Early morning. 6:30.
Morning~ morning~ morning, Kyoto Radio!
Today's broadcast is brought to you by yours truly, your friendly neighbor Kai Harada. What a beautiful morning—let the day begin with this first song.
Nanami Kira opened the apartment window and let the sunlight pour in. Golden particles of light flowed across the pale blue curtains, swaying with the morning breeze, the light dancing along with the fabric.
He made himself a cup of hot cocoa, pulled out a chair, and sat down. He turned up the radio.
A copy of the Kyoto morning paper lay on the table—Kira subscribed, and the mailman delivered it to his door every morning. He adjusted himself into a comfortable position, cradled his cocoa, and began to read.
"Shocking: an eighteen-year-old does THIS to his own grandfather..."
"International bulletin: Italy's mafia organization undergoes a leadership change..."
"Daily life hack: the best way to eat cherries! Even the Prime Minister approves."
"Recently, at a certain idol fan handshake event, an unexplained explosion occurred—suspected gas leak. According to eyewitnesses, a blond, middle-aged man in office attire and a teenager dressed like a street punk appeared to have been so startled that they were talking to thin air and performing various bizarre, wild poses..."
"An anonymous teenager claims to have seen ghosts."
It was all boring news. Kira checked his watch—already 6:40. He finished the rest of his cocoa and folded the paper.
"Kyoto's suicide rate continues to climb. Experts urge—" He switched off the radio and stood up, retrieving his suit from the clothing rack across the room.
Facing the mirror, he knotted his tie with meticulous care. Satisfied everything was in order, he pulled on his blue jacket and smoothed out every last wrinkle. One button after another, fastened. Kira gave his reflection one final look, slipped on his shoes, and stepped out the door.
Passing through the genkan, he grabbed an umbrella.
6:50.
Time for work.
This was his newly rented apartment—chosen in a rush, so the neighborhood wasn't ideal. It bordered Kabukichō, where the young crowd partied all night, staggering home at dawn dead drunk. The building's tenants were a motley assortment from every walk of life.
An old building with no elevator—but luckily, Kira didn't live too high. The walk down three floors was quick.
The stairwell was dark. The building had terrible natural lighting; you could only grope your way forward. Kira kept his measured pace, descending one step at a time. Rounding the second-floor landing, he noticed something unusual near a tenant's door.
A faint ripple of cursed energy.
The tenant's name was Inoue. Kira recognized him—after all, there were only so many young men who stumbled home drunk from Kabukichō every morning.
Now, the setup of Kyoto's Kabukichō was different from other entertainment districts. Each establishment had an L-shaped counter facing the street, behind which hostesses stood ready to keep company.
Working men would stop by after clocking out in the late afternoon or evening and spend four hundred yen on a drink—this was over twenty years ago; nowadays, a round costs at least a thousand. They'd stand outside the counter and have a warm drink to unwind. Those willing to spend ten thousand could book a hostess—or a host—for the evening. And for several hundred thousand, you could get the full service. But most customers were salarymen, and few could afford that kind of extravagance.
Inoue was the only salaryman who frequented the full service—which was why Kira remembered him so well.
He stared at a dark corner and frowned—then let his expression relax.
Nothing dangerous.
Hidden in the shadows was a bundle of green bills bearing the face of Fukuzawa Yukichi, wrapped in string, radiating a faint aura of misfortune.
Bad Luck Money.
The lowest form of curse—something even an ordinary person could pull off.
It was a folk superstition: snip a bit of your own hair, wash it with salt, wrap it with coins in red cloth or string, and leave it at a crossroads. Supposedly, this transferred your bad luck to whoever picked it up. Not remotely scientific, and certainly not jujutsu.
But joss paper was different. Joss paper was meant for the dead. Leaving it on someone's doorstep was an even worse omen. The money itself had no cursed energy, but it attracted cursed spirits. If someone picked it up, the spirits it drew would latch onto their back.
Most people would never touch money with no obvious origin. But Inoue might. His nights in Kabukichō had left him a month behind on rent.
Someone with a grudge against him... and someone who knows his situation.
None of Kira's business. He checked his watch—6:55. Not on the clock yet.
Which meant it wasn't his responsibility.
But considering that an incident at his own apartment building would bring police, and police meant questioning, and questioning meant hassle—Kira picked up the money anyway. He counted it: three hundred thousand yen.
He nodded and headed downstairs.
The morning sun was gorgeous. Kira still needed to visit the school, so he hailed a taxi on the street. The ride from the city center to the outskirts took thirty minutes.
He stepped out, paid the fare, and climbed the sun-drenched stone steps, ascending the mountain one step at a time.
As mentioned earlier, Kyoto Jujutsu High presented itself to the public as a religious institution, so temples and shrines dotted the campus.
Passing a statue of the Buddha, Nanami Kira split the three hundred thousand yen in half and dropped a hundred and fifty thousand into the offertory box.
Go ahead and attract whatever cursed spirits you want. Take it up with the Buddha himself.
Nanami Kira gazed at the pale morning light and thought:
I'm still off the clock.