Kurosawa, peering through the window, tilted her head.
Her eyes were still a vivid shade of red.
No, that wasn’t it.
Even in such a dark situation, Kurosawa’s eyes looked clearer and redder than what could be seen by moonlight.
“Let me in.”
Kurosawa… something resembling her said.
Sota finally understood why Yuka said, “That is not Kurosawa.”
It’s different. Something about it.
Kurosawa would never speak so directly like that. Even now, after becoming a little closer and having a few more words, it was still the same. If she needed something, she’d just stare intently at Sota from a short distance away, and if he spoke first, she’d respond with a brief answer.
It wasn’t like Kurosawa, who had suddenly vanished, would show up again—especially not in a house whose location Yuka didn’t even know.
“…?”
Yuka and her grandfather didn’t move. Neither did Sota.
Why isn’t she coming in?
Sota thought.
Why isn’t she coming in? If she wanted to, she could break through the glass. The glass also had something like talismans attached to it, but unlike Kurosawa, she wasn’t a Yōkai who couldn’t even touch the barrier.
So, if she really wanted to, then of course.
Kurosawa pressed her hand against the window and stared inside quietly.
Her eyes slowly moved towards the people inside. One person, then another, as if examining their faces.
At first, her gaze was directed at Yuka, but then it turned to Sota as if she lost interest. It briefly rested on Yuka’s grandfather too, but again, not for long.
What Kurosawa was looking for wasn’t in the living room.
“…It’s not here.”
Could she be looking for Kurosawa?
Kurosawa’s widely opened eyes moved again, and this time they looked at Sota.
The corners of Kurosawa’s lips curled up slightly. A smile on her face that Sota had never seen before.
If he saw that face normally, he would have been happy. Sota didn’t think so highly of himself to the point of believing he could change all of his friends, but if that expressionless child was awakening her emotions while spending time with him, he’d feel a peculiar sense of pride.
But Sota felt that smile wasn’t something Kurosawa usually gave.
Kurosawa slowly raised her hand.
Her left hand rose slowly and touched the window of Yuka’s house.
There was blood on the window. Apparently, blood had been flowing from her wrist from the start.
And on that wrist, a pentagram was drawn. A type of tattoo difficult to see on a child’s wrist, especially on one who was around Sota’s age.
It seemed more natural to think of it as a prank drawn between friends.
But this time, the tattoo didn’t look so simple.
There was a wound crossing the tattoo.
That tattoo stretched vertically and horizontally, as if a person were opening an eye.
The eye that wasn’t an eye was looking through the window.
“…Ah.”
Yuka exhaled as she saw that sight.
Kurosawa, no, she shouldn’t be.
But somehow, the being beyond seemed—
“I see.”
Kurosawa said.
“Indeed, it seems you can’t be easily tricked.”
Yuka’s grandfather wore an expression of little agitation, but Sota and Yuka, who knew Kurosawa, couldn’t help but freeze at those words.
“Who are you?”
Sota blurted out without thinking. Kurosawa looked at him as if amused.
“I am Kurosawa Koto Ne.”
“That can’t be.”
This time it was Yuka who spoke.
“You aren’t Kurosawa. You are…”
“As you think, I am not a being of this world.”
Kurosawa echoed Yuka’s words.
“But, well.”
Kurosawa tilted her head for a moment as she spoke.
“I am clearly ‘Kurosawa Koto Ne.’ That is the name that was given to this vessel. So it seems only right to call me that. At least, it seems those who summoned you think so.”
“…What is your purpose?”
Yuka’s grandfather opened his mouth.
As he aimed an arrow tied to his bow at Kurosawa beyond the window, he glared with fierce eyes. But Kurosawa didn’t look startled.
“That isn’t really the right question.”
Kurosawa spoke as if she was delighted.
“It’s more appropriate to ask for the purpose of those who summoned you. Isn’t that right?”
Kurosawa’s gaze moved again. This time, it was directed at Yuka’s knife.
“Ah, that knife.”
Kurosawa chuckled as she slowly backed away.
“If you think you’d like to duel with a knife, I could indulge you.”
Kurosawa slowly moved her left hand toward the sky.
The blood flowing from that wrist gradually shot upward toward the sky. Drops of blood slowly spread, connecting back to Kurosawa’s wound as if weaving a thread.
And just like weaving cloth, something began to form slowly from the top down.
It looked like a knife.
Knife made from blood, red as blood—no, it was made of blood itself.
Kurosawa elegantly caught the knife suspended in mid-air with her right hand and gave it a flick.
“Truly, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this world, so there’s no need to rush. You all must have thoughts about this shell, so it’s best to savor it slowly.”
Kurosawa said that and swung the sword.
“Sota!”
Yuka jumped forward holding the sword—
Clang!
The sound of metal clashing against metal. Yet, that sound was a little different from what one would usually hear with swords.
It sounded like something incredibly strong collided with a metal rod. Yuka’s hands trembled.
“Good job.”
Kurosawa said that while slowly walking forward.
“Then, it’s just a brief amusement. I hope you’ll play with me until I find the mirror. I’ll need that sword in the end.”
“What does that mean—”
But before Yuka could respond, red threads began to dance.
What she held in her hand was a red sword. But to Sota’s eyes, it looked like threads.
They moved delicately, dancing through the air like threads.
But still, it was metal. It was not actually bending or stretching. Of course, given how it was, Kurosawa merely swung the sword.
The red light reflecting off the moonlight merely looked like threads swirling.
Yuka’s sword moved along with that red light, reflecting the moonlight. The intertwining patterns of white threads and red threads were breathtaking, enough to steal one’s breath away for a moment.
The sound of wind cutting by Sota’s head was heard.
The arrow flew at an angle that aimed directly at Kurosawa’s head. In truth, Sota didn’t have the visual perception to follow it.
It was only because of a hand that intercepted it in the middle that he realized late.
Kurosawa’s left hand was pierced by the arrow. A large wound was created again on her already heavily torn left wrist.
Kurosawa paused her sword swing for a moment and looked at that arrow.
“You really put in some effort.”
Kurosawa laughed.
“Ah…”
A sound escaped Sota’s lips.
Kurosawa, still looking at the arrow, turned her eyes towards Sota’s face.
The corners of her lips raised slightly again.
It was the shy smile of a girl, as if she had just learned how to smile for the first time.
Yet it wasn’t awkward or strange, just beautiful—almost like that would be the kind of smile Kurosawa would show if she smiled for the first time.
However, the very next moment, before Sota’s eyes, two pieces of metal clashed together.
Was it strange to think that a spark flew?
“Well, this side is—”
“You.”
Yuka mumbled.
Her eyes glaring at Kurosawa were burning fiercely.
“That body is.”
“I told you, didn’t I? I am ‘Kurosawa Koto Ne.'”
Kurosawa laughed.
“If there is a wound carved into me, then that wound must naturally belong to ‘Kurosawa Koto Ne’ as well. If you slice me with that sword… you might find out what could happen.”
Yuka gritted her teeth, but still, she didn’t stop wielding her sword.
Sota couldn’t bring himself to say anything either.
The swing of the sword intertwined once more.
The three’s footsteps were slowly pushed back.
Sota hurriedly unwrapped the bandages. Though the wound hadn’t healed yet, he thought it might still be of help.
As he unwrapped the bandages, the appearance of scabs on his hand emerged here and there.
“Grandfather!”
Sota shouted as he turned back, and Yuka’s grandfather extended an arrow.
Sota took the arrow and pricked his hand.
Self-harm again, something he had done many times before.
Though no matter how many times he did it, self-harm never got any easier, but still.
“Oh.”
Kurosawa smiled at Sota.
“So that’s how it goes. Good. I’m curious how I would perceive that blood.”
Though Sota didn’t fully understand what Kurosawa meant, he splattered his blood on her.
The red blood began to scatter across Kurosawa’s white skin.
If it were a normal situation, Kurosawa would surely have stopped. A typical Yōkai would certainly—
But.
“Hmm.”
Kurosawa murmured.
“I might have been mistaken. Perhaps I didn’t actually consider you that much.”
Kurosawa answered.
“…….”
Sota bit his teeth.
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