I recognized him immediately.
Nanami Kento.
The moment he stepped into the street, the air changed. It wasn't dramatic—no thunder, no sudden surge of pressure—but something settled. Like the world itself straightened its spine.
A professional had arrived.
That should have made me feel safe.
Instead, my chest tightened.
I stood near the edge of the street, half-hidden behind a concrete pillar, my back pressed so tightly against it that I could feel the cold seeping through my clothes. Every breath felt too loud. Too noticeable.
The cursed spirit loomed ahead of us, its form warped and uneven, like it couldn't decide what shape it wanted to be. Parts of it sagged inward while others stretched unnaturally, cursed energy leaking from its body in ragged pulses.
It wasn't roaring anymore.
It was… twitching.
Nanami didn't hesitate.
He moved forward with measured steps, his expression calm but sharp, eyes fixed on the curse like a problem that needed solving. When he struck, it was precise—no wasted motion, no unnecessary force.
The impact tore through the curse's outer layer, black mist spilling into the air.
But something was wrong.
The curse didn't retaliate properly. It staggered back, movements erratic, as if it hadn't expected resistance. Its cursed energy fluctuated wildly, spiking and dropping in uneven waves.
Nanami noticed.
"…Unstable," he muttered.
Before he could adjust his stance, the curse lashed out blindly.
The pressure wave hit like a hammer.
Nanami was thrown back, his body slamming into the pavement with a sharp crack. He rolled once before stopping, breath knocked from his lungs.
My heart skipped.
Even Nanami—
The curse reeled, parts of its form collapsing and reforming again, cursed flesh peeling away and dissolving midair. It was weakening. Anyone could see that.
But it didn't retreat.
It hesitated.
And then—
The door behind me opened.
"Enough!"
The voice cut through the chaos, sharp with fear but unyielding.
I turned.
Ms. Aoyama stood in the doorway.
She shouldn't have been there.
Her hair was loose, strands escaping the clip she always wore. Her cardigan hung unevenly from her shoulders, one sleeve half-slipped off as if she'd rushed out without thinking.
Behind her, I could see the children—wide-eyed, frozen, clinging to each other in the hallway's dim light.
Ms. Aoyama stepped forward anyway.
"This stops now!" she shouted, arms spread wide like she could block the street with her body alone. "Get away from them!"
The cursed spirit froze.
Not slowed.
Not staggered.
Stopped.
Its distorted form locked in place mid-motion, cursed energy stuttering like a broken signal. The air itself felt like it had caught its breath.
Nanami felt it too. He pushed himself up onto one knee, eyes narrowing sharply.
"…What just happened?"
The curse turned.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Its head—or whatever part served as one—tilted toward Ms. Aoyama. The cursed energy around it pulsed unevenly, tightening and loosening as if it were struggling to maintain cohesion.
Something twisted in my chest.
A sharp, inexplicable ache.
The curse's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then—
"A… Ayo…"
The sound was broken. Fragmented. Like the word had been dragged up from somewhere deep and damaged.
Ms. Aoyama stiffened.
"What…?" Her voice trembled. "What is that thing saying?"
Nanami reacted instantly.
"Get back!" he barked, already moving.
He struck before the sound could form again.
The blow tore through the curse's upper body, cursed energy splintering violently. The half-formed word died in its throat, replaced by a distorted shriek as its form collapsed inward.
Ms. Aoyama flinched.
Nanami stepped between her and the curse, posture rigid despite the blood running from a cut near his temple.
"Inside. Now," he ordered. "Do not look back."
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then one of the children whimpered.
That was enough.
Ms. Aoyama turned, ushering them back inside with shaking hands. The door slammed shut behind them.
The moment it did, the curse snapped.
Its scream tore through the street, louder and more violent than before. The cursed energy around it surged chaotically, pressure cracking the pavement beneath its feet.
Nanami braced just in time.
"Tch—!"
He blocked the worst of it, but the force still sent him skidding backward, boots scraping against asphalt as he struggled to regain balance.
The curse staggered forward, its movements now completely erratic. Chunks of its body broke away with every step, dissolving into black dust that vanished before hitting the ground.
It was falling apart.
Losing coherence.
Losing reason.
And then—
I felt it.
A sharp pull in my chest, like something inside me had been yanked violently to the surface. My breath hitched as the air around me stirred, responding without my permission.
Cursed energy.
Mine.
It moved instinctively, reacting to the chaos like a nerve exposed to cold.
The curse turned.
Its gaze locked onto me.
My blood ran cold.
Why—?
The cursed energy between us vibrated, tightening like an invisible thread stretched too far. The air grew heavy, pressure pressing against my ears, my skin, my thoughts.
Nanami noticed.
His head snapped toward me, eyes sharp behind his glasses.
"…You," he said quietly.
The curse twitched again, its mouth opening and closing uselessly.
"Ao… ya…"
The sound was clearer this time.
My stomach dropped.
Nanami's expression hardened.
"It's mimicking," he said coldly. "Do not respond."
He lunged forward again, striking hard, driving the curse back with relentless precision. Each blow tore more of it apart, cursed energy spilling uncontrollably now.
But the curse didn't flee.
It didn't retreat.
It twisted past Nanami's guard.
And then it turned.
Not toward me.
Toward the building.
Toward the orphanage.
My heart stopped.
The curse surged forward, its broken form lurching with desperate momentum. Every step it took caused it to shed more of itself, as if it were burning through its own existence just to move.
Nanami swore under his breath and pivoted, chasing after it.
"No—!"
I pushed off the wall without thinking, my body moving on instinct alone.
The air screamed.
Not audibly—but inside my head, inside my chest, inside every nerve that suddenly felt too awake. The cursed energy within me surged, reacting violently to the curse's movement.
The distance between it and the orphanage closed rapidly.
Too rapidly.
The door was still shut.
The children were still inside.
And the curse—
The curse was no longer thinking.
It was only moving.
Toward the place it remembered.
Toward the people it shouldn't touch.
Toward the point of no return.