Dawn light filtered through the curtain gap in thin, pale threads. She still hadn't slept. Sakurai Misaki knew that much about herself. She sat upright on the bed, her gaze fixed on the diary resting across her knees. The leather cover was slightly damp from last night's tears. The characters that had surfaced on the back of the final page—the place that should have held nothing—clung to the inside of her eyelids and wouldn't let go. ——To Lilia. I will definitely protect you. (This is the key.) The certainty she'd reached last night didn't waver as dawn broke. If anything, as the darkness lifted, that certainty only hardened. Her trembling hand reached for her smartphone. She tapped Sakaki Kenta's number. The dial tone rang three times. "[surprised]……Is something wrong at this hour?" His voice didn't sound sleepy. Maybe he'd been awake all night too. "[serious]There's hidden writing in the diary. The kind that only shows up when tears soak through it. It was on the back—words Reo wrote to Lilia came out." On the other end of the line, she heard a faint intake of breath. "[serious]You think that's the key." "[serious]Yeah. Not just a feeling—I really think so. If we use that diary in front of Kurokage—I think something will change." A brief silence followed. Misaki already recognized the kind of silence Kenta made when he was thinking. "[serious]I'm going to see Yoshikawa. I'll call you back today." The call ended. Misaki held the diary to her chest and looked out the window. The ridge of Tsukimori Mountain floated vaguely in the thin morning glow. In the corner of the room, Reo was there. She understood somehow that he'd been standing there all night. The cracks in his arm looked slightly fainter than last night, but they hadn't disappeared. Their eyes met. Reo gave a small nod. (Wait for me.) She said it in her heart. She didn't voice it. But it felt like it got through. --- Kenta's callback came before noon. Tsukidou—a ninety-year-old confectionery shop in Tsukimori Town where the proprietor, Yoshikawa Tatsuo, still worked the counter in his eighties. Kenta had a long relationship with him, and Yoshikawa was the person in this town who knew the most about the Harukaze mansion fire, having heard about it from Kenta's grandfather's generation. That Yoshikawa had told Kenta everything directly. "[serious]I found out the condition for putting the malevolent spirit to rest." Misaki stood up, phone pressed to her ear. "[serious]The person who committed the sin must confess it before the victim. And—the one who suffered must settle it of their own will. Using Yoshikawa's words: 'For a twisted soul to find peace, it needs both to be exposed and to be forgiven.'" "[serious]……The victim must settle it of their own will." "[serious]Right. Which means you have to confront Kurokage with the diary as evidence—and then Reo has to end it himself." Misaki bit her lip. Standing before Kurokage. That meant—stepping willingly into the place where that black miasma, that unsettling something, would manifest in its complete form. Her legs trembled, just slightly. "[serious]I'll be outside tonight too. I'll keep calling to you while shining a flashlight through the window. You won't be alone." Those words fell quietly into the depths of Misaki's chest. Not alone. Just those words—and yet something that had been stretched taut inside her loosened, just a little. Kenta's voice was matter-of-fact. Not emotional encouragement. Just stating a fact: "I'll be there." That economical phrasing reached her in a way that flowery words never could. "[serious]……I understand. I'll do it tonight." --- The sun set. Summer nights stay bright late, but past nine o'clock, the mansion grew quiet. Misaki confirmed her parents' light had gone out, then waited in the hallway for a while. She placed her hand on her bedroom door. She pulled it open. One step into the hallway. Her feet stopped. (I'm scared.) The emotion came more honestly than she'd expected. Her legs were shaking. The darkness of the hallway was no different from last night, yet tonight it felt heavier. Fear that came after knowing something was so much deeper than fear before understanding. But—Reo's face surfaced in her mind. That face from last night, gazing at the light in the diary dampened by tears. The complete despair had vanished, replaced by a faint tremor in those water-blue eyes. It was Reo who'd been afraid for a hundred years. It was Reo who'd been trapped in that black miasma all this time. Misaki pressed her lips into a firm line. She started walking. Down the hallway. Footsteps silent but certain, moving forward. The diary held firmly against her chest. She could feel the leather cover sticking to her damp palms. Lilia's old room came into view. As she drew closer, her body's sensations shifted. The air grew heavier. The temperature dropped. Despite the summer night, cold air crawled from the gap beneath the door, pricking her skin. Her breath came out white. (It's summer.) Misaki stood before the door and took one deep breath. Her hand grasped the doorknob. It was cold to the touch. She pulled. --- The moment the door opened, the air in the room moved all at once. A heavy air—neither warm nor cold—pressed down on Misaki's body. She stepped inside. Both feet touched the floor. As if that were a signal—black miasma began seeping from the wall seams. Thin at first, barely visible. But it thickened rapidly, pouring from the adjacent seams and others, spreading like an eruption. The floral wallpaper—the pale pink pattern that Lilia might have touched a hundred years ago—was swallowed by the miasma and vanished. The moonlight from outside was blocked, and the room darkened rapidly. She switched on the flashlight. The beam of light cut through the miasma. But the miasma didn't flinch. Instead, it flowed around the light, filling the entire room. Something moved at the center of the miasma. Rising from below. Taking on a human shape. Misaki aimed the flashlight there. The moment it was illuminated, the full form became visible. A humanoid figure over two meters tall. Its entire body was wrapped in black miasma, but the outline was clear. A face—where a face should be, there were no eyes. Not even eye sockets. Only a mouth. A mouth split to the cheeks, crescent-shaped, slowly twisted. No sound came out. But each time that mouth moved, the air in the room trembled. Kurokage. Reo's grandfather's malevolent spirit—the man who'd set fire to the mansion a hundred years ago and killed his grandchildren—stood before Misaki in complete form for the first time. Her knees were shaking. She noticed it. But she didn't step back. If she retreated, it would be over. She didn't know why she thought that. She just felt it. Misaki took one step forward, keeping the flashlight trained on Kurokage. --- The next instant, black tendrils shot up from the floor. They seized her ankle. The moment they made contact—something like a cold electric current ran from her ankle up to her waist. Not pain exactly, but an unpleasant sensation of being grabbed from inside her body. Before she could cry out, her body was wrenched sideways and slammed against the wall. A dull thud. The back of her head struck the wall. Her vision flashed white for a moment. She collapsed to the floor. Her knees and palms hit the floorboards. The back of her head throbbed. Then—something that wasn't a voice flowed directly into her. Stay here. Forever. With Lilia and Reo. The three of us. She understood it was a thought. Not words. But the meaning came through. And in that thought—there was no hatred. No anger. There was a twisted warmth. (This is disgusting.) If it had been hatred, that would have been better. But this—because it truly believed it was "love," that's what made it come. That made her stomach turn inside out with revulsion. She pressed her hands to the floor to push herself up. Her right arm trembled, unable to find strength. The pain in the back of her head blurred her vision. Then, light burst from the corner of the room. Thin light. A translucent outline. It was Reo. He stepped directly between Misaki and Kurokage. The cracks in his arm spread as they touched the miasma. Still, he didn't move. He faced Kurokage head-on and didn't move. Something in Misaki's chest pounded violently. Concern for Reo came before pain. It pushed the pain aside, and her body moved. She forced strength into her trembling arms and pushed herself off the floor. Her right arm hurt. The back of her head throbbed. But she could stand. Misaki raised the diary high. "[angry]What you did isn't love!" Her voice echoed through the room. "[angry]You hurt Lilia. You terrified Reo. You killed them both. That isn't love. It's possession. Control. All you wanted wasn't their happiness—it was to keep them for yourself!" The moment she shouted, the diary's cover glowed. A strong, white light. Different from the flashlight—a light that came from deeper within. It touched the outline of Kurokage's body. A sound like shattering glass—no, not a sound. But something shattered. Cracks spread across Kurokage's surface, running vertically and horizontally. Fissures spread through the black miasma's membrane. Kurokage took one step back. In that instant, light poured through the window. A flashlight beam. Illuminating the glass while a voice reached her. "[serious]Misaki! Don't let go of the diary! Keep going!" Kenta's voice. He was outside. He'd kept his promise. He was really there. The light from outside and Reo's pressure from the front and Misaki's shout and the diary's glow—all of it overlapped, accelerating Kurokage's collapse. The miasma's outline blurred, the humanoid form began to crumble. But. Kurokage didn't disappear. --- The split mouth opened wide. Black tendrils shot out again. This time, straight for Misaki's arm. There was no time to dodge. The moment the tendril wrapped around her arm, the second impact came. Her back slammed against the wall. The air rushed from her lungs all at once, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. The diary slipped from her fingers. Halfway. Misaki's fingers barely held the edge. But the tendril was pulling the cover. The leather was about to tear—that tension transmitted through her palm. Her back ached. Her arm ached. The edges of her vision were darkening. (If I let go, it's over.) She knew that. She understood it completely. She sat on the floor, tears streaming down her face. She didn't know if they came from pain or fear. But even as the tears fell, Misaki's gaze never left Kurokage. She kept looking straight ahead. Then—Reo moved. His expression showed he'd made a decision. The fear he'd carried for a hundred years was visible somewhere in that face. But there was something stronger than that. Reo looked at Misaki once. Those pale water-blue eyes captured her directly. She read the meaning in that gaze. There were no words. No voice. But it got through. ——Leave it to me. Misaki gripped the diary with both hands. She poured strength into her fingers. The sensation of being torn continued. But she didn't let go. Reo turned to face Kurokage. A hundred-year confrontation was about to begin.