September 27th, 2022, Tuesday – Exactly one week since Inori's predicament. It was 5:30 PM, and Katsuyama's central shopping street was buzzing with life.
Salarymen in wrinkled suits flowed from office buildings like a slow river, their shoulders heavy with the weight of another finished shift.
Students in uniforms wove between them, housewives carried bags heavy with ingredients for dinner and tomorrow's breakfast.
Street vendors called out with practiced enthusiasm, the sizzle of takoyaki and the sweet scent of roasting chestnuts drifting on the chill air. Bicycles rang their bells as they passed. The low autumn sun painted the streets in warm orange hues, yet the coming winter already whispered in the sharpening breeze.
Tucked between two larger buildings stood a modest Japanese-style shop. A faded red banner hung above the entrance, its bold black kanji reading "Nakamura Family Store." Outside, an elderly owner tended a small onigiri stand, his wrinkled hands moving with deliberate care as he dusted the wooden counter. His gaze occasionally drifted toward the narrow alley directly across from his stall, then returned to his work.
In the shadows of that alley, something stirred.
Trash shifted with a soft rustle. It was not a rat.
Tabata Inori sat with her legs folded beneath her and arms crossed tightly over her chest, head bowed in quiet defeat. Seven days of exposure had left their mark. The once-white bands of cloth that wrapped her body were now stained with dirt and grime.
She smelled the air of the streets — sweat, garbage, and the faint metallic tang that never quite left her skin. Rats and cockroaches moved around her as indifferent neighbors.
She had walked far from the area where she first woke. Her overreaction from running clearly showing.
Not sure herself, but a fear within Hori told her not to interact with the police.
She had tried, more than once, to explain to kind-looking adults that she was the daughter of the Prime Minister.
Each attempt had ended the same way: worried frowns, gentle suggestions to stop such a sensitive prank, and the slow realization that no one believed her. Not when the news had already declared her dead.
That is all true. On the third day of being missen, inori heard the news being broadcasted from a family home. She still vividly remembered what the reporter said. [Today's unfortunate headliner. Prime Ministers daughter. 14 years old Tabata Inori was confirmed dead.]
She immediately threw up what little food recalling the report, wiping her mouth with her left arm.
"Each day I spend in this nightmare, I get closer and closer to madness.... what do they mean I'm dead?" She asked herself.
Upon first hearing the news, she couldn't help but confirm from multiple passersby days later. It were all true.
"How unfortunate." One said at the time.
"Yes, the prime Minister was such a benevolent man. His strength as well was unrivaled...to think he could also lose someone." Another replied.
Hori walked past the couple, her dirty shoulders smearing their shoulders with malice and anguish.
Inori slowly lifted her dirt-smeared face toward the street. Her gaze settled on the onigiri stand across the way. The old man's careful movements, the simple rice balls wrapped in seaweed, they held her attention for a long minute.
Her lips parted, voice hoarse and dry.
"I… I am… sooo hungry…"
Her hand pressed against her stomach as it gave a low, painful grumble.
'I saw this coming, but… the leftover rice I found in the trash isn't sitting well.' The memory brought a faint wave of nausea.
A single tear traced a clean line down her grimy cheek and landed on her folded arms.
"I… I want to go home."
The words were barely a whisper, swallowed by the evening chatter of the street. Pride prevented her to beg. Thinking Father would be ashamed if his daughter lowered herself like a wretched peasant, but some kind workers offered little money from time to time.
'I can't even go to the police anymore....if I am truly "dead" who knows what their reaction would be for my claim? To impersonate such a status like myself, would likely lead to my arrest....'
Her reasoning made sense, but the wording was off. Part of her saw herself as a reincarnation. Slowly losing confidence she was ever truly Tabata Inori.
Her eyes remained fixed on the onigiri stand. The old man noticed. Pity softened the lines of his wrinkled face as he watched the small, dirty girl sitting motionless for hours.
He said nothing. No one else did either. Pedestrians passed the alley without a second glance. Inori stole quiet looks at their faces, sometimes offering a weak greeting when eyes met hers. Most looked away, some offered spare change Inori reluctantly accepted. Thinking to herself, 'I didn't ask for the money... so this isn't begging.' a pointless thought to be honest.
A thin strand of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth. She wiped it absently, still staring.
'These clothes… can I even call them that? They're quite strange…'
She ran her fingers along the fabric. It felt impossibly smooth, warm despite the chill, and far more durable than it had any right to be. She had tested it with sharp fragments of glass and metal during the long nights. Nothing left more than faint marks.
'Good thing it's snug and warm, though. The weather is getting colder.'
A faint, bittersweet smile touched her lips. Not everything was terrible.
Yet the problems piled higher. Hunger clawed at her constantly. Rashes itched across her skin. Her body ached from sleeping on concrete and mud. And she had not used the bathroom in days, the tight wrapping made it nearly impossible, adding a layer of constant discomfort she tried not to dwell on.
Speaking to herself had become her only companionship. The words helped keep the silence at bay.
Eventually the hunger pangs grew too sharp. Inori looked at the money in her hand, wrinkled colored papers she had no strength to count at the time.
'It's best if I eat something at night, I will be able to sleep better.' she told her stomach as she pulled a discarded newspaper over herself like a thin blanket and closed her eyes, hoping rest would dull the pain, if only for a little while.
Her gaze caught the headline on the crumpled sheet before sleep claimed her:
"Tragic news: Prime Minister's daughter, Tabata Inori passes away on her birthday."
She read the line once, twice. A soft, disgusted chuckle escaped her.
"How… unsettling…so it was on the day this all happened that I 'died'... there is meaning behind this. And I will find out... what..."
The shudder that followed was deeper than the evening cold. All of it had been real. It made no sense, yet it was true. The Prime Minister's daughter was "dead." The proof lay in black and white, printed for the entire country to read.
With that tangible evidence, the identity crisis that had been quietly growing inside her deepened. Who was she, if the world had already buried her? The question sat heavy in her chest as exhaustion finally pulled her under.
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The streets had grown quieter by the time she stirred again. Crickets sang from every corner. What was meant to be a short nap had stretched into six long hours.
Hunger, her only faithful companion woke her up. With pangs like needles in her stomach.
It was 8:30 in the evening, though Inori had no way of knowing the exact time. The sky had deepened to indigo, and moonlight filtered through the clouds in pale silver threads.
Two officers on patrol passed nearby, their flashlights sweeping the sidewalks in slow arcs, searching for any sign of Sinner activity. Inori scrambled to her feet as quietly as her weakened body allowed.
A small, ingrained fear of authorities had taken root after the police station. She slipped away into the shadows, her bare feet dragging sluggishly along the pavement.
'Worst case scenario if I do get caught. After I eventually fail to explain my identity, I will most likely be sent to rehabilitation, then an orphanage...I rebuke it. I am not an orphan... There isn't a single being on this planet that could kill father.' she nearly chuckled, proud of her father's strength.
'His phone must be damaged, I have tried calling for the past 7 days now. Asking isolated adults for their cellphones... but the response has been the same.' she blinked then continued.
'I'm not exactly worried about father, just confused why his phone will be destroyed immediately after I woke here...it must be connected, so I can't reach him!'
Her reasoning was correct as she ran, slowly but surely, Inori was making little sense of it all.
The moonlight cast a serene, almost ethereal glow over the city, painting rooftops and streets in cool tones that stood in cruel contrast to her tattered, filthy state. Every step sent a dull throb through her damaged foot, a constant reminder of the stone that had cut her days ago.
"I'm famished…" she murmured, arms wrapped tightly around her stomach as though trying to hold herself together.
"How much did I make today from not begging?"
She asked herself before counting.
"Wow a hundred yen? This place must have wealthier residents from my previous sites."
Her voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, carried away by the night breeze. The weight of the past week pressed down on her shoulders like an invisible yoke. Each breath felt heavier than the last.
"I… should eat something..."
She said aloud and proceeded to do so, purchasing a bread cake and a bottle of water.
Inori scuffled to a secluded but not abandoned area for privacy.
She dusted the ground before sitting, taking a large bite as she stared forward. The sweet taste of butter and bread massaged her tongue, her stomach cursing her brain for wasting time chewing.
Tears slipped free again, tracing slow paths through the grime on her cheeks. 'Why am I still crying...? I spent the last 6 days doing that...' she wiped her eyes and took another bite.
The tears didn't stop however. Soon it turned the taste of the bread salty.
'Father always called me… a wonderful daughter… so why? Why am I being punished so?'
The questions lingered in the air, unanswered. She had wandered far from the place she first woke, yet she remained trapped in Fukui — a city she had never visited before her nightmare began.
Her hair appeared dark blue to the eyes of others. Her nails looked painted black. And the world believed Tabata Inori was dead, the cause of death still left private. Not that Inori wanted to know.
'I should be thinking of how to get back home...!' it was easier said than done, what was she meant to do exactly.
Inori opened the chill bottle water and drank, rinsing her throat.
The hunger had reduced, but she had to sleep soon to prevent further pangs.
A sigh escaped her lips.
'I'm honestly tired of sleeping on the road or inside alleys. It's always a pain running away when perverts wake me up.' she grunted.
Inori stood and left the secluded area after seeing some teenagers approaching.
She found herself drawn toward a small forest that branched between two quiet neighborhoods. Tall, dense trees rose around her like silent sentinels, their branches clawing at the moonlight.
They were scattered at the base of a mountain Inori couldn't quite see. Common in rural areas like Katsuyama Fukui.
Survival instincts whispered warnings — Sinners could be lurking in such places — yet exhaustion and a desperate need for any form of shelter pushed her onward. She moved deeper into the woods with slow, deliberate steps, each one careful and heavy, her bare feet sinking slightly into the soft earth and fallen leaves.
The forest embraced her in layers of silence. Leaves rustled overhead. The air grew cooler, damper, carrying the rich scent of moss and decaying wood.
Inori's ragged breathing seemed too loud in the stillness. She wandered without clear direction, hoping against hope for shelter, for something — anything — that might ease the constant ache in her body.
Time stretched. Minutes bled into what felt like hours. Her legs burned with fatigue. The white bands of cloth clung to her skin, now heavy with dirt and sweat, yet still impossibly warm against the growing chill.
'Maybe I should go back-
She stumbled over a root and caught herself on a tree trunk,
Inori noticed no sign of any animal. None at all. Strange being such a dense forest. 'I must just be tired of I can't hear any.'
Her mind drifted in fragments. The Kantei dining room. Her father's rare smile. The birthday that had never come. The truck that had struck her without leaving a mark. The glass shard she could not press to her throat.
"If... I am unable to get back home....am I really going to die like this? Me? Father Jiro's daughter?"
The question circled endlessly.
Her steps eventually slowed to a near halt at the edge of a small clearing. The trees there had been deliberately thinned, creating an open space bathed in moonlight.
A house.
A modest Japanese-style inn stood alone in the clearing, its wooden structure weathered but solid. No warm light spilled from its windows. It sat dark and quiet, as though waiting.
Inori's eyes filled with a fragile, trembling hope.
For several long moments she simply stood there, breathing hard, staring at the building as if it might vanish if she blinked.
Without pausing to question why an inn would stand isolated in the woods, she moved forward — slowly at first, then with renewed, desperate energy.
Her bare feet stumbled repeatedly over roots and uneven ground, but she forced herself up each time, hands scraping against bark and dirt.
'Forgive me, Father… but I need to plead for some help.' Her pride, once bright and unyielding, had been worn thin by seven days of hunger and fear. She reached the inn at last, short of breath and trembling.
"P-please! Is anyone in there?" She called out, proceeding to knock on the wooden wall.
Curiosity and desperation got the better of her and she slid the paper door open with what little strength remained. It moved easily, unlocked.
'This is wrong....' she told herself.
Inside was darkness and dust. The air carried the faint, stale scent of old wood mixed with something indefinable.
Manga volumes and scattered laundry lay across the floor. An old fashioned television hooked up to a game box at the left side.
Inori paid them little mind. She sank down onto the wooden floorboards, the simple relief of sitting indoors after seven days washing over her like a slow, aching wave.
Her legs throbbed with deep, persistent pain. She massaged them slowly, fingers pressing into sore muscles, voice hoarse in the quiet room. "I've been walking for so long without shoes… my feet hurt."
Her face was barely recognizable beneath the grime, hair tangled into knots, the once-white cloth now a mottled gray-brown from days of exposure.
She rubbed her sore body gently, feeling only light pains at her waist. Nothing major. Her body was slowly hardening into something rougher, more feral — a ruffian's frame wearing the shell of a Prime Minister's daughter.
The contrast haunted her in the silence. One week ago she had been dining at the Kantei with her father. Now she sat in a stranger's dusty room, forcing a small, fragile smile as she remembered her life there.
She nodded to herself, the hunger-addled mind clinging to her memories like a lifeline. For several long minutes she sat there, letting the quiet wrap around her, pretending the inn could become home if she imagined hard enough. "I-I wonder if there's food here-
The paper door suddenly slid open from the outside with a soft rasp.
Inori's heart lurched violently. She froze for one suspended second, then instinctively scrambled behind a small shelf in the corner, body trembling with the knowledge that she had trespassed into someone else's space.
A figure stepped inside. The voice that followed was unsteady, laced with the haze of liquor.
"Honey! I'm home—!"
English words, oddly accented, then a switch back to Japanese. "Haha, my English is getting pretty good! It's slowly losing that Asian accent."
He dropped an empty beer bottle outside, wiped his mouth, and stretched.
As he moved into the dim interior, moonlight filtering through the open door revealed him: a young man, perhaps two years older than Inori, with long wine-colored hair falling loosely to his nape and across his forehead.
A simple white shirt, stained with dirt and what might have been blood, hung loosely on his frame. Black pants fit him well. In one hand he carried a black-wrapped material that clanged metallically when dropped.
He was staggeringly beautiful. Features too symmetrical, eyes glowing a faint red with a dark slash in their centers. Resembling a dragons pupil.
Inori's heart hammered against her ribs, loud in the sudden silence. 'Oh no, oh no, oh no....! I am in so much trouble.'
She pressed herself smaller behind the shelf, every muscle tense, already plotting her escape in the heavy quiet that followed.
The young man bent lazily to remove his shoes. In that brief window of distraction, Inori bolted, her frail legs carrying her toward the open door with every ounce of remaining strength.
Time slowed down for the two as their eyes met for one terrible, suspended instant.
Inori slowly blinked then the boy did the same.
'…What a beautiful girl.'
The thought flashed briefly through her mind even as she fled into the moonlit forest.
Behind her, the boy remained crouched for half a second, dumbfounded. Then realization hit.
"W…Wait a minute....! Thief! Thief! Come back here, I'm going to kill you!!"
His drunken haze vanished in an instant. He slammed his shoes back on and gave chase, moving with terrifying speed through the trees.
"Ahhh! W-why is she so fast?!!" Inori cried, mistaking him for a girl in her panic as branches whipped past her face.
"Stop right there!"
He gained on her effortlessly, navigating the forest as though it were an extension of himself. Inori's weakened body could not outrun him for long. Each breath burned in her lungs. Her legs screamed with exhaustion.
Out of nowhere, he lunged.
Inori's back slammed against the cold earth. The impact drove the air from her lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. His hand closed around her throat.
Tight.
Unyielding.
Like an iron choker.
"…I've got you now~"
The drunken playfulness was gone. What remained was something far more dangerous.
Inori's eyes widened in pure terror. Her hands flew to his wrist, nails clawing desperately, but the grip did not budge. Her chest convulsed, fighting for air that would not come. A dry, broken sound escaped her lips.
Her legs kicked weakly against the ground. Vision blurred at the edges. Sound faded until only her own thundering heartbeat remained.
'…I can't… breathe…!'
Tears spilled helplessly as her body trembled beneath him. Her grip weakened. Arms that had clawed frantically now barely clung to his sleeve.
For one terrible moment, her body went still.
"...Ah." He released her instantly after noticing.
Air rushed back into her lungs in a violent, choking gasp. "—KGH!!"
Inori rolled onto her side, coughing violently, each inhale ragged and painful. She scrambled backward on hands and knees, rubbing her throat, eyes wide with raw terror.
She tried to run again, but his hand closed around her ankle in an inescapable grip.
"Where'd you think you're going?"
The pressure made her cry out. She instinctively covered her head with trembling arms, curling inward.
"P-p-p-please d-don't kill me! Please… I-I-I'm sorry. Please, p-please forgive me…"
She could only beg with a cracking voice. She had no strength left to fight. Her face stayed pressed to the grass and dirt, too afraid to meet his crimson eyes.
The boy stared for a long moment, then rubbed his eyes with his free hand while keeping her pinned.
"Great. Just when I managed to get drunk…" He sighed. "What were you doing in my house?"
Inori kept muttering apologies, barely hearing him through the haze of fear.
He snapped his fingers sharply in front of her face. "Oi. I'm talking to you."
She flinched violently. Whimpering from his long sharp nails only inches from her face.
He sighed again, voice calmer this time. "Look… I'm not going to kill you anymore. You're just a kid. Now just return what you stole, okay?"
Inori finally raised her head after several long seconds, tears still streaming. "I… I didn't steal anything… I'm sorry for trespassing. P-please… just let me go…"
The boy sat back, studying her with an absent-minded expression. 'What's with her clothes? Cosplay?' From the neck down she looked like a dirty blue-haired mummy wrapped in bandages.
He gave a half-hearted smile that lasted 2 seconds.
Then — Smack!
A precise strike to the nape of her neck. Inori didn't even have time to react. Consciousness fled instantly, the world fading to black.
The boy scratched his hair, chuckling softly to himself. "It's getting dark… probably better to search her than ask questions. I mean, she looks like a homeless person, and homeless people steal, right?"
He searched her carefully, avoiding anything inappropriate. After a few moments he facepalmed, laughing quietly. "She doesn't even have any pockets." Almost dumbfounded he didn't notice sooner.
Worry flickered across his face for the briefest instant. "….So she's not a thief?"
He stayed still a moment longer. Feeling bad for not hearing her plea.
"Best head back home then."
Any guilt vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He left Inori's unconscious body on the forest floor and turned toward his inn.
The time was 10:50 PM. A full moon bathed the woods in silver light. The area was strangely calm — no sign of Sinners, not even the rustle of wild animals despite being a forest.
At least she could rest in peace… if the night cold and the growing drizzle did not claim her first.
Some time later the rain intensified, pouring unforgivingly onto Inori's motionless form. Water began to pool around her, threatening to slip into her nose and mouth. However she did not seem to mind. Inori's face had a smile of some sorts, one only seen when having a wonderful dream.
Just then.
A pair of yellow rain boots approached through the downpour. The handsome boy had returned, but wearing a yellow raincoat. He stared down at the girl getting soaked, muttering to himself.
"She must be a runaway… if I turn her in to the police I might get a reward! But, I really don't wanna see that female officer..."
He crouched, lifted Inori into his arms with surprising care, and princess carried her back toward the inn, shielding her from the worst of the rain.
"I wonder what her name is?" he said aloud, glancing once at the moon as he walked.
Those were the last words spoken that night.