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He died as he lived — alone, unnoticed, unmourned. Forty-five years of quiet solitude ended on a cold futon, with no one to grieve and no one to remember. But death was not the end. Kiryu Tougo — if that was even his true name — wakes in a forest where the sky bleeds a sunless red, where endless torii gates march into the dark, and where something ancient and hungry waits in the moss-covered shrines. This is Utsushi-no-Mori, the forest where the dead wash ashore — a place reserved for souls who
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