The street running north from Seio Station saw few pedestrians even in daylight. Aoi Yuma walked alongside Todoroki Soichiro, still dragging the spiritual exhaustion from yesterday's investigation in the ruins. The dull ache deep in his head refused to fade, and the heaviness in his shoulders remained unchanged. Each time he used his spirit perception, his body issued these warnings. He could not ignore them. "Negoro's shop is just ahead," Soichiro said. His gaze was fixed forward, but his voice carried the fine grain of fatigue. He too must have spent last night researching something for his journalism—old documents connected to his father's case. He carried complicated emotions within him, yet still moved forward. That was the kind of man he was. The streetscape shifted gradually. Older buildings began to stand out more than new storefronts. Then a small sign came into view. "Negoroya." A bento box shop. A wooden sign hung at the entrance, hand-written with "Daily Special Bento ¥520." The interior visible through the window was clean yet worn with age. A small shop that preserved the atmosphere of the Showa era. This was the place that had sustained Negoro Shizuko's thirty years of obsession. When he opened the door, a bell chimed. "Welcome," a voice called out. It was Shizuko's voice. The soft voice of a somewhat older woman. But it stopped abruptly. She had recognized that her visitors were Soichiro and Yuma. "Oh... both of you together." Shizuko emerged from the back of the shop. Her white-streaked hair was tied back. Her face was gentle, but something deep lay dormant in her eyes. An old scar on her right thumb's base spoke of the weight of the years she had lived. "We need to talk. Inside," Soichiro said. Shizuko nodded and led them toward the back of the shop. A floor of wooden planks. They passed a small counter and entered the back room. In that moment, Yuma stopped. Cardboard boxes were stacked there. Fourteen of them. Enough to occupy most of the room's space. Newspaper clippings, yellowed files, handwritten notes, thick binders. All of it dominated by a single purpose. Thirty years of traces. "This is..." Yuma could not continue. "Thirty years' worth," Shizuko said quietly. Her voice came from behind them, clear and pure. Yet beneath it lay an immeasurable weight. "Newspaper clippings, hospital newsletters, minutes from bereaved families' meetings, court records, and..." Shizuko lowered herself to sit in the center of the room. The two men sat as well. She withdrew a single file. "A copy of my husband's medical records. I obtained it secretly back then. There may be legal issues, but..." Her hands trembled. Slightly. But unmistakably. "I want him to meet my husband. I want Aoi to meet him." The words did not sound abrupt. Rather, they sounded inevitable. This was the moment this woman had been waiting for across thirty years. Yuma and Soichiro exchanged glances. "Let's organize the materials first," Yuma suggested. "We'll go through them in order. The truth should emerge from that." And so the three of them began their work. Sipping the tea Shizuko had brewed, Yuma began reading through the first documents. An old newspaper article. Yellowed paper. Type-written characters. "Seio General Hospital, Ceases Operations Due to Financial Difficulties." That was the official reason. But in the corner of that article, a small piece had been added. A headline reading "Suspicious Death, Investigation Planned by Medical Committee." Yet there was no continuation. It had been cut short. Soichiro was opening a separate file. His expression gradually hardened. His gaze held the light of someone who had discovered something. "Father's handwriting..." He murmured. His voice existed on the boundary between emotion and reason. A document bearing the handwriting of physician Todoroki Genzo. An internal memo regarding treatment policy. Yet its contents were unrelated to treatment—they were different instructions. "Proceed carefully regarding the falsification of death certificates for patients." That was what it said. Soichiro's hand clenched into a fist. Yuma was reading through separate materials. A list of deceased patients. Between 1992 and 1994, at least twenty-three deaths had been recorded. In nearly all cases, a specific physician—likely Todoroki Genzo—had been involved. "This is not merely concealment of medical malpractice," Yuma said. "These numbers... they suggest the scale of insurance fraud. It was organized." Shizuko continued organizing the materials in silence. Her movements were mechanical, yet simultaneously meticulous. These were materials she had reviewed countless times over thirty years. And when she took up one particular file, the air changed. An old photograph. A color photograph. Its hues spoke of the 1990s. In the photograph was a man. His gaze was gentle, his smile warm. A middle-aged man. Wearing a navy shirt. That was Negoro Takayuki. Shizuko's husband. Her hands trembled slightly. She placed the photograph atop the cardboard boxes. In that moment, tears began to flow from her eyes. "My husband was..." Shizuko's voice was hoarse. "Such a kind person. He worked thinking of his patients. That's why... he underwent surgery. I trusted him." After those words, she said nothing more. Instead of words, tears traced down her cheeks. Yuma placed his hand on Shizuko's shoulder. Words could not be found. Instead, he attempted to receive her sorrow within the silence. Meanwhile, Soichiro stared at other materials. Document after document bearing his father's handwriting. Each one showed how deeply his father had been involved in this incident. "What was Father doing..." His voice belonged to no one in particular. It was merely a question cast into the void. Respect for his father, and simultaneously the hatred that arose. Between these two, his heart wavered. "Let's look at all the materials," Yuma finally said. "We haven't yet seen the full picture. The answer must be somewhere in these documents." The three of them continued working through the night in that back room. As time passed, the outline of the incident gradually became visible. Patterns in the deaths. The flow of insurance claims. Traces of cover-up operations. And the names of those who had stood at the center of it all. Yet at the same time, another question emerged. "Why didn't this come to light..." Soichiro murmured. "With evidence like this, the police should have had to act." "They didn't," Shizuko answered. "I made accusations back then. But it was dismissed. After that, no one touched this matter again. Not the media. Not the police." Yuma understood the meaning of those words. This was not mere concealment. It was organized, continuous pressure. Thirty years of it, keeping this truth buried. The night deepened. The clock on the wall of the back room pointed to one in the morning. Shizuko, her expression weary, looked at Yuma. "Aoi..." she said. That form of address was different from before. At first it had been merely respectful, but now something else had been added to it. Expectation. And a fragile trust. "I have a request." She spoke carefully, choosing her words. "Please let me meet my husband again. I want to tell him I'm sorry. That day, the decision to have surgery was... my judgment. I killed my husband as surely as if I had done it myself. So..." Her voice was dominated by thirty years of guilt. Yuma understood the weight of that wish. And simultaneously, its danger. "Dialogue with spirits..." Yuma began, but Shizuko shook her head. "It's all right. Whatever happens, I don't mind." Her eyes held resolve. And Yuma found he could not resist that resolve. "I understand. But you must follow my instructions." Soichiro also nodded silently. He too had decided to participate in this investigation. The three of them finished organizing the materials. An accurate list of deceased patients. Cases where medical records had disappeared. Inconsistencies in insurance claims. All of it became preparation for tomorrow. "Tomorrow night, we enter the hospital again," Yuma declared. His voice was quiet but unwavering. "This time, we will attempt dialogue with the spirits. Before that, Shizuko will need preparation as well." Shizuko nodded. And Soichiro too aligned himself with that resolve. "The truth about Father will be revealed then as well," he said. His voice carried both pain and the premonition of release. The city of Seio in the dead of night was governed by silence. Yet beneath that silence, something that had slept for thirty years was slowly beginning to awaken. The spiritual energy leaking from the hospital ruins stained the night sky pale violet once more.