July 26, 2002
The park was mostly empty on Sunday afternoon. The heat kept most people indoors, though a few families had brought their children to the playground in the distance. Fuin sat beneath a large zelkova tree, its branches providing enough shade to make the temperature bearable. His notebook lay open on his lap, filled with diagrams and notes written in his careful handwriting.
He was reviewing the sealing formula he'd developed over the past year. The Unmei family's sealing techniques provided the foundation, but he had adapted them, combining principles from three different reference books to create something new.
The first attempt had succeeded two months ago. A Grade 4 curse he'd exorcised near the shopping district. Instead of letting it dissipate, he'd sealed it mid-exorcism and forced the transformation. The resulting cursed object was weak, barely Grade 5, but it proved the concept worked.
The problem was consistency. Cursed spirits resisted the process. Their cursed energy fought against compression, and their residual consciousness struggled even when suppressed. He'd attempted the process four more times since that first success. All four had failed, the cursed energy dissipating before the transformation completed.
Probability manipulation could help, theoretically. But [One Percent] required repeated failures to build up success chance, and each attempt generated fate pressure. Using his technique for something like this felt wasteful when he could just keep trying naturally until he succeeded again.
He made a note in the margin of his notebook. He needed to test whether partial exorcism improved the success rate. If he weakened the curse enough before attempting the seal, maybe the resistance would decrease. It was worth trying.
"What are you doing out here, reading in this heat?"
Fuin looked up. An elderly man stood a few meters away, leaning on a wooden cane. He was thin, his face deeply lined, wearing a simple short-sleeved shirt and slacks. His hair was white and sparse. He looked at Fuin with mild curiosity.
"The shade makes the heat much more bearable," Fuin said.
The old man nodded slowly. He walked closer, moving carefully, and gestured at the bench near the tree. "Mind if I sit?"
"Go ahead."
The old man lowered himself onto the bench with a quiet grunt of effort. He set his cane beside him and looked out at the playground where children were climbing on the equipment. Their voices carried across the park, high-pitched and energetic.
"You're pretty young to be out here alone," the old man said. "Where are your parents?"
He closed his notebook. He stood and moved to the bench, sitting on the opposite end from the old man. "My father... passed away about two weeks ago. My mother... is working."
The old man was quiet for a moment. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that."
The condolences were automatic, expected. People said them because they were supposed to, not because the words meant anything.
"Do you have family with you?" Fuin asked.
The old man shook his head. "No. My wife passed away about two weeks ago as well."
Fuin looked at him. The old man's expression was calm, almost peaceful.
They sat in silence.
The children on the playground continued playing. One of them went down the slide, laughing. Another hung from the monkey bars, swinging back and forth. Their mothers watched from nearby benches, occasionally calling out warnings or encouragement.
The silence stretched. Minutes passed. Neither he nor the old man spoke. They just sat there, watching the children play in the distance, the afternoon heat pressing down on everything.
It was surprisingly comfortable. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence with conversation. The old man seemed content to just sit. Two people who'd both lost someone recently, sharing space without pretending things were okay or trying to make each other feel better.
The shadows from the tree shifted slightly as the sun moved across the sky. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, providing brief relief from the heat. One of the children fell off the swing and started crying. Their mother rushed over to check on them.
More time passed. Fuin wasn't sure how long they'd been sitting there. Twenty minutes? Thirty? It didn't matter.
Eventually, Fuin turned to the old man. "Old man."
The old man didn't respond.
Fuin looked at him more carefully. The old man was still sitting upright, his hands resting on his lap, his eyes open and looking toward the playground. But his chest wasn't moving. His expression hadn't changed, but there was a stillness to him that was different from before.
Fuin reached out and touched the old man's wrist. No pulse. His skin was still warm, but there was no heartbeat, no breathing.
He'd died completely silent.
He stood up. His leisurely mood evaporated, replaced by practical necessity. He looked around the park and spotted one of the mothers sitting on a bench near the playground. He walked over to her quickly.
"Excuse me," he said. "Can you call emergency services? There's an old man on the bench over there who doesn't seem to be doing well."
The woman looked startled. She glanced past Fuin toward the tree, then back at him. "What? Is he—"
"Please call," Fuin said.
He didn't wait for her response. He walked back to the tree, picked up his notebook from where he'd left it on the bench next to the old man's body, and headed toward the park exit. Behind him, he heard the woman pulling out her phone, her voice rising in alarm as she spoke to someone.
He left the park and started walking home. The notebook felt heavier than usual in his hand, though that was probably just his imagination. Two people who'd both lost someone two weeks ago. They'd sat together in silence for maybe forty minutes. And then one of them had just passed away. It completely ruined his mood, especially since his father had died in a similar way just days ago.
Fuin kept walking. The heat pressed down on him as he walked. By the time he reached his street, sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt. He'd need to change before going to the sealing room.
His mother would be home from work in a few hours. He'd have dinner ready by then. That was the routine now. She worked, he managed the house, and they both pretended things were normal.
He opened the front gate and walked up the path to the house.