'A week, huh.'
Riku tapped his fingers against the desk, the dull thud echoing faintly in his room. A vague idea was starting to form in his mind. Mirai's police protection would only last a week.
Enough to set things in motion. Not enough to get comfortable.
Still, it was late. Not the time to act.
'Let's just update the homepage for now.'
He pulled up his website. The screen lit with a stark black background and a clean, no-frills layout. A basic message board interface, font size twelve, intentionally outdated. Almost like something you'd find buried on the deep web—forgotten, but alive.
At the center of the page sat the title: Urban Legend Agency.
Below it, neat categories detailed past encounters—supernatural cases, photos, scattered clips of shaky video. Riku's own experiences, logged one by one like a war journal. Each one strange. Each one real.
He'd uploaded some short videos too, blurry and raw, just enough to unnerve. Enough to feel real. The twenty-first century was the age of the internet. If you wanted to move people, it had to be through their phones. Screens were the new shrines. And fear… fear translated well in pixels.
LINE, Twitter, social feeds—no better place to bait the hook.
Of course, netizens weren't reliable. But once in a while, something valuable floated to the surface. That ghost in the mirror case? It started because someone sent him a private message on the site. The haunted house was a tipoff from a stranger.
'Homepage views are climbing again,' Riku murmured.
That was both a good and dangerous sign.
The eerie photos, the low-res videos, the stories—they'd started to spread, especially among the younger crowd. The comments section swelled.
'High energy incoming!'
'What the hell appeared at 1:30?! I jumped out of my seat!'
'Please, Buddha, forgive me if there are monsters involved.'
'This blogger's worldbuilding is insane. Watch at your own risk.'
'Did he just Photoshop this with basic filters? Kinda creative, though.'
'Not scary at all!'
'Ai!!'
Riku scrolled through, eyes half-lidded. Most of the comments were split between people claiming they weren't scared and those trying too hard to sound like they weren't. But he noticed the same users came back. Again and again.
In the end, people liked being scared more than they liked being right.
He never showed his face fully. Most shots were dark, pixelated, or cropped. A profile blur. A shadow passing by a mirror. Enough to build myth. Not enough to trace.
That was intentional. He wasn't hiding—he just didn't want to be seen. Not in that way.
Japan's government didn't take kindly to supernatural content spreading too widely. If the wrong people noticed, the site would be gone in hours. The fact it hadn't been shut down yet… maybe someone high up was turning a blind eye. Or maybe he just hadn't made enough noise to matter.
His inbox had exploded over the past few weeks. Dozens of new messages daily. Seventy, sometimes eighty. And he hadn't had time to clear any of it.
Some asked who he really was.
Some wanted to know the locations.
Some accused him of using fake photos for clicks.
Others wanted interviews, partnerships, even sponsorships.
He usually ignored it all.
But tonight, something caught his eye.
One message stood out from the noise.
'I have something I'd like to ask your help with. If you see this, please contact me at this email address.'
A long string of characters followed. Sent two nights ago.
Below it, another message from the same sender:
'This is really important. Please reply soon. My email is…'
That one was sent last night.
Just as Riku took his hand off the mouse, about to head to the bathroom, another message came in. Fresh.
'Are you avoiding me? Don't worry, I'm not suspicious. A friend of mine recently encountered something strange. We'll cover travel and lodging. We'll also pay well. My email is—'
'...'
Riku sat still, eyes fixed on the glowing screen.
He didn't hate helping people. That wasn't it.
But right now, he simply didn't have the space. Emotionally or otherwise.
He sighed and typed a quick reply:
'Apologies. I'm currently occupied with another case. If your friend can describe the situation in detail by email, I'll try to offer advice remotely.'
He clicked send.
Then he turned the computer off, leaned back, and let the silence settle.
Outside, the cicadas had gone quiet.