ice or scalding fire, and then looked around wildly. Judging by the confusion in Takano's expression, Ritsu surmised that his colleague could not see her.

Kazue gave Takano's arm a little pull until he moved, tugging whenever he halted. It appeared that although Takano couldn't see, smell, or hear her, he could still feel her touch. In this way, the three of them proceeded through the atavistic bleakness.

'Um, Matsushita-san, might I ask why you decide to help us?'

The ghost turned at Ritsu and, without stopping, she answered, "It is my atonement. I am no less culpable than Naoko-san is."

'Naoko-san? Is that the name of the vengeful spirit who sent me here? But still, that doesn't explain why you claim to be guilty, Matsushita-san.'

The ghost of Kazue sighed. "Heirless, my parents bequeathed the house to a distant relative. The man lived there with his family for a while, but after he and his wife passed on—an old couple themselves—and their daughter moved away after marriage, the property remained empty until Naoko-san bought it in 1970's. During that time, I was so lonely that I developed a habit of flipping coin over and over to dispel silence."

'Like how you freaked the hell out of me last night?' Ritsu thought.

"Oh, you heard the sound?" she remarked with unfeigned surprise, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I do it every night, but it's quite rare that anyone can hear me because they need to fulfill certain conditions … I am no master in this field, but I believe it involves the correct amount of yin aura, the accurate date and hour of birth, and the right blood type among other things."

Ritsu panicked; he should have been aware that he had been speaking in thoughts for a whole now. 'Oh dear, I'm sorry, Matsushita-san. I didn't realize you'd hear my thoughts—no, I mean, sorry for thinking about it!'

She emitted a mellow chuckle. "No, no, I am to blame in this matter, um … may I ask who might you be?"

'A-ah, how impolite of me for not introducing myself earlier! I am called Onodera Ritsu. Pleased to make your acquaintance.'

"The pleasure is mine, Onodera-san."

'Oh, do continue your account in regard to Naoko-san.'

In a rueful tone, Kazue began, "Tsukawaki Naoko was the proprietress of a thriving plastics factory—a rarity amongst the male-dominated world of Japanese business in 1970's. However, her outstanding accomplishment came with a steep price: the enormity of devotion for work. As a result, no love entered her life and she remained unwedded until her thirty-seventh summer. Although no complaint ever departed from her lips, in her heart, she was embarrassed to compare her childless self to her friends and associates' wives.

Then, there was this stranger who sheltered her with his umbrella when she was soaking in the rain. When she returned the umbrella to him the next day, he asked her for tea and their relationship continued. Oh, she wouldn't have suffered so miserably had the cruel thread of Love not connected her to a man like him!

She bought my parents' house with the intention of post-marital inhabitation. Even so, on their wedding night, her newly-wedded husband strangled her to death with the very tie she gave him, and then eloped with his male paramour. He had approached her only for the sake of her wealth from the start—that is the reason why Naoko-san loathed homosexual men to such immensity. I was there all that time. I could have warned her before the murder took place, and yet…"

Kazue paused, and when she did continue, her voice was thick with remorse, "At that time, I thought that if she died and became a ghost, she would drive loneliness away from me. So, I let them be. I witnessed every spurt and every splotch of blood he drew from Naoko-san's corpse as he cut it to pieces with a hatchet. Afterwards, that heinous man hid some parts of her in the wall and buried the rest under the floor."

Too tongue-tied to comment, Ritsu could not bring himself to reply.

"Saving you and your beloved is the least I can do."

Kazue directed them in a manner of ambling through the twists and turns of an intricate labyrinth, every course taken holding the purpose that she alone knew. Ritsu could see no path and followed her blindly, occasionally pausing only when Takano did so, as the older man had the vaguest idea of what went on.

At last, they saw the light—a tiny light that assumed the semblance of the end of a tunnel.

Kazue spoke, "This is where we part."

'Matsushita-san, my deepest gratitude for taking us this far.' Then Ritsu turned at his soul mate. 'Takano-san, I know you can't hear me, but since this is the last time I can be with you…'

The nebulous wisp that once was known as Onodera Ritsu leapt and pressed itself against Takano's lips. Those formerly warm lips were presently unyielding, incognizant of the presence of a beloved's last, despairing kiss.

'Thank you for the memories you've give me; they'll be my treasure in this bleak region. May you lead a happy life, be blessed with health, and be successful with work even more than you are now … in the world I can no longer reach.' Ritsu stayed still. If he had possessed his arms, he would have wrapped them around Takano; as it was, he could not even savor the last of his one true love, for his amorphous form went through the taller man.

The ghost of Kazue asked, "Why don't you go with him? It's still not too late for the both of you to return."

'If I go, Tsukawaki-san will harm Takano-san again. I promised her my soul in exchange for Takano-san's safety.'

Kazue heaved a heavy sigh before pushing Takano through the light, allowing his figure to fade from view.

V

Cold sweat drenched Masamune as he woke up. The dream—or whatever it was—had left him in a state of anxious confusion, even though he couldn't call in mind what had transpired in it. Grief, of which nature he was yet to discern, recurred inside him with a singular persistence, as if the sentience had wedged itself into his mind with a more potent force than that of sensorial perceptions.

A sense of awareness laggardly returned to Masamune, and with it, the wish to study his surroundings and situation. After rubbing his eyes, he found himself in an unfamiliar place that oddly looked like a hospital room—adjustable bed tucked with a nurse call bell and was surrounded by electrocardiogram recording unit, sphygmomanometer, and a stand for infusion apparatus. His eyebrows knitted in confusion; hadn't he been in a perfect health the last time he had gone to bed?

More peculiarly still, Onodera was sleeping on a chair next to his sickbed.

Resplendent sunrays perforated through the window, accentuating the sleeping man's features with their radiance. Masamune took a deep breath, resisting every temptation to ruffle his unacknowledged lover's silky hair. 'Still, after tending me the whole night through, surely Onodera deserves a kiss or two as a reward later,' he thought.

Masamune swallowed, and, doing so, noticed a consuming thirst. Doddery, he started to his feet with the stiffness of prolonged exhaustion in all his body, and the nightmarish stupefaction of slumber still mingling with his half-awakened state.

Masamune reached for the jug and the empty glass on the side table. As soon as he finished draining two glasses of water, he searched for his reading spectacles, but it seemed that they had not been transported to the hospital. Fine. His vision wasn't impaired so poorly to the extent of seeing things in blurs without them. The clock on the wall showed eleven past eight. It was no time for dilly-dally; he had to wake Onodera, grab a quick breakfast, return to the inn, and then head straight to the Intex Osaka.

After washing his face in the bathroom, he returned and shook his colleague. "Onodera, wake up!"

Before Masamune issued a second call, malachite-green eyes fluttered open and Onodera lifted his head with a soft moan.

"Wash your face. We're leaving." His words sounded sterner than he had intended. Sure, at work, they were supposed to be a superior and a subordinate rather than two men in love, but there was something about Onodera that felt … different. While it was true that the younger man had just woken up and perhaps temporarily lowered his guard without deliberation, the senior editor couldn't help thinking that the moan contained a provocation to tempt him. A seduction.

'Get a grip, Takano Masamune!' he mentally slapped himself.

While Onodera was in the bathroom, Masamune grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV. The first displayed channel was a documentary about ants, so he changed it. The second program was the morning news. Masamune's eyes widened at the newscaster's words as she mentioned today's date. He grasped his cellphone, but the date displayed on its screen brought him the same conclusion as the TV news. Masamune's mouth gaped in disbelief; had he really been sleeping for nearly forty hours? If so, it would have made sense that his teammates had arranged his hospitalization.

The bathroom door clicked open and out stepped his colleague.

"Hey, Onodera, is it true that I've been sleeping for more than the whole day?"

The younger man's answer of "yes" came without further elaboration, but was delayed by his smile. No. Not a smile. His mouth was broadening in a rapacious grin—a weird sneer that Masamune had never known Onodera could ever evince.

For a moment, the two men's eyes were engaged into each other's and Masamune experienced a stab-into-the-mind déjà vu. It was sharp, electric shock-like sensation that left him momentarily stunned. The stare instilled him with fear, inducing some sort of mental vertigo that spoke of inexplicable terror in infinitudes. A sudden alienism claimed him and made him feel strangely withdrawn from the standing figure into whom, until not long before, he had loved more than all entities on earth. An invisible wall separated him from his beloved and seemingly thickened with every ticking second.

"Onodera … is something wrong?" Hair rose on Takano's arms and nape even as he spoke. An odd thought that his colleague's eyes could delve further into his mind made him avert the other man's gaze.

"Wrong?" came the rejoinder, "I have never felt so right in my life!"

The proclamation constricted the air in Masamune's windpipe; Onodera's voice was bristling with ultramundane virulence. He heard Onodera laugh—there was a definite cackle coming from the younger man even though those lips didn't move. The sound was far away, as if originating from the bottom of a well.

Masamune shook his head, banishing the thought by convincing himself that this was just a wrong assumption. He approached the door. "Let's just get out of here immediately after I pay the hospital bill."

When Masamune was settling the payment with the cashier, something he heard gave him more goosebumps: Onodera was blatantly asking a nurse to sleep with him. Masamune swerved and hurriedly approached his colleague, rebuking, "Are you out of your mind?"

But the younger man swerved to the side, and then ran toward the exit.

"Onodera! Hey, wait for me!"

Having no time to wait for the signature authentication, Masamune pulled his driver's license from his wallet and handed it to the cashier, to whom he had submitted his credit card earlier. "I'll be back this afternoon to collect my ID card and take care of the payment," half-bellowing, he rushed outside without looking back.

He caught up with Onodera at the main entrance. This time, the junior editor was trying to seduce a security guard with his meretricious tone and lascivious touches. Masamune quickly removed his subordinate from the guard's sight, reproaching, "Seriously, Onodera, what is wrong with you today?"

Again, the younger man gave him no answer, save for a mocking sneer that made his visage appear diabolic. But it was just the trick of the light combined while seen from certain angle. For sure.

There was no time to search for the subway station in such an unfamiliar area or wait for the subway to arrive. Plus, there was a row of taxis waiting by the entrance. Concomitantly, Masamune decided to take a cab.

For a brief moment when they walked close to each other, a strange feeling found its way down Masamune's nerves, urging him to stay as far away as possible from his colleague. Somehow, in this metropolitan liveliness in broad daylight, the editor-in-chief felt the unnerving sensation of ambling through a heavily shadowed, desolated path. The air was chilly but windless, and the entire parking space seemed to hold its breath. Every particle of dust had encumbering weight and every molecule of air clung to a deadly silence.

"Get in," he told his subordinate as the rear door was opened for them.

The weird sensation exacerbated as Masamune sat next to his colleague at the back. Onodera was so close, yet so distant, here and somewhere else simultaneously. The longer they spent time together, the more Onodera felt like a stranger—something unspeakable.

He had just mentioned the address of the Hydrangea Inn when Onodera spoke to the driver, "Before you take this man to the said destination, can you drop me on the nearest red-light district?"

"ONODERA!"

"How vociferous! Your holler is screeching my ears."

Masamune was agape; had Onodera just spoken femininely in joseigo by employing the particles "wa ne"?

"What, there's nothing to surprise about. I shall take a good care of this young man's body."

That did it. Even without the open declaration that the speaker was not the owner of the aforementioned body, the way Onodera referred to himself with the first person feminine pronoun "atashi" had already pushed Masamune over the edge.

The abstinence from food for so many hours triggered rumbles from Masamune's stomach. And yet, currently, the matter concerning Onodera had a higher priority.

Trying his best to appear as poker-faced as possible, he asked his kouhai, "By the way, you asked my opinion about the cliffhanger on the last page of Yoshino-sensei's manga, didn't you? That was—"

A shrill laughter interrupted Masamune's utterance. Then the man sitting next to him leered at him. "What are you playing at, Takano-san? Yoshino Chiaki is always under Hatori-san's charge. Not to mention that none of his chapters involved a cliffhanger during the last three months."

"Oh," Masamune took a sharp breath, "That's fine, then."

Again, the high-pitched guffaw responded to his statement. "Are you thinking of testing my knowledge on your bitch's memory, you sodomizer?"

The taxi driver stiffened, but Masamune's eyes narrowed. "Who are you? What happened to Onodera?"

"Nothing much. Your adorable whore simply resigned his soul to me."

Masamune grabbed the stranger in Onodera's body by the collar, his voice rising. "What would he do that for?"

"What for? What else but to save your pathetic being?"

Pathetic? Pathetic indeed. Umbrage, mingled with helplessness, blazed in Masamune's eyes. He couldn't even protect the one he treasured more than anything in the world. And now, an unknown entity had ravaged his love.

Fists clenched tight, he commanded, "Driver, change the destination: we'll get off at the nearest holy ground from here!"

The taxi driver shifted uncomfortably, but when he replied, he managed to maintain his professional tone, "Would a temple be all right, sir?"

"Yes, but don't go to a famous tourist attraction like the Shitennoji Temple. Choose somewhere quieter."

No sooner had Masamune voiced his instruction than Onodera purred egregiously, "Ooh, I can hardly wait to taste those monks."

"Why are you using Onodera's body to seduce people you've never met before?"

"Tell me, Takano Masamune, will it give you the same pain if the seducer has nothing to do with Onodera Ritsu?"

Masamune's breath quickened. This evil spirit detested him enough to wish him suffering. He took a few moments to force himself into a calm, and then he asked her, "Remind me what I did to make you loathe me so."

To this, Onodera—or rather, the spirit that possessed him—merely glared at Masamune without speaking a word.

He urged her, "I don't recall ever stealing, robbing, raping, swindling, blackmailing, or killing a woman before, but if you c—"

"Silence! I refuse to talk about this." At this interjection, Onodera's arms were folded across his chest.

"Look, how would I know what to amend if I don't even realize my mistake in the first place?"

The spirit in Onodera's body continued to ignore Masamune, as though fearing lest every fresh question would throw a fiercer light into the discreetly shadowed corners of her buried past. Still, it was only a short ride until they arrived at the temple. The driver couldn't look more relieved after both passengers stepped out of his cab.

Long, high walls that were covered with a thick layer of finely trimmed shingles terminated at an entryway, which opened to reveal a breathtaking vista of aesthetic tranquility. Sharing the common trait as the general arrangement of Buddhist temple complexes in Japan, this one followed the shichidou garan principle of seven halls composing the ideal temple compound. Its monumental structure was a typical north-to-south layout with key buildings put on the center axis built according to the early pattern of oriental geomancy's precepts.

'The daibutsu style, huh?' Masamune surmised as he noticed the parametric roof with decorative eaves that produced geometric balance with the natural surroundings, which he knew was heavily influenced by the Chinese Song Dynasty grandiose. A steep angle of descent began at the top of the roof, but tapered off to a more gradual incline upon reaching the eaves, which extended far beyond the walls, covering the verandas.

Masamune's hope that whatever uninvited entity inside Onodera would writhe in agony the moment they entered the temple precinct was crushed in an instant. For a start, the possessed man spat on one of the Niou guardian statues flanking the entrance. Without waiting for his companion, he paraded through the kairou—the roofed portico-like passage—cloistering the main hall and a three-story pagoda.

Approaching a young monk-in-training who was sweeping the fallen leaves nearby, he wheedled, "Say, boy, would you like to sleep with me?"

The monk-in-training froze on the spot. Instead of letting his chance slip by, Onodera reached out for the shocked monk's cheek. Still clutching the broomstick, the monk looked at him with a mingled bewilderment, chagrin, and disgust. Onodera leaned and caressed the teenage monk's jawline down to the hem of his black samue, breathing to his ear, "Relax, leave everything to onii-san and you will soon discover the pleasure of more than flesh, the highest delight keener than your waking body can sustain."

At this, the youth dropped his broom and scurried into the hokke-dou—the meditation hall—of the temple. Masamune, who had lagged behind while paying the taxi fare, now caught up with Onodera, his hunger-induced rumble announcing his presence. Seeing the frantic monk, he could guess what had happened without the need of asking. Fortuitously, no other visitor was within sight.

Masamune goaded Onodera through the long, narrow passageway of the kairou, grabbing the junior editor by the wrist. Together they pressed on until they were confronted by an older monk.

The monk opened his mouth, but Masamune spoke first. "Help us!" he besought the shaven-headed man while gesturing toward Onodera, "This man has been possessed by some evil spirit."

Eyes shining with bemused wonder, the monk threw a glance at Onodera before assuring Masamune, "Calm down. We will talk about this inside if you'd follow me."

Thus, the two visitors proceeded behind the monk through the rows of tachidourou pedestal stone lanterns that were blotched with lichen. Much to Masamune's dismay, the spirit possessing Onodera showed no sign of ever being bothered by the holiness of the precinct with every step they took. They went forth onto the stone stairs into the kondou, where the main object of worship was enshrined.

"Please have a seat while I inform the abbot of your arrival," said the monk before he left the two visitors, his koromo monastic robe of silk fluttering over his white kosode as he swerved.

Fingers still encircling Onodera's wrist with a grip of iron, Masamune sat on the wooden floor and studied his surroundings. Save for the two of them, the commodious hall was empty. Only the Buddha statue peered at them from the towering altitude of seven meters. The towering columns were draped in luminous gamboge satin. Relaxing fragrance wafted from porcelain censers, their fumes arising in thick, nebulous columns. The room was dimly lit by numerous lotus-sculpted hexagonal tsuri-dourou hanging lanterns. The most impressive architectural features to Masamune were kouryou rainbow beams, strongly curved on the upper sides and narrowing at the ends to allow insertion into the pillars. The ends of the single eaves at the corners were embellished with fan rafters or ougidaruki.

Masamune's bad luck, it seemed, started from the phone call that occurred simultaneously as the arrival of the abbot and two monks. He managed to extract the cellphone from his pocket with one hand and, upon seeing Hatori's number on the display, he guessed that the hospital had contacted Hatori—Masamune's supposedly next of kin—regarding his non-paying "escape." He connected long enough only to say, "I'm with guests. I'll call you back later."

He hung up without waiting for the vice editor-in-chief's answer. Not failing to notice the low battery after being uncharged for almost three days, he switched off his cellphone, as well. He heard his stomach growling again, louder, and accompanied by an odd lightheadedness combined with a numb shriveled sense in his digestive system, but chose to ignore it.

The three monks now seated themselves on the floor, opposite Masamune and Onodera, adjusting their kesa so that they didn't get downtrodden. The abbot was easily recognizable from his senile freckles and twenty-five-jo kesa. The two other monks were younger and wore eleven-jo kesa.

After grimacing an apology, Masamune explained the graveness of the situation to the abbot. Yet, it did not help in the slightest that Onodera chose this time to behave like a normal man.

In reply to Masamune's story, the old man averred, "There is no such thing as possession; rather, it is an uncontrolled mind which is being witnessed. The mind is composed of multiple consciousnesses which are in constant battle. Sometimes a mind can be overwhelmed by trauma and a particular consciousness becomes the controlling one. As there are very violent types of consciousness, sometimes these control the mind and insanity can result. The Dharma helps us to recognize these various types of consciousness and eliminate their influence on us allowing our true selves to dominate our mind and engendering true awareness. This concept is known as 'I am not Me' and is the basis of the First Noble Truth."

Masamune had the faintest idea of what the so-called "First Noble Truth" was supposed to be, but now was not the time to worry about that. "But Onodera has never behaved this promiscuously before. It's so unlike him. In fact, would a normal person ask everyone, regardless of age and gender, to quench his carnal need?"

"Everyone, you say?" asked the abbot.

"Everyone but you and me, as far as I'm aware of," confirmed Masamune.

The chief monk did not reply. He did not ask why, nor did he look at his guests skeptically.

The seconds dragged by, and much to Masamune's mortification, a loud growl that could only have its origins in his stomach, reverberated in a blatant contrast to the serenity of the commodious hall. The two young monks behind the abbot cast him a curious glance, but they hastily looked away as soon as they found his guilty eyes. The abbot, on the other hand, seemed to take this in a more positive light: why would one ignore the sharp starving pains of an empty stomach just to present a cock-and-bull story to the monks with such urgency?

When Masamune's eyes found the abbot's, he felt a soothing power flowing into him. It was peace. And an inexplicable sense of … safety? he mused. Just as he found hope in the senior monk's sober expression, the septuagenarian uttered, "If you would listen to a word of advice from one who has attained to more than twice your years, it is not an exorcism ritual, but sessions with a psychiatrist that you need."

Masamune cursed inwardly. Should Onodera's head spin full circle before this monk took his words seriously? Should Onodera's entire body levitate in mid-air before this monk believed that an external factor was jeopardizing that man?

"Please, at least try reciting some mantra," Masamune insisted, "You have nothing to lose."

The wizened man let out a repressed sigh. "Very well." He took off the amber prayer beads that wound around his neck and began the ingeminated chanting of "Namu amida butsu."

Seeing the possessed Onodera twitch with discomfort, hope began to soar within Masamune's heart. 'This will work.'

Halfway through the chanting, Onodera groaned. The monk went on, undeterred by the minor noise.

Onodera groaned again. Louder. More sibilant. The baleful hiss of a serpent. His tongue flicked quickly in and out of his mouth. His features were contorting into a minacious mask, with lips stretching tautly into opposite directions and eyes flaring with years of festering rancor. His body arched backward with his head almost touching his feet.

The three monks were taken aback, but the abbot did not cower from his dutiful chanting.

Onodera then bellowed in a harsh, brassy voice the combined wails and quetches that steadily grew to a wretched clamor. His cries mounted in a mad crescendo of agony as though some searing excruciation were breaking through from the central points in his body, exerting his flesh and bone to tear apart.

Masamune flinched. A part of him wanted to tell the monk to cease, to free Onodera from pain, to hold his precious love in his comforting embrace … but the more sensible part of him steeled his mind not to do so. He clenched his fists and bit his lip.

After some more writhing and wriggling, Onodera's movements slowed down. Like some ferocious animal being lulled to sleep by some beast-tamer's music, his shrieks abated by reverse degrees to a profound funereal quietude. Gradually, the possessed man ceased from all struggles and at the end of three full circles of chanting, his terrified expression faded.

He exhaled, and then blinked. "Takano-san … you … you're awake? Why are we in here? What happened to the hospital?"

'Thank God, no more feminine speech; she's gone,' Masamune registered. Panic ebbed from his mind, ousted by relief.

Masamune could stare at Onodera forever and dwell upon the music of his beloved's voice. He would have held the younger man with a passion that could melt the most obdurate of ice crystals, had he not remembered that they were in the monks' presence. He smiled at Onodera. "Idiot, you made me so worried."

After expressing his gratitude to the abbot, Masamune asked whether there was a possibility of the evil spirit's repossession, but the senior monk assured him that Buddhist exorcism didn't aim to kill, trap, hurt, or vanquish harmful spirits. Instead, it was practiced in the spirit of compassion, so as to persuade the being to cease any disturbances and to repent her ways, to transform the being positively by encouraging resolution of her attachment and hatred, and to guide the being towards spiritual liberation or a better rebirth in Amida Buddha's Pure Land, where peace and enlightenment dwelled. Thus, the exorcism would be a triumph for both the human and the spirit—the two parties affected by negative karmic affinity, which requires peaceful resolution.

Masamune left fifty thousand yen in the donation box upon leaving. Onodera, too, thanked the abbot with a deep bow before following his boss.

VI

Soon, the two shoujo manga editors sauntered outside the temple gate. The late morning sky wasn't exactly clear, but to Masamune's ataraxic mind, there could be no day more glorious than this. 'Onodera is back.'

A couple of minutes later, the editor-in-chief noticed a family restaurant across the street. "Hungry?" he asked.

Onodera nodded.

'Ah, if only he could be this docile all the time…' Masamune thought, as the restaurant's automatic doors slid open for him and Onodera. An odd lurching invaded the editor-in-chief's stomach unbidden. And there was a voice inside his head—the inner voice that kept telling him that this was all too simple and easy. The evil spirit who had possessed Onodera was subdued occurred too easily; the process hadn't even been deserved to be called "exorcism" since the "Namu amida butsu" was the most fundamental chant that no Buddhist believer would fail to know.

For a hesitant moment Masamune stood unmoving; possibilities for unwanted situations were pouring in his mind as he watched the shorter man walking past him. There was nothing out of the ordinary on Onodera's comportment. No traces of pain. No lingering sniggers. Nothing. It was as though the onryou had never occupied the junior editor's body.

Trying to ignore the unease that roiled inside him, Masamune went forward, stepping onto the checkered floor of the restaurant.

When the waitress headed back to the kitchen after taking their orders, Masamune queried, "So, what happened, Onodera? The onryou claimed that you resigned your soul to her in order to save me, but how did she get me in the first place?"

Onodera's both hands clasped the glass in front of him so that its cylindrical body nestled between the crooks of his fingers. He averted Masamune's gaze, but his own eyes were glassy with tears that threatened to fall into the water. His body was shaking.

Masamune swallowed. "Forget it," he said, "If the memory brings you pain, there's no need to talk about it." He took his cellphone out of his pocket and switched it on. "That reminds me," he remarked, eager to change the subject, "Why hasn't Tori called you yet?"

The junior editor replied with a spuriously abashed tone, "Oh, he probably did, but I left my cellphone at the inn. I was in such a hurry when I left for the hospital last night."

Since the conversation turned back to the avoided topic, Masamune made no further attempt for verbal exchange. The two men continued to sit in silence until the same waitress brought two sets of meals: buta no kakuni for Masamune and oyako-don for Onodera.

"It's a good thing we arrived at this hour. Our meals come out fast because it isn't lunchtime yet and the restaurant isn't crowded," commented Masamune with a relief that at last he could initiate a suitable topic for a conversation with Onodera, however short it might be.

"Yeah." was the only reply the younger man gave before he assumed the standard palms-touching gesture paired with the "itadakimasu" word.

"I humbly receive," Masamune mirrored Onodera's action before parting his disposable wooden chopsticks and taking the first bite.

He let himself relax after such an incident, taking in the quality of the food to relieve his mind. The repast was passable overall. The seaweed salad was prepared with the right degree of springiness, though it would taste better with less rice wine vinegar in the dressing. The braised pork slices were tender enough, albeit the yolk of the egg that came with them was too hard, while the broth could do better with more scallions and less ginger. Still, hunger could always be the best seasoning.

It was when Masamune sipped his miso soup that his ears picked up the sound of a preternatural chortle from Onodera. Then, the younger editor japed sardonically, voice laced with venom, "So, you found my acting impressive enough?"

A fresh alarm brought Masamune to a standstill with a thumping heart. 'The feminine pronoun again!'

Not believing his ears, the senior editor turned to face his colleague. In an instantaneous flash, the junior editor's expression and features were once again transmuted into those of the savage, insalubrious personality.

"Did you seriously think that I would be defeated so easily by such incompetent chants?!" the younger man interjected with a sneer, and hairs prickled on Masamune's nape, for the voice was inconceivably high-pitched and fortified with menace.

"Or do you need further convincing?" The despicable creature gloated. With that, Onodera's hands began to unbutton his shirt.

An ungovernable anxiety usurped Masamune once more; this imprecating spirit was going to strip in public using Onodera's body. "NO!" he bawled, his hands quickly stopping the other man's. He pulled back instantly, however, bitten by the gelidity of the possessed man's skin. It was no less benumbing than a piece of frozen meat. Then, sensing the other restaurant customers and staff's gaze upon him, Masamune restrained himself and spoke in lower volume, "You've convinced me enough."

The same eerie gust that encased him at the hospital glaciated the back of his neck again—more palpable now, more unshakeable. Every possibility that horror could inspire rushed into his mind. His eyes locked on the thing that was—used to be—his colleague, on that creature sitting opposite him. Its mouth curved upward with a smirk of triumph, eyes flickering with guile and flaring with animosity as they fixed upon his.

Masamune shifted to retrieve the bill from the slip holder at the edge of the table, then stood up to approach the cashier. As he did so, he could feel those malevolent eyes following him with their unceasing gander as he slipped between rows of chocolate-and-cream-colored rectangular tables.

'Back to square one, huh?'

After receiving his change from the cashier, Masamune turned around only to find an empty table. Frantically, his searching gaze found Onodera strolling on the sidewalk on the other side of the glass front.

Hurrying after his kouhai, Masamune darted outside and called, "Wait, where are you going?"

Onodera turned his head, only to sneer at Masamune, and then moved his feet faster.

It was a wordless declaration of 'Catch me if you can.' Gritting his teeth, Masamune ran to pursue the teaser. The chase continued for a couple of minutes until Onodera stumbled upon a passer-by. Amid the roar of the coursing vehicles and from the distance between Onodera and himself, Masamune couldn't hear what his colleague was saying. It seemed he had apologized for bumping into the middle-aged man at first, and was now trying to get him to bed. The local eyed him with growing interest and then guided the young man to the direction of what Masamune presumed to be a love hotel, groping the Tokyoite by the buttock.

Doubling his speed, Masamune ran after the two men. He tore Onodera from the lecherous man with an unrestrained yank.

"Hey, what the—" the local man protested.

Masamune grimaced. "My cousin isn't in the right state of mind at the moment. If you'd excuse him—"

But Onodera struggled to free himself from Masamune's grip. "It's none of your concern what I do with my life!" He staggered back into the alley on the left.

By the time Masamune stood next to the junior editor, he felt something off again. Onodera was bristling. His eyes were wide open, but his stare was blank.

"Oi, are you all right?" Masamune queried, hearing his voice not untinged with worry. He shook Onodera by the shoulder, but the possessed man merely stood there rigidly with a flabbergasted expression.

"Freaks!" the middle-aged local muttered as he hurriedly left them.

For the following minutes, Onodera would not respond despite Masamune's efforts. To Masamune's senses, the alleyway looked nothing out of the ordinary. Its narrow path was flanked by two walls, one of bricks and the other, of green-painted concrete. An overflowing trash dumpster stood at one corner, surrounded by bundles of old magazines. Judging from the absence of malodor and scavenging cats, he could only conclude that the local residents had properly sorted the garbage properly before dumping them. Why such a mundane scene overwhelmed Onodera, Masamune had no clue. But then, he watched only from the periphery.

Unbeknownst to Masamune, Onodera perceived things differently. Once he stepped into the alleyway, he became alienated from the street where he had come. The narrow pathway assumed the undersaturated duskiness of the spirit world. The roar of vehicle engines and the bustling chatter of pedestrians all died down. Blood spatters decorated the ground like some ill-patterned carpet. Even without the chokingly rancid smell, the air was so heavy with unwholesome forebodingness that it left hardly any room to breathe.

At the far corner, a pair of coal-black eyes peered imperiously at the newcomer. It was the stare of one too long entombed in the thick, coiled darkness. Stabbing. Hating. Punishing. The ghost of a boy, seething with a face shaped into a skeletal, hideous mask of mind-bending malevolence, floated like a sanguivorous regent overseeing his outlandish dominion. His skin was covered in cuts and bruises, and three of his fingers were missing.

"ONODERA!"

The next thing he knew, Masamune had pulled him outside the alley. Gradually, he—or rather, the female onryou residing within him—registered pain from the sides of his head. The spirit inside Onodera scampered; she had to get away from that alley of damnation as fast as possible, but the wave of terror that had surged upon her very existence hindered her.

"Onodera," Masamune called again; not even in her entire lifetime had she ever seen a conduct as phrenetic as Masamune's. Then, she discovered dark trickles on Onodera's shirt; his ears were bleeding black. The tenebrio from the alleyway was too powerful, his hatred too strong and his power too insatiable.

Crippled by the shock from the encounter in the alleyway, the onryou inside Onodera offered no resistance as Masamune dragged her host's body to—wait, was that a cross spearing against the sky?

Masamune pushed his colleague into another taxi, wearing an expression of such great concern. He did not know what had exactly befallen Onodera, but he could still discern how fast the younger man's heart was pounding.

"Take us to that church," Masamune pointed at the gable cross.

The taxi driver grumbled raucously, "Dude, whut's yer goddam problem? It's jist five hundred meters away."

Masamune clenched his jaw, words of anger wanting to leap from his throat. But a reply with something equally rude, would indubitably lead to a brawl with the taxi driver and delay Onodera's salvation. Time was crucial. He would walk in any other situation, but now, with Onodera ready to jump every pedestrian, it would be the last thing he wanted.

With the most innocent tone he could muster, Masamune claimed, "We're tourists and we're in a hurry. We can't afford getting lost."

"Oh," the coarse driver responded, "Dat church's nuthin' special. Besides, fer any distance under two kilos, ya'll still get charged six hundred 'n' fifty yen. Why not visit Osaka Castle or Dotonburi?"

Masamune fabricated an excuse, "We will, after we meet up with our friend in that church."

After that, the driver talked in a friendlier tone, giving comparative reviews about the various okonomiyaki-ya in Osaka.

Onodera didn't do anything except sitting pensively in quiescence.

'That onryou wasn't bothered in the slightest to enter a temple, but why did she seem frightened when we passed the alleyway just now?' The thought tickled Masamune's mind.

Judging by its ashlar masonry, foliated ornaments, pointed arches, symmetrical façade, and projecting eaves, the church was Neo-Gothic. The gable cross seen from afar turned out to be the finial on the roof. Soon, the two men stood in front of an elaborately paneled portal with richly sculpted archivolt and tympanum. With a pounding heart, Masamune tried the door. Much to his relief, it was unlocked.

Carved with depictions of biblical events that Masamune failed to recognize, the staunch door of ancient oak creaked with a rusty grating sound while swinging inward, as if it had not been oiled for a long time. For an ephemeral moment, the two men were bathed in the duskiness of the narthex, for that part of the edifice was windowless and the no electricity was lit up when the sun was still high in its meridian. They paced the length of the nave, where tall pillars rose to meet in majestic fan-vaulted arches and gilded roof bosses. Dim, lengthened and attenuate, the spectral guides that were their shadows journeyed before them.

A priest—or perhaps a deacon or someone holding another clerical post that Masamune could not tell—was cleaning a steeple window near the altar. He wore the detachable clerical collar with a quotidian shirt, sleeves rolled up.

"May, I help you?" the wavy-haired man put the dustcloth aside and greeted the two visitors.

Onodera maintained his silence, but the brilliant colors of sunlight pouring through the windows along the transept and nave of the building dimmed, even though the rose window of stained glass at the center of the apse did not undergo the same crepuscular phenomenon.

Masamune gulped, and then answered, "Yes, Father. Please."

The priest, too, seemed to have noticed the unrelenting grip of darkness—one that rendered the holiness of the House of the Lord into the disconsolation of a mortuary yard—for he looked around with nervous glances.

"Hmm, it must be getting cloudy out there." A forced smile took possession of the priest's lips. Gesturing at the nearest file of pews, he exhorted, "Now, my sons, take a seat and tell me what troubles you."

"Father," Masamune began, "I'm in dire need of your exorcism service. This man here has been possessed by an evil spirit."

"Calm down, son, what makes you think that has been the case?"

"First, this strange feeling appears when he's nearby … it only started recently; in fact, it never existed before this morning. My colleague doesn't belong to the wanton type, but today he started to persuade anyone on the street to share a bed with him. Then, I brought Onodera to a temple, but the spirit within him feigned defeat, and just when I thought everything was going to be fine, the spirit reappeared. That onryou was shameless enough not to seek the shadows of privacy for its garish display of lecherousness."

Masamune's fists balled and he looked up, pleading, "Please help us, father, this entity that has possessed Onodera has proven strong enough to resist ordinary spiritual chanting."

"Have faith, son. Psalm 94:14 says, 'The Lord will never desert His people or abandon those who belong to Him.'"

"Then, you will perform the exorcism as soon as possible?"

To this, the clergyman gazed at Masamune commiseratively. "There are certain procedures to be followed. A priest must be able to present the proof of demonic possession to obtain a bishop's permission to conduct an exorcism ritual."

A sense of helplessness enervated Masamune. "Then…"

"If everything goes well, the exorcism may be performed two weeks from now. At the time being, I suggest you go to a psychiatrist to get the deviation in your friend's personality analyzed. The result will help to corroborate the evidence for my report to the bishop."

"Two weeks…?" The feeble remark escaped Masamune's lips, echoing the reverend's words. How many people would Onodera seduce until then?

Masamune exited the church in gloom, heart encumbered with worry. Onodera walked behind him, wordless, but with a mocking simper gracing his lips and a glint of triumph in his eyes.

The easiest way to find a psychiatrist, Masamune figured, was to return to the Osaka Central Hospital and ask for the relevant department. He hailed another cab.

VII

When they arrived at the psychiatry department of the hospital, the waiting room was devastatingly full, and the nurse told Masamune that the doctor would receive no more waiting lists for the day. Thus, he went to the information desk and made his queries regarding the address of psychiatrists in Osaka.

After settling the payment for his hospitalization and collected his driver's license and credit card, he headed straight to the payphone area, thanks to the exhaustion of his cellphone battery. Although Masamune had the phone inside his pocket all those times, his colleagues hadn't brought him the charger in the ambulance while he had been hospitalized. Despite Masamune's constant gripping, Onodera still blew kisses in the air whenever he passed a nurse or a visitor.

One by one, Masamune called the psychiatrists on the list. The first three ones confirmed that they no longer accept appointments for the rest of the day. The forth one had already moved, according to the housewife who received his call. The fifth did not pick up the phone. Masamune did not find any luck until he was down to the eighth psychiatrist. The voice over the line sounded too weak-willed, too feeble, to be considered as a doctor's assistant or a receptionist. And yet, he told Masamune to come over.

Another hour in a taxi found them in front of the clinic. 'I must go to an ATM soon,' Masamune told himself as he slipped his flat wallet back into his pocket.

The psychologist's clinic assumed the appearance of a cromulent house, bar the signboard over its fence. Still gripping Onodera, Masamune took the graveled pathway leading to the entrance. On his right was a child's swing, dangling from the bough of a large tree in the middle of the yard. Nearby, a basset hound, tied by the collar to its doghouse, growled at them. The discouraging growls escalated into intimidated barks as Onodera advanced to the row of potted plants that bordered the neatly trimmed lawn from the adjacent tiled terrace.

A man in his mid-forties with high forehead and wide ophyron emerged from the birch veneered door. "Ah, you must be Takano-han? Welcome. I am Imaizumi Minoru, we spoke over the phone. Do come in."

His hospitality extended to the provision of two pairs of indoor slippers and it wasn't long before Masamune and Onodera took their seats opposite him over a beech desk.

Hesitation filled Masamune. The man's frail figure, topped with his uncharismatic voice, did not create any impression that he was a reliable psychiatrist in the smallest degree. And yet, what other alternative was there? Casting his doubts aside, Masamune detailed the events of that morning and Onodora's odd behavioral development.

"I see," the psychiatrist replied very calmly as though talking about weather forecast. "I'd like to conduct both oral and written tests upon Onodera-han. Would you wait in the living room in the meantime, Takano-han?"

Masamune caught a glimpse of a recliner at the corner of the room. Suddenly, a nasty feeling invaded his mind—an image of how the onryou inside Onodera rode the psychiatrist with straddled legs on that recliner. He almost burst out, 'Sensei, will you promise not to give in if Onodera tries to seduce you?' but changed his mind. He'd better trust this psychology expert for now.

Brushing off his worry, Masamune replied, "Actually, I need to buy a battery for my cellphone. Could you tell me of the electronic stores nearby?"

"Certainly," replied the psychiatrist, and then began to explain the road turns and landmarks that his client needed to take. He ended the directional information with an assurance that the store would be hard to miss owing to its huge signboard.

After thanking Imaizumi, Masamune set off. A great doubt hung over him: could this unconvincingly reliable psychiatrist handle whatever inside Onodera? Even so, there was nothing he could do but wait.

He returned a little less than two hours later with a fresh battery, a pack of cigarettes, a pack of low dosage sleeping pills, and a sum of withdrawn cash that would make him cringe for the next few months—he estimated that the psychiatrist's consultation fee would be expensive and who knew how many more times he would need a taxi.

When he reentered the psychiatrist's front yard, the dog neither growled nor barked at him. It cowered at the corner of the doghouse, ears flattened and tail tucked between the hind legs. It was afraid.

Masamune shared the sentiment of the psychiatrist's pet. He, too, felt it as he reached the porch: that feeling of unease, that clutch of inenarrable dread, that lurking malignity. There was something of evil design inside, in the psychiatrist's room, beyond that fiberglass door—something vicious enough to turn the creature's happy home into a condemnable territory.

He turned back to the yard, thinking that smoking might help to calm his nerves. Never had he thought before that there would come a day in which he eschewed to meet the one he loved. But then, that thing wasn't Onodera; it was someone else encased in the shell of his beloved Ritsu's body.

Masamune dragged on the cigarette, long and deep. With the puff of smoke he released into the air, the bitter memory that had taken place eight years prior, back to his university days, revisited his troubled mind.

###

After putting on his shoes, the twenty-year-old Masamune opened the door. A soprano voice, mellow and flirtatious, called him from behind, "Visit me again sometimes."

"Yeah," he replied without looking back.

Not even five seconds had passed since the door thudded shut, but his fingers already fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Masamune's descent was instantaneous—he wanted to get away from that place as quickly as possible and went down two steps at a time for all three flights of stairs. Despite the busted streetlamp in front of her apartment building, the orange flame from Masamune's newly-lit cigarette kept him from total darkness.

It was a woman this evening, but he had slept with a man two days before and with another man the previous week. Gender didn't matter. Nor did appearance, marital status, or financial condition. As long as they could make him forget a certain boy with malachite-green eyes, even just for a moment, anyone would do. His sex partner tonight was a moaner; the one before her hardly made any sound. None of them quite resembled the one he truly wanted. The boy in his mind, who probably had become a university freshman in another part of the world this year, used to gasp at his touches. Yet, all those groans were the reserved, embarrassed type that was often restrained by the biting of the lip or the muffling of the pillow.

'Oda Ritsu, that jerk, he shut his eyes and blushed to the tip of his ears when we had sex. At any other times, he always kept his gaze on the ground. Thanks to these, I've never gotten a thorough view of his features and his face visualizes hazily in my mind even now. Only his name—the name that kept appearing underneath mine on the library cards of all the books I've ever read—is deeply ingrained in my memory.'

###

Of his father and mother, Masamune had little to say. Their shaky relationship and the passing of time had driven him from the one, and estranged him from the other. Saga Masamune had grown into a jaded, distrustful individual when he entered high school. He had acquaintances and classmates, but not friends; he had date partners and bedmates, but not lovers. Never a love interest.

But then, on his seventeenth spring, this boy, this pathetic little boy who had stalked him for three years, suddenly confessed his unconditional love with a face lit up crimson when the two of them were hidden from public view by the row of library shelves. His naivety grated on Masamune's nerves and, with the intention of mashing this underclassman's innocent illusions, Masamune offered to go out with him.

Oda was too damn nervous whenever they spent time together. Not only did he titubate between his speeches, but he also apologized for every little thing. Evens so, no matter how frigidly Masamune dealt with him, he faithfully—if not slavishly—returned to his sempai's side. There was even one occasion when Masamune lost his temper and leashed it all out on the younger boy, but far from being discouraged, Oda took a round-trip journey homewards just to get a spare umbrella for Masamune and then waited for him in the rain until well past the school library's closing time.

Masamune, who had formerly believed that people who were nice to others always expected something in return, now began to open his eyes that the boy named Oda Ritsu just loved him and nothing more. Since that day, there was strange warmth tingling inside Masamune whenever opportunities presented him with Oda Ritsu's company. He even started to notice trivialities, like how bright a smile could adorn his junior's countenance the moment he turned up in the library.

Ritsu wasn't the first person Masamune had ever dated, but he remained Masamune's one and only love.

###

Soon after he finished his cigarette, the twenty-year-old Masamune noticed a vending machine further down the road. Intending to buy a drink, he took out his wallet. Save for his student card, it was depleted of all its content—he'd have to borrow some money for tomorrow's meal, since his mother wouldn't transfer the next allowance into his bank account until another eight days. This semester alone, how many times had he drunk himself to sleep? Still, the memory of Oda Ritsu refused to disappear from his head.

In a fit of anger, Masamune kicked an empty beer can with all his might. The clank of the empty can against the asphalt was loud enough to rouse the neighborhood, yet no one opened the window to berate him. What did he expect? Why should strangers like them have obligation to care for him, when his treasured person didn't? He hollered into the night.

"IF YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE ME LIKE THIS, WHAT DID YOU APPROACH ME IN THE FIRST PLACE FOR?!"

He clenched his fists, but his next utterance sounded more like the whimper of an abandoned puppy. "You bastard…"

###

The twenty-eight-year-old Masamune watched the plume of smoke absent-mindedly as it rose higher before disintegrating into the air. There was grief. There was bliss. And then there was Onodera Ritsu—the cunning orchestrator who had shattered his heart into pieces eleven years ago and through whose comeback into Masamune's life since ten months ago had elated his ravaged spirit.

True, Onodera's mouth refused to confess any declaration of affection so far, but all other parts of him said otherwise. He'd rebuke Masamune for every stolen kiss with all sorts of expressions ranging from "baffled" to "embarrassed but secretly pleased"—never "revolted." And it definitely came to Masamune's advantage that Onodera felt insecure about Yokozawa, which resulted in Onodera explained his rejection for his arranged betrothal and clinging onto Masamune when he planned to go to visit his cat.

Five months ago, in the car, in the midst of a snowstorm that took place on Masamune's birthday, a very blushing Onodera reluctantly admitted that he had been thinking of the same childish dream as Masamune was—how big the cake for two would be, the number of candles, what sort of Christmas present they should get for each other, the precious moment for two over a table of home-made food… The next time they met again, Onodera had deliberately left earlier, only to buy a cake from one of the most reputable patisseries in Tokyo before reaching the office. But when Masamune arrived and teased him, he pretended that the cake was an unwanted gift and handed it to the two girls at the reception desk instead, and then tried to conceal his chagrin by leaving an unromantic birthday present of miscellaneous drinks and basic medicines for cold and stomachache.

When it became Onodera's turn to have his birthday, two months ago, toward the end of March, Masamune was finally able to celebrate it—his unfulfilled wish for over a decade had come true with a bonus, for the blushing Ritsu was curling up in his bed. He even managed to drag his reluctant-on-the-façade colleague all the way to Kyoto and spent the weekend together in a hotel's suite. Would there be no next years, now that some stranger had divested him of his soul mate?

After the last exhalation, the editor-in-chief crushed out the cigarette butt on the graveled pathway. He returned inside the psychiatrist's home office with heavy heart. In his ears, his footfalls sounded louder than they should be. After replacing his shoes with the indoor slippers at the genkan, Masamune took a deep breath and poised his hand at the consulting room door.

VIII

In response to Masamune's hesitant knock, the muffled sound of dragging footfalls came into being. The door was opened with a gradualness that seemed to indicate caution or reluctance, and the psychiatrist appeared from behind the door with grave solicitude written all over his face.

"Please have a seat, Takano-han." He motioned toward the chair in front of his desk. "I already stationed Onodera-han in the adjoining room for the convenience of our discussion." He pointed to the door on his left. "The room is windowless and could only be accessed from here to prevent the possible escape of the patient. Please do not worry about his comfort; the room is equipped with a sofa, television, and some magazines."

Masamune slumped onto the chair without a word. The psychiatrist seemed nothing different from before, but something, something within this quadragenarian man's professional manner told Masamune that things might turn out worse than he had anticipated.

"The most credible logical explanation for Onodera-han's change of behavior," Imaizumi averred, "is that he has gained a split personality through shock, in which case, you being in a coma yesterday."

Masamune opened his mouth in remonstration, but before he could utter a word, Imaizumi overrode him, "But not all facts were composed of mere logic, reason, or supposition."

The Emerald editor-in-chief peered at the psychologist with questioning eyes. 'Could it be…?'

Imaizumi continued his psychoanalysis explanation, "None of the test results indicated the coexistence of two or more personalities within one body. They all pointed to one personality, one mind, one entity. Furthermore, my dog has been trained not to show any form of animosity toward visitor during office hours; before today, Rintarou never barked at a guest during the past six years. That leads to the conclusion that the former entity you knew as 'Onodera Ritsu' is no more. What currently resides in his body is an external spirit."

Masamune swallowed.

The psychiatrist now took a sheet of paper from the thin pile on his desk and rotated it so that it became legible from Masamune's direction. The paper bore the rough sketch of a weeping willow. "As you can see here, Takano-han, the tree drawn by Onodera-han has shallow roots, a rather small trunk, medium-small branches—some even dead—and tiny, but detailed leaves.

Generally, a weeping willow bespeaks of depression. The roots are what grounds the drawer and show how much in touch she is with reality. Thus, the scant roots here mean insecurity and lack of grounding. This trunk that is split in the middle, as if it had been hit by lightning, conveys the feeling of fragility inside. The detached branches suggest difficulties to reach out and get help. The smaller the leaves, the shier the drawer is. Moreover, these overly detailed leaves reveal some obsessive-compulsive tendencies.

Overall, this Baum Test shows that the spirit who inhabits Onodera-han undergoes a feeling of exclusion, lack of self-confidence, and weariness. She wants to get away from the past that reminds her of the uncomfortable and binding events. She is an individual who is difficult to be approached directly, but some indirect approach to her emotions can prove to be influential. Others must 'get under' the overhanging branches of her tree to find a way to touch her."

Masamune's expression must have displayed some skepticism, for Imaizumi assured him, "It's quite natural that from your point of view, her character seems more aggressive rather than depressed. I'll discuss this issue later, when we get to the recording of my conversation with her."

Masamune nodded.

Interspersed only by the light rustling of paper, the psychiatrist presented a second sheet, which contained long questionnaires with 'yes' and 'no' options. "Now, following her personality test, I conducted the Myers-Briggs test, which is conventionally exerted for career tendency."

Masamune read statement #1: 'You are almost never late for your appointments.' Beneath this sentence, the "yes" box was ticked. He continued skimming through the eighty statements as he listened to the psychiatrist's explanation.

"This test," Imaizumi said, "results in the higher percentage of extroversion, intuitiveness, thinking, and judging. People with these traits are strategic, organized and possess natural leadership qualities. They are master coordinators that can effectively give direction to groups. They are able to understand complicated organizational situations and quick to develop intelligent solutions. They are decisive and value knowledge, efficiency and competence."

Masamune quirked his brow; how could the two tests result in such polar opposites?

"The spirit, therefore, used to be a leader profile at her work—a company president or a general manager at the very least. As for the different tendencies between the two tests, it confirms that her current depression was not gained by nature, but through a traumatic event at one point of her life.

I employed some more tests to gain a thorough understanding of her personality. Interestingly, I discovered that her former work was science-related and that she was accustomed to organize over a hundred laborers. She was a woman who upheld tradition, yet open to new ideas at the same time."

Masamune observed the next pages, all of which were filled with more questions ranging from numerical challenges to verbal reasoning. Segmented box of various sizes and unbroken lines connecting some geometrical link were also present. Then, there was a weird page that was filled with what looked like inkblots. With each page, the psychiatrist patiently delineated the spirit's behavioral pattern through cause-and-effect explications.

The last sheet of paper was crumpled and torn. It contained typed incomplete sentences, such as 'I like…,' 'I want to know…,' and 'What annoys me…' that were followed by handwriting. Only the first nine out of twenty were answered. The tenth sentence—'Marriage…'—was where the paper broke down and Masamune noticed stripes of adhesive tape joining the upper and lower parts of the paper.

Imaizumi explained, "At this point, the spirit inside Onodera-han's body refused to be subjected to further writing communication. The partial session of this Rotter Incomplete Sentence Blank Test hints her Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder; the cause of which, without doubt, is marital problem.

Fortunately, I have also been able to analyze her handwriting to reveal more of her qualities and temperament. As was alluded by the former tests, she used to be an optimistic individual with high intelligence, reasoning ability, and intuitiveness. Not only was she able to adapt to her surrounding as an outgoing team-player, but she was also pleasant and trustworthy despite her OCPD. She seemed to be between thirty-five and forty-years old and in good health. She is not morally Augean by nature, nor would she immerse herself in the concupiscence for debauchery under normal circumstances.

However, Onodera-han's display of profligate dalliance today strengthens the proof of her sexual deprivation. This problem is not as shallow as it led me to believe. Therefore, I employed the hypnosis method to extract the truth from her mouth while she was in a kef—that is, a state of drowsiness or dreamy intoxication."

Imaizumi opened his laptop lid and pressed a few keys. A moment later, Masamune heard the psychiatrist's recorded voice asking, "Are you Onodera Ritsu?"

"No," came the answer. Toneless. Stuporous. Torpid.

"Who are you?"

"Tatewaki Naoko."

The name did not sound familiar to Masamune. But why did this spirit hold such a grudge against him if they had never met before?

Imaizumi's voice continued the interrogation in the recording. "Is there anyone else inside Onodera Ritsu's body apart from yourself?"

"No."

"Are you the devil?"

"No."

"Are you the ghost of a deceased human being?"

"Yes."

Masamune bit his lip.

The recording of Imaizumi's voice went on, "What is your date of death?"

"June 19, 1977."

"Tatewaki-han, when did you start knowing Takano Masamune?"

"Two days ago, when he was checking-in at the Hydrangea Inn and signing his name in the registry."

"What is your impression of him?"

"I hate him."

"Why?"

The onryou delivered her reply matter-of-factly, without fear of offending anyone who might overhear it. "Because he is a faggot."

Masamune's breath hitched. On the other hand, Imaizumi's voice remained calm. He asked the next query with unadulterated curiosity rather than accusation.

"How did you know?"

The feminine speech responded with a hint of derision, "It was obvious from the way he kept stealing glances at his colleague—one particular man called Onodera Ritsu, thin build and rather feminine-looking."

"Do you hate this man?" the psychiatrist inquired again.

She answered with a corrosive tone despite the monotony in her voice, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he is a faggot, too," she affirmed.

"Do you hate all homosexual men?"

"Yes."

While Masamune saw no justness for the onryou to wreak her vengeance upon all homosexual men in the world when she held a grudge against only one or two of them, Imaizumi asked her with the same unperturbed composure, "Why?"

There was a tick of silence, and then the feminine speech articulated by Onodera's voice resumed, "They reminded me of that man. The man whom I trusted to love me but betrayed me for his male lover instead. The man who stole my money, suffocated me to death, dismembered my body, and hid the parts in the wall and under the floor."

At this, Masamune's fists clenched.

Imaizumi's equanimous voice continued, "How do you view homosexual women?"

"I couldn't care less about lesbians, as long as they don't interfere with my life."

"What happened to the man who betrayed you?"

"Of him, I heard no rumor after his elopement to Okinawa with his accursed paramour." In contrast with her unmodulated tone, every bit of her voice was planted with spite.

"What did you do after your death?"

The onryou emitted a loud groan before uttering, "For many a day I wailed over my woe in the house that was supposed to be a love nest for him and me—the place that now is known as the Hydrangea Inn. Another female ghost, Matsushita Kazue by name, tried to console me, but I shun her companionship. Instead, I discovered a new way to ease my burden by taking revenge on every fag couple that crosses my path."

Masamune did not seem to register that at the moment, his mouth was hanging open. Unperturbed, Imaizumi watched the rise and fall of his client's chest. The recording of his voice now asked, "Is there a way to placate your grudge without harming anyone?"

"No; I shall have my revenge, even if it's the last thing I do." If, ever so slightly, the tone rose and was laced with a rash guttural sound, somewhat akin to a growl. "The dead are entitled to exact justice no less so than the living ones."

If he were a mere audience for someone else's case, Masamune could probably laugh at the absurdity of how such a monotonous intonation relayed all the information that would have been hostile and acidic. But this was about Onodera. And him. And their love.

"How many victims had fallen to your hands, before you met Takano-han and Onodera-han?"

"Less than hundred in over three decades; I need to work harder."

Masamune's pulse quickened. The onryou's statement was not something filled with remorse; it sounded like the ambition for a sport called murder.

"What did you do to them?" Imaizumi asked again in the recording.

"Not much—either sucking their souls empty or inspiring fear into them; once they lost their minds, they were prone to accidents or suicides."

"Did you do the same to Onodera-han?"

Masamune's intake of breath sounded sharper than he meant to.

"No, he is a special case."

"Does that mean this is your first time possessing another's body?"

There was a pause, in which Imaizumi explained to Masamune, "Onodera-han nodded at that time." Then, the recorded interview continued.

"Does this have anything to do with your discomfort in the alley earlier today?"

"Definitely not."

"Then why did you cower?"

"It was a child's spirit. He was kidnapped, raped, abused, and eventually killed there by a gang of robbers last month. That nine-year-old boy holds a greater grudge than I do—he would kill at whim those who walk down that alley."

'Greater grudge?' Masamune's ears perked up. 'What could have happened to cause that boy to harbor such resentment and hatred?'

The recording continued with Imaizumi's mellow voice saying, "Yes, I remember the discovery of his mutilated body on the news, but tell me, how did you learn what happened to that boy?"

"His memory of the pre-mortal torture was so strong that the flashes of the heinous process visualized in my mind when I stepped into that alley—how they beat him, insinuated him with foul names he didn't deserve, shoved their repulsive phalluses into him, severed some of his fingers during his futile struggle, forced him to swallow their filthy semen, stub their cigarettes on his body, ran their knives in a total of twenty-four times through the different parts of his body, and finally trashed his blood-spattered corpse in plastic bags."

A cringe stamped itself on Masamune's face—he remembered reading that case on the newspaper, but the article listed no such details. The little boy had been the son of a well-known corporation's proprietor; however, having been swindled to bankruptcy, his parents had not been able to provide the ransom at the appointed time. He had been murdered not only to avoid the exposure of his kidnappers' crime, but also to satisfy their thirst for sadism.

'I don't blame that little boy's ghost for taking vengeance upon his tormentors,' Masamune thought, 'yet he shouldn't have killed other innocents passers-by, as well. This way, he isn't any better than Tatewaki's indiscriminate animosity against all gays.'

"Did you see the memory flashes because you yourself are a spirit or could living people see them, too?" the psychiatrist asked.

"People with high spiritual powers can see them. Too bad, that despicable Takano doesn't possess such asset. It would have been amusing to watch him wet his pants."

"In that case, I presume you also know the reason why the boy's spirit has chosen to haunt that alley rather than pursuing his murderers."

"What makes you think the boy stays the alley the entire time? Of course he did leave and exact his vengeance. All the five robbers are dead; it's just a matter of time before their respective corpses are found. That child just returned to the alley because it has become his post-mortal home."

"If he has avenged his death, how could he still not pass on?"

"Obviously, he still has some lingering attachment to this world, but whatever it is, it did not show up in my vision."

"Does Onodera-han's spirit share a similar post-mortal fate to that boy's?"

Masamune found himself the owner of the thorns of disquietude that were blooming throughout his veins.

"No; instead of remaining in this world, it went to the realm of darkness, where only spirits can enter."

"Did all your victims' spirits go there, as well?"

"No, they went to another place. This Onodera fellow is not fully dead yet."

"In other words, he is in the limbo, right now?"

"Some people call it by that name."

"What made you decide to possess Onodera-han, then?"

"It was an unplanned occurrence. I was sucking his despicable lover's soul when this mongrel woke up and stopped me. Then, when I returned the following night, he agreed to surrender himself for that man's life. I cannot just break my promise and kill the other son of the bitch now, can I? Thus, I arrange another method to make him suffer: using his lover's body to seduce everyone but himself until that bastard cannot take it any longer and ends his own life. Well, as a precautionary measure in case that detestable Takano goes for another man instead, I can always use Onodera's body to push him off a train platform or instigate a gas explosion in his apartment."

Masamune's pupils dilated.

"Thank you, Tatewaki-han. That would be all."

The recording ended with a click, and Imaizumi closed his laptop lid. The psychiatrist's voice, solemn and benign, now addressed Masamune, who had not yet recovered from his horrid bewilderment, "Would you like anything to drink, Takano-han? You seem to need something to calm down."

"Water…" Masamune gasped. "Some water will help." Then he took a deep breath and added in a more composed tone, "Thank you, sensei."

The psychiatrist rose from his seat to fetch a sealed bottle of mineral water from the fridge at the corner of the consulting room.

Only after his client had taken a few gulps did Imaizumi speak, "Now, Takano-han, I or another psychiatrist in Tokyo could try psychotherapy to nurse Tatewaki-han's spirit back to eunoia—a healthy mental state—and then persuade it to leave Onodera-han's body. Such therapy, however, is likely to go on for years, as the graveness of her mental damage cannot be taken lightly," Imaizumi spoke as his client drank the water. "For one thing, I imagine you won't be able to keep an eye on Onodera-han all the time, especially given the nature of your vocation. Then, there is also the mortality factor; this isn't a matter of two souls sharing one body, but one of the two souls is no longer within the body—I fear that the longer a soul resides in the limbo, the slimmer the chance it can return unharmed to the world of the living."

Masamune's countenance grew paler with every word.

The psychiatrist continued, "My suggestion, therefore, would be for you to arrange exorcism performed upon Onodera-han at the soonest opportunity. Since you mentioned that Tatewaki-han could resist the power of one exorcist, it would be logical to ask more exorcists to join their hands and expel this ghost. After all, it takes wax, wick, and tallow to make a candle."

With that, Imaizumi slid open the top drawer of his cabinet. He pulled a small sheet of paper and handed it to Masamune. "I jotted down the names and contact details of distinguished characters from three different religions. They are not the type of people who will feel insulted when required to borrow the power from those with different faiths."

Masamune scrutinized the note. Only three names, along with phone numbers, were written in it. Much to his relief, the Shinto priest Arakida Yoshiyuki as well as the Catholic priest Igarashi Heiichirou—the first and third contacts—agreed to contribute toward Onodera's safety. The second one, the Buddhist priest Fujikage Shouzaburou, however, had just started a new pilgrimage and wouldn't return until the following month. Instead, he recommended his friend, Higashikuni Iwao, who confirmed his willingness to help upon receiving Masamune's call.

"Now, that's settled," Imaizumi inferred. "The only remaining problem is after my hypnosis earlier, Tatewaki-han is likely to be less trustful to either of us because deep down, she must feel that her secrets have been extracted. It'll be tricky to persuade her to go with you."

"Don't let it worry you." Masamune extracted the box of sleeping pills from his pocket.

IX

At 19:51, Masamune, the priests, and Onondera gathered in the heiden of a shrine's compound, thanks to the Shinto priest's gracious offer. The offertory hall bridged the sanctuary and the oratory. The jinja itself was a small, family-maintained shrine that belonged to the shinmei-zukuri style. Raised several steps above ground level and along with a railed verandah, the ancient structure of its sanctuary took the shape of a small, rectangular edifice made of stripped wood with one entrance on the long side of the gabled roof.

Inside the designated enclosure, the sedated Onodera was still sleeping soundly, his insouciant countenance as carefree as an innocent cherub. The requisite enclosure itself was a pentagram drawn on the moonlit-washed floor by the Shinto shikan priest with purified salt, and fortified with ofuda on each point. As a finishing touch, the outside of the five-pointed star was encircled with holy water which the Catholic clergyman poured.

The men had just finished dinner, and the Shinto priest's twin daughters, Mako and Mika, put away the small, stackable wooden tables. The chatters in the offertory hall vanished with the girl's departure. Although Masamune was accustomed to silence, this seemed to be on a level at which even walls would find deadening. He let his gaze travel to the far end of the sandou—the lane leading to the shrine from the entrance—where stood an imposing torii gateway, painted immaculate white rather than the usual vermillion. Nearby, the flanking rows of ikekomi-dourou stone lanterns were rooted to the ground.

'Nine more minutes, huh?' Masamune glanced at his cellphone clock. Earlier, the Shinto priest had calculated that the best time for the ceremony should commence at the hour of the dog, which corresponded to 20:00 to 22:00. Using his astrolabe-like device—a copper plate of with the twelve oriental zodiacs inscribed on the edges, surrounding a yin-yang symbol at the center—he also stated that Onodera should be laid with his head facing north.

Earlier, the priests had informed him that no two cases of exorcism were alike—some took minutes; others might take years. They also warned him not to stay too close to the ritual circle and not to react to any provocation made by the evil spirit, as there was a chance that the spirit could transfer to another body.

After rubbing the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath, Masamune composed a short email to Hatori: 'Onodera is in mortal danger because of me. If we have not returned to the inn by tomorrow morning, go on without us. I leave Emerald in your hands.' He then switched his cellphone to the silent mode in precaution for the possible disturbance of the ceremony.

Damn, if only he could smoke to distract his mind from this madness! But how could he behave so disrespectfully on holy ground?

A purple stole draping over his cassock, the Catholic priest, Igarashi Heiichirou, kissed his crucifix and kneeled in a prayer for strength and protection. The light of the candles were reflected on his spectacles. The holy bible and vials of holy water were ensconced in his lap.

The Buddhist one, Higashikuni Iwao, was an unsui—a traveling zen monk who was not tied up to one temple. As a faithful practice of ascetism, his black hitatare kimono was made of hemp in lieu of silk. The broken pine needle embroidery on the back of the collar of the rakusu slung over his shoulder showed that he was from the soutou sect. His cross-legged sitting position made his white kyahan leggings noticeable; however, his Adidas sneakers, which he had removed earlier, upon entering the sacred hall—as opposed to waraji straw sandals—clearly indicated that he saw comfort in a higher regard than tradition. A string of nenju prayer beads of sandalwood wound around his neck. Underneath his rounded top conical bamboo-woven takuhatsu gasa hat, which was now lying next to him, his hair was not even shaven into tonsure.

The evening wind swooshed past the ema-dou, causing the hung wooden votive tablets to rattle in its wake. The same bluster that had just blown past also stirred the rings threaded onto Higashikuni's shakujou staff. The clangs of metal sounded unearthly, as though bearing an ominous bode of the peril to come. The palpebrous man gripped its wooden rod with troubled look, his gaze transfixed at the sleeping Onodera.

Igarashi laid the bible aside. When he rose, his full height towered over everyone else's. Approaching Masamune, who sat at the far end of the hall, the clergyman spoke, "Before we start, it's imperative you are informed that under no circumstances should you allow yourself to respond to the evil spirit's provocation. Spirits don't possess the living in order to torture them, but to torture those who are dear to them with despair. They know their victims' deepest desires and darkest secrets and wouldn't hesitate to use them against as many people as possible. Leave no opening to prevent this one from leading you astray."

Masamune gave a mechanical assent.

"One more thing," Igarashi appended, "During an exorcism, there's always a chance for demonic transfer from one victim to another. For this reason, you must not enter the holy circle no matter what happens. However, if … if this onryou manages to possess one of the priests, you must flee from this place as fast as you can."

Masamune's eyes bulged with fresh fear. He had been warned that exorcism was dangerous, but never expected how serious its life-threatening risk for the performers was.

Arakida, the shikan priest, rose from his seat, his white reisou purification attire fluttering mildly. The visage underneath the black kanmuri hat was a staidness mingled with trepidation. A baton-like wooden plank called shaku nestled in his hand. "Shall we begin?"

The other two priests stood up. Together, the three turned towards the enclosure with the sleeping man, their backs to Masamune as they gave each other signals of readiness.

Then they began to chant. Their voices were murmurous so Masamune could not hear the exact words, but he recognized the clergyman's hand drawing the ecclesiastic Sign of the Cross.

Masamune gulped, his gaze never leaving Onodera. Nothing happened. Nothing would happen, would it? That possessed colleague of his was sedated. He stared for one more second, and then retired further back so as not to disturb the ceremony.

The weary man was on his fifth step when the magnitude of the devastation wrought by the onryou's power became obvious. The junior editor's body jerked violently as though it had just received an electric shock. The eyelids snapped open, but the irises rolled upward into their sockets, exposing only white. Vacant and clouded as they were, the sclera glinted spite at the three priests. Bluish venation speckled his skin. The spirit inside him knew that that something was threatening her abode. And she would not yield without resistance. That terror, that thing inside the ritual circle, was staring, watching them with mocking eyes full of vengeful schemes.

The shikan shook his haraigushi; the hissing noise of the paper steamers attached to the branch of a sacred sakaki tree brought discomfort to impure spirits. The unsui stomped his shakujou, as the chime of its six metal rings—representing the Six Realms of Existence: Devas (Gods) and Heavenly Beings, Asura (Titans), Preta (Hungry Ghosts), Naraka (Hell), Tiryagyoni (Beasts), and Manusya (Humans)—had a similar effect. The clergyman held the crucifix firmly before him.

Now sitting bolt upright, Onodera mumbled unintelligible words.

All the candles were extinguished even though there was not a breath of air moving, and the offertory hall was left at the mercy of the waning moon's malignant light. Masamune considered re-illuming those candles, but he was certain that whatever had snuffed them out could always do it again and decided to wait.

The air. Something in the air. A disquiet. A gradual thickening of the fear. A reeking stench of freshly drawn blood mingled with the potent malodor of rotten eggs. A pulsing hatred that fueled cold to build up.

Masamune shivered with an insupportable eeriness. The incantations of the priests were getting louder, and with them, the chattering teeth of the chanters. Their voices, combined with the lisping haraigushi gohei and the rale of the shakujou metal rings, sounded otherworldly.

The shikan was reciting the Mitama Shizume no Kotoba—Words to Calm the Spirit, "Ametsuchi no musubi no naka ni chihayaburu. Kami no mioya no oyaoya to tsutae mashite. Chichihaha no atae tamahishi wake mitama."["Life originated with great vigor when heaven and earth took form, the genesis of the universe. The honorable spirits of the deities has divided and been transmitted to us through our ancestors and parents."]

The unsui was reciting the Ratana Sutta—Jewel Discourse, "Yanidha bhutani samagatani - bhummani va ya niva antalikkhe - sabbeva bhuta sumana bhavantu - athopi sakkacca sunantu bhasitam." ["Whatever beings are here assembled, whether terrestrial or celestial, may they all be happy! Moreover may they attentively listen to my words!"]

The reverend was reciting the Rituale Romanum—Roman Ritual, "Exsurgat Deus et dissipentur inimici eius et fugiant qui oderunt eum a facie eius sicut deficit fumus deficiant sicut fluit cera a facie ignis sic pereant peccatores a facie Dei." ["May God arise, may His enemies be scattered; may His foes flee before him! As smoke is driven away, so He shall drive them away; as wax melts before fire, so the wicked shall perish before God!"]

Onodera twisted feverishly from side to side, groaning over and over, while his unblinking eyes staring wide with rage and fright.

Masamune, who watched from the far edge of the hall, could only hope that this time the onryou's craze was genuine.

"Kono utsushiyo wo makari naba. Towa no mitama no furusato no kami no mikado ni kaeru nari." ["When we pass from this visible world, we return to the resplendent abode of the deities, the origin of the enduring honorable spirits."]

"Yathinda khilo pathavim sito siya - catubbhi vatebhi asampa kampiyo, tathupamam sappurisam vadami - yo ariya saccani avecca passati." ["By this truth may there be happiness! Just as a firm post, sunk in the earth, cannot be shaken by the four winds; even so do I declare him to be a righteous person who thoroughly perceives the Noble Truths."]

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica." ["We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect."]

Onodera—or whatever inside him—scrambled to his feet and attempted to escape from the ritual circle, but an invisible wall obstructed his way. A force, no mundane eye could see, toppled him back.

Masamune watched, unnerved, in a fever of chilled anxiety. He could only follow the eldritch creature before him numbly with his gaze; the hair on his arms and nape prickled.

"Yasuku odahi ni masu koto wo aogi kohinomi. Utsusomi no ware mo ukara mo hitosuji ni." ["We who live in the present world earnestly look up in prayer, pleading for abiding peace and tranquility for the Departed.

"Kincapi so kammam karoti papakam - kayena vaca udacetasa va, abhabbo so tassa paticchadaya - abhabbata ditta padassa vutta." ["Whatever evil deed he does, whether by deed, word or thought, he is incapable of hiding it; for it hath been said that such an act is impossible for one who has seen the Path."]

"Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Scio quia omnia potes et nulla te latet cogitatio." ["From the snares of the devil, free us, Lord. I know that You can do anything and no plan of Yours can be thwarted."]

From between Onodera's tautly stretched lips, an unceasingly nerve-shredding shriek resounded through the starless night. The agonized cry pierced Masamune's ears with pitiless acuity, but it sounded strangely distant.

"Mitama wa takaku yasurakeku iya tokoshie ni shizumarite." ["We pray that your honorable spirits abide nobly, in peaceful tranquility for all time."]

"Vanappagumbe yatha phussitagge - gimhana mase pathamasmin gimhe, tathupamam dhamma varam adesayi - nibbanagamin paramam hitaya." ["Like unto the woodland groves with blossomed tree tops in the first heat of the summer season, hath the sublime doctrine, which leads to Nirvana, been taught for the Highest Good."]

"Quia non est nobis conluctatio adversus carnem et sanguinem sed adversus principes et potestates adversus mundi rectores tenebrarum harum contra spiritalia nequitiae in caelestibus." ["For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."]

Then, the infandously glaring whites of Onodera's ghastly eyes were fixed on Masamune's. "Takano-san," the onryou croaked, her voice was a husky and despairing whisper, as she ripped Onodera's shirt open and sent its buttons flying. "What's the matter; don't you want to fuck me anymore, Takano-san?"

Masamune could not hear above the seething squall of his blood, his face purple from the contorted spasm of silent rage. He clenched his fists; how dare this vile bitch speak of such an outrage using his lover's body!

"Harae tamae kiyome tamae mamori tamae. Sakiwae tamae terashi tamae michibiki tamae." ["Sweep the impurities from our being and purify our spirits. Grant us protection; grant us happiness;restore brightness to our spirits and give us guidance."]

"Khinam puranam navam netthi sambhavam - viratta citta ayatike bhavasmim, te khina bija avirulhicchanda - nibbanti dhira yatha yam padipo - idampi sanghe ratanam panitam - etena saccena suvatthi hotu." ["Their past is extinct, a fresh becoming there is not, their minds are not attached to a future birth, their desires grow not—those wise ones go out even as this lamp. Verily, in the Sangha is this precious jewel. By this truth may there be happiness!"]

"Vade, spiritum malum. Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt." ["Go away, evil spirit. Be humble under the powerful hand of god tremble and flee—I invoke by us the sacred and terrible name at which those down below tremble."]

"You think those pathetic gibbers can triumph over me?!" in a guttural tone, the onryou snarled with the hideous grin that now seemed to Masamune to be Onodera's permanent expression.

The three priests fell backward as if shoved. Yet, they pulled themselves back up, staggering forward but renewed in their determination to complete their duty.

###

The longer Ritsu abided in the spirit world, the less motivation he had. This was the region where obscurity presided over everything and ennui was implacable. Each entity's heart grew drear and arid as the desert air. Souls disremembered their lives and passions as all minds were molded into a single prayer for way out. Some considered the fate of rotting in oneself as a hell—forever trapped, remain moribund, and unable to be reborn. Even to Ritsu, the notion of fading into nothing was preferable to an endless existence in this void.

The ghost of Kazue inquired, "Do you regret your decision of staying here, amidst the disincarnate souls?"

'No,' Ritsu answered, 'This is for the best.'

"How so?"

'It's better for Takano-san to settle down with a girl; even if we were to be together, our relationship would be coerced to terminate when one of us took a bride. As my parents' only heir to the Onodera Publishing, I can't imagine they would allow me not to continue the family lineage. Without me, Takano-san's world can keep on revolving.'

Kazue sighed. "Still, good for you to have someone to love. There is no one for me. There never was."

'I'm terribly sorry to hear that, Matsushita-san. Could it be that the reason you haven't been able to pass on, the one lingering attachment to the living world, is that you are still searching for someone who would answer your feelings?'

Kazue looked at him, nodded, and then turned away with a blush.

'In that case, why don't you try traveling, since no one is going to find you while you're cooped up in that inn?'

"But I'm afraid. I have encountered rejections before and I cannot bear to face another." Tears glistened in her eyes. "When I was a child, the other children refused to play with me; they called me 'demon' and laughed at my face. Ever since, I refused to leave my house. My parents arranged home education for me, but I knew that they told the tutors to be careful so as not to offend me.

Thus, my teenhood passed quietly. From my room, I often heard servants conversing about what happened in World War II. Then, on my seventeenth summer, they talked about the sinking of the Japanese navy ships, including the one carrying my elder brother, in the Battle of the Philippine Sea. After that, American planes frequently launched intensive heavy bomber attacks on Japan. Whenever such an air raid occurred, my family had no choice but to abandon the house and leave for the nearest shelter with everyone else. The shelter was the worst possible place I had ever been. Not only was it cramped and austere, but there, I also met more children who jeered at me. Adults took either pity or disgust of my visage, their repulsion almost as strong as fear.

I recalled there were even times when I said that I'd rather die than go to the shelter, but my parents coerced me nonetheless—they couldn't bear to lose their sole remaining child, yet I had no desire to live on through misery. When we returned from the shelter, we often found our shop vandalized and my father would curse the thief who took advantage of the chaos to fish in troubled waters. My mother would console him, alleging that they should still be thankful to Gods, who had allowed their home to suffer no further damage.

Half a year after the devastating war ended through the surrender of the Empire of Japan, my parents laid their eyes upon a certain former soldier and tried to join him with me in marriage. I am sure you have heard the rest of the story, Onodera-san," Kazue ended her tale with a downcast gaze. Her voice echoed with an unspoken melancholy.

'In other words, you've never been courted all your life—ack, that was … I'm sorry for my impudence!'

"It's quite all right, Onodera-san. Really, I…" she waved off his frantic apology with a smile before her own words broke off and were replaced by a sigh, "You state nothing but the truth and I really should aim for reincarnation and, eventually, an eternal rest. There is no future here—that much I have long been aware of. The cycle of life is like ripples and waves occurring in the ocean as temporary phenomena of water in motion because of wind, tides, and other kinetic forces. The undulation of the waves corresponds with the rotation of the wheel of life; the sea that surges, falls, and resurges, is the life that is born, dies, and is reborn again. Yet here, in this dominion of shades where the sun was extinguished and restless souls roam through the moonless air, the waves are dead and the tides are our graves. I also know that drowning myself in self-pity will not solve anything. And yet … and yet I'm afraid…"

Her words trailed off, so Ritsu ventured to ask, "Afraid of what?"

"Rejection, disappointment, well … taking risk in general, despite my pining for another chance to start anew," Kazue went on, "You see, what we are is determined largely by what we thought, said and did in the past, while what we are thinking, saying, and doing now will form our future. But at this rate, I will likely have to spend eternity in this abysmal place."

Ritsu was lost on what to say. How could he inspire courage into the unfortunate Kazue?

###

The offertory hall shook with a massive jolt of a single blow against the pillars. Masamune flinched at the shriek of the onryou, stentorian and yet repressed, like amplified premature inhumation.

The shikan performed the Mudra of the Nine Cuts, his hands folded and fingers moving to form the requisite kujikiri in rapid succession, "Rin Pyou Tou Sha Kai Jin Retsu Zai Zen!" ["Come warriors, fight as one, ready in formation, line up and take position in front!"]

The monk invoked Seishi Bosatsu, "On san zan zan saku sowaka!" ["May defilements be removed!"]

Drawing the Sign of the Cross thrice, the reverend uttered, "Imperat tibi Deus Pater; imperat tibi Deus Filius; imperat tibi Deus Spiritus Sanctus: Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare." ["God the Father commands you. The Son of God commands you. God the Holy Ghost commands you: Cease to deceive human creatures and to pour them out with the poison of eternal perdition."]

Onodera's body thrashed about wildly. Saliva started dribbling from the corners of his open mouth, which was frozen in a screaming gesture, but the sound he emitted was the croak of a strangled woman.

"AKURYOU TAISAN!" ["EVIL BEGONE!"]

"OM MANI PADME HUM!" ["HAIL TO THE JEWEL IN THE LOTUS!"]

"DOMINE, EXAUDI ORATIONEM MEAM!" ["O LORD, HEAR MY PRAYER!"]

The violent convulsions of Onodera's body were calming now. They gradually slowed, almost to a stop, when his body lifted in one last spasm—as if infected with some temporal catalepsy, the man stiffened in every limb and his countenance discolored into a deadly pale. Then, the rigidity yielded in a single suspiration and his body lay still on the floor. Without moving. Without blinking. Without breathing.

Masamune watched with disquiet as the priest traced the Sign of the Cross upon Onodera's brow, saying, "Never dare, accursed fiend, to desecrate this seal of the holy cross which we imprint upon Onodera Ritsu's brow; through Christ our Lord, who is coming to judge both the living and the dead and the world by fire." He then concluded his prayer with the Athanasian Creed.

X

Nonetheless, at the end of the prayer, Onodera's lifeless body still showed no sign of reanimation.

"It appears that this man's body is currently an empty shell, for his soul cannot find its way back from the realm of the spirits…" the monk told Masamune, his voice trailed off in a frozen murmur.

Firmly, the Emerald editor-in-chief replied, "Then I'll go there. I'll bring him back."

His face paling, the reverend clasped Masamune's shoulder. "Wait, going to the spirit world is tantamount to risking your life; your soul may not be able to return either."

"I am aware of the consequences," confirmed Masamune.

Igarashi's eyes widened. Shaking his head, he admonished, "The Heavenly Father did not grant His children the lives to be thrown away as they see fit!"

"Besides, even if you and Onodera-san are together in the realm of the dead, there's no guarantee that you can find each other for eternity. If you let him go for now, it'll be just a temporary separation, but by staying there, you avoid reincarnation and the chance of reunion with Onodera-san," added the ascetic monk.

"Then, when will my reincarnation meet Onodera's for sure?" Masamune argued back, his shoulder stiffening and nerves growing taut.

The monk sighed. "Nobody can tell. Your type and span of reincarnations are based on karmic consequences. The karma of past, present, and future events are connected by the law of cause and effect. As long as there is delusion, greed, and aversion, and as long as passions are not extinguished, we generate karma. Only when all accumulated karma is realised and the generation of new karma is calmed, one can enter the stream that leads to Nirvana. This process continues until Nirvana is reached, which signifies the cessation of rebirth and, hence, the end of suffering."

"I can't wait for hundreds or thousands of years for a future chance that's just as slim as this one!" Masamune shouted, feeling his chest grow hot and maddened. They had to understand how much Onodera Ritsu meant to him. Life would be an empty shell without this man, without that constancy of the one whose heart was part of his. He would take any chance there was at bringing him back.

Losing his temper, Igarashi yelled, "THIS ISN'T RIGHT, AND YOU KNOW IT!" The clergyman's cheeks were red from anger and his breathing was punctuated into short pants. Judging from his shaking fists, he probably considered punching Masamune into sense, as well.

"Even so, I'd rather die trying than live on for another half a century in a world without Onodera Ritsu." Masamune looked at the clergyman straight in the eye, his tone flat yet unwavering. "With all due respect, Father, I'm going there, with or without help."

And he placed both hands around his neck and pressed his fingers onto the tender skin of his throat with all his might, trying to asphyxiate himself.

Igarashi, who stood closest, endeavored to remove Masamune's hands from his neck. The shorter man put up a fight, and in panic, the reverend evoked the other two priests, "Don't just stand there; do something!"

The unsui rushed to the reverend's aid even before he finished his sentence; on the contrary, the shikan consulted his astrological chart in silence. The shrine proprietor did not lift his head until he heard the struggle ceasing.

"I have now seen how unshakeable your resolution is," Arakida addressed Masamune, whose neck imprinted with ten fingermarks and was coughing vehemently.

The Shinto priest cast the other two priests a meaningful look. It was not until they had nodded their approval that he spoke to Masamune, "Very well, we will chant the words to release your soul from your body and then guide you back. Even so, our spiritual powers aren't inexhaustible; try to get back between six and eight, as the morning hour of the hare will be most merciful. Beware, however, that the fluctuation of time differs between the realms of the quick and the dead. What felt to be mere seconds there may be equal to hours here."

Masamune, who was still gasping for breath, could only manage a feeble nod. He then sat next to Onodera's sleeping figure while the three priests formed a triangle around him and chanted in susurration. Again and again, he listened to their mysterious cantillation, initially struck anew by the singularity of the priests' triple tones, haunted by their ardor, until, in due course, the perennial reverberation itself dulled the whispery litany into more prosaic words.

He had wrongly assumed that once his soul left its body, he'd be able to see his deserted body lying on the floor. That was certainly not the case here.

There was a mist-enfolded enclosure at first, and then, as though the vaporous curtain had been drawn back, Masamune found himself surrounded by mesonoxian duskiness so dense and profound that it made no difference whether he opened or closed his eyes. The perpetual shade had no need of aid from illumination; it was the Law, the Religion, the Universe. Insipidity was omnipresent; it was like a plague that refused to go away. He could not bear to think that Onodera had become a prisoner of darkness in the realm where stars had expired and mind was as tombless as one's existence.

As Masamune began his first step, an awkward feeling seized him. He looked down. No feet were there. No legs. No torso. No head either. In fact, he was nothing but a ball of energy who perceived the situation not with his sight, but with his thoughts.

'So, I've become a hitodama now?'

Masamune studied his surroundings. Behind him, where he had fallen just a moment ago, was a trace of light, almost like a dimming flare. Recognition dawned on him. 'The orisons—that's why those priests can only hold on till morning; when their stamina is exhausted, the light will vanish.'

He began to scour the place. In this rayless realm where sun and moon had long gone and winds withered in the stagnant air, joy perished, leaving the dwellers only with gloom. In his new form he glided and wondered, 'Is Onodera in this will-o'-the-wisp shape, too? How will I recognize him? How will he recognize me?'

As he floated along the sooty abyss, a strange notion came to him. It felt to him that the entire span of his life, including his encounter with Onodera, had been but a slow return to some former state of being; and that the resumption of this state had presented itself in this breath of time.

'What's this sensation? Is it the recollection of my past lives?' But then, another part of him overrode the thought, 'Who cares? Just find Onodera; else, everything will be in vain.'

The air around Masamune was utterly placid, but he had the sense of faint movements in the distance—although he didn't know how he cognized this. He let instinct guide him.

He did not know whether he had spent minutes or decades in the pervading melanite when, at last, he noticed three other will-o'-the-wisps floating just like him. But as he approached closer, no sense of familiarity came from any of them. Nor did he feel the urge to halt them and ask whether one of them happened to be the one he sought.

Miles and miles of ebon air stretched before Masamune before his next encounter with more hitodama. This time, it was a lone soul who emitted such a tremendous amount of grief. Yet again, his instinct told him that this was not Onodera's soul.

The more Masamune advanced, the slimmer the chance he was going to find his true love—or so it felt. The anvil of panic struck his soul with a heavy blow. Had dawn already broken?

As this awful conviction forced itself into the innermost chambers of his soul, he strived to shout his beloved's name. His voice strangely resounded inside him, in his mind, in his being. An inner thought which others could not hear.

###

Meanwhile, Ritsu, who was conversing with the ghost of Kazue, stopped his discourse with such an abruptness. 'Matsushita-san, did you hear a sound just now?'

"No, I heard nothing except your voice."

Ritsu fell silent. He tried to listen intently, but there was no repetition of the sound. 'Strange … I thought I heard someone calling my name. And that voice—well, I couldn't be sure because of the distance, but it did sound like…' he murmured, '…Takano-san's.'

"I think you might be right," Kazue remarked. "I heard no sound, but I can sense a holy path strewn by prayers. That lover of yours must have sought the assistance of a priest to guide your way back. This way." Kazue floated over the boundless dominion of darkness with Ritsu following closely behind her.

'Takano-san?' Ritsu replied. 'But if he did so, Tatewaki-san would surely target him again.' With these worries encumbering his mind, the hitodama sped up in his flight. 'I have to tell him to leave me be, else his life could be endangered.' As Ritsu's hitodama dashed, visions of Takano's doom rushed through his mind—monstrosities pursuing him endlessly in nightmarish succession until he fell to their fury. The uncanny tension was succeeded by the rush of the foreboding expectation of the minutes that followed.

Yet, if there were any perk of being dead with no corporeal form, it would be the absence of fatigue that Ritsu was currently experiencing. He had spurred himself far past his limits in the living world, yet he never ran out of stamina here—no adrenaline to pump nor limbs to swing. When he stopped, after a while, it wasn't for the need of catching his breath; it was because he sensed some familiarity in something he had just passed. The probe of the nostalgic thought electrified him.

'Sem…pai…?' Ritsu's thoughts had spoken before he could prevent it. It was one thing to hear Takano asking a priest to send some prayers, but to visit him in person…

'Why do you keep delivering me more joy than I can bear, Takano-san?' He gasped, 'No, I mean … damn this thought!'

However, Ritsu was saved from embarrassment, for his thought didn't resound too loudly and his adversary didn't seem to register his words. The hitodama who originally went to the opposite direction now halted a few yards behind him. 'Onodera…?' the lone soul turned around and tentatively addressed him, 'Ritsu, is that you?'

Like a pair of fireflies dancing sprightly in the benighted sky, the two will-o'-the-wisps circled each other. They soared together with words unspoken. Bliss embraced their existence, swallowing all anguish and worry. For a moment of rapture, they were oblivious of all but each other's presence.

But before either could savor the moment of their long-awaited reunion further, Takano, who perceived the lurking figure that was as evanescent as drifting smoke and surging shadow, cried, 'Is that Tatewaki Naoko? Ritsu, RUN!'

Takano's hitodama shifted to shield Ritsu's from the ghost. 'I won't let you touch him again, fiend! With every fiber of my being, I'll—'

'Takano-san, no! This is Matsushita Kazue-san. She helped your homecoming to the world of the living and she has been a gracious company while I stay here.'

'Matsushita Kazue? Hmm, your name rings the bell … oh! Tatewaki Naoko mentioned your name; you're the one who attempted to comfort her spirit, aren't you?'

The ghost of Kazue nodded, though not without a look of disbelief. "That is indeed I. Still, I did not expect Tatewaki-san to consider my name worth mentioning."

Takano's hitodama leaped a few inches and then tumbled. Ritsu figured out that this was his boss' endeavor to bow his apology to the ghost of Kazue—which he did with the politest manner he could manage, along with a sincere 'thank you for taking care of Onodera.'

'But Takano-san … since you're here, doesn't it mean Tatewaki Naoko's vengeful spirit didn't keep her word and attacked you instead?'

'Yes and no—I'll fill you in with the details later. Right now, we have to rush; the path to our world won't remain open for long.'

Kazue exhorted, "This way. Quick!"

###

Ritsu woke to the feeling of the sun's matutinal warmth upon his figure. A triangle of faces was above him. He found himself in the presence of three men he had never encountered before, garbed in the sacerdotal vestments of different religions, all of whom welcoming the barest glimmer of morning with immense relief.

Then there was a squeeze on Ritsu's hand, and Takano's visage came into the periphery of his vision, brimming with unalloyed rapture. The intensity of the older man's gaze and fervid breath fanning over his face caused him to tip his head back. And in that instant, the taller man was all over him—resolute hands and soft lips and slick tongue.

"Okaeri."

OWARI

OMAKE

'Ugh! Who else is banging the door so loudly on a Sunday morning if not Takano-san?' Ritsu threw his fluffy quilt aside, descended from the bed, put on his slippers, and then headed to his apartment exit. He made no attempt to stifle his yawn as he swung the door open.

The tall figure of Emerald's editor-in-chief was waiting behind it with a heap of Tupperwares, a newspaper, and an unsealed envelope. "Breakfast," Takano said simply as he admitted himself inside and wasted no time setting the plastic boxes on the dining table.

As Takano was backing him, Ritsu ran his fingers through his tousled hair in an attempt for a slightly more presentable appearance. Then, with the most sarcastic tone he could gather, the sleepy man said, "You know, you can always eat breakfast at your own apartment."

"What are you prattling about?" Takano responded, quite unabashed, "As a shoujo manga editor, you should understand one of the most fundamental concepts: a meal wouldn't taste as nice as when it's eaten together with your loved one."

Ritsu turned around and took out some crockery from the cupboard—this was the only thinkable solution for him to prevent Takano from noticing his blush.

As always, Ritsu had no complaint for Takano as far as the cooking went. The rice was fluffy; the fish was cooked with perfect timing so that it was crispy on the outside and tender, almost elastic in the inside; and the miso soup was at the right consistency and it was neither too salty nor too sour. The compliment, however, did not extend as far Takano's behavior. Under the table, the older man's toes were searching for his partner's skin, brushing over the soft material of Ritsu's pajama.

"WILL YOU STOP THAT!" Ritsu mouthed the rebuke through gritted teeth.

But today would not be the first time Takano ignored Ritsu's dentiloquy.

After breakfast, Takano unfolded the newspaper and thrust the fourth page to Ritsu. The headline on top the left of the page blared: 'Dismembered Skeleton Found at a Ryoukan.' Below it was the black-and-white picture of the shikan Arakida Yoshiyuki purifying the Hydrangea Inn.

Next, Takano handed Ritsu the letter; its tidy handwriting read as follows:

'Greetings to you, Onodera-san and Takano-san!

How do you do? I hope this letter finds you in the best of health. However, I must apologize if I startled you with this sudden letter. Ghosts are endowed with the faculty to detect living presences; therefore, I was able to find your address.

Allow me to thank you for introducing me to the ascetic monk, Higashikuni-san. He recommended me to the Public Relation staff of the Vongola Academy of Exorcism in Hokkaido and now I am working there as a seamstress for students' uniform. The academy is filled in abundance with supernatural beings of every kind. The staff and students are kind and, having been accustomed to work hand-in-hand with ghosts, they accept me for who I am.

Naturally, things did not bode well in the beginning. Initially assigned as a kitchen staff, I—who had never even once cooked or cleaned the utensils before—proved to be an embarrassing failure there. It is fortunate that sewing used to be my pastime activity and the transfer to the new department has given me a home to belong.

Just as I live with glee here, I hope you two find a happy ever after.

Sincerely Yours,

Matsushita Kazue

P.S. In the academy, facilities for the dead are provided, including the cameras that can shoot ghosts. Here's the latest photograph of my colleagues and I.'

Takano pulled a photograph from the envelope. In it, the ghost of Kazue stood together with a group of more than a dozen seamstresses—all as diaphanous as she was and some had missing limbs, gouged eyes, or a deep cut on their necks. Strangely enough, they all seemed happy. The background shown through their pellucid figures seemed to be the interior of a fairy-tale castle, with the cavetto vault, wall-mounted torchères, and floor-to-ceiling windows of which extravagant curtains were drawn back with golden tassels.

"So, such a place exists…" Ritsu murmured. A week, no, three days ago, he would use every vocabulary known to him to deny such a statement. Yet, after going to the spirit world, the concept of a school for demon-slayers did not seem too far off.

An assertion, silky and thunderous at the same time, drew Ritsu's attention. He had dreadfully anticipated to be compelled to concede this, but when it came, all mental preparations in the world could not pacify the rush of adrenaline in his system.

"Don't you have a confession to make, Ritsu?" Takano's lip curled upward.

'Here it comes…' Still, the younger man opted to play dumb—a few more seconds to keep him away from humiliation. "What confession?"

Takano faked a sigh. "That Tatewaki woman told me you gave up your life just to save mine. Do you normally sacrifice to such a degree for someone you have no feelings for?"

Ritsu looked away; if only he knew how to hide the telltale blush that was now coloring his cheeks with tints of amaranth! "D-don't get ahead of yourself! Who'd confess to you?!"

"Honestly, don't bother to hide how much you've been craving for me. You're about as far from hating me as a giraffe was from short neck. Besides, it's not like those priests didn't notice the interesting noises you made when we kissed," the older man teased.

"Even if that's the case, that did make it right for you to k-kiss me in front of them!" Ritsu's face started to flush, as the memory of the three priests' reactions filled his mind: the clergyman's eyebrow nearly touched his hairline; the unsui's jaw dropped; and the shikan sucked in a breath.

"What do you expect? She bared your chest in front of them—I needed to show those men whom you belonged through a French kiss. Don't worry; they're highly tolerant about our relationship. As a matter of fact, the shikan even eagerly advertised that the shrine offered wedding ceremony services, too."

"AAARGH!" 'This isn't love. Most definitely isn't. There's no way this is love!'

Number of days until Onodera Ritsu fell completely, hopelessly, and irrefutably in love: 56.

THE END

Further explanation regarding the Vongola Academy of Exorcism can be read in my other fic, Reverends and Revenants.