The doors of Onyx House groaned open under my hands, the sound echoing through the empty genkan like the announcement of a coming storm. The smell hit me first. Old wood, definitely. Dust, absolutely. And underneath it all, a sharp note of something fermented.
Cheap booze.
I stepped inside, shoes echoing on the polished floorboards. The entryway stretched out before us, lined with cherry wood shoe lockers. Each one had a brass nameplate, already engraved. Mine read "NAKANO, S." in crisp letters.
"It's so... traditional," Emi whispered behind me.
Natalia's nose wrinkled. "It smells like someone died in here and their ghost is drinking to cope."
"Comforting."
