The first person woke up crying.
She did not scream.
She did not attack.
She did not say she could see.
She simply opened her eyes beneath the white cloth, breathed like someone coming out of a dream that had gone on far too long, and began to cry without understanding why.
Yūta was the first to approach.
Not too close.
Just close enough for the woman to see him without feeling surrounded.
"It's okay," he said. "It's over."
The woman lifted her head.
The cloth covering part of her face was stained with dirt. Beneath it, her eyes were red, swollen, lost. They no longer had that empty stillness from before. They no longer held that horrible obedience.
Only fear.
"Where am I?" she asked.
Yūta took a second to answer.
Not because he did not know the place.
Because no answer felt sufficient.
"In the forest."
The woman looked around.
She saw the trees.
The dead candles.
The stone.
The other people lying on the ground.
The broken half of a red mask.
And then she brought both hands to her mouth.
"I… I had to go home."
Mei lowered her fans slightly.
Not completely.
Just slightly.
Another white figure moved near a root. Ishida raised a chain by reflex, but did not launch it. The person slowly sat up, trembling, one hand pressed to their head.
"My son," he murmured. "I have to find my son."
Hina felt something tighten in her chest.
The person did not look at the man in red.
Did not search for orders.
Did not wait for a voice.
He only remembered something.
Someone.
A life before the white robe.
Another person opened their eyes and began repeating a name. Not their own. Maybe someone they loved. Maybe someone they had lost. No one knew.
"They don't remember," Mei said quietly.
Yūta looked at the first woman, who was still crying with her hands over her mouth.
"Not this."
"Good," Ishida said.
No one argued.
Not because it was easy.
Because remembering that might have been another way of remaining trapped.
The people began to stand little by little. Some could barely keep themselves upright. Others stared at their hands as if they were not theirs. One tore the cloth from his face and threw it to the ground with a mix of disgust and terror.
"I'm not from here," a man said.
"Neither am I," another voice answered.
"Who are you?"
The question was for the four of them.
Hina did not answer.
She still had the axe in her hand, her body covered in mud and blood, her shoulder burning, her throat closed. She did not feel like someone capable of explaining anything.
Ishida took one step forward.
"You're alive."
The sentence was dry.
Simple.
Maybe too simple.
But it worked.
Several people looked at him.
Ishida held their gaze with his usual seriousness.
"Leave the forest. Follow the road to the village. Don't split up."
"What happened?" a woman asked.
Ishida took one second.
"Not now."
The woman seemed ready to insist.
Then she looked at the clearing.
At the kneeling body of the man in red.
At the marked earth.
At the candles.
At the white robes on the others.
And she did not ask again.
One by one, they began to leave.
Not in a line.
Not in order.
Like people who did not know whether they were escaping or returning.
Some helped each other. One woman supported a man who could barely walk. Another lifted a young girl who could not stop staring at her own hands. The first woman, the one who had woken up crying, stopped before leaving the clearing.
She looked at Hina.
"He…?"
Hina followed her gaze.
The man in red did not move.
The broken mask was on the ground.
The red eye no longer shone.
"He's dead," Hina said.
The woman closed her eyes.
She did not seem relieved.
Not completely.
Maybe relief could not be felt in the face of something one did not even understand.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Then she left.
The forest grew emptier and emptier.
First of voices.
Then of footsteps.
Finally, only the four of them and the body remained.
For a while, no one said anything.
Mei was the first to speak.
"We can't leave him here."
Hina tightened her grip on the axe handle.
"He doesn't deserve a grave."
"It's not for him," Ishida said.
Hina looked at him.
Ishida kept his eyes fixed on the body.
"It's for the ones who are still alive."
Yūta breathed in deeply.
"If someone from the village finds him like this, it'll be worse."
Mei closed her fans.
"And we don't know if someone else from that sect might come looking for him."
The word sect stayed in the air.
The Vigil.
The book.
The note.
The stone.
The blood.
The eyes.
Hina wanted to break something.
But there was nothing useful left to break.
Only a dead body.
And living people who needed to keep living.
"Fine," she said.
It did not sound fine.
But it was enough.
They held no ceremony.
They said no words.
They did not pray.
They dug far from the stone, in an area where the earth was softer and the roots did not block the way. Ishida used his chains to move small logs and clear branches. Mei cut thin roots with precise gusts. Yūta helped with his hands even though he did not know how to do it well.
Hina dug in silence.
Every movement of her arm hurt.
Every strike of earth against earth reminded her of Mio on the road.
Of the cold hand.
Of the voice apologizing for something she had not done.
By the time they finished, the sky had begun to lighten.
Not much.
Just a pale line between the trees.
They buried the man in red without a name.
Because none of them knew it.
And because, even if they had, maybe it would not have changed anything.
Mei looked at the mound of dirt.
"I hope he doesn't rest."
Yūta looked at her.
"That was dark, even for tonight."
"I had material."
Ishida wiped his hands on his pants.
"We have to go back."
Hina raised her eyes toward the path.
Toward the house.
Toward Mio.
The exhaustion fell over her all at once.
Not like sleep.
Like weight.
"Yes," she said. "Let's go back."
They walked without speaking much.
The forest seemed more ordinary now.
That was horrible too.
The same trees.
The same earth.
The same path.
As if nothing had happened.
As if the world had the insulting habit of continuing to look like itself after breaking something inside someone.
Yūta walked slightly behind Hina, watching in case she fell.
Mei noticed.
"If you want to help her, help her. Don't look at her like a worried dog."
"I'm not looking at her like a worried dog."
"Yes, you are."
"What kind of dog?"
"An ugly one."
"That was unnecessary."
Hina did not turn around.
"I can hear you."
"Good," Mei said. "Then I don't have to repeat it."
Ishida walked ahead, setting the pace.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
Steady enough for the others to follow.
Yūta glanced at him.
"Are you okay?"
Ishida did not answer immediately.
"No."
Yūta nodded.
"Ah."
"But I can walk."
Mei let out air through her nose.
"Looks like that's the group's official answer."
Hina looked forward.
"Then we're all fine."
No one corrected the lie.
When the Tsukino house appeared at the end of the road, Hina felt her legs almost give out.
Not from pain.
From seeing it.
From arriving.
From having somewhere to return to.
The door opened before they could knock.
Sachiko was there.
Mio too.
Her grandmother wore a coat over her shoulders and the pale face of someone who had not slept for even a second. Mio stood beside her, hands pressed to her chest, eyes open and full of fear.
But they were her eyes.
That was the first thing Hina thought.
They were her eyes.
"Hina," Sachiko said.
Hina tried to speak.
She could not.
Sachiko crossed the entrance and hugged her.
Hard.
Much harder than Hina expected from someone her age.
Pain shot from her shoulder up to her jaw, but she did not pull away.
"Grandma…" she murmured. "They're watching."
"Let them watch."
Sachiko's voice trembled.
Hina stopped protesting.
The hug continued.
And then Mio approached.
Slowly at first.
As if she did not know whether she had the right.
As if she feared the space between them had changed too much.
Hina saw her over her grandmother's shoulder.
Mio's eyes were swollen.
Her mouth pressed tight.
Her hands trembling.
"Are you coming or not?" Hina said, her voice broken.
Mio made a face that was almost a smile.
Then she stepped into the hug.
Sachiko held them both.
Hina closed her eyes.
Not for long.
Just long enough to believe they were there.
That Mio was there.
That she had come back.
Behind them, Yūta looked away with far too much intention.
Mei crossed her arms.
Ishida stood perfectly still, as if moving might break something private.
"This is awkward," Yūta whispered.
"Shut up," Mei said.
"That's what I'm doing."
"Doesn't look like it."
After a while, Sachiko let them go.
Or rather, she tried to, but Mio took one second longer.
Hina pretended not to notice.
Mio wiped her face with her sleeve.
"Thank you," she said.
She was not only looking at Hina.
She was looking at all four of them.
Yūta raised a hand, uncomfortable.
"You don't have to…"
"Yes," Mio interrupted. "I do."
Yūta lowered his hand.
Mio breathed in deeply.
"Thank you for helping me."
Mei shrugged.
"We helped Tsukino. You were included."
"Mei," Hina said.
"What? That was kind."
"In your language, maybe."
Ishida looked at Mio seriously.
"You're alive. That matters more than thanks."
Mio blinked.
She did not seem to know how to answer that.
Yūta smiled faintly.
"What Ishida means is that we're a team."
Ishida looked at him.
"That is not what I said."
"But it sounded better."
Mei opened a closed fan, then closed it again.
"And we're friends."
Hina looked at her.
Mei did not look back.
"Don't make that face. I said it once. It's not going to happen every five minutes."
Hina felt something rise to her eyes.
She did not let it out.
"Thank you," she said.
Yūta frowned.
"Do you still not get it?"
"What?"
"We didn't come because we had to."
Mei sighed.
"Don't make a speech."
Yūta ignored her.
"We came because you're our friend."
Hina did not answer.
Not because she did not want to.
Because if she opened her mouth then, it would probably sound worse than she wanted.
Sachiko made them come inside.
She did not ask about the mud on the floor.
She did not ask about the blood.
She did not ask about the torn clothes.
She simply put water to heat, brought out towels, and told them where to sit with an authority that allowed no argument.
And for some reason, everyone obeyed.
Even Mei.
The house smelled of tea, old wood, and a sleepless night.
Hina sat beside Mio in the living room. Yūta ended up near the window. Mei sat on the edge of a chair, still ready to stand if anything happened. Ishida remained standing for too long until Sachiko looked at him.
"Sit."
Ishida sat.
Yūta lowered his gaze to hide a smile.
"Not one word," Ishida said.
"I didn't say anything."
"Your face did."
Mio stared at her hands.
She had a cup in front of her, but had not touched it.
"I don't remember," she finally said.
Hina turned toward her.
"What?"
"Almost anything. After the forest… there are things. But they're broken. Like… when you dream something and, after waking up, all you remember is that you were scared."
Sachiko closed her eyes.
Hina lowered her gaze.
"Do you remember the man?"
Mio took a while to answer.
"The voice."
No one spoke.
"Not his face," Mio continued. "Not clearly. But I remember the voice. And I remember that, when he spoke, part of me wanted to listen even though I was afraid."
Hina tightened her hands around the cup.
"It wasn't your fault."
Mio looked at her.
"I'm the one who went."
"Because they tricked you."
"But I went."
"Mio."
"I wanted to know."
The sentence came out small.
Not as a defense.
As a confession.
Mio closed her fingers around the cup.
"I wanted to know why you could see something I couldn't. Why everyone seemed to have a part of the family I didn't have. And when someone told me I could open that door…"
She did not finish.
She did not need to.
Sachiko breathed with difficulty.
"I thought not knowing would keep you safe."
Mio looked at her.
So did Hina.
The old woman's eyes were wet, but her back was straight.
"I thought that, if that part of the world never touched you, you would be able to live far from it."
"Grandma…" Mio said.
"I was wrong."
The sentence fell into the room with heavy honesty.
Sachiko lowered her gaze to her hands.
"A closed door also leaves someone on the other side."
Hina did not know what to say.
Neither did Mio.
But this time, the silence was not like before.
It was not a wall.
It was a shared table.
Something all of them could rest their hands on, even if it hurt.
Ishida, who had been looking at Mio for several seconds, narrowed his eyes.
Hina noticed.
Immediately.
"Why are you staring at her so much?"
Ishida blinked.
"What?"
"She's two years younger than you."
Yūta choked on his tea.
Mei slowly closed her eyes, as if she had just been given a gift.
Ishida lost his composure for the first time all night.
"I'm not looking at her like that."
"You'd better not be."
"Tsukino."
"What?"
"I'm evaluating a possible consequence of the ritual."
Hina went still.
Yūta's smile disappeared.
Mei opened her eyes.
Mio lowered her cup.
Ishida recovered his serious tone with almost insulting speed.
"The man in red is dead. The connection seems broken. But that doesn't guarantee the effect disappeared completely."
Hina felt cold.
"Are you saying she might still see…?"
"Remnants. Mana. Or something similar."
Mio turned pale.
"I don't want to."
The sentence came so quickly no one interrupted.
"I don't want to see anything."
Hina put down her cup and moved a little closer.
"It's okay."
"I don't want to."
"I heard you."
Ishida looked at Hina.
"Use mana."
Hina frowned.
"Now?"
"A little. Enough for anyone with basic perception to notice."
Hina looked at Mio.
"If you don't want me to, I won't."
Mio took a few seconds.
Then she shook her head.
"Do it."
Hina raised one hand.
She did not call the axe.
Did not form anything large.
She only let a thin layer of mana flow around her fingers. A faint light, barely visible to the hunters in the room, spread like warmth over her skin.
Yūta saw it.
Mei saw it.
Ishida saw it.
Mio looked at Hina's hand.
She waited.
Blinked.
"I don't see anything."
Hina did not breathe immediately.
She had not realized she was holding the air in until her chest hurt.
"Nothing?"
Mio looked again.
More carefully.
More seriously.
Then she shook her head.
"Nothing."
Ishida studied her expression.
"She doesn't seem to be reacting to the emission."
"Is that good?" Sachiko asked.
"Yes," Ishida said.
Yūta leaned back.
"A reassuring word. A miracle."
Ishida ignored him.
"At the very least, she doesn't retain active perception."
Mio closed her eyes.
The tears came slowly.
Not from terror.
From exhaustion.
From relief.
From everything.
Hina shut off the mana and took her hand.
"It's over."
Mio squeezed her fingers.
"Thank you."
"Stop thanking me."
"Then stop hiding things from me."
Hina went quiet.
Mio looked at her.
Not accusingly.
Not with anger.
Just with a clear sadness.
Hina swallowed.
"I'll try."
Mio squeezed her hand a little tighter.
"That counts."
Mei stood from her chair.
"Well. Since we're done almost crying…"
"Mei," Hina said.
"What? I said almost."
Yūta raised a hand.
"I did cry a little in the forest, but that was because of dirt in my eyes."
"No one asked," Ishida said.
Sachiko looked at them.
For the first time all night, the faintest smile appeared on her face.
Tired.
Sad.
But real.
"You're sleeping here."
"We don't want to bother you," Yūta said.
Sachiko looked at him.
Yūta immediately corrected himself.
"We're sleeping here."
"Good."
Mei crossed her arms.
"I like your grandmother."
"Everyone likes my grandmother," Hina said.
Ishida looked toward the hallway.
"We should return to headquarters tomorrow."
Yūta let his head fall against the wall.
"Kato is going to kill us tomorrow."
"Kato doesn't kill students," Ishida said.
Mei looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
Ishida took one second.
"Not legally."
Hina, despite everything, laughed.
Not much.
But she laughed.
That night, they slept badly.
They slept anyway.
And that was already more than any of them had expected.
The next morning, Hisayama seemed like a different place.
Not because it had changed.
Because the sun made everything look less guilty.
The damp rooftops shone faintly. The streets were quiet. A woman swept the entrance of her house as if the world had not had eyes the night before. A dog barked twice in the distance, then lost interest.
The Tsukino house smelled of rice, tea, and freshly folded clothes.
Hina appeared at the entrance with a bandage on her shoulder, deep circles under her eyes, and the expression of someone ready to deny being destroyed even though everyone could see it.
Yūta was already outside with his bag.
So was Mei.
Ishida stood a few meters ahead, reading a book.
No one knew where he had gotten it.
No one wanted to ask.
Mio came out behind Hina.
Her hair was still a little messy. Her eyes remained tired, but they were present.
That was enough.
"You'll come back," Mio said.
It was not a question.
Hina looked at her.
"Yes."
"Not like before."
Hina understood.
Before, coming back had been a vague promise.
A phrase meant to leave less guilt at the door.
This time, it had to be something else.
"I'll really come back."
Mio nodded.
Sachiko came out too, leaning on the doorframe.
"And you'll bring your friends."
Hina glanced toward the path.
The other three were far enough not to hear.
Yūta was saying something with too many hand gestures.
Mei seemed to be insulting him without opening her mouth.
Ishida kept reading, apparently immune to both of them.
Hina looked at them.
For one second, she did not see hunters.
Did not see mission partners.
Did not see people who had entered a forest full of eyes with her.
She saw her friends.
And it hit her harder than she expected.
"Yes," Hina said. "I'll bring them."
Sachiko smiled.
"Good."
Mio looked at Yūta, Mei, and Ishida from the entrance.
"They're weird."
"Very."
"But they came."
Hina smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Then they're good weird."
"More or less."
From the path, Yūta raised his voice:
"Tsukino! If we miss the train, Ishida is going to pretend he isn't angry, and that's worse!"
Ishida did not look up from his book.
"That's a lie."
"He's using his not-angry voice!" Yūta shouted.
Hina closed her eyes.
"He's unbearable."
Mio smiled.
"He's your friend."
"That doesn't make him less unbearable."
Mei shouted from farther away:
"Stop saying goodbye like a tragic protagonist and come on!"
"Stop saying stupid things!" Hina shouted. "I'm coming!"
Sachiko laughed softly.
Hina turned toward her.
Her grandmother's laugh was small, tired, but it was there.
"Come back soon," Sachiko said.
Hina nodded.
Then she hugged Mio.
This time, she was not embarrassed.
"Don't follow weird notes from weird men again."
Mio returned the hug.
"Don't hide entire worlds from me again."
Hina closed her eyes.
"Deal."
"Deal."
When they pulled apart, Hina looked at her grandmother.
Sachiko said nothing.
She only tucked a strand of hair behind Hina's ear, the way she had when Hina was little.
That almost broke her more than any blow from the night before.
"Go," the old woman said.
Hina lowered her head once.
Then she turned and walked toward her friends.
Mio and Sachiko watched her leave.
Watched her start arguing with Yūta before she had even reached him.
Watched her receive a dry look from Ishida.
Watched her walk beside Mei, shoulder to shoulder, as if that place had existed for her for a long time and only now could they see it.
Sachiko held the doorframe.
For a moment, she did not see a hunter.
She saw her son's daughter.
The girl who had learned to carry an axe before she had learned how to say she was afraid.
And she thought, with a soft sadness, that her parents had done well.
Not because they had let her fight.
Because they had let her return.
The station was more crowded than Yūta expected.
Or maybe he was simply too tired to tolerate the existence of other people.
They sat on a bench while they waited for the train.
Mei had her eyes closed, but she was not asleep. Hina stared at the tracks. Ishida read. Yūta tried not to fall asleep leaning in any direction, because he knew Mei would never let him forget it.
"What do you think Kato will say?" Yūta asked.
"Nothing," Ishida said.
The other three looked at him.
Ishida turned a page.
"We haven't seen him in a while. He probably doesn't know we left."
The silence lasted too long.
Mei opened one eye.
"That is the most optimistic thing I've ever heard you say."
"It's not optimism. It's a possibility."
Hina rested her head against the station wall.
"Kaito knows."
Yūta made a face.
"Right."
"And Kaito talks," Mei said.
"A lot," Hina added.
Ishida turned another page.
"Then he'll say something."
"Thank you for adjusting the prediction," Yūta said.
The train arrived with a long, tired sound.
They boarded.
No one spoke for the first few minutes.
The movement of the train settled them into a different kind of silence.
Not heavy.
Not comfortable.
Somewhere in between.
Hina looked out the window and thought of Mio saying, Deal.
Mei looked at her reflection in the glass and thought that Hina no longer had the same way of being alone.
Ishida read the same line three times without moving forward and thought about the people in the forest. About the chains he had not been able to tighten. About how easy it would have been to forget they were people if no one had said it aloud.
Yūta looked at his own hands.
He thought of remnants.
Of hunters.
Of the Vigil.
Of humans using something they did not understand to break other humans.
The world was getting bigger.
And that did not make it better.
Only harder to look at.
When they arrived in the city, they took a taxi.
It was a tactical mistake.
Ishida reached the passenger door first and sat in the front without consulting anyone.
The other three ended up in the back.
Cramped.
Very cramped.
Hina had Yūta's elbow near her ribs. Mei had one knee against the door and an expression of contained violence. Yūta was in the middle, which was exactly the worst place to be when two exhausted and injured people decided he took up too much space.
"Who decided Ishida got to sit up front?" Hina asked.
"Ishida," Mei said.
"That doesn't count as a group decision," Yūta said.
Ishida turned a page of his book.
"Whoever arrives first chooses the seat."
"That's not a rule," Hina said.
"It is now."
Mei looked at the back of his head.
"The worst part is that he isn't even enjoying it. He's just comfortable."
"That is enjoyment," Ishida said.
Yūta tried to adjust his arm.
Hina looked at him.
"If you touch my injured shoulder, I'll break your hand."
"I'm trying not to exist."
"Try harder."
The taxi driver looked through the rearview mirror.
He said nothing.
Probably because, after many years on the job, he had learned that some conversations were better left to die on their own.
Mei pulled a paper bag from her own bag.
Yūta looked at it.
"Is that food?"
"No."
"It looks like food."
"It's strategy."
Hina narrowed her eyes.
"What did you do?"
Mei held the bag against her chest.
"I bought buns."
Yūta looked at her as if she had just revealed a secret technique.
"You're brilliant."
"I know."
Ishida turned another page.
"That won't work."
Mei smiled.
"With Kato, anything with sugar has a chance."
They arrived at headquarters with wrinkled clothes, destroyed faces, and the social energy of four people who should have been asleep many hours ago.
The building looked far too normal.
That was beginning to become an unpleasant habit.
They entered.
Walked down the hall.
At first, no one stopped them.
Then they turned toward the training area and found Kato leaning against a wall, arms crossed.
Waiting for them.
Yūta stopped.
So did Hina.
Mei stopped half a second later.
Ishida closed the book.
Very slowly.
Kato looked at them one by one.
First at Hina.
Then at Mei.
Then at Ishida.
Then at Yūta.
His expression was not anger yet.
That was worse.
"How curious," Kato said.
Yūta swallowed.
"Depends on what."
"Kaito told me four students left for Hisayama on a task from me."
Silence.
Hina looked at Mei.
Mei looked at Yūta.
Yūta looked at Ishida.
Ishida looked at Kato.
No one looked at Kato with enough conviction.
Kato raised one eyebrow slightly.
"The curious part is that I don't remember giving that task."
The silence worsened.
Yūta opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
He closed it.
Hina seemed to be calculating whether fainting was a valid option.
Ishida breathed like someone prepared to tell the truth even if everyone hated him for it.
Mei stepped forward.
She lifted the paper bag.
"I brought buns."
Kato looked at the bag.
The hall went completely still.
Yūta did not breathe.
Neither did Hina.
Ishida closed his eyes for a moment, as if disappointed in everyone present and also in himself for being present.
Kato looked at the bag.
Then at Mei.
Then at the bag again.
"That does not answer my question."
Mei did not lower her hand.
"But it improves the atmosphere."
Kato held her gaze.
His seriousness lasted three seconds.
Four.
Five.
Then he sighed.
"What kind?"
Yūta closed his eyes in gratitude.
Hina lowered her head.
Mei smiled.
"Red bean paste and cream."
Kato took the bag.
"You have ten minutes."
Yūta opened his eyes.
"For what?"
"To eat something, wash your faces, and look less like corpses."
All four relaxed at the same time.
Too soon.
Kato took a bun from the bag.
"Then you tell me everything."
The relaxation disappeared.
Kato bit into the bun.
Chewed.
Nodded.
"Good attempt, Shirogane."
Mei dipped her head slightly.
"Thank you."
"You're not forgiven."
"But we're less dead."
Kato thought for a second.
"A little."
Yūta leaned toward Mei and whispered:
"I owe you one."
"You owe me several."
Hina leaned toward her too.
"Thank you."
Mei did not look at them.
"Don't get sentimental over buns."
Ishida tucked the book under his arm.
"We should prepare the report."
Kato pointed at him with the bun.
"That is why Ishida is my favorite student for the next ten seconds."
Yūta raised his hand.
"And after that?"
"After that, it becomes debatable again."
Hina, exhausted, injured, her eyes heavy, felt a laugh rise in her chest.
It was not big.
It was not clean.
But it was there.
And this time, it did not feel out of place.
Kato looked at them more closely.
The joke faded slightly from his face.
Not completely.
But enough.
"Eat," he said, lower. "Then we talk."
No one argued.
The four continued down the hall.
Mei walked first.
Ishida beside her, serious again.
Yūta behind them, trying to steal a bun before Kato finished the bag.
Hina stayed back for one more second.
She looked at the three of them.
At their tired backs.
At their clumsy steps.
At the way they kept arguing even after everything.
The four of us, she thought.
And for the first time, the sentence did not sound like a promise spoken to convince someone.
It sounded like the truth.
"Tsukino!" Yūta called from ahead. "If you take too long, Kato's going to eat them all!"
Hina lifted her eyes.
"Stop saying stupid things!"
And she walked toward them.