"Well, what you're suffering from is hallucinations. Auditory hallucinations. We were present the whole night and didn't hear a single noise. We even considered the possibility of artifacts, but I checked your house, your library—every book. There's not a single artifact."
"I'm going insane?" Sehborn asked.
"Possibly. But don't worry. You contacted us, and we'll help you. For that, though—can you give us some of your blood?"
"Oh, yeah, sure." He took the knife from the fruit tray and poked a cut. A drop of blood emerged.
"Monday," I said.
"On it." He took a small vial and collected a few drops, then turned to me. "I'll go in another room. It's embarrassing drinking someone's blood."
"Yeah, sure."
Monday left, and I sat with Sehborn.
"Hey, Sehborn. Now detail it for me. I know you already told everything to Monday, but I wanna hear it myself. How did it start? No—when did it start?"
"I... I don't remember."
"Now, Sehborn, you're gonna have to do better than that."
"I-I think... months? A couple months ago?"
I sighed. This guy's lost. I'll just have to wait for Monday to check the blood.
I turned back to him. "Hey, Sehborn, what's your favourite genre of books?"
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Favourite genre?"
He blinked. "Uh... politics?"
"Don't lie to me."
"I do like politics, I swear."
"What about novels? You got some?"
"Fantasy?"
"That so?"
"Yes…"
I looked at him. "What about novels with certain... stuff?"
He blushed. "Of course not. I don't read romance."
What… Well, he's not wrong. He probably reads the advanced version of romance... I looked at his face—blushing furiously. Probably not. I don't think he'd survive that level.
Then I heard a scream—Monday. I ran, slamming the door open. Monday was lying on the floor, clutching his head.
"Hey—hey, are you alright?" I bent down, lightly slapping his face.
He just kept screaming—then suddenly stopped. Calm. He dusted himself off and headed toward Sehborn.
I followed. "Hey, what happened—"
He cut me off, staring at Sehborn. "Did you have a nanny when you were young?"
Sehborn's eyes widened. "Y...yes?"
"Then the voice you've been hearing—it's your nanny."
"Huh?" I blinked. "What? Hey, explain—?"
He turned to me. "I took his blood. And guess what changed for me?"
I shrugged.
"Nothing. Nothing happened. Then I hit my toe and felt frustrated. That's when I heard it—a soft melody from an old woman. It sounded sweet, like a lullaby. I tested a few things. Turns out the more stressed I am, the louder it gets. That's why I screamed—yep, it was loud."
"B-but I'm not stressed. Not all night."
Monday stopped him. "Yes, you are. Your first hallucinations started months ago—probably from some major problem that triggered heavy stress. And that, in turn, woke the spirit... the one that loves you."
"She's alive?"
"No... she died."
Then why don't he understand it? I thought,
Since he was a child, It was the same with me—back when I first possessed Heide's body. The confusion, the fractured memories, the language that came out like static. Maybe his reason was the same. What she said—what she meant—sounded like gibberish to him even now, since he never understood it as a child.
Still, I turned my gaze toward Monday.
"How do we remove the spirit?" I asked. "The guy's not well."
He looked back at the man in silence. And then—
"Live stress-free," he said simply. "Don't worry. The melody won't hurt you. Enjoy it. Even if you're alone… you're loved. Be glad."
Monday turned and walked out, not sparing another glance.
I blinked, surprised following him. "That's it?"
He didn't stop. "Yeah. It'll help him," he said, his voice low. "Let's just go."
I caught up, patting his back gently. He seemed... a little sad.
"It's alright," I said quietly.
Something in him shifted at that. I could feel it in the way he moved closer to me, almost unconsciously. When I looked at him, he didn't meet my eyes, but I could tell he appreciated the warmth. So I smiled and reached up, patting his head like one would a tired younger brother.
Behind us, Sehborn's voice rang out, loud and dramatic as ever.
"THANK YOU! Please, come again soon—!" he shouted, then paused, more serious now. "Wait—wait!"
We turned back as Sehborn hurried toward us, holding a small set of reins in each hand.
"You're not walking," he said. "I won't allow it. Take these horses, at least. They're old but reliable. Just like me, yeah?" He grinned, eyes softening. "Try not to die."
Monday muttered something under his breath, probably an insult disguised as gratitude.
As we mounted up, Sehborn raised a hand, the wind catching his coat dramatically.
"Safe travels, friends."