At past noon the following day, Aoi Yūma arrived in Seo City once more. The station plaza before him was unchanged from yesterday—quiet, nostalgic. Old streets stretched outward, carrying with them an air of something long past. Yet today, through Aoi Yūma's eyes, that same landscape appeared subtly different. The exhaustion from last night's investigation had not yet lifted. A dull ache lingered in the back of his skull, and his shoulders bore a strange heaviness. Each time he employed his spiritual perception, this accumulation of mental fatigue would settle into his body. There was no medical explanation for it. Yet his body knew. It remembered. From the station rotary, he turned down the narrow alley that led toward the abandoned hospital grounds. A thin path along the Aosagi River. The water ran murky, and even its flowing sound seemed ancient, worn by time. The buildings on either side stood unrepaired, all of them. A city where time had stopped. That was Seo City. As the hospital drew nearer, Aoi Yūma's five senses sharpened. What of the spiritual presence he had felt last night? Today, he intended a more thorough investigation. But that was when it happened. "You went into that ruin yesterday. A local taxi driver told me." A man's voice. When Aoi Yūma stopped, a man emerged from the direction of the hospital grounds. Early forties. Black jacket, dark navy jeans—simple, functional. His face was angular, his thick black hair cut short and neat. But what stood out most were his eyes. Sharp. Deep. As if they could pierce through something. A small piercing glinted at his right ear. Not an ordinary passerby. Aoi Yūma sensed this immediately. The man approached slowly, his gaze fixed on Aoi Yūma. His movements were calculated, never unconscious. "I'm investigating too. What happened at this hospital thirty years ago. What did you come to investigate?" His voice was composed. No anger. No surprise. Only the tone of someone stating facts. Cold. Measured. Aoi Yūma responded, though cautious. "I'm a paranormal researcher. I came to investigate spirits." The man's expression shifted slightly. His brow moved. His eyes grew sharper. From that reaction, Aoi Yūma sensed that his counterpart had accepted the explanation without doubt. This man was not someone who would dismiss such "illogical" things without reason. "I'm a journalist. Todoroki Sōichirō." The man introduced himself. Simultaneously, he withdrew a business card from his pocket. The letters "Weekly Profound" were visible. An investigative reporter. Aoi Yūma accepted the card. The thick paper bore the name Todoroki. "I'm the son of Todoroki Genzō, the hospital director." At those words, Aoi Yūma's thoughts halted. The director's son. In other words, a person directly connected to this incident. "I think my father was involved in this incident," Todoroki Sōichirō continued. "I respected him. But at the same time, I knew he was hiding something. That's why I've been pursuing the truth for thirty years." Those words were woven through with complex emotion. Respect and hatred. A human struggle where both were intermingled. Aoi Yūma sensed it acutely. "Will you cooperate?" Todoroki Sōichirō made the proposal. "You from the spirits' side, me from the human side. We might be able to approach the truth from both angles." It was then that another voice cut through their conversation. "Excuse me..." Both men turned. A middle-aged woman stood before the hospital entrance. Her hair, streaked with white, was tied back. She wore clothes of modest color. In her hands, she held a white bouquet of flowers. Todoroki Sōichirō whispered to Aoi Yūma. "That's Negoro-san. One of the bereaved families. She comes to leave flowers every month." Aoi Yūma studied the woman—Negoro Shizuko—carefully. Soft, dark eyes. Gentle, yet something deep lay dormant in their depths. On her right thumb, an old scar was visible. He stepped forward. "Excuse me. May I speak with you?" Shizuko's eyes showed initial wariness. Two unfamiliar men. In such circumstances, it was natural. But Aoi Yūma's calm, polite tone seemed to ease her guard somewhat. "What is this regarding?" "I'm conducting an investigation of this hospital. I'm Aoi Yūma, a paranormal researcher." Shizuko's expression changed. Her pupils wavered. Her eyes began to glisten. "...Spirits?" "Yes. It appears many spirits are still trapped here." In that moment, a single tear traced down Shizuko's cheek. "Can I...meet my husband?" In that question lay thirty years of suffering, compressed into a single utterance. Aoi Yūma felt it. Shizuko had lost her husband at this hospital thirty years ago. It was supposed to be a simple surgery, but he had taken a sudden turn for the worse afterward and died. The hospital had explained it as "unexpected complications," but they would not show her the medical records. "I've been gathering evidence for thirty years." Her voice was quiet, yet beneath it burned a relentless determination. "It must have been medical malpractice...but no one would listen..." Todoroki Sōichirō placed a light hand on Shizuko's shoulder. That gesture conveyed that the two had known each other for quite some time. "Negoro-san. This person might be able to learn the truth through the spirits." Shizuko gazed at Aoi Yūma. Tears still clung to her cheeks. Her gaze held both despair and the faintest glimmer of hope intertwined. In that moment, Aoi Yūma witnessed three motivations intersecting. Todoroki Sōichirō—pursuing the truth with cold clarity, carrying complex feelings toward his father. Negoro Shizuko—burning with pure love for her husband and thirty years of vengeful resolve. And Aoi Yūma himself—driven by something close to obsession, a sense of mission to save the trapped spirits. Three different paths. Each motivation distinct. Yet their destination was the same. "Let us cooperate," Shizuko proposed. "I have thirty years of materials. Newspaper clippings, hospital newsletters, records from the bereaved families' association...all preserved in my home." Todoroki Sōichirō nodded. "I can compile the staff lists from back then. Doctors, nurses, administrative staff...I might be able to narrow down who was involved in the cover-up." Aoi Yūma answered to their resolve. "I will enter this hospital again. This time, I intend to engage more deeply with the spirits. They must know something important." The three moved to a nearby café called "Aosagi Coffee." The shop retained the atmosphere of the Showa era entirely. Wooden tables bore scratches here and there. Through the window, the Aosagi River was visible, its surface reflecting the evening sun. As they sipped coffee, the three began to share information. The file Shizuko withdrew was thick and old. The yellowing of the paper spoke of time's passage. Within it lay newspaper articles from that era. A headline read: "Seo General Hospital Closes Due to Financial Difficulties." "Officially, that's the reason. Voluntary closure due to management crisis," Shizuko said quietly. "But what lay behind it..." Todoroki Sōichirō spoke. "I investigated the number of medical malpractice lawsuits from that period. Even by national standards, this hospital had an abnormal number. Suspicious deaths. And always after surgeries by a specific doctor." The name of that doctor was not recorded. But examining the staff list from that time, the candidates could be narrowed to a few. And Aoi Yūma explained the spiritual evidence he had obtained last night. "There are multiple spirits. Each speaks of different causes of death. Deaths from medical malpractice. Their concealment. And the organizational manipulation that followed." He played back the audio from his IC recorder. Through the noise, multiple voices could be heard. Voices of suffering. Voices of anger. As Shizuko listened to that audio, tears fell. Perhaps her husband's voice was among them. She wanted to believe that. The three recognized that their information was fragmentary. Yet by combining those fragments, the puzzle might be completed. Most importantly, all three understood that this investigation was not merely a pursuit of truth. For Aoi Yūma, it was the salvation of spirits. For Todoroki Sōichirō, it was deciding how to face his father. For Negoro Shizuko, it was a final offering to her husband. Each person's salvation intersected here. When they left the café, dusk had fallen. The sky had turned pale violet, and streetlights were beginning to glow. The three exchanged contact information. "Next, let us look at the materials at my home," Shizuko said. "I will show you everything. All that I have kept hidden for thirty years." Those words carried the resolve to break thirty years of silence. The night of Seo City was filled with stillness. Yet beneath that silence, something was beginning to stir. The incident from thirty years ago had seemed to reach its end. But it had only been suspended. Now it was awakening once more.