CHAPTER LIII
~The Invitation~
Earlier, when Saito was done tending to Yuzuki and had begun wrapping Rin’s knees with fresh bandages, the quiet of the infirmary was thick enough to hear breaths and distant raindrops.
“Rin,” Saito began, kneeling steadily beside him, “you never told me what went down between you and God—what you actually talked about when deciding on your tether.”
Rin, now shifted into his tall, graceful form, froze for a beat—and then, with a sly grin, he broke the silence by launching into a complete tangent. “Yo, Saito, ever wonder why pizza is round but we cut it into triangles? Mind-blowing, right? Anyway—”
“Rin,” Saito interrupted, voice calm but firm, “changing topics won’t get you anywhere, and you know that. Still, Mofumi told me everything.” His eyes locked onto Rin’s, unwavering. “God chose Yuzuki without your consent. Ordered you to keep your distance. You’re not allowed to spill anything about your past or even show emotions around her. She won’t be your tether in any meaningful way—just someone whose fate dances nearby, tangled with yours.”
Rin’s grin vanished, replaced by a sharp brilliance. Daggers seemed to pierce Saito’s calm facade.
Saito’s brows raised in alarm, backpedaling. “Hey! Stop looking at me like that. I know you’re hurting, but—”
“Cut the crap.” Rin snapped, rising with a defiant flick of his wrist toward the bandaged knees and heading for the door. As he pulled it open, Kagami, Ayaka, Shingure, and Himari waited silently outside.
“It’s in your best interest to stay away from Yuzuki,” Saito’s voice called after him, tense but steady.
Rin closed the door with a cool ease and strolled away, throwing over his shoulder, “Noted.”
Outside, Ayaka’s bright voice broke the silence, tinged with urgency, “HEY! What did Saito-sama say about Yuzuki?”
Rin’s carefree tone floated back from around the corner. “All good. She just needs rest. Better come back later.”
Kagami grinned wickedly, stepping to Ayaka’s side, flicking her shoulder. “Looks like we gotta give her space, My Doll. But hey, space ain’t forever.”
Ayaka’s eyes sparkled with concealed edge. “Then shall we-”
Shingure’s voice interrupted, a poetic tide heavy with tenderness and rain-washed sorrow, “While the storm passes outside, shall we tend to our quiet sanctuary—the library, restoring order to the pages and souls trapped within? Together, let us weave tranquility amid the tempest’s roar.”
Both Kagami and Ayaka exchanged simultaneous groans that echoed off the shelves, faces twisting into expressions of mock disgust.
“WHAAAAT?!” they exclaimed in perfect unison.
Himari, ever calm and natural, smiled warmly. “Sure! I’d be happy to help.”
Kagami smirked, flashing a cocky grin that dripped with delinquent charm as he propped a leg against the shelf. “Alright then, but just so you know, I’m only here ’cause I’m the boss. Someone’s gotta keep this place from turning into a snooze fest.”
Ayaka twirled a lock of hair and chirped, “Ooo, Mr. Boss Man, don’t forget I’m the sunshine lighting up your gloom, so try not to mess things up, okay?”
Shingure sighed softly, voice soft like rain falling on old pages, “Ah, but how sweet the discord when kindred spirits convene, crafting harmony from scattered leaves and stormy days.”
Rin, peeking from the corner with a sly grin, whispered playfully, “Library duty? Sounds like my kinda chaos. Let’s crank it up a notch.”
Himari just nodded, steady as ever, ready to turn a new page in this strange little night.
Rin sat crookedly on the narrow windowsill of the Left Wing classroom on the third floor, the cold rain pelting the glass beside him like a furious drummer. His fingers toyed with the Kendama, flipping it back and forth in a careless rhythm that somehow matched the wild storm outside. The jagged thunder was his drumbeat, and the rain’s relentless patter set his pace.
His voice, barely above a whisper, rose and fell in an erratic song mingled with the storm’s cadence.
“Lost in the echoes, memories fade,Shadows whisper secrets I can’t evade,Who is the ghost in reflection’s play?Past slipping like mist, drifting away…”
His tone was unsure, the words stumbling out like fragments of dreams he didn’t fully grasp. His fingers let go suddenly, tossing the kendama from his hands in a quick, maddened burst. The toy spun through the air, clattering to the floor with a shattered thump.
“What does Saito even know about me?” Rin spat, his voice low and fierce. “Telling me to keep my distance from Yuzuki—what? No way. What does he even know about her to claim it’s for my ‘best interest,’ huh? And what does God want from both of us? Am I just some pawn in their game?”
His eyes darkened, hurt flashing across his face like lightning. A shadow crossed his youthful features.
“But… if I wait—” he murmured, voice cracking just slightly, “God will keep his promise… and give back my memories. Right?”
He swallowed hard, grief and stubborn hope tangled tight in his chest. The storm’s howl outside seemed to mirror the turmoil inside him—a violent, restless sea.
In the depths of Rin’s heart, a tempest of emotions churned fierce and raw. He sang not just a melody, but a fading story—one of precious memories slipping through his fingers like sand, shadows of a past lost and unclear. There was confusion, yes, but beneath that a bleeding wound of betrayal and confusion. Yuzuki—a light in the dark—had grown close to him, a rare comfort, a warmth he had not expected to find. And now, being forced to keep his distance felt like being torn away from the one anchor he had.
His frustration boiled over—how could Saito, or God, grasp this pain? How could they dictate the terms of a bond he hadn’t chosen? The words hit him like a slap: “best interest.” It felt like a cage, a lie wrapped in concern.
But amid that turmoil simmered a desperate hope. If only time could mend what was broken, if only the promise of returned memories was real, then maybe there was light beyond the dark. Maybe he could find himself once again, and with it, his place beside Yuzuki.
Suddenly, the faint sound of a door closing sliced through the room. Rin’s head snapped up, confusion flickering across his eyes. Didn’t I close that door when I came in? Was I imagining it?
His gaze flickered toward the door, now firmly shut. Huh? he thought, his hand already reaching to pick up the kendama from the floor.
As he lifted his gaze, something caught his eye—lying near the door was a small, deliberate object. He froze, the raging storm momentarily forgotten.
As Rin lifted his gaze from the kendama on the floor, something near the door caught his eye—a small, deliberate object lying still against the cold tiles. Curiosity tightened in his chest as he rose and crouched near it. It was an envelope, elegant and carefully crafted, ornate patterns embossed in shimmering ink decorating its surface.
He tucked his kendama safely at his side, then reached out with both hands, tugging the envelope closer. Kneeling fully, he hesitated for a breath, then peeled it open.
As Rin lifted his gaze, he spotted a small object lying near the door—a perfectly placed envelope, its design intricate and unsettling, with shimmers that seemed to slither in and out of the light. Cautiously, he knelt down, his kendama dangling at his side, and picked it up with both hands. He slid his fingers under the flap and ripped it open.
Inside was a lavishly adorned invitation card, so beautiful it was almost menacing—a riot of deep reds, golds, and swirling carnival masks. When he flipped it open, the envelope fell from his hands. A pop of confetti burst out, and like a jack-in-the-box, a tiny joker doll sprang to life, dangling his boots and grinning with impossibly sharp teeth.
“Well howdy, there!” The joker’s voice was a rough cowboy sneer, sickly sweet yet laced with gravel. “Welcome to The Midnight Carnival—where the games’ll strip your soul clean and only the twisted survive. Tonight’s main event? A scavenger hunt for the wretches who dance on fate’s broken strings... folks just like you.”
Rin blinked, mouth agape. “folks.......just like me?” he murmured, heart skipping a beat.
The joker leapt from the card, rubbery-limbed, and sprinted toward the door, tossing a wicked wink over his freakish shoulder. “Yessir, folks like those who don’t belong—cursed little disasters, walking heartbreaks, the ones even God don’t wanna look at! You’re exactly our flavor of poison, ain’t ya?”
Rin stared, horror creeping into his veins. “Wait—WHAT? What the hell—?!” The invitation slipped in his clammy grip as he raced after the joke of a monster, shouting into the wild corridor.
The joker, already reaching the door, jammed his boots into the door’s hole and shoved it open with a snigger. “See ya at the Carnival, heartbreaker! Hope you’re ready for a little… soul-stripping fun!” His laugh was jagged and mean, bouncing down the corridor as he vanished out of sight.
In the shadowed recesses of the Left Wing appeared a figure cloaked entirely in midnight navy fabric, the hood pulled low to conceal their face. But the sly curve of a smile betrayed amusement beneath the darkness.
“Oh, dear boy...” the soft, feminine voice called out, cool and eerily melodic with a hint of sorrow. “How much longer must you suffer? Poor you, who lives in the dark…will you ever escape the pit they’ve dug for you?”
The figure lingered another heartbeat—then slipped silently into the waiting dark, leaving only questions, echoes, and the promise of The Midnight Carnival behind.
Who is this person, you ask?
Fujita Mei. {Refer: to Chapter 11}
Kagami, still sprawled comfortably with Ayaka at his side, turned the last page of their storybook. As the paper made its soft whisper, something unexpected came into view: nestled between the final page and the back cover was an ornate envelope, sealed with wax and glimmering faintly in the library’s low light. Kagami blinked, drawn out of his smug reverie. Ayaka, bright-eyed and ever-curious, immediately perked up. “Ooo, what’s that?” she chirped, eyes sparkling with girlish excitement as she reached to pluck the mysterious invitation from its hiding place.
At a side table, Shingure gracefully finished jotting titles on a list for next week’s book order, his hand flowing as if the pen was an extension of his rain-painted soul. He smiled tenderly, showing the list to Himari, who nodded her natural approval. When Shingure set the page aside, his sleeve brushed against something crisp just beneath—a finely embossed envelope waiting quietly under the stationery, as though it had always belonged there. He paused, fingers lingering above it, the overhead lamp glancing off the golden pattern.
Back in the janitor’s cramped cleaning room, Saito placed his battered bucket and mop in their places with the satisfied air of a man almost done for the night. As he reached for the tap to rinse grim from his hands, his gaze landed on the low counter—and there it was: an envelope, pristine and elaborate, balanced on the edge of the sink. He frowned, picking it up carefully, uneasy with its unexpected presence.
Alone, Mofumi padded through the deserted hallway, ears twitching at the chill as he watched rain slide down the murky windows outside. He paused, lost for a moment in the crying sky—then looked down, catching a foreign glint in the corridor’s dust. Lying directly in his path was another envelope, identical to the rest in its eerie elegance. He crouched, whiskers twitching, and picked it up, feeling a weight shift in the air.
At exactly 1:45 AM, the shrill ring of an alarm shattered the quiet.
“AHhhh…!” Kaito groaned, his voice thick and worn from being ripped out of sleep. Head pounding, he flopped back on his futon for a heartbeat longer.
The sliding door to his room creaked open, letting in the stern figure of his father. He stood tall and formidable in a full kamishimo—the crisp black kimono sharply contrasted by wide, pleated hakama and the angular kataginu jacket, its stiff shoulders and embroidered family crests glinting in the pale hallway light. Every line of his silhouette broadcasted authority and unyielding tradition.
At his hip, a long katana rested in a gleaming, lacquered scabbard. Silk cords crisscrossed the hilt with mathematical precision, the fittings catching the light with a ghostly gleam. The sword whispered both legacy and power, its ancient aura filling the room before his father even spoke.
“Wake up, son. It’s time,” the man called, voice deep and unwavering—a voice that brooked no argument.
Kaito groaned again, scrubbing a tired hand through his mussed hair. “Yeah, I’m comin’, Dad,” he muttered, dragging himself out of bed with a yawn and padding toward the bathroom, the weight of sleepless destiny already settling on his shoulders.
Under the relentless downpour, eight shadowy figures stood assembled behind the iron bars of the school’s main gate—Kaito and his father, Student Council President Shiranui Haruki and his father, Vice President Kurosawa Ren and his father, and Aihara Nozomi with her father. The four exorcist families, their umbrellas no match for the icy rain soaking through every layer, waited in tense silence for entry.
Ren shivered, arms wrapped tight around himself, teeth almost chattering. “Umhh... can we get inside already?” he grumbled, glancing hopefully up at the adults.
Kaito’s father shot a challenging look at the lock, rain dripping from his jaw. “Well then,” he rumbled, squaring his stance as if preparing for a dramatic feat, “shall we take the leap?”
But Haruki’s father, composed and inscrutable even in the storm, stepped forward at last. “No need.”
With little ceremony, he fished a ring of keys from his pocket and inserted one smoothly into the lock. With a simple turn, the ancient bars creaked open.
Kaito’s father whipped around, voice booming over the rain. “IF YOU HAD THAT, WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SOONER?!”
“Calm down, father,” Kaito said, stepping in quickly and placing a steadying hand on his father’s shoulder—his eyes meeting the elder’s with exasperated patience.
The old exorcists exchanged glares and muttered under their breath, the younger generation quietly watching as the gate gave way for what the night had in store.
To be Continued... hi
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