The evening sky hung over a forest that should have been reduced to ashes, yet all that remained was an empty land—too clean to be called the aftermath of hell.
Yuuji stood in the center of it all, his breathing heavy, his eyes sharp yet hollow. He didn't care about the faint scent of burning that lingered in the air or the unnerving silence in the wind, as if the world itself had already closed the chapter on Reika.
And that was exactly what made this wrong.
He remembered the flames consuming everything. He remembered the dust left behind. He remembered the bracelet—the only thing he could hold onto.
Now?
Nothing remained. Not just Reika. Nothing at all.
"This is insane," Shoko's voice broke the unnatural stillness. She crouched down, pressing her palm against the earth that should still bear the scars of battle. Her eyes narrowed, not just in confusion but frustration. "There's nothing left. No bones, no bloodstains, not even a trace of cursed energy that should have settled here."
Yuuji clenched his teeth. "But I was here. I saw it happen."
"And now we're here, and we see nothing." Shoko looked up at him sharply. "If I didn't know better, I'd say… Reika was never here in the first place."
Yuuji's heart sank. No. That was impossible.
He remembered Reika's expression before the meteor fell—For the first time, her face wasn't calm. It was afraid.
But if she had truly been erased, then why did it feel like—Something was off?
His eyes scanned the ground that should have held remnants of destruction, but all he saw was an empty wasteland. No ash. No energy. No proof that Reika had ever stood here.
His fingers curled into a fist at his side, pressing hard against the ancient bracelet he still carried. The only proof that Reika had ever existed.
"So we're just supposed to accept this? That she died without a trace?" His voice was low, almost a growl.
Shoko sighed, standing up and dusting off her pants. "I don't like it either, but this is the reality." She looked at him seriously. "Maybe that's exactly what they wanted."
Yuuji tensed. The higher-ups.
They had erased Reika's name from the records too quickly. Confirmed her death too easily. And now, even the ground where she had fallen was spotless.
This wasn't a coincidence.
"So what now?" Shoko asked, her expression neutral, but her voice carried something deeper. Yuuji looked at the empty land once more, his jaw tightening.
There was nothing left. But if that was the case, he would have to find the truth himself. "I won't believe it until I know for sure," he said, turning away, leaving the site behind.
There was only one thing he knew now. Reika might be gone—But something about this was wrong. And he was going to find out what.
───⭑⭒⚊奈落の顎⚊⭒⭑───
The morning wind blew cold over the training grounds behind Jujutsu Academy, carrying the scent of damp earth left behind by the early dew. In the middle of the vast field, a lone man stood. His breathing was steady, his body moving like a machine programmed to keep going without rest.
Yuuji was shirtless, sweat already trickling down his muscular back and chest, but he didn't care. His fists tightened with each strike he threw at the empty air, his body swinging in a near-brutal rhythm—kick, punch, back to stance.
This wasn't just training. This wasn't just a morning routine. This was the only thing keeping him sane.
His mind was still restless from yesterday. From returning to the scene and finding… nothing. From asking Shoko to check one more place—the place where he first met Reika.
He knew it was strange, but he had no proof.
No one could confirm what he felt—only the hollow ache in his chest, pulsing like a wound that refused to heal.
Then, his phone vibrated.
In one swift motion, Yuuji grabbed the device from the ground where he had left it. The screen lit up, displaying Shoko's name.
He answered without hesitation. "Yo."
No pleasantries.
"Yuuji." Shoko's voice was more serious than usual, slightly hoarse, as if she had spent the whole night without sleep. "I found something."
Yuuji wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, still catching his breath. "Listen, if this is something that can be explained logically, I'm not interested—"
"But it can't be explained logically." He froze.
Shoko took a breath before continuing, her voice heavier. "I found a file. An old one. Half of it was burned. But I'm sure it's connected to that orphanage."
Yuuji frowned. "What's in it?"
"Records. A lot of data on the children who used to live there. But most of the important details are gone. Their names, backgrounds… most of it is unreadable."
His foot pressed harder against the ground. The muscle in his jaw tensed.
"But there's something off," Shoko continued. "That fire happened years ago. So why is the wreckage still there? Why hasn't it been cleared?"
Yuuji stayed silent.
"This is Japan, Yuuji. We have systems. If a building burns down, if there are victims, the government intervenes. But this? No one touched it. As if everyone just… pretended that orphanage never existed."
A strange sensation crawled up Yuuji's spine. Something that had nothing to do with the cold morning air.
"So you're saying… someone wanted that place forgotten?" Shoko let out a dry chuckle. "Not just forgotten. Erased."
Yuuji gritted his teeth. His eyes stayed locked on the empty space before him, but his mind drifted back to a night long ago—the night he first met Reika.
A small figure stood among the ruins, her clothes tattered, her jet-black hair tangled and filthy. Her dark red eyes were empty, like something that shouldn't exist in this world.
And now, it was as if the world itself refused to acknowledge she had ever been here. Yuuji took a slow, deep breath. "Shoko."
"Hm?"
"I'm going to find out more." He straightened his back, his muscles still burning from training. "And if someone really is trying to hide something…"
He raised his hand, fingers curling into a fist so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "I'll dig it up myself."