Saturday.
His day off.
Which meant scouting.
Riku didn't seek trouble. But it had a way of looking for him. Or maybe it knew where to wait.
He headed to the lake park. Mist still curled around the edges of the benches, and the path hadn't dried from last night's rain.
The place was quiet. Too quiet. The kind that hums behind your teeth.
Riku stood still for a moment.
Then muttered,
"…Let's see what's here."
A slow breath. Jet-black shimmered across his pupils, gone before a blink.
The world shifted.
Color drained, contrast deepened. The air was no longer air—it was layered. Dense.
Grudge.
Thin red threads hung, almost invisible, pulsing faintly in the silence.
Resentment had form.
Enough thought, focused wrong, and the world bends.
Spirits.
Some were passive—faint shadows clinging to routine. Echoes of people who didn't want to go.
Others weren't so quiet.
If hate was strong enough, it remembered. Lived on. And lashed out.
Vengeful spirits didn't need a reason.
They were born from one.
You wouldn't notice at first. Just a scratch in your sleep. A shift in mood. A cough that wouldn't stop.
Riku covered his mouth. He wasn't in the mood to burn energy.
The resentment here was layered, woven. Threads knotted around the trees.
Too much. Too thick. Something was buried here.
And no one else had noticed.
Of course they hadn't.
Humans didn't need eyes to know when to turn around.
But this—this was valuable. A spirit like this, if absorbed…
His stats would rise. Body. Death energy. He could push past the current cap.
Simple gain.
Riku crossed the bridge. His footsteps didn't echo. The forest on the other side opened like a throat.
He stepped inside.
Something watched.
From behind.
A gaze, light and lingering. Not hostile. Not afraid. Just… curious.
A girl.
Standing at the edge of the path, almost blending with the fog.
And Riku
Hands bloodied, bag dangling from one. Thin blue plastic, see-through in the right light. Inside: chunks of raw meat, bound in quicklime.
Arms.
A woman's, folded and pressed tight like leftovers.
Riku didn't flinch.
Mirai, the girl, didn't scream. Just studied him. Arms crossed. Slight lean. Like she'd been watching for a while.
She raised a brow.
"I've got a question," she said.
"Ask."
His voice was flat. Cold. Not out of malice—just the absence of everything else.
Mirai looked at the blood, then at him.
This was not a man who panicked. Not a man caught mid-crime.
She smiled like someone watching a strange animal.
"…So if I strip off all my underwear and hand them to you, will you let me live?"
Riku blinked.
Then looked her over. One glance.
"Crazy woman," he muttered.
She was oddly composed. Pretty, even.
Straight black hair. Scarf wrapped high. Eyes bright. White coat, navy skirt, legs in black stockings. Boots. Clean, long-legged.
Put together.
Too calm for a normal girl. Too curious for a sane one.
And still smiling.
Riku wiped his hands and tossed the severed arm aside like it was bad fruit.
Clapped the blood from his palms.
"You know me?"
Mirai grinned.
Didn't even flinch.
She'd already accepted she couldn't outrun him. Couldn't charm him either—he hadn't spared her a second glance.
So she shrugged.
Leveled her tone.
"You're the school's infamous underwear thief."
Riku blinked.
'Definitely insane,' he thought.
An underwear thief?
Was that… real? Something his past self had done?
He didn't respond. Just stared. Let the silence do the talking.
No sense denying what he didn't remember.
Mirai didn't mind. She leaned into it.
"I've been watching you," she said.
The way she said it made it sound like casual weather talk.
"You're not the same guy from school."
She tapped her fingers against her cheek, index circling the edge of her eye.
"It's the eyes," she said. "That old Riku—he looked like he hated everything, especially himself. But now?"
A pause. She tilted her head.
"Now your gaze is… different. Detached. Like you're seeing something we're not. Like you're not even in your own skin."
She blinked slowly, fingers brushing her lips, studying him like he was an exhibit behind glass.
Too calm. Too put-together. Too… not high school.
She smiled. "But are you really Riku?"
He said nothing.
But inside, he wondered.
Was I that easy to read?
The silence stretched.
Then, without changing expression, he pulled out his phone.
"I regret something," he muttered.
Mirai perked up. Her tone lightened.
"Regret what?"
"That I didn't let you hand over your underwear so I could stuff them in your mouth."
He said it flat. Like a grocery list. Dialed a number on his screen without blinking.
"…Huh?"
Mirai blinked back. Lips twitching.
"You could've just said you were into that," she said, laughing, "I can take them off right now if you—"
"Then do it."
Riku looked up. Dead serious.
"…"
Mirai froze.
Wait.
Wait—
Wait, he's serious?
His face didn't change. No smirk. No irony.
She stared at him. Then down. Then back up.
"…I really shouldn't have tempted fate," she whispered.
And for the first time, Mirai looked genuinely unsure.