Kuzushi Yasha tapped her smartphone screen with a force that threatened to crack the glass.
"Still nothing," she muttered, throwing the phone onto the coffee table. "The call won't even connect to a voicemail. It's like her number just stopped existing. Where the hell did that woman go?"
Masaru was sitting in the kitchen, nursing a mug of bitter black coffee.
He looked at Kuzushi, who was pacing back and forth in the living room like a caged animal. "She's Sakura. She probably went to go kill a god or buy a new suit. Why do you care? As long as the bank transfers hit, she can go to the moon for all I care."
"I care because she's the one with the intel," Kuzushi snapped, stopping her pace to glare at him. "I don't sit around waiting for things to happen. I move. And right now, I'm stuck in a high-rise with a scavenger and a guy who spends three hours a day on his hair."
"Hey! It's called maintenance, love!" Alex shouted from the bathroom.
A sharp, hesitant knock sounded at the front door.
It wasn't the confident chime of Sakura or the heavy thud of a delivery man.
It was a soft, rhythmic tapping, like someone was checking to see if the wood was hollow.
Kuzushi sighed and moved to the door, pulling it open.
Mai stood in the hallway. Her oversized intern's blazer looked even more wrinkled than usual, and her hands were clutched so tightly around a tablet that her knuckles were white.
She was trembling, her eyes darting between Kuzushi and the floor.
"U-um... hello," Mai whispered. "I'm Mai. From the office. My stepfather... Kenji... he sent me."
"The intern," Masaru said, leaning back in his chair. "What's wrong? Did Kenji run out of toner?"
Mai swallowed hard, stepping into the apartment as if she expected a trap to spring. "Sakura-san is... she's away on business. Until she returns, the Liaison Office will be managing your daily contracts. I've been assigned as your field handler. I'll be... overlooking your work today."
Masaru let out a dry, barking laugh. "Overlooking us? Kid, you look like you're about to pass out because a door opened. You're the one that needs overlooking. Stay in the car and try not to cry on the upholstery."
Mai's face went pink, and her eyes welled up with immediate, anxious tears. "I-I'm sorry! I just... I have the report. It's a priority request."
Kuzushi stepped in, placing a hand on Mai's shoulder. The contact made Mai jump, but Kuzushi's voice was surprisingly level. "Relax, kid. Just give us the report. What are we looking at?"
Mai tapped the tablet with a shaky finger, projecting a small holographic image of a two-story house in a quiet suburb of Setagaya. "It's a residential haunting. The DHC flagged it six hours ago. Energy readings suggest a 2nd Deviation. Low-level physical manifestations, moving objects, localized temperature drops. Standard house-clearing."
Kuzushi's expression immediately soured. She pulled her hand away from Mai and stomped over to the couch, slamming her body into the cushions.
"A 2nd?" Kuzushi asked, her voice dripping with boredom. "You dragged yourself all the way over here for a 2nd? I'm a 5th. I don't do chores. Send the scavenger and the hair-tie. I'm taking a nap."
"The hell you are," Masaru yelled, standing up. "You're on the team. You're getting the same payout we are. Get your ass off the couch."
Kuzushi didn't even look at him. She closed her eyes and folded her arms. "I don't get out of bed for less than a 4th. A 2nd is basically a grumpy ghost that likes to knock over vases. It's beneath me. Call me when something actually tries to eat you."
"It's okay! It's okay!" Mai squeaked, waving her hands frantically between the two of them. "Masaru-san, please don't fight! If Kuzushi-san doesn't want to go, the mission parameters say a 2nd can be handled by two hunters of your grade. It's... it's fine."
Masaru stared at Kuzushi for a long beat, his jaw clenched.
He wanted to drag her out by her pink hair, but he knew she could probably put him through a wall without opening her eyes.
"Fine," Masaru spat. "Stay here and rot. Alex! Yuki! Get your shit. We're leaving."
-
-
The house in Setagaya was a modern, spacious building with a clean white fence and a manicured lawn.
It looked like the kind of place where nothing bad ever happened, which usually meant the haunting was twice as nasty inside.
Two DHC guards stood by the front gate, their black tactical vests looking out of place in the quiet neighborhood. They checked the team's IDs with bored expressions.
"Energy's quiet right now," one of the guards said, waving them through. "Homeowners are at a hotel. Watch your step, the interior's a bit of a mess."
They stepped through the front door. The air inside was still and heavy. It didn't smell like the subway demon—there was no rot or iron—just the scent of stale air and spilled milk.
"Right," Masaru said, checking the magazine in his Beretta. "It's a big place. We split up to cover more ground. I'll head upstairs and check the bedrooms. Yuki, Alex, you two take the ground floor. Investigate the kitchen and the living area."
Yuki nodded, her hand resting on the hilt of the small ritual knife she used to focus her ice energy. She looked nervous, but the "2nd Deviation" label seemed to keep her from spiraling into a panic.
Masaru headed for the stairs, his boots thudding softly on the carpeted steps.
Alex and Yuki moved toward the back of the house. The kitchen was a disaster. It looked like a hurricane had hit a grocery store.
Cereal boxes were torn open, their contents scattered like confetti.
A gallon of milk had been smashed against the island, the white liquid dried into a yellowish, sour-smelling crust on the floorboards.
"Look at this," Alex said, stepping over a shattered ceramic bowl. "Everything's spilled. It's not just broken; it's like something was looking for something. Or just throwing a tantrum."
"The report said it was a 2nd," Yuki whispered, her eyes darting to the shadows under the dining table. "But it feels... weird. Don't you think?"
"It's weak, love," Alex said, his tone confident as he adjusted the strap of his grenade launcher. He hadn't brought the big ray gun today; he was carrying a smaller, compact satchel of specialized grenades. "But a weak demon can still be a smart one. It's probably hiding in the vents or under the floorboards, waiting for us to get bored. Stay alert."
They moved into the living room. It was a wide, open space with a massive leather sofa and a high-end entertainment system.
A large flat-screen TV hung on the wall, its screen cracked in a spiderweb pattern.
Alex's eyes caught something on the floor near the TV stand. He walked over and looked down.
A limited-edition, custom-painted gaming controller was lying in the middle of the rug. It looked brand new, aside from being out of place.
Alex looked around slowly, his eyes scanning the corners of the room. Then, with a casual smirk, he reached down and picked up the controller.
He turned it over in his hand, checking the buttons.
"Nice," Alex muttered. He unzipped his backpack and slid the controller inside.
"Alex!" Yuki hissed, her face turning red. "What are you doing? That's wrong! We're here to clear the house, not rob the homeowners."
"Oh, please," Alex said, waving her off. "The DHC insurance will cover it. They'll just think the demon smashed it. Besides, nobody's using it now, are they? Think of it as a 'danger pay' bonus."
"You're going to get us in trouble," Yuki whispered, but she didn't move to stop him. She was too busy looking at the floor.
The shadows in the room seemed to be getting darker, stretching out from the furniture even though the afternoon sun was still shining through the windows.
"Come on," Alex said, patting his bag. "Let's find this little bugger and go home. I want to see if this controller works on my—"
Alex stopped.
The floor beneath his boots didn't feel like wood anymore. It felt like water.
Yuki let out a sharp gasp. "Alex! Look!"
The floorboards in the center of the living room were dissolving.
A swirling, pitch-black hole was opening up, silent and perfectly circular.
It didn't look like a hole in the ground; it looked like a hole in reality.
A low, rhythmic humming sound began to vibrate through the air.
"What the—" Alex started to say, reaching for his launcher.
But the hole expanded in a flash. It swallowed the rug, the coffee table, and then the space beneath Alex and Yuki's feet.
There was no scream. There was no sound of a fall.
One second they were standing in a Setagaya living room, and the next, they were simply gone, sucked into the black whirling void like ink down a drain.
The hole shrunk instantly, the floorboards snapping back into place as if they had never moved. The room was silent again. The only thing left was the sour smell of the milk from the kitchen.
Upstairs, Masaru was kicking open the door to the master bedroom.
"Clear," he muttered.
He moved to the bathroom, pulling back the shower curtain with his pistol raised. Nothing but a bar of soap and a rubber duck. He checked the closets, the attic crawlspace, and even under the bed.
The energy readings on his handheld device were erratic. One second they would spike to a 3rd, the next they would drop to nearly zero.
It was like the demon was blinking in and out of existence.
"Something's wrong," Masaru said to himself. "A 2nd doesn't have the juice to mask its signature this well."
He headed back to the hallway and leaned over the banister.
"Alex! Yuki!" he shouted. "Anything down there? The upstairs is a bust. It's empty!"
Silence.
Masaru frowned. "Alex? Quit playing around. If you're raiding the fridge, I'm telling Sakura."
Still no reply.
Masaru felt a familiar, cold prickle at the base of his neck—the same feeling he'd had in the subway before the chains came out. He hurried down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
He reached the ground floor and ran into the kitchen. Empty. He checked the laundry room and the guest bathroom. Empty.
He walked into the living room. The TV was still cracked. The sofa was still there. But the space felt hollow, like the air had been sucked out of the room.
"Alex! Yuki! This isn't funny!"
He searched behind the curtains. He checked the pantry. He even went out the back door to see if they had chased something into the yard. Nothing.
Masaru came back into the living room, his breathing heavy. He looked at the spot on the rug where he'd last seen them.
He spent the next ten minutes tearing the house apart, shouting their names until his throat was raw. He checked every cupboard, every corner, and every shadow.
Finally, he stopped. He stood in the center of the silent living room, his shoulders slumped and his pistol hanging limp in his hand.
He was exhausted, frustrated, and for the first time in a long time, genuinely rattled.
"Where the hell did you go?" he whispered to the empty house.
He was tired of searching. And he was very, very alone.