[Third Person's PoV]
The chalkboard before them was now crowded with handwriting—half belonging to Komi, the other half unmistakably Clark's. He had joined her in writing on the board, responding to her phrases and questions with his own. It had started as a gesture to help, to make her feel less isolated in her unique way of communicating, but soon it became a natural rhythm between them. Their silent conversation sprawled across the board like a story only they could understand.
Eventually, Clark set the chalk down with a soft clack against the tray. He began dusting off his hands, rubbing them together and blowing on his fingers in a very human, casual gesture, sending a faint cloud of white particles into the air.
"You should set a goal for yourself," he said, turning slightly toward her. "It doesn't have to be anything grand or overwhelming—just something meaningful to you. Even something simple is fine. Having something to work toward helps give your efforts a direction."
Komi nodded, then swiftly picked up the chalk again. She scribbled with more confidence than before: 'I do have a goal. A dream, actually… something I really want to accomplish.'
Clark raised a curious eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"
She hesitated for a moment, her shoulders tensing slightly. Then she wrote:
'Promise not to laugh, alright?'
Clark responded by making an X across his chest with his finger. Komi blinked, tilting her head in confusion.
"That's a way of saying 'cross my heart,'" he explained with a small smile. "It means I promise."
A flicker of understanding lit up her face, and she gave a small nod. Turning back to the board, she paused, took a deep breath, and then wrote carefully: 'I… want to make 100 friends.'
There was a brief silence. Komi stood stiffly, her fingers gripping the chalk as if bracing herself for ridicule. Her face turned pink, eyes cast downward in embarrassment.
Clark stared at the words for a second, then looked at her with a calm expression. "That's as good a goal—and dream—as any. Honestly, there's nothing wrong with that. You shouldn't feel embarrassed. Everyone should have something they're striving for."
Komi gave a tiny smile, her shoulders relaxing just a little. But before she could respond, Clark grabbed the eraser and wiped out the "100," replacing it with a bold "99."
Komi blinked in surprise, eyes wide as she snapped her head toward him.
"I'm someone who doesn't like people very much," Clark said plainly, brushing more chalk dust from his fingers with a sigh. "I find them annoying—especially loud ones. There are only a few people in the world I can stand for more than five minutes at a time."
He glanced at the chalkboard again, then back at her.
"So, I can't really understand why you'd want to befriend a hundred people. Seems like too many. Personally, I think all you really need are a couple of good ones. But…" He shrugged, voice softening. "If one hundred is your dream, then go for it. Don't let anyone's opinions, not even mine, stop you."
Clark looked down at her with a small, genuine smile. His blue eyes peeked out from beneath the messy strands of his bangs.
"You're not so bad. And you're quiet—which I like. So… I wouldn't mind if you considered me your friend."
Komi's cheeks flushed instantly. Her eyes sparkled like sunlight through glass, and her hands trembled as she hugged her chalk closer to her chest.
Clark casually held out his hand. "Here. Give me your phone."
Startled, Komi blinked, reached into her pocket, and handed over her phone without a word.
Clark quickly typed his number in and handed it back to her. "There. Texting counts as communicating, too. Save my number and send me a message so I'll have yours."
She stared at the glowing screen, mesmerized, as if he had given her a treasure.
Just then, the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
"You can text me if you ever need help—with your goal, or just in general," Clark added, walking over towards his desk, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Just don't give my number to anyone else, alright?"
Komi nodded rapidly, still clutching her phone like it was something precious.
"Later, Komi," he said casually, giving her a two-finger salute with a faint grin.
Komi opened her mouth. A string of stammered "g-g-g-g" sounds escaped her lips before she pressed them into a thin, determined line. She lifted her hand and did the subtle sign for goodbye—the one Clark had taught her not too long ago.
He chuckled softly and walked off without another word.
As Clark disappeared down the hallway, Komi dropped into a crouch, holding onto the tray of chalk, her face exploding into a vibrant blush. She fanned her cheeks with her hands and peeked at her phone again, heart pounding.
She opened her contacts. There, listed just below her father, mother, and brother, was Clark's name.
A soft smile curled on her lips.
And then, in the tiniest voice she had ever dared use, she whispered,
"I made a friend…"
Down the hallway, Clark paused mid-step. He stopped, his eyes wide for a split second, then covered his mouth.
"…How adorable," he muttered under his breath, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked on.
…
Clark stepped out of the school building, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. He absentmindedly pulled out his phone, eyes scanning a message from Momo.
Momo: Don't wait for me. My friends and I are going to karaoke.
Clark scoffed, tapping away a quick reply: Didn't plan to wait anyway.
Almost instantly, another message popped up. A middle finger emoji. Clark chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement. 'How typical'
With a flick of his thumb, he powered off the screen and stuffed the phone into his pocket. But as he began walking down the sidewalk, something hit him—a sudden, overpowering stench that turned his stomach.
His nose wrinkled, and a wave of nausea rolled through him. A hand shot up to cover his mouth as he gagged. "Ughh… What the hell is that smell?" he muttered aloud, wincing as bile crept up his throat. It wasn't just bad—it was unnatural. Nothing in this world should smell like that.
His expression darkened. Eyes glowing faintly through his messy bangs, a brilliant and eerie blue shimmered behind his glasses. His senses sharpened. Time seemed to slow as his vision zoomed far beyond the city—past blocks, streets, towns—until he locked onto the source.
It was a house. Small, two stories, worn-down, barely holding together. But from its core surged a mass of black, dense spiritual energy. It writhed like a living shadow, pulsing with malice. It oozed power—and intent.
Clark's X-ray vision activated, peeling back the structure like paper. His gaze cut into the second floor, into a room wrapped in clear tarp. A sickening workshop. Blood-stained tools rested on a bench—rusted saws, knives, chains.
And then he saw it. A large vat of acid in the corner, bubbling quietly. Floating in it—bones. Tiny human bones. A child's skull. Too small. Far too small.
A chill ran down Clark's spine. His eyes narrowed as they fell on a little girl, maybe four or five years old, tied tightly to a chair in the middle of the room. Her brown hair was matted, school uniform torn. Her face was streaked with dried tears, eyes red with fear.
Standing in front of her was something that should not exist. A man—or what had once been a man—his form shifting and mutating before Clark's eyes. Warts and lesions covered his sickly skin. His lips were cracked and peeling, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. His hair was matted and wild, sticking out in greasy tufts. The smell radiated from him like rot from a corpse.
But it didn't stop there.
He was changing.
The man groaned as his muscles expanded grotesquely, his skin turning a deep, unnatural red. Horns pushed their way out of his skull, curving upward. His eyes sank into darkness. His body swelled, bones cracking, shifting. He was becoming something else—something older and fouler than anything human.
"An Oni" Clark grumbled in annoyance.
Clark stepped into an alleyway nearby, shielding himself from sight. He tore off his glasses, and they instantly dissolved into liquid magma that surged over his body, forming his suit. His schoolbag hit the wall with a thud as he launched himself into the sky, a thunderous crack erupting behind him.
Sol's voice buzzed in his ears:
"Supernatural Journal Entry: Oni. Translation—Demon. Ogre. Ferocious demons, bringers of disaster, spreaders of disease, punishers of the damned in hell. Oni are born when wicked humans die and fall into Buddhist hells. Sometimes, the evil in them is so great, they transform into oni while still alive—"
"Not now, Sol!" Clark growled through clenched teeth, his body a missile of light speeding across towns.
He arrived just in time to see the Oni—now fully transformed—looming over the crying child.
No—
Clark came smashing through the outer wall of the house, debris blasting inward as he flew into the room, arms outstretched, eyes burning with heat. Panic surging through them.
"MOM—!"
CRUNCH!
SQUELCH!
Clark froze. The room spun.
His momentum died in an instant as he witnessed, helplessly, as the Oni bit down on the little girl's head, his cape also trying to reach out but not arriving in time. Blood sprayed across the room—warm, bright red—and splashed across Clark's face, making him flinch.
His body refused to move. Arms still extended, eyes wide in horror, heat vision flickering and vanishing. The Ogre chewed slowly, savoring it. Then unhinged its jaw and swallowed what remained of the child whole.
Clark trembled as the crunching of the bones echoed, reverberating through his brain.
His breathing quickened. He couldn't stop it—couldn't catch his breath, his chest rose and fell. The smell of iron overpowering his nose.
He raised a hand to his face, slowly, almost robotically. His palm was wet. Sticky. He looked down.
Red.
Bright. Warm. Real.
The Oni's forked tongue slid out and cleaned the blood off its chin. It let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Kekekeke… The taste of little children… simply the sweetest nectar~"
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