Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A request came in from the old woman: a case that sounded stupid, but the client said it was urgent and had promised to pay well for an immediate resolution. So, now Mashita is standing against a wall, waiting on the sidewalk just outside the theater. Waiting until Yashiki would show up and this disaster would get started. Mind idling, his thoughts turns toward the phone call he’d made the morning before.

The phone rings once, twice before the call is answered by the soft voice of Yashiki, “Hello, Kujou residence.” Well, there’s a pleasant surprise, he’s awake.

Mashita wastes no time with pleasantries, “It’s me. The old woman sent another client to me.”

“Ah.” He hears the sound of papers being moved around on the other side of the phone. He must’ve been buried in books at his desk again. “And, there’s indications of a spirit involved, which is why you’re calling me?” Yashiki infers.

“I wouldn’t be wasting both of our time with this call if there wasn’t. There’s a theatre in the city that thinks they have a ghost hanging around backstage.”

“Did they say why?” Yashiki asks.

“Not much. The old hag told me that whatever it is has the manager jumping at shadows and the stage crew is about to walk out, says the thing is targeting them. Then, she gave me the place’s address and the manager’s contact information, and told me to go get started before hanging up.” Mashita huffs, sitting back in his chair and glowering up at the ceiling. “Tch, it’s annoying as hell. She acts like I have nothing better to do than chase ghost stories.”

“It sounds like she trusts your abilities,” Yashiki says, his voice gentle, placating. It works better than Mashita would like to admit at soothing his irritation.

Mashita snorts and rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I’m amazing, what else is new?” He redirects to the topic at hand. “I’ve got a meeting set up with the manager tomorrow, in the afternoon. Think you can make it, or do I have to come over and peel you off some antique book myself?”

“That was only the one time. I don’t usually fall asleep while working, you know,” Yashiki protests.

“Suuuuuuure, you don’t. And, the mug of cold coffee I found next to you wasn’t a factor in you staying up way past the witching hour.” Then, to tease him, he adds, “Shouldn’t you have a bedtime, at your age?”

Yashiki’s sputtering across the line brings a mischievous smirk to his face. Got him. “I get it, go to bed well before dawn. You don’t have to poke fun at my age,” a near whining tone enters Yashiki’s voice in objection to the comment.

“You make it too easy. Anyway, back to my question. Can I count on you to meet me at the theater tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Good. Despite his tendency to get lost in the details, Yashiki is a good partner to bring along for this kind of business. His ability to turn random junk into solutions was useful, and having someone else along for something that would undoubtedly involve talking to a lot of people would probably keep his smart mouth from antagonizing the wrong person and bringing more problems down on their heads. 

“Good to hear we’re on the same page. The theater’s on E Street in downtown H City. There’s a parking garage nearby, so you can leave your car there. The meeting’s at 3 pm. Got all of that?” Mashita says.

Judging by the sounds of a chair creaking and paper moving, Yashiki is writing the details down for later. “Got it. Where should I meet you?” 

“I’ll wait for you outside the entrance.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Mashita.”

“Later.” He ends the call and sets his phone down on the desk again. Well. That’s one thing out of the way. Back to tracking cheating spouses and doing background checks for today’s work, I guess.

Chapter Text

It’s cold outside, not unusual for late February, but not great for waiting outside by the theater entrance for Yashiki to show up. The theater is in a section of the city that’s being redeveloped in fits and spurts, older, run-down buildings making way for more modern, sleeker versions: cafes, boutiques, and offices taking the space where the old restaurants, markets, and discount stores had been. The theater itself looks fairly new; it hadn’t yet acquired the dusty look city grime tends to leave on buildings, and the metal fixtures making up the marquee and poster frames are still smooth and straight-edged.

He leans back against the brickwork of a support column, and lights a cigarette while he waits. He impassively watches the spiral of smoke float upward for a moment. Then, the sound of footsteps approaching has him look over to see Yashiki walking towards him. “I didn’t make you wait too long, did I?” he asks.

Mashita takes a puff from the cigarette before he answers, “Could’ve been worse. Let me finish this, then we’ll head in, okay?”

Yashiki nods and takes a place next to him. He examines the marquee of upcoming performances affixed below the theater’s logo. There’s a board attached to a column listing the upcoming performance times and dates for the next two weeks:

• H City Orchestra - 23/2, 27/2, 2/3, and 6/3 - 7 pm
• Magician and Escapist Rosé Mulan - 24/2, 25/2, and 26/2 - 7 pm
• Children’s Folktales Matinee - 28/2, 1/3, 7/3, and 8/3 - 12 pm
• Nishiyama Dance Studio’s Winter Recital - 28/2 and 1/3 - 4 pm
• Rakugo with Bunkichi - 3/3, 4/3, and 5/3 - 7 pm

At the bottom of the board is a notice which reads, “All longform and one-act plays are postponed until further notice, due to technical difficulties. We humbly apologize for the inconvenience.”

While Yashiki is busy studying the building, Mashita is observing him out of the corner of his eye. Still looks as tired and disorganized as ever. But, he looks a lot better than he did after that damned school case wrapped up. That thought brings a scowl to his face. He’d seen Yashiki stressed before, terrified even, but not set that off-kilter by a spirit. He’d been run ragged by that spirit’s cruel games and manipulations, driven to isolation rather than risk the other Mark Bearers, all while playing into the spirit’s hands, like the self-sacrificing, sentimental idiot he is. That was not going to reoccur ever again. Even if he couldn’t intervene directly himself and had to send that punk Nagashima after him, much as he would hate it. This line of thinking leads him to quickly burn down the cigarette, the nicotine serving as a distraction.

A sound next to Yashiki draws his attention back to Mashita, stubbing out the cigarette. He tosses the butt into a waste bin, and turns to Yashiki. “Come on, we have to go around the side to the staff entrance,” he says, before walking down the side alley of the building. Yashiki follows behind, as they come up to a metal door with a placard reading “Staff Only” on it. Mashita presses the doorbell next to the door. There’s a faint bell sound ringing from inside the building.

“I’ll do most of the talking with the manager. It’s better to get the basic information before we engage with the ‘ghost problem,’” Mashita warns, as they hear footsteps and a frazzled-looking older man in a suit opens the door for them.

“Ah! You’re here. Thank you so much. I’m Iwamoto Junto, the theater’s general manager. Please, follow me,” he beckons them in.

They follow him into the theater. The backstage area could be described as a controlled chaos. Set pieces are stacked against a wall, electrical wires and technical equipment are piled up on shelving in an open closet, and a few nearly empty costume racks are placed along the hallway as they pass. Some of the staff members look at them oddly, but return to work as they walk past.

“We’ll talk in my office. I don’t want the stagehands to overhear. They’re tense as it is,” Iwamoto says quietly, as he leads them into an office stuffed with filing cabinets, a messy desk with a computer, and a couple chairs in front of the desk. “Take a seat, please,” Iwamoto offers, indicating the chairs. The chairs definitely have seen better days, their upholstery faded and seats sagging with tired springs, but there’s no other options available, so they’ll have to do. They sit down as Iwamoto dithers at the desk, shifting papers around.

Mashita gets to the point right away. “Yasuoka told me some of your request and we spoke briefly before, but I want specifics on what’s been happening here.”

Iwamoto stops fidgeting with the papers on his desk, and sits down heavily in the office chair. “It’s hard to say when it started, but, for the last few months, the stage crew has been complaining of something messing with them when they’re setting up the equipment for performances.”

“Messing with them how? Shouldn’t you know what’s been happening to your employees?” Mashita interrupts, his words edged with steel.

Iwamoto wrings his hands, “Ah, well, there’s been incidents of some stagehands getting shocked when they’re working on the electronic equipment. No one has taken any serious damage from the shocks, but it keeps happening, to different people. We’ve had techs come in and test for short circuits and broken wiring, but they all say the equipment is in perfect working order. We’ve had to send a few people to the hospital for other injuries, at least one person needed stitches, and some of them required time off to heal. In the meantime, the crew keeps complaining that someone is stalking them around the backstage. Some of the backgrounds and props have been damaged as well.”

“And, that makes you think there’s a ghost? Ridiculous,” Mashita mutters, sitting back in the chair, and crossing his arms.

Iwamoto slumps in his seat a bit at that comment. “There’s…also a rumor going around with the actors. Something about the ghost, and several of them are quite serious about it.” He looks away, towards the computer. “I haven’t really paid attention to their gossip, to be honest. I wouldn’t normally entertain a rumor like this, but the stagehands are getting frustrated with a ‘lack of action’ on my part to help them, and they’re talking about walking out entirely. I can’t let that happen. It’s bad enough we can’t put on the normal performances because of all this, but if the crew walks out, no performances can happen at all.”

He stands up, to bow deeply in front of them, saying, “Please, I need your help. Find out what’s happening and solve this, so my staff can work in peace, and the theater can return to putting on performances as usual.”

Mashita rolls his eyes at Iwamoto’s obsequious behavior, looking over to Yashiki. As he expected, Yashiki is looking at the man, still bowing before them, with sympathy. It’s clear, to him at least, that Iwamoto and the theater staff need someone to at least take their concerns seriously. Mashita groans inwardly. Goddammit, his bleeding heart will get us both killed someday. “Okay, enough. We’ll look into it.”

The effect his words have is instantaneous. Iwamoto straightens and gives them a relieved smile. “Thank you! I promise you’ll be adequately compensated for this.” Mashita waves him off as he gets to his feet, indicating to Yashiki to do the same with a small jerk of his head towards the door.

“Mr. Iwamoto, we’ll need to ask the crew and actors about what’s been happening in order to investigate. Will that be alright?” Yashiki asks as he stands up, and Mashita starts walking out of the office.

Iwamoto nods, “Yes, of course. Just tell them you’re working here at my request if anyone asks.”

“We’ll start investigating now, then,” Yashiki says, following Mashita out of the office and back into the backstage area, closing the office door behind them.

“If this goes to hell, I’m going to kick your ass, you know that, right?” Mashita remarks as they walk down the hall.

“I’m sure you will.” Mashita doesn’t even need to look at him to know Yashiki is smiling at him, amused by his petulance. He can hear it in his tone.

“Gross.” There’s no heat in the word, just mild exasperation.

They return to the general backstage area. “What do you think we should do first?” Yashiki asks.

Mashita gestures toward the area where they saw people working earlier, closer to the stage. “Question the stagehands, obviously. They seem to be the targets here. I doubt Iwamoto told us everything they’ve been so freaked out by,” he remarks.

“You don’t think it might be helpful to find out what that rumor is first? It might give us a direction to focus our investigation on,” Yashiki points out.

“Facts first, supernatural stuff later. Besides, the stagehands are nearby, and I’d rather not get screamed at by some diva because we walked into her dressing room without an invitation,” Mashita huffs.

“Okay.”

There’s some stage stagehands standing by the closet where the electronic equipment is stored. They seem to be debating something between themselves. Mashita walks up to them. “What’s the hold up here?” he asks, interrupting their conversation.

One of the stagehands, a younger man in business casual and glasses, makes a face of displeasure at the question. Another, an older, stockier man wearing a toolbelt, looks at Mashita skeptically. And, the third, another young man dressed in all black, scoffs, folding his arms. “We have to set up the sound and lighting equipment for the upcoming show tonight,” he says.

“So?” Mashita asks.

The first stagehand answers, “Everyone who’s worked on sound and lighting recently has gotten hurt one way or another. Getting shocked, falls, burns, you name it, it’s happened. We don’t want to be the next ones, but, it’s our job. We’re just…working up the courage to start.”

“Look, we saw you with the manager earlier. Did he ask you to fix this mess? ‘Cause it’s bullshit that we’re risking our hides just trying to do our jobs,” the stagehand in black snaps.

Yashiki intervenes. “That’s right. Mr. Iwamoto asked that we find out what’s causing all of these accidents and put a stop to it.”

This makes the stagehands relax a bit. “I guess he’s not as useless as we thought.” the older stagehand mutters.

There’s a brief pause before the first stagehand speaks. “Sorry, we’re stressed, but that’s not much of an excuse for the rudeness. I’m Eto,” he says.

“Higuchi,” the older man adds.

“Noda,” the man in all black finishes.

“I’m Mashita, he’s Yashiki,” Mashita says, nodding at Yashiki standing beside him. “Now everyone’s introduced. Let’s get down to business.”

“What do you want from us?” Noda asks.

“What can you tell us about when the accidents started? Did anything happen that might have triggered something?” Yashiki asks, pulling out his notebook to write down their statements.

The three exchange looks, unsure.

“Those of us in the control booth started noticing problems three, maybe four months ago,” Eto begins, his eyes wandering down the hall, where the stage and auditorium are located around the corner. “That’s my department, the tech crew. A couple of us got what we thought were static shocks when using the electronics in the control booth. We didn’t think it was caused by anything more than dry air from the season and neglect on our part to discharge the static safely. So, we installed some anti-static mats, wore grounding bands on our wrists, and put in a rule against wearing static-producing clothes and shoes when working in the control booth. It worked, for a little while, at least. But, a couple of weeks after we put these measures in place, people started getting shocked when doing things like plugging in wires around the building, or examining things that were completely turned off. So, we were pretty stumped. At least, until we heard about the stuff happening to the other departments.”

Higuchi picks up the topic as Eto trails off. “I work on the crew that handles the maintenance of the lights and mechanical equipment, and the equipment that is attached or gets attached to the catwalks above us, like hanging background pieces, backdrops, and curtains.” He points upward, where several catwalks span the space above the curtains.

“It comes with the risks you’d expect from hanging out a couple stories in the air, but everyone on my team knows the risks. The worst things we usually deal with are dropped bulbs when changing them, or newbies not being able to handle heights, so we have to get them down. Then, we started having a lot of accidents around the same time the tech crew started having their problems. People slipping when climbing ladders and banging themselves up in the fall, people dropping tools and parts when working on the catwalks, nearly hit a couple of folks down below.” He winces at the memory, then continues talking.

“Then, a couple months ago, Sumida, another stagehand, was working on the stage lighting, checking the bulbs and color gels for the stage. Everything was off, those lights hadn’t been turned on yet. But, we heard him scream and came running. He’d gotten some nasty burns on his hands when he was handling a bulb. I’m talking big blisters and angry, red welts. We had to take him to urgent care and he had to take time off to let his hands heal. But, like I said, those bulbs were cold when we checked them, there’s no way the bulbs caused the burns. We’ve had other similar injuries since, more burns, one girl had to get stitches when a bulb shattered in her hands, a light even crashed down on the stage one night. It’s already a small crew, but we’re down several people because they can’t work, or they’re too freaked out to work on the catwalks.”

Mashita looks toward the last stagehand, Noda. “And, you?” Noda’s face twists a bit before he starts.

“I’m part of the general backstage crew. We arrange the sets, handle the props, prep and cue up the performers before they go onstage, and keep the shows going smoothly while the performers, tech crew, and directors do their things. We’re also in charge of storing and managing the props, background pieces, and backdrops when they’re not in immediate use. So, even when a show isn’t in progress, we’re running around and moving things all the time. There’s several of us, because of everything we handle, but we’re falling apart with all the accidents and damage happening to our people and under our responsibility. We’ve had heavy backgrounds fall over on people, storage rooms looking like a hurricane blew through them when they were definitely organized and locked up the day before, and way too many props and set pieces have burn damage to them.”

That catches Mashita’s attention. Yashiki looks up from his notes as well. “Burn damage? What does that mean?” Mashita asks.

“You know, the stuff looks burned. Scorch marks, parts burned away, melted or warped plastic. It doesn’t make any sense, though! There’s no way any of it could have burned without the fucking fire alarms going off, with all the damage we’ve been seeing. We can’t even find anything that could be causing it, and then there’s the creepy shit. People feeling like someone is following them around backstage. Random people, too, but they all say the same thing: feeling watched, like someone is behind you, with an unexplained heat and the smell of burning.”

Noda looks away, rubbing one arm. “Even me. I was moving some heavy set pieces and props into storage and just felt these eyes on me. Nobody was nearby, so I thought it was just paranoia, so I tried to go back to moving the props. But, it rushed up behind me, the heat and that smell. Like a bonfire was at my back, watching me, waiting for me to do something. When I tried to turn around and look, it just stopped. It was like the others said.” The last bit is said quietly, as Noda’s hand clenches onto his sleeve, wrinkling the material, and he doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. Eto tries to put a hand on his shoulder, an act of comfort, but Noda shakes him off. “I’m fine. Don’t touch me.”

Higuchi turns to Mashita and Yashiki, asking, “Are we done here? We have work to do before the rehearsal for the evening performance.”

“Yeah, sure. Got other people to talk to, anyway,” Mashita says, dismissing them. The stagehands turn back to the storage closet, returning to handling the equipment and talking quietly among themselves.

Walking down the hall, Mashita and Yashiki stop behind the curtains demarcating the divide between the stage and backstage. “What do you make of all that?” Mashita says.

Yashiki pauses for a moment. “It doesn’t seem like whatever is causing the problems here is interested in killing people, yet at least. They seem to be escalating in aggression and danger, though.”

“Mm.” Mashita examines the surrounding stage wings as he mulls over his thoughts. More people are starting to filter into the backstage, heading down the opposite hall from the storage and office area they’d just left. “Looks like some of the performers are arriving.”

“Let’s go talk to them, then,” Yashiki suggests, leading the way to the other hall.

Mashita grumbles as they walk. “Just try to keep them focused. I’d rather not waste time on idle drama gossip.”

Chapter Text

It seems like this hall is made up of several dressing rooms, and large room for costumes and accessories, as the row of doors lining the wall have stars and door numbers affixed to them, and the large room at the end of the hall is open, racks of costumes in view of the doorway. The sound of cheerful voices talking is coming from one of the dressing rooms.

Yashiki knocks lightly on the dressing room door. “Excuse me?”

The chattering on the other side of the door stops. A singular voice pipes up and there’s a sound of footsteps approaching the door. The door opens slightly, a young woman on the other side. “Hi?”

“Sorry to bother you, but could we ask you about what’s been happening at the theater? Mr. Iwamoto sent us,” Yashiki says.

“Really?” the young woman asks. There’s a murmuring behind her, someone asking something, and she looks over her shoulder in the direction of the sound. “Hang on a sec.” She closes the door as the other voices in the room speak, the sound muffled by the door. It’s only a moment before the door is fully opened. “Sorry, I couldn’t just let someone into the room without asking first,” the young woman from before says as she steps aside to let them in.

There’s three other young people in the room, two young women and a young man. One of the women is sitting at the vanity on the other side of the room, the man is sitting on a folding chair nearby, and the other woman is standing between man and the vanity. The one at the vanity has her hair pinned up in a bun, and is wearing a wide terrycloth headband. A similar headband is on the man’s head as well. Makeup palettes and brushes are laid out across the vanity, some having already been used, judging by the half-applied eyeliner on the man and the beginnings of a fake scar on the woman’s cheek. All of them are dressed down, in casual street wear rather than the business wear the other staff have been in.

“We were practicing stage makeup on Kayo and Haruo,” the woman at the door explains as she rejoins her friends by the vanity.

The woman at the vanity takes charge, introducing the group, “Pleased to meet you. I’m Makino Kayomi. This is Uehara Haruo,” she points to the man, “Date Kiho,” indicating the woman standing by the vanity, “and Tamura Fukumi is the one you met at the door.”

“Nice to meet you, Makino,” Yashiki replies. “I’m Yashiki Kazuo, and this is my friend and colleague, Mashita Satoru.”

“So, you’re here about the ghost, right?” Tamura asks, her face lighting up in barely concealed curiosity. “It’s been all that anyone has talking about backstage for months. It’s so mysterious! All these accidents. Nobody knows why it’s happening.”

“But, none of us have been really affected, Fukumi. We’ve seen the aftermath of accidents, been in the same places as the stagehands, even done some performances before now, but we’re unhurt,” Uehara reminds her. He looks over at her. “I hate to sound like I don’t care about the stagehands, but I’m glad for that small miracle, at least.”

She grins and pinches his cheek. “Aww, you’re so cute, Haruo!” Uehara squawks and bats her hand away.

“Quit teasing him, Fukumi,” Makino sighs, her wearied tone showing that this is a regular occurrence.

“Haruo is right, though,” Date says. “None of the actors, performers, or the costume department workers have been involved with any of the accidents.”

“Really? No injuries, damaged or lost belongings, nothing?” Mashita asks, his gaze pinning the young woman in place. She falters and looks down, shy under the scrutiny.

“None,” Makino confirms, taking the attention off her friend.

“But, we have had some weird incidents!” Tamura pipes up, holding up a finger to emphasize her point.

“Incidents,” Mashita says, his face blank and tone flat. Great.

“Yeah! Kayo, remember that evening a few weeks ago, when I was helping you practice your story time parts before the night’s performers were due to come in?” Tamura turns to Makino.

“The singing,” Makino nods. “We heard someone singing down the hall. It was muffled, so we thought someone might be singing to themselves in one of the other dressing rooms, or the costume department.”

“I checked the rooms while Kayo was standing at the end of the hall, but nobody in the dressing rooms or costume department was singing. They didn’t even hear it!” Tamura says.

“Could it have come from elsewhere in the building?” Yashiki asks.

Tamura shakes her head. “It was only in this hall. And, it stopped when I started asking other people.”

“Could you describe the singing in more detail? Could you tell whether the singer was a man or woman? Or recognize the tune?” Yashiki asks, hopeful.

The women exchange looks. “We thought it was a woman. But, we don’t have any idea what the song was. It didn’t sound like any music genre I’m familiar with,” Makino says.

“It was so pretty, though. The voice and the song, I mean,” Tamura adds, sighing almost wistfully. “I think I’ve heard that voice again in the evenings, but it stops as soon as I go look, and it’s always happened randomly. It’s kinda frustrating.”

The conversation stalls, a moment of dead air.

“Anything else?” Mashita asks.

“Um.” Date speaks up, hesitant to continue. She fidgets, clasping and unclasping her hands, her eyes avoiding contact with the others in the room. “I…I think…I think the ghost…they might’ve scared somebody off that…c-cornered me after the performances wrapped up for the night...”

Her friends startle, all three rounding on her. “You didn’t tell us anything like that had happened,” Makino says, her tone woven through with concern.

“What happened?” Uehara asks. He leans forward, as if to reach out to Date, but is interrupted first.

“Whose ass do I need to kick?” Tamura butts in, eyes ablaze.

“Fukumi!” Makino scolds, throwing a sidelong glance at their guests, clearly wary of what they might do with Tamura’s threat.

“I’ll do it, I don’t care what anybody says about me,” Tamura huffs, crossing her arms and scowling.

“You can’t just do that,” Uehara protests. He turns in his seat to look at Tamura directly, grasping the chair back with a tight grip.

 Makino changes her focus fully onto Tamura. “You’ll get yourself arrested, thinking like that! What good will that do?” she rebukes, her volume increasing with her frustration.

“Nobody creeps on my friends and gets away with it, especially if it’s Kiho,” Tamura fires back in kind, matching Makino in a louder voice. The women glare at each other, bristling like a pair of hedgehogs.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Uehara shoots to his feet and inserts himself between the two. “You’re best friends, aren’t you? Calm down!”

“Stay out of this, Haruo. Fukumi needs to learn that she can’t just jump straight to revenge. She has to control her temper,” Makino warns him. Her tone has gone cold and her words clipped.

“Stop acting like you’re the boss! I can be as angry as I like! Kiho’s my oldest friend, so, yeah, I’m gonna get pissed off that someone went after her!” Tamura snaps. Her hands clench into fists and she stomps one foot to express her frustration.

“I…um…” Date is visibly uncomfortable at the direction the conversation has taken, and her friends' well-meaning, but unhelpful anger. Her breathing has started to pick up speed, and she shrinks back against the nearest wall, arms clasped around herself in a weak attempt at self-soothing. Fuck, she’s starting to panic.

“Oi, shut it!” Mashita interrupts the brewing drama, commanding their attention. He focuses onto Date. “Kid, look at me.”

She looks up at him, her face having lost some color, lip trembling. “I need you to take some deep breaths, alright? Breathe in fully, hold it for a second, then release, and repeat. Understand?” Mashita says to her, his voice stern, but not harsh.

“…O-okay.” She does as requested, taking several deep breaths. The tension slowly starts to ease from her body and her breathing returns to a more normal pace.

“Better?” Mashita asks. She nods. “Good.”

“You don’t need to push yourself if you can’t handle talking about it right now, Date,” Yashiki says. It isn’t easy, seeing how distressed the topic has made the soft-spoken young woman. He doesn’t want to press her for details and hurt her further, but there’s the threat of more casualties in the stagehands as time passes.

“But…” Date starts to say, her eyes flicking over to her friends.

That doesn’t escape the attention of Mashita. He thinks quickly, devising an approach that could work. “We still need to hear what happened, but we can ask your friends to leave, or we can go to another room. We can also put a pin in this for now, and come back to it later,” he says. He looks at the others. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” The hard look in his eyes states that he won’t be allowing any further bad behavior from them.

“No, sir,” Uehara says, looking to the other two for their responses.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Kiho,” Tamura says, now looking rather shame-faced, the fight having gone out of her upon realizing what she’d been unknowingly doing to her friend.

“I apologize as well. I’m just worried. Do what helps you,” Makino adds.

Date’s gaze shifts between her friends, to Mashita and Yashiki, and back. She grips onto the hem of her jacket as she debates her options, fingers brushing along the fabric. She closes her eyes and takes in another deep breath as she makes her decision. She breathes out as she looks up at the men again. “Could we go into a different dressing room, please? I do want to talk about it, it’s just scary,” she says.

“Dressing room 5 should be empty, you can go in there. The rooms aren’t locked when they’re not in use,” Makino suggests. She looks over at Uehara and Tamura. “I think we need to have a much needed conversation, in the meantime.”

“Ugh, you sound like Auntie when you say that,” Uehara whines, slumping down into his chair again.

“Dressing room 5. Got it,” Mashita says. He turns on his heel and leaves the dressing room.

“After you,” Yashiki says to Date, letting her out the door first. She nods in thanks and exits, with Yashiki following behind. “Thank you for your help,” he says to the other three over his shoulder.

“Come back once you’re done, okay, Kiho?” Tamura calls as they shut the door behind them.

Dressing room 5 is a couple doors down. As Makino said, the door is unlocked, but the lights are off. Turning on the lights reveals a similar set up to the one they’d just been in: a vanity against the wall, the chair pushed up to it, and a small cabinet and a folding chair sitting against the wall perpendicular to it. Date pulls the chair out from the vanity and takes a seat. Her eyes are moving between the men, her expression unsure.

“Would you mind if I write the pertinent details down, for reference?” Yashiki says.

Date purses her lips and looks down at her clasped hands in her lap for a moment, then looks up, nodding. “Go ahead. I’ll try to help as much as I can. What do you want to know?” Yashiki pulls the notebook out and looks over to Mashita to begin.

“First, when did the incident happen?” Mashita asks.

“A month ago. It was late, probably around midnight. It was after one of the weekend shows. Those go on later than the weekday shows, since they’re intended for an adult audience,” Date explains.

“Good to know. Where did it take place?”

“In the auditorium. I was helping out by picking up after the show, and went to go back to the backstage when I finished. That’s when someone grabbed my arm.” Date winces at the memory, unconsciously rubbing her arm, likely where she had been grabbed.

“Did you know them?”

She shakes her head. “No. I think he was an audience member. Maybe a salaryman? He was dressed like one. I’m not sure where he’d been beforehand. The ushers are usually pretty good at making sure everyone leaves after the show and before we put things away for the night.”

Her gaze shifts away as she continues recalling the memory. “He was drunk. I could smell it on him when he tried to make me turn around.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “I tried to get away by pushing him back and trying to break his hold on my arm, but then he grabbed my other arm. He was saying… he was saying something about me, and started pushing me back, towards the shadows by the side door.” Her shoulders tremble and her left hand wraps around her right forearm, pulling it to her chest. “I was really scared! I couldn’t speak, and trying to get away wasn’t working. I just wanted him to go away!” she says, nearly shouting as she finishes the sentence.

She falls silent, using the deep breathing technique to compose herself again. She continues speaking. “Just then, I felt this warmth wrap around me, and I heard a popping sound. Then, that man screamed and let go of my arms, and grabbed onto his face.” Her eyebrows draw inward in concentration as she continues. “I think I saw blisters forming on the side of his face. I heard that popping sound again and that guy ran out of the building, cursing as he ran away. The warmth stayed with me after he was gone. I saw something glowing out of the corner of my eye and turned to look. Then, the warmth left, and I was alone again.”

She looks back at the pair. “I saw a hand covered in fire on my shoulder before it disappeared with the warmth. I think that it was the ghost. They protected me from that man and scared him away. I don’t understand it, but I’m really thankful they did. I didn’t talk about it earlier because I couldn’t believe what happened, and then, I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I did. I didn’t have anything to prove it.”

“That’s an understandable fear. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Thank you for telling us. It was brave of you,” Yashiki says, closing the notebook. Date nods at him, although she looks rather shy at the praise.

“Seems like we’re done here. You can go back to your friends, kid,” Mashita concludes, moving to open the door. Date stands up, brushing off her skirt, and pushes the chair back. They all start to leave the room.

Then, Yashiki notices a conflicted expression pass over Date’s face as she stops next to him, just short of the door. “ Date?” He looks down at her, concerned.

“There’s something you should know. Involving the ghost,” she starts to say, her eyes darting around nervously.

Mashita turns back around. “What?”

“I’m not supposed to tell anyone. Only the actors and costume department know about it. But, I think you’ll need to look into it.” She fidgets, dithering, before balling her hands into fists at her side, resolute. “There’s a hidden shrine in the actors’ wing.”

“There’s a what?” Mashita blurts out, incredulous at what she just said. Yashiki isn’t much better off, remaining silent as he processes the information.

Date explains, “I don’t know who made it or when. It’s a secret passed between the actors and costumers, that there’s a shrine dedicated to the theater ghost. We usually leave a quick prayer or an offering at it before shows, like a good luck charm.”

“It sounds like a superstition, like saying break a leg before a performance to ward off bad luck,” Yashiki comments.

Date nods. “Actors tend to be superstitious. But, I can’t tell you where it is exactly or how to find it.”

“Why the hell not?” Mashita is visibly annoyed now, a scowl settling onto his features.

Date blanches, apologetic, but unwavering. “I’m really breaking the rules telling you just this much. But,” she pulls something out of a pocket in her jacket, “I can give you this.” She hands Yashiki a small pouch.

“What’s it for?” he asks.

“The things inside will help. I can’t tell you any more than that, I’m sorry.” She takes the opportunity to leave, scooting around Mashita. She pauses in the doorway. “Thank you, Mister. For helping me earlier,” she says, and she’s gone out the door.

A beat of silence passes.

“Well, that just happened,” Mashita mutters. Yashiki opens the zippered pouch. There’s a number of bobby pins, a few hair ties, a thin metal nail file, and a decorative floral hair stick inside. “Just looks like a bunch of accessories,” Mashita says, peering into the pouch.

“She seemed pretty convinced of their usefulness,” Yashiki replies, zipping the pouch closed again and stowing it into his bag. Mashita rolls his eyes and leaves the room. Yashiki follows after him into the hallway again.

There’s more activity in the backstage area now. People are moving stacks of chairs and music stands out to the stage, where others are setting them up into a semi-circle. A stagehand brushes past them on the way towards the costume department.

“Seems like we won’t be able to continue the investigation with this many people around. Come on, let’s go back to Iwamoto,” Mashita says, leading the way back to the manager’s office.

They dodge the busy stagehands and enter the office again. The man is busily working at the computer, but he pauses when he sees them entering. “Back so soon?” he asks.

“There’s too many people around for us to investigate further for now. Besides, it’s the late afternoon now, and ghosts and ghouls tend to be more active at night, after all,” Mashita comments.

Iwamoto pales a bit at the mention of the supernatural. He shakes it off. “Ah, that makes sense. I suppose you’ll leave for now, and return later tonight?”

“It would be best for us to investigate once the building is empty for the night,” Yashiki says.

That makes Iwamoto frown. “That would be after 11 pm. The building will be locked up by then. Although, I’d rather not have to ask someone to stay late to let you in.”

“Then, give us a key to the door, and we can let ourselves in to get to work. Problem solved,” Mashita responds, folding his arms.

Iwamoto’s frown deepens, gears turning in his head. Then, he sighs and goes to open a drawer in his desk. “I’m not supposed to give out keys to the entrances, but, since you’re here at my request, I suppose I have to,” he says, pulling a key ring from the drawer. He flips through the keys until he finds the one he wants, removes it from the ring, and holds it out. “This key will open the staff door you entered through. Please, don’t lose it. The executives would have my head.”

Mashita snags the key and pockets it. “We’ll keep it safe, Mr. Iwamoto. We’ll let you get back to work,” Yashiki says.

“Whenever you conclude your investigation tonight, please, arm the security system before you leave. The control pad is on the left side of the door, it’s hard to miss. It’s a simple process, but there’s a note above it that details the steps just in case,” Iwamoto requests.

“We got it. Turn the security system on, don’t lose the door key. Not rocket science,” Mashita says. “Let’s go, Yashiki.”

They leave the office and head to the staff door, weaving around the stagehands, until they exit the theater. Back out in the cold air, they keep walking until they’re well away from the side alley and back onto the sidewalk.

“What should we do until 11?” Yashiki asks.

Mashita is busy pulling out and lighting a cigarette, inhaling his vice of choice before answering, “Why not head back to the mansion and organize what we know. I’d like to look in those records in your garage. I have a hunch I need to confirm.”

Yashiki nods, motioning for him to follow him back to his car, parked in a nearby parking garage. “That was impressive,” he remarks as they walk.

“Hm? What?” Mashita asks, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Earlier, with Date. I didn’t say it at the time, but I was impressed at how you managed to get her to calm down and refocus so quickly,” Yashiki clarifies.

“Tch, I wasn’t gonna just let the kid have a panic attack, especially when she ended up giving us useful information. Besides, de-escalation is one of the things they teach you in my previous line of work.” He looks away from Yashiki. There’s a light dusting of pink high on his cheeks. Interesting. Usually, he’d say I was being creepy by complimenting him, but here he is looking almost bashful. I wonder…

“You say you hate dealing with kids, but you’re still good at handling them,” Yashiki says, keeping his tone light. It’s not every day I get to ruffle your feathers, instead of the other way around.

“With how they seem to flock around you, I get a lot of practice. I still say you shouldn’t let those brats do whatever they want. You’re not a daycare service,” Mashita mutters.

Yashiki shrugs off the barbed words, used to how spiky Mashita is by now. “They’re just a lively bunch. I enjoy their company. It’s a welcome change from how empty the mansion usually is.”

It’s true, how empty and lonely the mansion is when it’s just him there. That huge house meant for many occupants, reduced to being occupied by just one person, the last of his family. It can get oppressive, the weight of silence pressing down on him, to the point it almost feels like he’s breaking an unspoken rule by making any noise. So, when there isn’t anyone else visiting, he often finds himself moving quietly and inobtrusively through the halls. Almost like how it was when we were children, expected to be seen, but not heard. It’s no surprise, then, that he welcomes the cheerful chaos and noise that accompanies visits from the younger Mark Bearers.

Mashita can’t deny how unsettling the mansion can feel when it goes quiet. “Just don’t let them drag you into their nonsense, especially Moe. She’s almost as bad as you when it comes to sticking her nose into dangerous things.”

“So mean.” Yashiki’s tone is mellow, proving his words to be meant in jest.

Mashita rolls his eyes, “I’m not gonna bullshit you. You know that.”

Yashiki shakes his head at that. “Blunt to a fault, as always. Although, if you suddenly started being incredibly polite, I would have to assume you’ve been replaced by something.”

“Damn right you should. I’d expect you to do something about it too,” Mashita quips back. He gives him a sidelong look, but his lips quirk up in a slight smile.

“Of course, I would,” Yashiki replies. He’s very sincere about it, too. There’s no way I’d stand by and let you run into danger again.

There’s a pleased gleam in Mashita’s eyes when his smile widens for a moment. It’s a smug sort of gleam, like he’d gotten a prize he’d been after. The look fades quickly when his gaze is drawn elsewhere and he points to something ahead of them. “Well, there’s your answer; and there’s your car, let’s get out of here.” Yashiki’s car is only a few parking spaces away when he looks up in the direction Mashita indicated.

“So, it is.” It doesn’t take them very long to reach the car and get inside, the car shielding them from the cold. Yashiki takes the wheel while Mashita slips into the passenger seat. Yashiki starts the engine, and they leave the garage and the theater behind for now.

Chapter Text

Back at the mansion, they part ways, Mashita staying in the garage, and Yashiki heading to the kitchen. He goes through the familiar process of preparing a pot of coffee in the French press and setting a timer, settling against the counter as it brews.

He reviews the information they’ve gathered so far, summarizing the details.

• The supernatural events started the previous autumn.
• The spirit is actively hostile to the stagehands, but benevolent to the performers and those in the costume department. The spirit’s aggression is increasing.
• The spirit acts out by using electric shocks, burning, causing accidents, and acts of intimidation, both physically (heat) and psychologically (the feeling of being watched).
• The stagehands are angry at the continued threat of injury, and several are unable to or afraid to work.
• The spirit sings in the dressing room area. The voice sounds like a woman.
• The spirit can manifest itself in a visible form and appears to be covered in fire. That matches up with the reports of burning and heat.

The ringing of the timer breaks off his train of thought. After straining the coffee, he pours the contents of the French press into two mugs and prepares one mug of coffee for himself. He takes the mug with him into the study, setting it on the desk. He starts up the computer, and drinks the coffee as it loads.

He’d become proficient enough with the computer through Eita’s instruction to be able to conduct his own research on the internet. Which was good, as the man was currently back to working during the day, and not as able to volunteer to do the research for him. That didn’t mean that the BBSes weren’t still confusing for a relative beginner like himself, however.

He opens the internet browser and navigates to the occult BBS Moe had shown him before. She had said it was a good place to check out rumors of supernatural phenomena, or at least get an idea of what people were saying about them. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but if this BBS could give him an idea of where to look for information on the theater’s ghost, he’d take it.

It takes him a little while to find a promising thread:

“[ Ghost in Theater - Rumor or Real? ]

[ NekoNekoHime ]: Hey, has anyone heard about the ghost of the downtown theater?

[ Byakko11111 ]: The movie theater or the performance hall?

[ NekoNekoHime ]: The performance hall.

[ Byakko11111 ]: Nah, tell us!

[ NekoNekoHime ]: I heard from a friend that an actor died on the premises and won’t leave.

[ Byakko11111 ]: Boooooooooooring.

[ NekoNekoHime ]: Come on, man.

[ TheGreatOnmyoji ]: That ghost is a strange one. It hates the people who work there, but won’t attack the performers.

[ NekoNekoHime ]: See? You get me. Do you know why there would be a ghost there tho?

[ TheGreatOnmyoji ]: The usual reasons - they died there. An accident, from what most people say. I heard that it might not have been so accidental.

[ Byakko11111 ]: You have my attention.

[ TheGreatOnmyoji ]: You didn’t hear it from me, but there was supposedly a dispute between the management and the actors. The accident might’ve been reprisal against the victim that turned deadly.

[ Byakko11111 ]: Ew.

[ NekoNekoHime ]: That would explain some things. Do you know anything else? I heard it has burning coals for eyes that it uses to watch people. Like it brought the fires of hell back with it.

[ TheGreatOnmyoji ]: That’s about what I know as well. I’ll update you if I learn anything new.”

The thread hasn’t updated in a month or so. Unfortunate, but it does provide a couple clues to investigate.

He can hear sounds coming from the kitchen, so Yashiki gets up from the desk and takes his now empty mug with him. Mashita is standing at the counter, mug of coffee in hand, and several binders sitting on the countertop. “Thanks for the coffee,” he says as Yashiki heads to the sink.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks while he washes the mug.

“Just about. I pulled the files from the time I have a hunch about,” Mashita jerks a thumb toward the binders on the counter.

Yashiki glances over his shoulder to look at him. “When would that be?”

“Seven years ago. I remember something about a theater in the same area from that time.” Mashita drums his fingers on the mug in his hands as he thinks.

Yashiki puts the clean mug on the dish rack to dry, and turns to face him. “I’ll help you go through the files. Let’s take them to the library, there’s more space to work with.”

 “I’ll meet you there. Coffee first.” Well, Yashiki can’t say he’s surprised by that response. He picks up the binders and leaves the detective to his coffee break.

An hour later, they’re sitting in plush chairs in the library, with the opened binders spread out in front of them, when a particular article clipping from around the end of the summer of 1991 catches Yashiki’s attention.

“ Blaze Destroys Theater!

The old theater at E Street in H City caught fire yesterday evening, gutting the structure and landing several in the hospital and morgue.

The blaze, which, according to witnesses, started backstage during the evening performance, quickly overtook the efforts of staff to contain the fire. The audience was evacuated with few casualties, thanks to the lowering of the fire curtains keeping the fire from spreading into the auditorium. Many people working backstage were not so lucky. The count of the injured and deceased is not known at this time, but is estimated to number over 40 injured by smoke inhalation, burns, and crush injuries. Officials are still removing the deceased from the building and beginning investigations into the cause of the blaze.

Firefighters were able to put out the fire after hours of fighting the blaze, but much of the structure has been destroyed, and it is unsure if the theater can be salvaged. The theater, built in the 1950s, has been a fixture of the downtown area ever since it opened. It was a favorite for many local live performance companies and acts.”

“Mashita, look,” he says as he hands the clipping over.

Mashita skims the article briefly. “This is what I was looking for. Good work.”

“So, you remembered that there was a fire at the location where the theater stands today?” Yashiki asks.

“A bit. I mostly remembered that there was a lot of legal wrangling in the aftermath. Allegations of neglect on part of the management, fighting over what to do with the ruins, that kind of stuff. Clearly, things settled, since there’s a new theater on the spot.”

“Hm.” Yashiki looks back at the article. “The ghost is associated with burning, so they must have been one of the victims. But, why are they the only one, I wonder?”

Mashita flips though more of the binder. He pulls out another article. It seems to be a follow-up to the previous one.

“ Theater Fire Claims the Lives of 7, Injures 42

The fire that destroyed a theater on E Street last week is currently under investigation by the local police department, as a result of the number of deaths and injuries incurred.

A total of 7 people have died as a result of the fire, leaving another 42 treated or hospitalized from injuries ranging from smoke inhalation to broken bones from falling debris. The deaths and worst injuries were found among those working backstage, as stagehands were able to bring down the fire curtains when the fire became uncontrollable, sparing the audience from more serious damage.

As a result of the damage sustained by the fire, the theater has been deemed unfit for habitation by the city, even if renovations were to be undertaken. It is unknown at this time what will happen to the theater once the investigation into the fire has concluded.

Debut Entertainment Group, the owning company of the theater, has issued the following statement: ‘We truly regret that this unfortunate incident has occurred in one of our properties. We are doing our best to cooperate with the investigation into the cause of the fire. Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of the deceased and injured.’”

“What a useless response,” Mashita mutters and shakes his head. There’s a flutter of paper as a different article clipping falls from the binder. He catches it and, after skimming it, hands it to Yashiki.

“ 8 ^th  Victim’s Body Found in Theater Fire Investigation Amid Controversy

Investigation into the fatal theater fire that occurred two weeks ago has uncovered a previously unknown victim of the fire.

The 8 ^th fatal victim was found when investigators examined a room that had been blocked by debris. The victim seemingly succumbed to injuries after becoming trapped inside the room, according to a police spokesperson. Further results from the medical examiner’s office are pending. The victim’s identity has yet to be positively confirmed.

This discovery comes in the midst of allegations that the owning company, Debut Entertainment Group, neglected to prioritize the safety of workers and patrons prior to the fire, which lead to the large number of casualties. A worker at the theater, who wished to remain anonymous, said: ‘The theater was a firetrap. Narrow hallways, not enough exits, few smoke detectors, and even fewer fire extinguishers. Management ignored our complaints. The fire was inevitable.’

Adding insult to injury, all of the deceased, save for the recently discovered body, have been identified as workers at the theater. While many of the injured included audience members, the worst injuries among survivors were found with those working that night. A local workers’ advocacy group has offered to represent the injured workers in a lawsuit against Debut Entertainment Group, in order to receive compensation for their injuries and pay for the funeral expenses of their deceased colleagues. In order to contribute towards these efforts, you can contact…”

Yashiki looks up from the yellowed newspaper at Mashita. There’s a grim look on his face. “If that’s the spirit, they would definitely have good reason to be pissed. Dying in a fire and not being found for a whole two weeks, and only being found because of the investigation? Damn,” he grimaces.

“That doesn’t explain the aggression towards the stagehands, though,” Yashiki points out.

Mashita shrugs and puts the articles back in their respective sections. “Eh, we can look into that further later. What we have so far is a good point of reference for more research.”

“Hm. We’ll have to look into the fire and maybe obituaries from back then, and…” Yashiki’s interrupted by an indignant gurgling from his stomach, his face flushing red once he realizes what it is. Mashita laughs and gets to his feet.

“Seems like we should get started on dinner before doing anything else, by the sounds of that,” he says, amused by Yashiki’s embarrassment. “C’mon, let’s cook something that isn’t ramen for once.”

Yashiki stands up with a sigh. “After the scolding Daimon gave me for my ‘poor eating habits’ and ‘neglecting my health’, I made sure to get ingredients to cook healthier meals. There should be recipes in the kitchen.”

“Like he’s one to talk about neglecting one’s health,” Mashita rolls his eyes. “But, making dinner sounds like a good way to use up the time we have until we can head back to the theater. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Later that night, after 11 pm, they return to the theater.

The atmosphere of the theater has changed. The lighting is the most obvious. The lights in the lobby and auditorium are off, and most of the lights backstage are off, only dim emergency lights high on the ceiling illuminating the halls. The darkness doesn’t feel oppressive yet. It’s silent save for the humming of the heating systems in the background. Yashiki pulls his flashlight out and turns it on. “Where should we go first?” he asks.

Mashita considers their options for a moment. “I want to see what that kid was talking about. It’s the best lead we can investigate here.”

Yashiki directs the flashlight’s beam down the hall to their left. “Okay, let’s head to the actors’ wing.”

They turn down the hallway and soon find themselves outside the dressing rooms. “Date said the shrine is hidden in the hallway itself,” Yashiki says, shining the flashlight over the walls and doors.

Mashita skims over the walls. “It must be hidden in a wall. We’ll have to look for a hollow part of the wall or something behind a frame.” He steps close to the nearest wall, scrutinizing the framed art hanging there. He lifts it from the wall. There’s nothing being the frame but a smooth wall.

“Yashiki, give me a hand here. I’ll check this side, you check the other.” He gestures to the opposite side of the hall.

Yashiki nods and walks up to the closest frame on the other wall. “Got it.”

They systematically check behind each frame. Eventually, Mashita finds a thin seam in the wall hidden behind a frame. “Oi, Yashiki,” he calls.

Yashiki walks over to examine the area. There’s definitely something suspicious there. The seam is too thin to lever open by hand. Then, he remembers the pouch Date had given him. He pulls it out and examines the contents again. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Mashita asks.

“She said we’d need the things in here to open the shrine.” Yashiki looks to the seam in the wall, and down to the pouch in his hands. He decides to pull the metal nail file out. He puts the edge of the nail file into the seam, sliding it along the seam to loosen the sides, then tilts it, searching for a lever point. There’s a soft scraping sound, and the hidden panel pops open.

“About time,” Mashita says next to him, peering inside as Yashiki shines the light into the small alcove.

As Date said, there’s a tiny wooden shrine hidden there. Two bud vases stand on either side of the shrine, one with a wilted flower drooping from it. An offering plate sits in front of the shrine, a slice of cake sitting on it. Other things sit scattered around the offering plate, bits of costume jewelry, a small decorative tragedy mask, ticket stubs, and small souvenir postcards. Yashiki is puzzled about the cake, until he pokes it and finds it smooth and dry. It’s a well made piece of shokuhin sampuru, apparently in the shape of a slice of tirimisu.

“They’ve got quite the setup in here,” Mashita observes. He picks up one of the souvenir postcards and examines it. “Do you have any idea what these places are?”

Yashiki takes the postcard from him. It depicts a stately, Western-style building, with a marble facade. “It looks like somewhere in Europe. The style is somewhat familiar, but I’m not sure.”

“Didn’t you tell me you traveled through Europe looking for answers about Mary? Maybe you’ve been there?” Mashita suggests.

Yashiki gives a rueful shake of his head. “I did, but I spent most of my time in archives, museums, and libraries. This doesn’t look like any of those. My memories of that time are still a bit fuzzy, so even if I had been to this location, even in passing, it wasn’t important enough to me to commit to memory. I’m sorry.”

Mashita doesn’t look that disappointed by his response. “Eh, I figured it was a long-shot. Just another thing to look up later.”

“I suppose so.” Yashiki picks one of the souvenir postcards at random and tucks it away in his bag.

Mashita looks into the shrine doors and pulls them open. Inside the shrine, there’s a small wooden box and a small framed photo behind it. He takes the box out and opens the lid. It’s full of loose folded slips of paper. Unfolding one, he reads the message inside: “Wish us luck for tonight’s premiere.” He unfolds another: “Thank you for giving Jiyuu the boost he needed.” These must be the prayers Date mentioned. He hands the box to Yashiki and takes the flashlight from him. Mashita then goes to examine the picture frame in the back of the shrine.

The frame holds a photo of a group of people onstage, in full costume. It looks like they’re actors celebrating the end of a show, judging by the bright smiles they wear and the bouquets some hold. He flips the frame over, and undoes the clips holding it shut, pulling the photo out. Looking at the back of the photo, there’s a date written in small print: "June 20^th,, 1991." There’s a message written in the same handwriting below it: “Our Happiest Night.”

“There we go,” he mutters.

Yashiki looks up from where he’s been examining the box of prayers. “Huh?”

Mashita hands the photo to Yashiki. “Check the date on the back. The fact that this is here is too much of a coincidence to say this spirit isn’t related to the old theater.” He takes the box back, but stops when the sound of something stiffer than the paper slips sliding around comes from inside. He opens the box again and pushes the paper slips aside. There’s a yellowed envelope at the bottom. He pulls the envelope out, and puts the box back inside the shrine to examine it.

Inside the envelope is a faded handwritten letter. Some of the words have been blurred, either from age or handling, and made illegible. The contents read:

“Dearest Ri****,

We hope this ******* reaches you, wherever you are. We’ve made this ***** in secret to honor your ******. We tried to *** * ******** put up instead, but *** ****** refused. We couldn’t **** leaving you *********.

Please, forgive us. We should have **** ***** *** you when you needed ****, like you always **** ***** for **. Guilt haunts us for ******* to do anything ******. We’re sorry. We’re so very *****. We miss you.

May our **** *** ******* guide you to *****. We pray that we **** ***** in the next ****.

Adieu, our Lily.”

“Seems like whoever made the shrine and hid it regretted something to do with the spirit,” Yashiki says from where he’s reading the letter over Mashita’s shoulder. “From the sounds of it, they were close.”

“Maybe. There’s not much detail remaining in this. Did you notice the way it’s addressed?” Mashita points to the beginning of the letter.

“The character for ‘Ri’?” Yashiki asks.

“Yeah. Looks like a name.”

Yashiki squints at the faded characters at the top of the letter. “There might be one or two more characters in it, if it’s a name. It’s hard to tell.”

“Just write in your notebook that we’re looking for someone whose name begins with ‘Ri’ that has two or three characters in it,” Mashita says as he puts the letter back inside the envelope and returns it to the box. “Doubt we’ll need this anymore, so I’m putting it back.”

Once the box is back in the shrine, that leaves only the photo out of place. “Should we take the photo with us for research, or put it back? It feels important,” Yashiki wonders aloud.

Mashita shrugs. “I say bring it. We can always put it back afterward.”

Yashiki nods and goes to put the photo away with the souvenir postcard from earlier, but freezes in place, the photo still in his hand. He feels a distinct sensation of being watched that manifested with that action. Mashita glances at him, as if asking why he stopped, and notices his sudden tension. He quickly scans their surroundings, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Something’s here,” Yashiki warns.

“Obviously,” Mashita hisses.

A decision must be made here. The spirit became hostile when they went to take the photo, but he can’t deny how useful it will be. What should I do? “A plan any time now would be great, Yashiki,” Mashita growls. A high-pitched whine starts coming from one of the lamp sconces lining the walls, a faint glow emanating from it.

“I’m working on it!” Yashiki swaps the photo to his off-hand and tries to work out whether anything he has in his bag could be useful.

“Well, hurry it up!” The whining noise is becoming louder, approaching painful levels of volume. Then, sharp crack rings out from the sconce, and they look over at it in unison. “Goddammit…” Mashita mutters. A pair of blazing eyes glowers at them out of the sconce, bathing the hall in igneous light.

Remembering something, Yashiki reaches for the pouch of accessories again and pulls out the hair stick. It’s in the shape of a blooming lily. The letter addressed a “Lily.” This could work. He puts the hair stick into the empty bud vase, like it’s a real flower. The effect of the offering is instantaneous. The eyes and their light disappear from the sconce and the noise goes quiet. The spirit’s anger at having an offering taken was quelled by giving another. That was the correct choice.

“That sucked,” Mashita groans. The tense stance he’d taken in response to the threat relaxes, and he rubs at his forehead, like he’s trying to relieve a headache.

It looks like the rumor from the BBS about the ghost having fiery eyes is true. I could have lived without that confirmation, though. With the threat gone for now, Yashiki puts the photo away in his bag and turns back to the alcove. “I’m going to close this up again. I think we’re done with the shrine,” he says. They shut the shrine doors, close the panel, and hang the frame back up, covering the panel again.

“We haven’t even gotten very far, and this thing is already throwing a fit. What a great sign,” Mashita grumbles. In the privacy of his own thoughts, Yashiki agrees with him. It was not a good sign of things to come that they’d already managed to catch the spirit’s attention and anger it.

“We should leave this area for now,” Yashiki suggests.

“Right behind you.”

They head to the opposite wing. Mashita takes the lead and enters the manager’s office. It’s still as messy as it was earlier in the day. He flips through a haphazard stack of papers on one of the filing cabinets. “Is there something specific you’re looking for?” Yashiki asks.

“Accident reports. With the amount of people working here and the number of accidents, there has to be some record around here. The ones we need will probably be stashed some place.” Mashita doesn’t seem to find anything in this stack, shaking his head, and moves to another stack. “See if you can find any disciplinary records as well.”

“Why disciplinary records?” Yashiki asks as he peers around the office.

“Call it a hunch. I don’t believe the folks here when they say nobody knows what set the spirit off. Something pissed it off, and I’m willing to bet it’s in those records,” Mashita says over his shoulder as he opens a drawer and begins digging into the contents of a cabinet.

Accepting his reasoning, Yashiki moves to a different set of filing cabinets and tries opening a drawer. It slides out with some protest, its overfull contents straining the seemingly rusty tracks. Judging by the titles scribbled on the dividers, this drawer is full of contracts with the outside entertainers. He confirms they’re contracts by pulling a few out and skimming the top pages. He puts the contracts back and closes the drawer, not wanting to invade the theater’s private information any further. He moves on to the next drawer, finding it just as full as the last one. This one is full of inventory reports. The third drawer is full of past performance schedules.

“Found the accident reports,” Mashita calls from a low drawer. “They hid them down here. Probably to keep snoops from looking too hard.” He’s busy digging into the drawer, pulling folders out labeled by month and year.

Yashiki picks a different filing cabinet and starts the process of investigating it. This cabinet seems fully devoted to financial records: ticket sales, fees to rent the space, equipment and supply expenses, payroll, and on and on. It’s mind-numbingly boring and not useful for their purposes.

It’s when he reaches the third cabinet that he comes across employee records. He checks for the disciplinary records Mashita asked for, but they aren’t included in these employee records beyond a “Employee J was given Punishment N for Offense Q” kind of note in the records. He’s thinking of giving up on this cabinet when he finds the last drawer in this cabinet is locked. Trying the handle yields no results beyond making the items stacked on top of the filing cabinet wobble. There's a small keyhole in one corner.

“Problem?” Mashita asks, looking up from the accident records, an expression of mild amusement on his face.

“It’s locked.” Yashiki waves a hand at the cabinet in question.

“Must have something worthwhile inside it then. See if Iwamoto has keys in his desk.” Mashita gestures to the desk drawers.

Yashiki remembers which drawer Iwamoto had pulled the entrance key from, and looks inside it. There’s a jumble of pens, paperclips, and other office supplies, the ring of keys that Iwamoto had taken the staff door key from, and a clear plastic container with several small keys haphazardly tossed inside it. The keyhole on the cabinet drawer looks too small for the keys on the key ring, which just leaves the container of small ones. He’s unsure which key is the one he needs, so he pulls the container out and takes it to the locked drawer. Surprisingly, it only takes him a few keys until the lock turns and the drawer opens. He puts the container back, and looks into the drawer’s contents.

It’s mostly barren, save for a file folder at the very back. As Mashita predicted, this is the file of disciplinary reports, with detailed explanations of the infractions and corrective actions taken by management. Or rather, it should list management’s corrective actions, but, on closer inspection of the first reports in the file, it seems the manager who prepared these reports was very lax in taking any serious actions with the staff under his watch. The name of this manager is not Iwamoto, but a person by the name of Sawada, and appears to have been the manager directly before Iwamoto became the manager.

“Hey, Mashita, I found something.” He holds the folder out to him.

Mashita takes the folder. He looks pleased, like a cat that caught a slippery fish for dinner. “Good work. Now let’s see what they’ve been hiding in here.” He searches through the files, and separates a good chunk out from the rest of the folder. He splits the sheaf of papers in half and hands one half to Yashiki.

“Go through that and tell me if you find anything notable in it. Something that could be the straw that broke this camel’s back,” he says, before beginning to meticulously comb through the files, paper by paper.

Yashiki follows his instructions and starts his own examination of the files. His section begins about eight months ago, and seems fairly mundane at first. Someone was scolded for turning up to work late too many times. Someone else was slacking off. Another person got caught sneaking liquor to the younger staff. Then he finds a thicker section from about six months ago held together with a large clip.

The report starts with a ranting note attached to it from the writer, presumably Sawada:

“That imbecile Ono really did it this time. It’s easy enough paying off my own staff to look the other way when he gets handsy, but this time he thought it was a good idea to try his luck with a visitor. I guess being related to one of the executives makes him feel pretty invincible. But, now I have a troupe’s management on my back demanding answers and justice, and the executive isn’t here to defuse this mess. The moron keeps digging himself deeper too! He keeps talking about his little lapse of judgement with the stagehands that broke up the situation, apparently trying to get them to ‘see his side of things.’  It would be so much easier if he could just keep his big mouth shut! That executive doesn’t pay me enough to play babysitter for an overgrown lecherous child. Not to mention, if I can’t get this to blow over before it gets out of control, the executive says it’ll be my head on the chopping block, not that ‘darling boy.’”

The initial report itself details the incident referenced in the rant:

“Ono Kenta was caught by his coworkers attempting to enter the dressing room of a performer from a visiting troupe. The performer was followed by Ono after the night’s performance back to her dressing room, and would not leave even when she began shouting for help. He had to be forcibly stopped from trying to wrench the dressing room door open. This is not his first infraction of this kind, but the first involving a visitor. Attempting to put Ono on involuntary probation during resolution of the incident has not worked.”

There’s a list of names of the people involved, with their role beside them.

• "Subject of Discipline: Ono Kenta (Senior Stagehand)
• Superior: Sawada Futoru (General Manager)
• Other Employees Involved/Witnesses: Sumida Gorota (Senior Stagehand), Sakata Jikan (Senior Stagehand), Kido Horuda (Junior Stagehand), Adachi Funko (Junior Stagehand)

Stagehands Sumida, Sakata, and Kido had to restrain Stagehand Ono from causing further damage to theater property and remove him from the scene. Stagehand Adachi witnessed the incident and acted to calm the affected performer. Their actions have been deemed appropriate for the situation.”

The following report in the sequence is dated to a month and a half after the initial report, and lists an agreement between the theater and the Lunar Circle Acrobatics Company, an outside performing arts group. The theater agreed to pay a significant sum of money to the group in reparations for the attempted assault, and the group agreed to keep the matter quiet in return. A note by Manager Sawada is written at the bottom of the report, summarizing the details and situation at the time:

“Resolution to the dispute between the theater and the performance troupe has been achieved. It was expensive, but the executive used his own funds to facilitate a quicker result. He also managed to scold Ono into silence. Damage to dressing room 4’s door has been repaired and the door has been repainted. It appears that the situation will be forgotten soon enough.”

Despite the confidence in the note, there’s another, less complacent note appended to the report.

“We had to take Ono to the hospital today. He was smoking in the theater again when he burst into flames. The other stagehands had to put him out, but he’s not looking good. Burns on his hands, arms, and front. The worst is his face. He’s gotten in trouble for smoking in the theater before, but there’s no reason for the severity of the burning. Unless the idiot was drinking on the job again, as well as smoking. Who knows? It gets him out of my hair for a while.”

The details in the report come from an earlier point in the timeline they’d been given, but it can’t be just coincidence that an abusive stagehand had ended up hospitalized with burns after having a serious incident covered up by management. Given that the attacks on other stagehands had begun after this report had been filed, the documented pattern of neglect when it came to disciplinary action and cover-ups of harassment on the part of the previous manager, and what Date had said about her attack, it would appear that they may have found the inciting incident that awakened the spirit’s wrath. “I think I found it,” Yashiki calls over.

Mashita gets up to grab the reports. He skims them, and his mouth twists, as if he’s not sure how to feel about them. He returns to the accident reports, the discipline reports in hand, cross-referencing the information. “Yashiki, the other stagehands in this were the first to receive serious injuries after this asshole’s burning.”

Indeed, the names of Sumida, Sakata, Kido, and Adachi are all listed in the accident reports. Sumida received serious burns on his hands, Sakata suffered a bad fall, Kido was crushed by fallen set pieces, and Adachi required stitches after glass shattered and cut her. All four had to be taken to the hospital for treatment for burns, dislocated joints, fractured bones, and severe cuts. Even Manager Sawada has an accident report listed; he narrowly avoided being crushed by a fallen stage light and suffered a fall as a result of moving to dodge the light.

“There’s too much overlap for this to be coincidence. I think this is what set the ghost off initially,” Mashita says, still holding the matching accident and discipline reports in his hands

“I don’t disagree, but…” Yashiki frowns down at the reports. It’s good we have some information lining up. It’s not enough yet, though.

“There’s still the question of ‘why’, right?” Mashita offers.

“Yeah.” They have yet to learn why the ghost is still attacking people, and why this incident in particular set it off. There’s still too much unanswered. Yashiki copies the relevant details to his notebook, while Mashita puts the files back in their folders in the drawers, returning the cabinets to their previous states.

A sound rings out from the hall as Yashiki finishes his notes and the last file is returned to the cabinets. It sounds like a voice.

The men exchange a look, then go to the door. Shining the flashlight into the hall reveals no one there, but a faint dulcet voice still floats towards them on a cloud of warm air billowing toward them. A sudden, hard grip on Yashiki’s arm snatches his attention with a jolt, and a furious voice hisses in his ear, “Don’t you dare.” Without realizing it, he has started following the sound when Mashita seizes his arm, halting him. The ferocious look in his eyes and the snarl on his face tells Yashiki he hasn’t forgotten the experience from the Masquerade last year.

In the hall, the voice grows stronger, now clearly singing. The words are clear, but not wholly familiar, very likely from another language entirely. The growing, crackling heat flows from the source of the voice. As the voice sings, a searing spike of pain lances through Yashiki’s head and he groans. He puts a hand to his head as his vision dims. It’s as if he’s surrounded in thick smoke, his consciousness going faint around the edges. In place of his sight, the words become intelligible and their message clear.

“Hell’s vengeance overflows in my heart! Death and despair flames around me! Death and despair!” A seething rage is infused throughout the words, making it difficult for him to focus on anything other than the feeling that his skin is being scorched by the song, like his blood is boiling in his veins. He can hardly breathe from how much it hurts. He wants to get away from the source of the pain, but he’s so dazed by it that he can’t tell where to go. At the edge of his awareness, he can almost hear Mashita trying to speak to him, trying to get him to respond, but the melody flares up in a sharp trill and smothers his voice under the blinding pain and scalding heat. “You’ll be forsaken forever, abandoned and lost forever!”

Despite how he feels like he’s been lit ablaze, Yashiki manages to gasp out, “We need…to leave…” He barely feels Mashita tugging him away from the heat. He’s unable to clearly understand the way they’re headed. The vague image of the dull metal of the staff door appears in front of him as he hears Mashita doing something nearby, before he’s pushed out the door.

The singing pursues them as they escape, “Hear me, gods of vengeance! Listen to my wish!” The door slams shut behind them, finally extinguishing the song.

Chapter Text

It’s only once he’s been shoved into the passenger seat of his own car that the affliction of pain and heat fades away, leaving fatigue in its wake. The relief is immense and Yashiki sighs, resting his head against the window, the cold glass a welcome comfort after the ordeal. He sees Mashita open the driver’s side door and get in from the corner of his eye. “You hearing me now?” Mashita asks. He’s not looking at Yashiki, his body a tense line of anger as he starts the engine and drives the car out of the garage.

“Yeah, I can hear you clearly," Yashiki replies in a quiet, weary voice. As they leave the garage, the bright light of the streetlights and neon signs along the road makes his head ache. He shuts his eyes with a wince, dulling the light’s effects.

“Good. How’s the pain?” Mashita asks next. As perturbed as clearly he is after that encounter, he’s still concerned for Yashiki’s welfare. It's reassuring. I’m glad he was there.

“Gone, for the most part. Just sensitive to light and feeling tired,” Yashiki sighs. He cracks open his eyes slightly, glancing at the driver’s seat. He’s definitely going to yell at me for trying to go after that spirit, even if I didn’t mean to.

“We’re discussing that,” Mashita growls, still keeping his eyes on the road, not straying even a glance to the man in the seat next to him. With the way his jaw is clenched shut with suppressed fury, Yashiki is glad to not be under the other man’s gaze.

 “I know.” I’m not looking forward to that.

“I’m not happy with you,” Mashita says.

“I know.”

“Good.” Mashita takes the next exit to the highway, taking them back in the direction of the mansion. Yashiki closes his eyes again to let the beginnings of a migraine fade before they reach home. The rest of the drive back is silent.

Back in the kitchen at the mansion, Yashiki seats himself at the table, still somewhat dazed, spacing out as his thoughts wander. The touch of something cold on his neck makes him flinch and look up. Mashita is scowling down at him, a bottle of water in hand. He hands the bottle over and heads back to the counter to grab a glass of amber liquid before sitting down across from Yashiki. “Now, explain,” he demands.

“I’m not sure how to start,” Yashiki admits.

Mashita glares at him, “Then, tell me what the hell happened to you. We heard that voice, I stopped you from going after it, and you checked out on me from a headache.”

Yashiki sighs, staring down at the table, trying to gather his scattered thoughts into some semblance of coherence. “I’m still a bit confused about it. I…I could understand what they were saying once the pain started.”

Mashita quirks at eyebrow at that admission, “That’s a new one. So, you didn’t recognize the words before?”

“Not really? I think it was a Western language, maybe German? It wasn’t a language I studied much,” Yashiki lamely offers.

“Weird. It just sounded like twittering to me.”

“It was singing. I don’t know the song, but they’re angry and they want revenge.” Yashiki doesn’t need to look at Mashita to know the scornful reaction that statement receives. “It’s all I could get from what I heard. It was hard to concentrate. It hurt too much,” he explains. That’s putting it lightly. I thought I was being burned alive. Mashita takes a drink from his glass, his gaze far away as his thoughts churn. Whatever he’s thinking about isn’t good, judging by the hard look in his eyes and the stiff set of his jaw. I might as well get the inevitable out of the way. “I’m sorry,” Yashiki says.

Mashita’s eyes snap onto Yashiki. That usually cool stare has turned piercing with an icy fury. Despite this, he speaks evenly, “Do you even know what you did wrong? Why I’m angry?”

Yashiki takes a deep breath to steady his nerves, exhaling quietly. “I walked toward the spirit. I didn’t realize I’d moved until you grabbed my arm. Even if I didn’t mean to, I caused trouble for you again.”

Mashita’s glare doesn’t abate, staying silent. Eventually, he snorts, looking away. “You idiot…” he mutters. He goes back to nursing his drink, ignoring Yashiki. His behavior is puzzling for Yashiki. I was expecting him to blow up more than that. I wonder what changed. He opens the water bottle and drinks the contents slowly. It helps ease some of the fog in his head.

Silence falls over the kitchen until the clack of glass on the table breaks it. “I won’t be going to the theater tomorrow,” Mashita says.

Yashiki gapes at him in surprise, “What? Why?”

Mashita sends him an exasperated look. “I do have other cases I need to work on. Besides, someone has to investigate the theater fire and its victims. You don’t have the connections necessary to get the information we need to progress.”

Yashiki hates to admit it, but he’s right. They need that information, and Mashita is best suited to it. However, he isn’t relishing the thought of continuing the investigation on-site on his own in the meantime. I’d gotten used to having another person along to bounce ideas off of, and I do enjoy Mashita’s company, once you get past the attitude. Regardless, he says, “I understand. What should I do until you’re done?”

“Ask around the theater some more. I want to know when the theater’s management turned over, and why,” Mashita requests.

Yashiki nods, “Sure, I can do that.”

“Good.” Mashita finishes the contents of his glass, and gets up to put it in the sink. “One last thing,” he says, turning and leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Don’t go to the theater tomorrow night.”

“Huh?”

“You’re still out of it from getting attacked tonight. I don’t trust it won’t happen again, and I’m not about to let you walk into danger on your own.” The cold stare he’s fixed Yashiki with says that he won’t be persuaded otherwise.

He’s not entirely wrong. I do still feel tired, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again. “It sounds like you’re worried what might happen when I’m out of your sight,” Yashiki observes.

Mashita scoffs at that. “You aren’t beholden only to yourself. How do you think those brats would react if something happened to you? Much less the other Mark Bearers. I’d never hear the end of it. And, like it or not, you’re my partner on this case. Your safety is my responsibility.”

Despite it being a full half-year of knowing the Mark Bearers, Yashiki still isn’t quite used to having so many other people genuinely care for him. Saya had been the only person who really cared about him for most of his life. It made perfect sense to him to be protective over the Mark Bearers. The guilt of having precipitated the events of the Marks, combined with the (undeserved, he felt sometimes) forgiveness from those same people, weighed on him, some days more heavily than others. So, being reminded, in detail, that someone cared causes him to flush pink from bashfulness. “…Thanks,” he murmurs.

“I’d say ‘anytime,’ but that’s not happening. Give me your word you’re not going to go to the theater tomorrow night,” Mashita demands.

“Okay, okay. I won’t go to the theater tomorrow night, I promise,” Yashiki says.

“Good. Now, go get ready for bed so I can get some sleep,” Mashita responds, making shooing motions at him.

Yashiki blinks dumbly at him. “You’re staying the night?” He keeps surprising me tonight.

“Not like you don’t have the room,” Mashita remarks wryly.

Yashiki shakes his head. “Sorry. I wasn’t objecting, just surprised. You’re always welcome here,” he says.

Mashita smirks, “Careful, with talk like that, I’d almost think you like me.”

“Ah! I mean…” Yashiki trails off, the blush returning to his face. His fatigue is making it hard for him to keep his own inhibitions in check, it seems. I didn’t mean it like that…did I? Embarrassment coupled with confusion colors his face a deeper red.

Mashita chuckles at him, “You’re too easy to tease. C’mon. Sleep time.” He pulls Yashiki up from his chair by one arm and starts moving him out of the kitchen.

“I’m going, you don’t need to push!” The close contact is not helping the flustered blushing. Yashiki scurries away, while Mashita snickers at his shyness behind him.

END OF ACT ONE.

Chapter Text

True to his word, when Yashiki wakes up late into the morning and gets up to acquire the necessary coffee for basic mental processing, Mashita has already left. While this is not unexpected, he does find himself missing the snarky detective’s presence. As soon as that thought coalesces in his head, he shakes it out. It’s too early for him to feel flustered, especially if the subject of the emotion isn’t there.

Once he’s sufficiently caffeinated, he heads back to the theater.

He uses the staff door key (helpfully left in his bag by Mashita) and enters the theater backstage again. It’s relatively quiet at the moment, only a few people moving around. He nods at the few people he passes on the way back to the management offices and knocks on the closed door. “Excuse me, Mr. Iwamoto, may I come in?” he asks.

The response is a prompt, “Yes, yes, come in.” He enters and finds Iwamoto sitting at his desk, looking just as busy and preoccupied as he had been the day before. He shuts the door behind him and faces the manager. “Mr. Yashiki? Is Mr. Mashita not with you today?” Iwamoto asks, looking up from his computer with confusion.

“Mashita has other matters to attend to. It will be just me here today,” Yashiki replies.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Iwamoto spins in his chair to face Yashiki better.

“Yes, actually. May I sit down?” Yashiki gestures to the chairs in front of the desk.

“Ah, how rude of me. Yes, please, do,” Iwamoto looks embarrassed by his blunder, a nervous smile on his face.

Yashiki sits at one of the old chairs and says, “I was hoping I could ask some questions about you.”

Iwamoto blinks at the question, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Me? Why?”

“Well, specifically, I’d like to ask how you came to be manager of the theater. May I take notes?” Yashiki asks, pulling his notebook out.

Iwamoto frowns. “I can’t say I understand the point of this, but very well." He begins to explain, "I was brought in from a concert hall in I City about three months ago. I was an operations manager there. I was told that the previous manager had been transferred elsewhere and the executives needed a replacement immediately.”

“Do you know why the previous manager was removed from the theater?” Yashiki asks.

“I wasn’t told specifics, but I believe there were interpersonal issues that escalated and they didn’t handle them properly. The systems were a mess, as well.” Iwamoto casts a meaningful look at the cabinets surrounding his desk. It’s no surprise that they’re just as disordered today as they were the night before.

Yashiki glances up from his notebook, “You never asked for details?”

“I haven’t had time. I was thrown into the role without much assistance and I’ve been busy ever since, organizing the filing, managing the staff, scheduling performances. The accidents have only added to the list of issues needing resolution.” A look of frustration passes over Iwamoto’s face and is quickly smoothed away, his professionalism keeping his emotion in check.

“I see. Is there anyone who might know more?”

Iwamoto glances toward his computer as he thinks, “You could try looking for one of the senior stagehands. One of them is called Higuchi. I believe he’s working today.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you for answering my questions. I’ll let you get back to work,” Yashiki says, putting his notebook away and standing up to leave.

“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Yashiki,” Iwamoto says, returning to his computer.

Yashiki is a bit surprised when he returns to the main backstage area and finds that it’s completely devoid of people. He can hear people talking nearby, but the sound is muffled, like there’s something between them other than mere space. Maybe they’re in a nearby room? He checks the nearby hallways, but the voices aren’t coming from any of the nearby rooms. Puzzled, he heads toward the auditorium, as that is the closest area he can find to the source of the sound, down the short set of stairs wrapping around the stage. He moves a velvet rope out of the way as he reaches the end of the stairs, reattaching it to its stanchion once he's through.

The open space is lushly decorated: rows of plush seats upholstered in royal red velvet, small lights inset along the carpeted walkways to light the path without being too bright, crown molding painted matte gold adorning the columns, walls, and baseboards. The stage is currently closed within thick curtains in a deep red color that matches the seating, but there’s an edge of polished hardwood floor visible on the stage apron. All in all, it’s a classy place intended to draw in a cosmopolitan audience.

Unfortunately, the auditorium is also barren of other people, and the sound of voices is nonexistent there. It’s probably intentional; it would be bad if the sound from backstage filtered out into the auditorium during a performance. There is one thing out of place: a light emanating from a window high above the seating area. Judging by its location, it must be the control booth and someone must be inside. There’s only the question of how to reach it.

He follows one of the walkways around the side of the auditorium up to the doors to the lobby. He finds a side door with a “Staff Only” placard on it. He tries the door, but it’s firmly locked shut. Unsurprising, but frustrating. Next, he tries peering through the glass of the French doors to the lobby. The lobby is darkened, save for the daylight streaming through the doors at the entrance. The ticket booth is visible, but also dark. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone around here either.

Just as he turns to look elsewhere, the side door clicks and opens as someone comes through it. “Oh!” It’s Eto, the theater tech from yesterday. He greets Yashiki with, “Hello! I didn’t know you were out here.”

“Ah, Eto, it’s you,” Yashiki says. “I was looking for Higuchi, would you happen to know where he is?”

“Higuchi? Hm, well…” The tech puts a hand to his chin while he thinks. “He and a few others should be working on the stage lift downstairs, I think. Tonight’s performance needs it, so they’re making sure it’s in working order.”

That’s something he wasn’t aware of before. “There’s a lower level to the theater?” Yashiki asks.

“Oh, yes. That’s where the employee locker rooms are, as well as the mechanisms for the stage lift,” Eto replies plainly, like it should be obvious.

“How do you get to the lower level?”

“There’s two sets of stairs at the ends of each wing’s hallways. The hallways are set up like the letter ‘L,’ and the stairs are at the end of the short side. You can use either set of stairs to go to the lower level.” Eto uses his hands to indicate where Yashiki should go, making an L with one hand and pointing to where the stairwell would be according to his directions, the end of his thumb.

Yashiki makes a mental note of his directions and says, “Thank you, Eto. That helps a lot.” Especially since I can’t just ask for a map of the theater.

“Of course, Mr. Yashiki. I have to get back to work, so I’ll see you later,” Eto says, and hurries off.

Armed with the knowledge that they’d missed an entire section of the theater the day before, Yashiki heads back to the backstage, back up the stairs around the stage. The office and storage wing has become noisy in the time he was in the auditorium, with a number of people moving in and out of doors carrying objects, most likely props being moved out of storage, so he decides to head down the actors' wing. It’s completely silent in this hallway, too early in the day for any performers to be in yet. He glances at the wall where the shrine lies hidden as he passes it. Upon reaching the closed costume department doors, he turns and at the end of the short hallway is a metal door with “To Lower Level” painted onto it in bright letters, just as Eto had said.

Going through the door, the stairs lead him down and through another door. He exits into another hallway, although this one is longer than the one above it. He follows it past the turn and into a plain hallway. Near the end of the hallway is a doorway with “Women’s Lockers” painted over it. Just past it, he can hear the voices he had heard through the floor earlier.

He leaves the hallway and enters the central area. Steel beams and scaffolding are visible all around, supporting the stage and backstage areas. There’s no need to hide the support architecture behind drywall or concrete in this place, since only employees would have access to it. On the side where the exit is located upstairs is a break room. Ahead of it, under the stage, is a machine with a few people gathered around it, most directly working on the machine, but one person is standing nearby with a clipboard, observing and writing things down as the others test the machine’s functions and adjust its settings. It’s Higuchi.

“Excuse me?” Yashiki interjects.

Higuchi looks up from his clipboard. “Mr. Yashiki. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is there anything I can help you with?” he says.

Yashiki nods, “Yes, actually. Mr. Iwamoto told me to go to you with a couple questions I had. He said you’re a senior stagehand, so you’d be most likely to have an answer.”

The older stagehand’s eyebrows draw inward in a slight frown at that. He glances at the other stagehands and steps away towards Yashiki. “Can I ask what you’re curious about?” he asks in a low voice.

“The previous manager, from before Iwamoto took over. Specifically why he was removed from his position here,” Yashiki explains.

Higuchi’s eyes widen. He turns to the other stagehands and calls over to them, “Hey, I’ll be in the break room for a few minutes. Turn that thing off and do some cleaning on it until I get back. I don’t want any accidents happening, you understand?” The other stagehands call back their agreement, one going to the controls and removing the keys. It seems they’re none too eager to do anything risky without their supervisor nearby. Higuchi motions for Yashiki to follow him, and walks into the break room across the hall. He shuts the door behind them once inside.

“Sorry, but I don’t need those kids hearing any of this,” he explains, setting his clipboard down and taking a seat on one of the chairs sitting by the folding table in the center of the room. He rubs the space between his eyebrows with one hand. “I’d rather it not get back to the executives that someone blabbed.”

“Is it that bad?” Yashiki asks, taking a seat nearby.

Higuchi throws a sidelong glance at him, “It’s nothing you can take to the police, if that’s what you’re asking. They saw to that.”

“They?” Yashiki parrots.

“The executives. Or, the partners in charge of this theater, anyway. They want to keep this under wraps, so you didn’t hear this from me, understand?” Higuchi cautions him.

“Why? What is it they want hidden?” Yashiki asks.

Higuchi sighs before beginning to explain, “One of the executives had a nephew who worked here. He was even given a senior stagehand position right off the bat. Anyone who objected was demoted, had their pay cut, or was kicked out. So, you can imagine what lengths they’d go to if their darling nephew got himself into trouble.”

Yashiki remembers the discipline reports he’d read the night before. Was Ono Kenta the nephew in question? He needs confirmation. “Did the nephew do something and the previous manager covered it up?”

Higuchi’s face screws up in an expression of disgust and nods, “You got it. Several somethings. Turns out he had a problem with keeping his hands to himself around ladies. Nothing they could go to the police about, but a lot of questionable touches and staring down tops and up skirts. The old manager would pay them off to keep quiet, but nothing was done to the guy. It turned into an open secret backstage; more senior employees would warn newer employees to stay away from the guy and to dress defensively. It went on like that for maybe half a year, maybe more. Then, the guy started pushing his luck. Coming into work drunk, drinking on the job, actually trying to get more physical with people, copping a feel on places he had no right to touch. It should’ve been the final straw when he tried his tricks on someone who didn’t work for the theater. The manager was able to convince the girl’s troupe not to sue, but it took a while.”

That corresponded with the discipline reports, but that wouldn’t be enough to justify the removal of the previous manager. “Is that all?” Yashiki asks.

“I wish,” Higuchi sighs heavily. “Things should’ve gone back to their usual ways after that, and they did, at first. The guy didn’t try anything on any of the workers for a bit, probably got chewed out by his uncle, but still did stupid shit like smoking in the theater. Then, he just combusted one day, went up like a pile of dry brush, and got himself hospitalized. The authorities started sniffing around as a result, so the higher ups decided the manager needed to go. They sent him away, brought in Iwamoto, gave him some excuses about what was happening, and told the rest of us to shut the hell up or they’d make sure we’d never work in the industry again.”

“That’s…” Yashiki trails off. He’d expected it was unpleasant, but the guy and his uncle sounded like massive scumbags, and the manager wasn’t very much better, bailing him out all the time. Even if it was an unwritten part of his job, it was repugnant.

“Now, you understand why I didn’t want those kids out there overhearing? They’re better off not being involved,” Higuchi says. He sits back in his chair with a wry expression, drumming his fingers on the table. “I gotta give the guy one thing. He wasn’t stupid enough to go after the students. That would’ve blown up in a hurry.”

“The students?” Yashiki asks. This is the first time anyone has mentioned students involved with the theater.

Higuchi looks at him askance, like he should already know this. “The student interns. The theater has an arrangement with the local university. Students in the performing arts majors can intern here to get practical experience in an active theater. The theater gets workers, artists, and actors it doesn’t have to pay, and the university gets to say their students can graduate with experience in their chosen field. Chances are, if you run into anyone here who looks like they're in uni, they’re a student," he explains.

“Huh.” That meant that the young people he and Mashita had met the day before were likely students. But, then, how did they know about the shrine? It doesn’t add up.

“That’s everything I know about the management turnover. Is there anything else you want to ask, or can I get back to the stage lift?” Higuchi asks.

“Just one last thing.” Yashiki reaches into his bag and pulls out the souvenir postcard and the dated photo. “Do these mean anything to you?”

Higuchi takes the pictures and examines them. He hands them back, shaking his head, “Sorry, no. I don’t recognize that building, or anyone in the photo. I wasn’t even working in this city when the photo was taken, so I can’t give you any hints either.”

It was a long-shot to begin with, so Yashiki isn’t dismayed. “Thank you anyway. And, thank you for talking with me. It was very helpful.”

“No problem, as long as you keep those details quiet. Good luck with your investigation,” Higuchi gets up from the table, picking up his clipboard as he does, and opens the door.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I’m late! I’m late!” Someone is shouting from the hall where the women’s locker room is located.

Higuchi snorts, shaking his head, “That girl is a hurricane.” He heads back to the stagehands working on the stage lift.

Yashiki follows him out and sees the other stagehands giggling as they begin testing the stage lift again. Whoever the “hurricane” is, she’s chaotic often enough to elicit the amused tolerance they’re displaying. Regardless, he’s gotten what he needed from Higuchi’s interview. There’s no reason for him to stick around this area much longer. There was nothing of interest in the hall the women’s locker room is in. He hasn’t really examined the break room yet, though.

He turns back to the break room. It has the basics you would expect from a break room: a large table and chairs for people to sit at, a sink and countertop, upon which a coffee maker and coffee supplies sit, a water cooler, a refrigerator, a vending machine with drinks, and a vending machine with snacks. On one wall, there’s a cork board with print-outs of schedules pinned to it, and posters listing basic labor laws and the theater rules. Overall, it’s an uninteresting room.

But…there’s something pulling at him here. Like someone whispering in his ear that there’s something he’s missing. He enters the room and closes his eyes, focusing. However, it’s no good. The feeling is too indistinct to pinpoint. Just a general feeling that some clue is hidden nearby. Thinking that maybe it could be located in a nearby area, he leaves the break room again, following the pulling sensation. It leads him into the men’s locker room. Thankfully, no one is in the locker room at the moment. He walks past rows of lockers, the feeling tugging him towards the back.

He finds himself in front of a set of beat up lockers. None of them are in use, so there’s no locks on any of them. He opens one, but finds only dust. He tries another. Much of the same. The next has some rusted spots, but nothing else. Finally, he opens one that is noticeably different. The back of the locker has rusted over completely, falling apart in the worst section. It looks like it wasn’t noticed because the bricks in the wall behind it are totally blackened.

Wait, blackened? Tentatively, he reaches out and touches the blackened bricks. He’s dragged down into a maelstrom of heat, smoke, and desperation.

The racks of old costumes and shelves of stacked scripts line every wall and take up most of the room. The space that isn’t filled with paper or cloth is filling with dark, choking smoke. Someone is screaming in desperate terror. “HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” A woman is beating her fists against the door out of the room. Her hands are blistered and bloody on the outsides, and the skin on the palms looks waxen from intense burns. She stops only to cough, choking on the smoke. Tongues of fire are beginning to lick at the bottom of the door, reaching into the room. The smoke rasps her voice, but she still screams for help. “LET ME OUT! PLEASE!”

Once it has gotten a foothold in the space, the fire finds ample fuel in this room, eagerly jumping from the door to the paper and cloth crammed inside. It begins spreading, rapidly overtaking the room. The woman scrambles to the back of the room, her fear desensitizing her to the synthetic cloth melting and burning onto her skin. Desperation gives way to despair as the room is overcome in smoke and flame. “Someone! Anyone!” She’s cut off by hacking coughs and falls to her knees. “I don’t want to die!”

She crawls into a corner, but it’s no use. The flames lick at her clothes and exposed skin. Her hair catches fire. Her tears dry up before they can fall as she sobs from pain and fear. “I don’t…want…to die…” Her words turn to agonized, animalistic screams as she begins to burn. Her clothes and hair go up in flames, leaving only rags to cover her body. Her skin sears red and black as it chars, the flesh warps, the features of her body fusing and becoming misshapen. Her limbs contort painfully as her muscles shrink with the intense heat. A single hoarse shriek is the last thing she utters as she's swallowed by the flames.

Chapter Text

Yashiki recoils away from the wall, stumbling into the lockers behind him with a bang. He wheezes, his body trying to catch up to the trip his mind just went on, and sweat breaks out across his face. He presses a hand to his chest where his heart is drumming a rapid beat, trying to will it into a calmer rhythm. He knew it wasn’t a good thing he’d found, but he hadn’t been expecting to see the memory of a person burning to death. He shudders, leaning against the lockers at his back as he takes a series of deep breaths, the extra oxygen being much appreciated by his unnerved body. His breathing eventually returns to normal, and his heartbeat soon follows.

Once the shock passes, he re-examines what he'd seen in the vision. He saw a woman trapped in what appeared to be a storage room as a fire encroached on it, and her death as a result. He can’t help but feel pity for the woman. It had to have been an agonizing ordeal until her nerves were destroyed or she passed out from the smoke. Those screams… He shivers at the memory. She must be the spirit. But, how has all that fear and pain turned into the rage I felt from the song last night? He shakes his head. Regardless of this development, he still needs more information, and, to obtain that, he needs to continue the investigation.

He takes a moment to splash cold water on his face at one of the sinks, washing away the sheen of sweat, then leaves the locker room. He decides to head back the way he came in, walking back to the stairwell on the opposite side. He’d rather not get stuck behind whatever mess he avoided in the storage wing last time. It looks like Higuchi and his team have finished working on the stage lift, as the space around the machine is empty of workers.

Upon climbing the stairs and returning to the main floor, he’s startled by an excited squeal from the costume department. The doors are open now, so he peeks in. He sees a familiar face speaking animatedly to a stranger. “Thank you so much, Ms. Rosé! I promise I’ll do my best for your performance tonight!” Tamura is there, nearly bouncing with how excited she is.

The other person in the room, a woman, chuckles at her antics. “I’m sure you will. I’m counting on you,” she says.

“I won’t let you down!” Tamura salutes the woman, which earns her another chuckle. She really does bounce this time. Grinning from ear to ear, her eyes wander from the other woman and lock onto Yashiki. “Oh! Hi!” Tamura slips around the woman and up to Yashiki. “It’s nice to see you again, Mister! Thank you again for taking care of Kiho the other day. We all really appreciated it.”

“Hello again, Tamura. It was no problem at all,” Yashiki responds.

The woman turns around to face him. She looks fairly young, somewhere in her late twenties maybe, with fair, wavy hair cut in a bob. Her black silk dress hugs her figure, and she wears jewelry studded with crimson jewels. She has a sly look to her, in the calculating look in her sharp, dark eyes and her blithe smile. She saunters up to Tamura’s side. “Tamura, dear, would you be so kind as to introduce your friend here?” she asks, her eyes traveling over Yashiki as she seemingly sizes him up.

“Yes, of course! Mr. Yashiki, this is Rosé Mulan, the magician for tonight’s performance. Ms. Rosé, this is Yashiki Kazuo, he’s investigating the theater’s ghost,” Tamura cheerfully says.

Yashiki bows his head to Rosé in polite greeting, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Rosé.”

Rosé smiles at him and gives him a quick, but extravagant bow. “Pleased to meet you. Tamura was just telling me about all the interesting things that have been happening here while we were looking through the costumes for a suitable set for tonight.”

“I would have thought you would have your own wardrobe, though?” Yashiki questions.

Rosé laughs, “Oh, the costumes aren’t for me. They’re for my lovely assistants for tonight.”

Noticing the confused face Yashiki makes, Tamura adds, “Ms. Rosé is having a couple of the actors become her assistants for the performance. It’s good practice for the guys, since all they need to do is look pretty and move the props around onstage as Ms. Rosé and the stage manager direct them. We just need a matching set of costumes that fit the guys who volunteered to help tonight.”

Yashiki nods, “Ah. I apologize for interrupting, then.”

“Oh, you didn’t! I was gushing over Ms. Rosé’s styling, ‘cause that’s my specialty, and she said I can do her hair and makeup for tonight. I’m really excited to show off my skills!” Tamura says, bouncing on her heels. She can barely contain herself, she’s so pleased.

“Tamura, why don’t you go grab Sato and Kobayashi, so we can sort through the costumes more quickly? That way you can spend more time on my styling, right?” Rosé suggests. Tamura’s eyes light up in excitement, and she’s gone in a flash out the door. Rosé smiles after her, clearly amused by the younger woman’s enthusiasm. Then she turns to Yashiki, her smile turning subtly sharper, a quick flash of teeth between delicately painted lips. “So, you’re investigating the ghost?” she asks coyly.

He’s on his guard, unsure of what her game is. “I’m technically here to investigate the series of accidents that have been occurring here. A ghost is only a theory for possible causes,” he explains.

Rosé gives him a tight-lipped smile, her eyes narrowing. Her expression makes him feel like a mouse cornered by a cat. “You’re not very good at lying, Spirit Doctor,” she says.

Well, shit. “What is it you’re after, Ms. Rosé?” he asks.

“Just Rosé, please,” she corrects him.

He sighs. “Rosé, then. You’ve obviously done some research if you know that title, but I don’t know what it is you aim to achieve here? Why are you interested in the spirit?”

Her stance relaxes, her smile turning a little more genuine, although her gaze remains intense. “I have a personal interest in the supernatural. While I work as a magician, investigating supernatural phenomena is the work I’m truly invested in,” she explains.

“So, it’s just curiosity? It’s a dangerous field if you aren’t careful.” He really doesn’t like involving others into supernatural matters they didn’t need to be concerned with. It didn’t go well for most of them, from his previous (traumatic) experiences. It’s one thing to be curious about the unexplained, it’s an entirely other thing to go inserting oneself into the world of the supernatural, with the threat of curses and hostile spirits always looming overhead. Dissuading the unwary from pursuing something that could easily lead them to injury or even death may be an unwelcome effort on Yashiki’s part, but he’s seen enough tragedy to want to keep others away from it.

“Not at all. I’m well aware of the hazards of this line of inquiry. You don’t need to worry about that.” While most people would be relieved, Yashiki’s concerns are unsatisfied. Observing his discontented frown, Rosé persists. “You have no reason to worry about my safety. I have my own ways of ensuring that. Besides, I wouldn’t be a very good escapist if I didn’t know how to get out of sticky situations,” she assures him.

Yashiki sighs, “I can’t convince you to leave this alone, can I?”

“Not in the least.” She smiles, looking pleased with herself.

Yashiki casts his eyes upward, making an unspoken prayer for luck. He finally yields, shaking his head, “Just…be careful. Please.”

“Oh, no need to look so sour. I promise I’ll be careful,” she says. “Now, then, what do you know so far? I know about the accidents.”

He fills her in on what he knows so far about the spirit. He hesitates with the supernatural events he’s experienced in the last day, but she doesn’t allow him to gloss over it, insisting that he describe everything he's witnessed down to the finest details. When he mentions the singing from the previous night, she asks, “Could you try humming the tune? I might have an idea of what it was.”

He obliges and hums the bits he remembers, and, afterward, adds the words to lyrics he’d somehow understood. Rosé listens carefully, thinking. “This spirit has surprisingly good taste and considerable talent, it seems,” she concludes.

“What do you mean?” he asks. If she's familiar with the music, that could be a major clue to the spirit's identity, or at least what she did in her life.

“If I’m not mistaken, she was singing ‘Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen,’ also called ‘the Queen of the Night aria’ from Mozart’s Die Zauberflӧte, or The Magic Flute. It’s a notoriously difficult piece to sing,” Rosé explains.

“I can’t say I’m familiar with it,” Yashiki admits.

“I can tell.” Rosé sighs, “What a shame she’s dead. You don’t often come across someone so vocally talented. She must have been dazzling.” She seems truly mournful for the spirit's death, the bright expression on her face dimming as she mulls over the tragedy. She sighs again, shaking the gloom off by force of will, turning back to Yashiki with a clear expression once again.

So we’re looking for a singer. That should narrow down possible identities. Oh, wait… “Rosé, could you tell me if you recognize anything about these?” Yashiki asks, pulling out the souvenir postcard and photo out and handing them to her.

She studies them, then hands the souvenir postcard back, saying, “This is a picture of La Scala, a famous opera house from Milan. As for the photo…” She looks back at the photo. “I’m not certain, but it looks like it was from a performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It would line up with the date. Midsummer typically starts soon after June 20^th.”

Yashiki doesn’t have much experience with Western theater, so he has to ask for her reasoning, “Why do you say that?”

“Well, there’s two actors dressed with faux flowers, crowns, and simple Western-style robes. They’re likely playing the Faerie King and Queen.” She points to the actors in the photo. “This actor is wearing donkey’s ears. That’s a significant plot point in the play. Also, most of the actors are dressed in Elizabethan period costumes. That’s what makes me think it’s a Shakespearean play, and Midsummer Night’s Dream in particular.” She hands the photo back. “May I give you some advice?” Rosé asks.

“Sure?” Yashiki hesitantly replies.

Rosé gives him another cat-like smile, answering, “You should be looking for an actor with a love for Western theater, and opera in particular.”

Yashiki nods, “Duly noted. Thank you, Rosé.”

The sound of animated talking approaches from the hallway. “It sounds like they’re back. Perfect timing,” Rosé says. She effortlessly changes gears, shifting from the supernatural investigator to the bewitching magician once more. She smiles warmly as the trio enter the costume department.

“We’re back! Sorry it took so long,” Tamura says, leading two young men behind her.

“Our class let out late and we still had to catch the bus here,” one of the men explains.

“We’re sorry, Miss,” the other says.

Rosé waves their contrition away with an elegant motion of her hand. “You’re here, that’s the important thing. Now, darlings, would you be so kind as to help find a matching set of costumes for tonight?” The men readily agree and follow Rosé as she leads them to the men’s costumes section.

Tamura starts to follow after them, but pauses, looking to Yashiki. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mister?” she asks.

“I don’t think so. I think I need to do some research elsewhere,” Yashiki says.

“Research? Like what?” the young woman queries, her head tilting to one side.

“I need to look up information on performances from a while ago. Old newspaper articles will be my best bet, I think. I’ll need to visit a public library,” Yashiki explains.

“Huh,” Tamura says, folding her arms as she thinks. “There’s a pretty good library near the university. There’s also the university’s library, if that helps.” She hums as she returns to her thoughts. Something must occur to her as her eyes light up and she says, “Oh! You could also ask our drama professor about the performances. I heard he used to act at a theater in the area before he took up teaching.”

I hadn’t considered the university as a resource. “That’s a good suggestion. I appreciate it, Tamura," Yashiki replies.

“No problem! Lemme write down the library address and my professor’s name and where to find him real quick.” She darts to a nearby desk, pulls some items from a drawer, scribbles something down, and quickly returns, handing him a notecard with “H City Public Library - Saito Branch, on T Street, near the intersection with N Avenue” and “Nakamura Seita - Drama Department, in Wisteria Hall, H City University” written on it. “Here ya go! I hope you find what you’re looking for, Mister!”

“Again, thank you, Tamura.” Yashiki puts the notecard away in his notebook.

“It’s no problem! Good luck!” With that, Tamura jogs over to the others, and Yashiki leaves the costume department.

Chapter Text

A couple hours, and many newspapers later, Yashiki has found a performance that had occurred on the photo’s date. There had indeed been a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream held on June 20th, 1991 at the old theater. However, there's no information he can find on the cast. It doesn’t seem like there had been any other productions that had been performed in the same time frame, either, meaning the spirit had to have been involved with this production of A Midsummer Night's Dream for there to be so much significance to the photo. But, that still leaves him with no more clues about the spirit's identity than he'd had when he got to the library in the first place, only getting confirmation of his theory for his troubles. So, that line of reasoning is mostly a bust, which leaves him where he is now, heading to H City University by bus.

H City University is located on the outskirts of the city itself, only a short bus ride away from the downtown area, which makes sense when one considers how much space was needed to cram together all the necessary lecture halls, faculty buildings, dormitories, and student amenities. The architects had clearly tried to maximize the space given with several high-rise buildings, but it isn’t a small campus by any means. Yashiki is just glad there is a bus station nearby, because one look at the parking lot he passes on the way in reveals a distinct lack of available visitor parking, even though the sun has already set by the time he gets there, meaning most classes were ended or wrapping up for the day. Thankfully, there's a sign by the campus entrance which points the way to the visitor’s office, located in the lobby of the main administrative building.

“Welcome to H City University! How may I help you?” a receptionist calls from behind a reception desk when he enters the visitor's office.

“I’d like a map of the campus, please,” Yashiki says, once he’s reached the desk.

“Of course!” The receptionist pulls out a folded pamphlet from a stack next to her and hands it to him. “Is there any place in particular you need to find?”

“Wisteria Hall, I believe,” Yashiki responds.

The receptionist’s eyes light up in recognition, “Oh, the arts building! I know where that is. Would you like me to show you on the map?”

“If you don’t mind, it would be helpful,” Yashiki requests.

“It’s no trouble. Here, just unfold the pamphlet,” the receptionist says, fetching a pen and leaning over the counter where Yashiki has spread out the map. “Here’s where we are,” she circles a building on the map, “This is Wisteria Hall,” she circles a different building, “This is the most direct route to it,” and she traces a pathway between the buildings. “If you leave directly from the entrance you came in through, you need to hang left on the pathway, past the tree with the benches around it, and follow the lampposts to the second building you find on the right.” The receptionist moves back from the counter to give Yashiki room while he studies the map for a moment to process the information. The receptionist then asks, “Is there anything else I can help you with? The office is here to help all campus visitors, after all.”

Yashiki looks up from the map at her. “I’d like to speak with a specific professor in the Drama Department. Would that be possible at this time?” he asks.

The receptionist doesn’t miss a beat, asking, “Which professor? I can call their extension to see if they’re in.”

Yashiki pulls out his notebook and checks the name Tamura had written on the notecard, “Nakamura Seita.”

“One moment, please,” the receptionist requests, pulling out a binder. She flips through the pages, murmuring to herself as she scans the contents. Yashiki takes the time while she's busy flipping through the binder to gather the map up and fold it up again. “Mm, let's see...Nagasawa, Nakai...Here it is, Nakamura.” She leaves a finger on the line with the information she just located, picks up the reception phone, and dials the number.

“Good evening, Professor! This is Ms. Oyama at the visitor’s office. Are you currently available to speak with someone? Oh, it’s your office hours, that’s good news. Then, would it be okay if I send a visitor to your office? I have a gentleman here who would like to speak with you. It’s okay? That’s great, thank you. Goodbye.” She hangs up the phone and says, “Professor Nakamura is in his office and will be waiting for you. It’s Room 14 on the ground floor of Wisteria Hall. There’s signs on the walls to direct you to the correct hallway. Will that be all?”

“That’s everything. Thank you, Miss,” Yashiki says, bowing his head briefly in thanks.

“You’re welcome, sir. Have a good evening!” she replies, bidding him farewell as he leaves the administration building, taking the campus map with him.

Entering Wisteria Hall is an experience. There’s art on display nearly everywhere he looks, on walls, hanging from the ceiling, on stands and mannequins, and in display cases. It’s all neatly arranged, not feeling cluttered, but instead feeling like a masterfully curated museum gallery. The placards affixed to each display indicate that every work was created by a student of the university, even the soft music playing from a stereo. It’s a charismatic exhibition and an impressive introduction for the building and its areas of study, he has to admit.

Following the receptionist’s directions, he leaves the exhibition hall and turns down a corridor. He easily finds Room 14. The door is open, and the sign on the door reads, “Office of Ikeda Chaimu, Nakamura Seita - Drama Department.” There’s a bookshelf and a desk visible from the door, but no one is at the desk. He knocks on the door to announce his presence before entering. “Excuse me, Professor Nakamura?”

He peeks around the door frame and spots a second desk nestled in a corner with shelving around it on the other side of the room. The man sitting at it looks up and beckons him in. “I’m Professor Nakamura,” he says, “Are you the one who asked to speak with me?”

He’s younger than Yashiki, but not by very much it seems, maybe in his early thirties. He has the serious mien one would expect from a university professor, dressed in dark slacks, a tailored button-down shirt, and a crisply knotted tie. His hair is less staid, however, styled into a trendy tousle to one side and hanging over one side of his forehead. It’s an indication toward his presupposed past as an actor.

“Yes. I’m Yashiki Kazuo. One of your students pointed me toward you regarding some questions I have,” Yashiki replies.

Nakamura gestures to a chair nearby, offering him a seat, which Yashiki takes, but raises an eyebrow at his statement. “One of my students?” he questions.

“Tamura Fukumi,” Yashiki confirms.

Nakamura’s eye twitches, but he does a remarkable job of suppressing the grimace he nearly showed. “Ah, Miss Tamura. She’s a very…impassioned student. I hope she hasn’t given you the wrong impression of my expertise. I might not be as knowledgeable as you require. I’m not as experienced as Professor Ikeda,” he says, indicating the other desk with a nod in its direction.

“She said you were an actor in the local area before you took up teaching,” Yashiki explains.

“Yes, I was.” Nakamura’s tone turns cautious. “May I ask how that is relevant?”

“Were you at all familiar with the theater that was on E Street before the new one was built?” Yashiki asks, rather than answering the query.

“I worked there at one point. Before it was demolished and replaced, obviously,” Nakamura states.

“Then, were you working there during the Summer of 1991?” Yashiki asks.

Nakamura is now eyeing him warily, “I was. Why?”

Yashiki now has to decide. Should I ask about the performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream only, or show him the photo? Asking about the performance might not get him enough information, but showing him the photo would reveal that it had been taken from the shrine. He decides against showing the photo. “I’m looking into the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that took place there at that time. Specifically, I’d like to ask if you have any information on the cast members from the play,” he explains.

Nakamura frowns, glancing up at a shelf full of textbooks as he thinks. “Maybe? It’s been so long. I could check if I have a playbill in my mementos.”

“Could you? It would be very helpful,” Yashiki says.

Nakamura fixes him with a doubtful look, saying, “I don’t mean to offend, but that’s a lot you’re asking of me, when I don’t have much of a reason to help beyond politeness. I’d like to know why I should go out of my way.”

He’s not exactly wrong. Yashiki is asking this stranger to do him the favor of looking for something that may or may not exist. “My apologies. What would you like to know?” he offers.

“You said you’re looking into this production, but not why,” Nakamura points out.

Yashiki takes a moment to formulate an appropriate response, “I was asked to look into some recent accidents at the new theater. I came across some information that leads me to believe that someone involved with this production may be a factor. I need to know who those people are to investigate this line of reasoning.”

Nakamura’s eyes widen at the mention of accidents at the theater, but he quickly composes himself. “Just so we’re clear, I haven’t heard of these accidents before because none of the students have been hurt, correct?” he asks.

Yashiki nods, “No students have been harmed.”

Nakamura sighs, sagging slightly in his chair, relieved. “Good. I’m fully aware my students are adults, but they’re my ‘kids,’ my responsibility. Their health and safety are always a concern for me. If anything happened to them during their internships and I wasn’t made aware of it…” He shivers and looks away. Yashiki just barely catches Nakamura whispering to himself, “I couldn’t bear seeing history repeat itself. Not with them.” I wonder what that's about, but I don't think I should bring attention to it. No sense in possibly offending him.

Nakamura clears his throat and says, “Thank you for allaying my worries. Back to the matter of your request, I’ll do my best to gather a list of the cast members for you. How should I get the information to you?”

“You can call and relay it over the phone, if you don’t mind. Let me write it down for you,” Yashiki offers. Nakamura hands him a piece of paper to use, and he scribbles down the phone number for the mansion. “If no one picks up the phone, please, feel free to leave a message on the answering machine.”

Nakamura takes the paper back with a nod, “Understood. I’ll be sure to do that once I have some results.”

“Thank you, Professor. It’s much appreciated,” Yashiki bows his head in gratitude for the professor’s grace.

“If that’s everything you needed to speak with me about, my office hours are nearly up and I still have tasks I need to finish, so I’ll have to ask you to leave. My apologies for the abruptness,” Nakamura requests.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Thank you again,” Yashiki wraps up his interview, getting up from his seat.

“Have a good rest of your evening, Mr. Yashiki,” Nakamura says, as Yashiki leaves the office.

Chapter Text

Mashita takes a long drag off the cigarette in his hand, breathing out the smoke slowly. He’d managed to get in contact with an old colleague from his time in the police department, one he remembered working with the fire department on fire and arson investigations. But, naturally, the guy is late to meet up.

He’s bored, hence the smoking. He taps the ash off into the ashtray sitting on the table in front of him. The bell on the bar’s door jingles, announcing the arrival of a newcomer, and his eyes shift over to it. Damn, not him. Where the hell is he? Thankfully, his contact shows up before his impatience turns to outright irritation. The other man spots him sitting at the booth across the room and hurries over. “Sorry about the time. You know how it is,” he half-heartedly apologizes, sliding into the booth across from Mashita.

“Whatever,” Mashita scoffs, taking another drag off the cigarette to ease his temper.

A waiter stops by to take the man’s order. “You’re paying, right, Mashita? So I can order whatever I like?” he jokes.

“Don’t push your luck, Ishii. You already wasted enough of my time,” Mashita warns. Ishii chuckles and gives his order to the waiter, who leaves the table to fill it.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. It’s not like I have control over what the higher ups throw on my desk on their way out the door.” Ishii shakes his head. “I gotta admit, I’m still surprised to get a call out of the blue from you. Thought you’d forsworn all contact with the station after those mutts chased you out.”

Mashita rolls his eyes at Ishii’s jocularity, “I’m not thrilled by having to break that streak either. You’re one of the more tolerable ones left there.”

Ishii snorts, “That amounts to high praise coming from you. Enough beating around the bush. What’s the reason to call me out here and pay me with booze?”

Mashita finishes the cigarette, grinding it out into the ashtray. “You still working fire investigations?” he asks.

“Yeah. Have done for a while,” Ishii replies.

“You remember a fire at a theater about 7 years ago?” Mashita asks next.

“A theater…?” Ishii starts, but is briefly interrupted by the waiter delivering his drink. He thanks the waiter, pulls the glass to himself, and takes a sip as he thinks. “Yeah, actually. The one that was on E Street, right?”

“That's the one.”

“Nasty bit of business there. That case got closed up years ago, though. Heard they tore it down and put up a new one already. Why’re you asking about that now?” Ishii quirks an eyebrow.

“That’s not important,” Mashita dismisses the question.

“C’mon, man. Give me something here. I heard you’re a PI now. Did someone ask you to look into that case?” Ishii protests.

“Not exactly. It came up in regards to an investigation. You sure that case is closed?” Mashita presses him for an answer.

Ishii looks at him suspiciously. “As far as I know. Didn’t exactly look too hard after my boss got the witness statements and initial reports off me and sent me to go after something else.”

Seriously? Mashita shoots him a judgmental look, saying, “You didn’t find that at all suspicious? People died.”

Ishii groans, rolling his eyes with exaggerated motions. “Give me a break. I’d just been promoted to detective and it was still in the hottest part of summer, so people were doing stupid stuff because of the heat and summer activities. There were too many cases under investigation, so I didn’t exactly have time to think about the ones taken off my plate.”

Mashita sits back in his seat and crosses his arms, tapping his fingers against his forearm in irritation. “Tch. Look, do you at least have access to the records?” he asks.

“Probably.” Ishii leans closer, his face taking on a concerned look, and speaks in a low voice, “What are you after here? It’s clear you think something crooked happened.”

“Nothing special. I just want a list of the victims’ names, specifically the deceased, and a general report on the fire itself, where it started, how it started, that kind of thing,” Mashita explains.

Ishii leans back, his expression clearing. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” It's a simple enough request, after all.

“Is that all? I’m surprised,” Ishii says.

“For now. I might change my mind later, but that’s the information I need right now,” Mashita replies.

Ishii chuckles. “That sounds more like you.” He takes another drink from his glass. “Can I at least ask how that case is relevant, or is it a ‘need-to-know basis only’ kind of situation?”

Jackass is too smart. But, that’s what makes him useful, I guess. Mashita rolls his eyes. “Fine, if it gets you off my back. Workers at the new theater are having issues. There’s a chance it’s related to the fire that took out the old one.”

Ishii jumps on the kernels of information he’s offered. “Related, but you want the victims’ names? You think someone is sabotaging the new theater because of the fire?”

“Something like that,” Mashita shrugs off his clear attempt at prying.

“Man, you’re stingy with info. Whatever, keep it to yourself. I won’t ask more as long as you do pay for my drink,” Ishii grumbles. He drowns his complaints in the glass, taking another gulp of his drink.

“Yeah, yeah. Just the one, though. You better get me that info soon, understand?” Mashita insists.

“I got it. You’ll get the list and report tomorrow night at the latest. Besides, I can’t exactly drink myself stupid tonight; the missus would kick my ass if I go home smelling like a distillery.” Ishii runs a finger along the rim of the glass. “Surprised you aren’t drinking. I mean, it’s a weekday, but you could out-drink even the meatheads back when you were on the force.”

That gets another eyeroll from Mashita. “It’s not because I don’t want to. I have to drive back, and I’m not interested in breaking the law.” Could definitely use the alcohol to deal with your nosy ass, though.

“Whatever you say.” Ishii goes back to his drink, and the conversation lulls. Mashita is debating lighting another cigarette when Ishii speaks up again. “You look better than the last time I saw you. Of course, I heard you finally closed out Sano’s last case, despite being off the force. Bet that was a weight off your shoulders.” Mashita grits his teeth. He really doesn’t want to get into this topic, even if Ishii wasn’t one of those who told him to forget about it and move on with his life.

Ishii continues, “He’d be proud of you, you know. He always talked about how sharp-witted and headstrong you are. The way he talked, anybody else hearing him would have thought you really were his kid.” He pauses to sip from his glass, before his eyes light up and he says, “Oh, speaking of his family, Chiyome still asks after you.”

“The hell? Why? And why’s she talking to you?” Mashita demands. His mentor’s widow must have better things to do with her time than worry after the guy who couldn’t stop her husband from walking to his death. Where does he get off, saying stuff like that?

Ishii shakes his head. “Not me, my wife. They still talk, so I end up hearing about it from her later. She says Chiyome is still hoping you’ll get in contact with her.” Mashita just grumbles to himself. What do you even say to something like that? Ishii finishes his drink, setting the glass down with a clunk. “Seriously, she doesn’t blame you. Never did. Doesn’t even care about that bullshit they used to kick you out. Just think about it? It’ll get the wife off my back, especially once she hears about our chat tonight.”

“You’re seriously pushing your goddamn luck right now, Ishii. Back the fuck off,” Mashita hisses, bristling with poorly hidden anger at Ishii for pressing the topic.

Ishii puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it, sore subject. I’ll let you be.” He slides out of the booth. “Well, I should get going. I’ll get that info to you soon, so expect the call. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Good luck talking with your wife,” Mashita snarks. He has to get a dig in after that turn in the conversation. I’m really regretting not having a drink.

Ishii groans at that, “Good to see you’re still an ass. Whatever. Later, Mashita.”

Mashita waves Ishii away as the other man exits the bar. He leaves money on the table to pay for the drink and leaves himself. He lights a cigarette to take the edge off his temper as he walks back to his car. While he’s not thrilled with Ishii for bringing up his mentor, he did get a promise for the information he needs, so mission accomplished.

Yashiki better have damned well not gone to the theater tonight, or I really am gonna kick his ass. That’s the last thing I need right now, chasing him down to keep him from getting killed. He takes a long drag from the cigarette, exhaling slowly, the smoke trailing behind him as he walks. I should go to the mansion and check. Gives me an excuse to see him, at least.

Chapter Text

Back at his desk in his study, Yashiki settles in to review his notes. He’s learned quite a lot in the last 24 hours.

• The spirit is a woman whose name begins with “Ri.” She liked opera, judging by the song she was singing the night before, and the souvenir postcard offered at her shrine. She liked lilies, given the pet name in the letter to her and her being soothed by the offering of the lily hair stick.
• She definitely died in the fire at the previous theater. It is very likely she was the last victim found in the fire investigation.
• About six months ago, an abusive stagehand attempted to assault a visiting performer and was stopped by other stagehands. Four and a half months ago, after the compensation for the attack was resolved, the perpetrator caught fire and was burned badly enough to require hospitalization.
• The other stagehands involved in the attack were some of the first victims in the series of accidents at the theater.
• The previous manager was responsible for covering up the attack and other incidents with the abusive stagehand, due to his relation to an executive of the theater. He was dismissed from his post and replaced three months ago by Iwamoto.
• The student interns’ drama professor worked at the previous theater before and around the time of the fire as an actor. He seems worried about “history repeating itself.”
• The magician Rosé is very interested in the supernatural. She already knew his popular title and now knows about the spirit. Her knowledge of the performing arts could still be useful.

He sighs. While he’s made progress, he doesn’t understand yet how all these puzzle pieces fit together. He still doesn’t know what the spirit’s grudge is, but he has a feeling it has something to do with harassment prior to her death, judging by how reactive she’s been to incidents of it happening. But, how that relates to her death escapes him for now. He still has to wait and hope Nakamura has the information he needs. He’s at a standstill otherwise.

A knocking on the front door breaks his train of thought. He gets up to answer it and opens it to find a scowling Mashita on the other side. “You actually listened to me. Good.” The scowl doesn’t lessen despite his words, though. Yashiki feels like he should be offended, but something has clearly set Mashita off, so it’s probably best to let that slide. He moves aside to let Mashita in. The other man strides past him towards the kitchen, not quite stomping, but his irritation is clear in his stiff shoulders.

Yashiki follows after him and finds him pouring himself a drink from a bottle of whiskey he'd pulled out of a cabinet. They’d found it in a liquor cabinet stored in the basement while they'd been looking through the mansion in those early days of the Marks. Once the figurative dust had settled after Mary was sealed and Mashita had begun visiting not infrequently, he'd moved that bottle to the kitchen with the justification of, “Sometimes, you just need a drink to take the edge off after a shitty day.” At the time, Yashiki didn’t ask for more than that he keep it in a high shelf, where the kids couldn’t stumble on it. He’d question Mashita's reasoning for drinking now, but he’d also rather not get his head bitten off. He decides to fix himself a mug of tea to relax while Mashita settles at the table, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil. A couple minutes later, the water boils and he pours the hot water into the mug, adding the tea bag after. He checks Mashita’s status while he waits for the tea to steep. The lack of prying (and the alcohol) seems to have let Mashita unwind a bit, not as tense as he’d been, but still not quite calm. Yashiki decides to step around the obvious landmine and, instead, asks, “Have you eaten yet?”

Steel eyes flick over to him. “Nah. Been busy, didn’t think about it,” Mashita replies. He looks away from Yashiki again and takes a drink from his glass.

That won’t do. Yashiki heads to the fridge, pulls out ingredients for a basic sandwich, and gets to work. It’s not like he’s had dinner yet either, so, he can make sure Mashita is taken care of and he gets dinner out of the way, a win-win solution. With two sandwiches made and his tea ready, he heads to the table and sets one plate in front of Mashita, setting the other and his tea down at the chair across from him and takes a seat.

Mashita looks up at him with some surprise when he sets the sandwich down in front of him. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s not good to drink on an empty stomach,” Yashiki reasons.

Mashita hums tonelessly in response, noncommittal. He seems to take the advice, as he picks up and bites into the offered sandwich. “Not bad,” he remarks. Yashiki takes that as approval and tucks into his own food. The stress slowly seeps out of Mashita as he eats and nurses his drink. He’s looking a measure better once he finishes the sandwich and pushes the plate away. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Mashita fixes him with a look. “You’re not going to ask why I’m pissed off?”

Yashiki shakes his head. “If you want to talk about it, you can. But, I’m not going to push you to talk if you aren’t ready.” Mashita’s eyes soften at that. That seems to have been the right move, judging by how his tense shoulders relax, no longer on the defensive. Yashiki hides the smile this sight brings to his face behind the rim of his mug.

Mashita sits back in his chair. “Tell me what you’ve been up to. I’m guessing you have some new findings to share.” So, Yashiki does. He fills him in on the things he’s discovered over the day, what he learned from Iwamoto and Higuchi, the vision of the woman in the fire, meeting Rosé, the trip to H City University. Mentioning the vision makes a scowl threaten to reappear on Mashita’s face, but hearing that it was brief and didn’t harm Yashiki beyond spooking him for a little bit makes the expression pass. “What’s your opinion of this Rosé woman?” Mashita asks after Yashiki finishes his summary.

Yashiki thinks for a moment. “She’s…confident. I didn’t get much choice but to be honest with her. She's utterly resolved to investigate the supernatural.”

“She sounds fun,” Mashita remarks, the sarcasm dripping off his words. “Anything else?”

Yashiki thinks to himself for a moment. There’s something that’s been percolating in the back of his head since this afternoon. “I can’t shake the feeling that something is strange about her,” he says.

Mashita zeroes in on that, “Strange how?”

Yashiki simply shakes his head. “I wish I knew. It’s only an uncanny feeling so far.”

“Hm.” Mashita takes a drink from his glass. “If I had to guess, that sounds like your intuition picking up on something you aren't consciously aware of yet.”

Yashiki blinks in surprise. It’s a pretty sound line of reasoning. If that’s true, then am I sensing something supernatural from her without realizing it? What could that mean? “I wouldn’t have expected you to endorse something like intuition.”

Mashita scoffs lightly at that. “You could give me a little credit. There’s a theory that intuition is just the subconscious mind perceiving and sending out alerts for things the conscious mind hasn’t noticed yet. With all the things I’ve seen and dealt with by knowing you, that theory makes more and more sense.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. That was rude of me, especially because you-” Yashiki cuts himself off, flushing pink at the faux pas.

“Especially because I stormed into your house and haven’t explained why?” Mashita finishes for him, a wry expression on his face. Yashiki presses his lips together into a thin line and nods, unwilling to put his foot in his mouth again.

Mashita sighs. “I guess I owe you some kind of explanation.” He takes a large gulp from his glass, finishing the drink before he answers. “I had to talk to someone from the police force about the fire at the previous theater today, an old colleague. Not the worst guy, but nosy as hell and doesn't know when to butt out. Brought up some things I really didn’t want to talk about or hear from him.”

“Oh. I’m sorry that happened.” It must have something to do with his mentor. Mashita makes a humming sound of acknowledgement, distinctly looking away from him. “I’m glad you came here, though,” Yashiki says, half to himself, his voice soft.

“Huh? What does that mean?” Mashita throws a sidelong glance at him, confused.

“I’m glad that you came here to cool off afterwards. That you feel comfortable doing so,” he explains. Mashita likely hadn’t thought too deeply about the deeper meaning behind what brought him here until just then, as a sudden blush blooms on his face. He covers the area around his eyes and cheeks with one hand, turning his face away.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you! It’s just…it’s nice to know you trust me so much,” Yashiki trails off.

“Idiot.” Mashita shoots a glare at him over his fingers. “As if there was any question about that.” It’s Yashiki’s turn to blush now, averting his gaze from his friend’s more intense one. Oh. I didn’t know that he felt that way. What do I do now? Should I say something?

An awkward silence stretches between them, pulling taut with tension the longer it goes on.

“I think…we should table this for now and go to bed,” Mashita says, breaking the quiet. “It’s been a long day.”

Deciding that it’s probably for the best to process things first and take the out he’s being offered, Yashiki nods, getting up from the table and gathering the dishes. “I’ll take care of the dishes. Why don’t you go on ahead?” He hurries away from the table before Mashita can reply, despite feeling his gaze on his back as he flees to the kitchen sink. He can feel the tips of his ears turning red from the self-consciousness as he grabs a scrubber and dish soap to begin washing the dishes. After a moment, he hears the sound of a chair being pushed back and Mashita’s footsteps head out of the kitchen.

Finally alone again, he sighs deeply, his hands working from muscle memory to scrub and rinse the dishes as he attempts to figure out what is going on with himself. He’s in uncharted waters when it comes to the developments of this bond between the two of them. It’s an uneasy dance they’ve engaged in, neither taking the step to change the status quo. The unspoken is quickly becoming something that needs to be spoken. He sets the now clean dishes to dry in the dish rack and puts a hand to his head, massaging his temple. What is it that I feel here, exactly? What do I even want? His emotions are so muddled, unfamiliar feelings mixing in with his usual moods, leaving him conflicted and unsure. He sighs again, casting his eyes upward as he thinks. I need to come up with an answer soon. He deserves that much. Easier said than done, of course.

END OF ACT 2

Chapter Text

Yashiki is awakened the next day to the sound of a phone ringing. In the time it takes his lethargic body to rouse enough to reach over to the nightstand for his cell phone, the ringing has stopped. Sitting up, he puts his glasses on and looks down at the phone. There a new voicemail notification, so he opens his voicemail to listen to it. It’s a message from Mashita. “Hey, it’s me. We have a problem. I just got into my office and found a message from Iwamoto on my answering machine. He didn’t go into too many details, but the spirit acted out last night during rehearsals. Call me back once you get this.”

It must have happened after I left for the day. It has to have been something big to necessitate a call. That’s not a good sign. He dials Mashita’s cell phone number and listens as the phone rings. It’s quickly picked up. “You got my message, right?” Mashita gets straight to business once he answers.

“Yeah, I did. What happened?” Yashiki asks.

“Iwamoto said the spirit screamed when they were doing rehearsals last night. It was loud enough that even he heard it from his office. At least a dozen people there heard it, and a couple of them had to leave early from injuries they sustained,” Mashita explains.

Yashiki winces in sympathy for the injured. “Something they did must have set her off. Did Iwamoto say what was going on at the time?”

“Nah. I already asked. You’ll have to ask the people there yourself for an answer to that,” Mashita states.

“Of course I do.” Yashiki rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “What could it have been…?”

He hears Mashita shift on the other side. “I hate suggesting this, but that magician you met yesterday was the performance for the night, yeah? She’d probably know what they were doing that could have caused last night’s snafu.”

His wording confuses Yashiki. “Huh? Why would you hate that? It’s a perfectly valid suggestion.”

Mashita mutters to himself before saying, “Nevermind. Just find out what triggered the spirit.”

“Alright. I’ll do that once I get there. I hope we find out her identity soon. I feel like we’re running low on time before she escalates to posing a lethal threat,” Yashiki worries.

“You’re probably right.” Mashita sighs, “Look, Yashiki, about last night-” He’s interrupted by ringing in the background before he can complete the sentence. “Goddammit, I have to go. Call if anything happens, okay? We’ll talk later.” He ends the call before Yashiki can respond.

Yashiki brings the phone down from his ear and stares at it as he collects his thoughts. Or attempts to, anyway. It’s hard to concentrate before coffee. Knowing he won’t be much use at the moment, he gets up to get ready for the day.

When he arrives at the theater, there’s a sense of foreboding permeating the space that wasn’t there the day before. The few stagehands he sees on the way to Iwamoto’s office look jumpy, sticking close together and looking over their shoulders every so often. It’s not an encouraging sight.

He knocks on the closed office door, receiving a weary response, “Come in.” He opens the door to find Iwamoto at his desk as usual, but he looks much worse than before. While he’d looked frazzled previously, now he looks like he’s, for lack of a better phrase, seen a ghost, his face pale and tired, worry etching deep lines into the skin. “Mr. Yashiki. It’s good to see you. I assume you were informed of last night’s incident by Mr. Mashita?” Iwamoto asks.

“Yes. He said you were a witness as well. Are you alright?” Yashiki asks.

“I will be fine, thank you for asking. My staff, however…” Iwamoto groans, putting a hand to his head. “We had to send two more people to the hospital last night; their ears were bleeding from what we assume were ruptured eardrums. Several others needed a break to recover from their ears ringing. The other staff members have heard about it already. I’ve had more than a few people call to say they won’t come in until the situation is resolved. I’m losing more people than I can spare. Please, tell me you have some idea of how to fix this.”

Despite how desperate Iwamoto appears at this moment, there’s only so much Yashiki can tell him that he's sure of. “I think we’re close to finding a solution, but I’m waiting on a response from a contact.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?” Iwamoto pleads.

Yashiki fills Iwamoto in on what they’ve found about the spirit (without mentioning the supernatural occurrences he’s personally experienced regarding her), that it’s a woman who died in the fire at the previous theater, and about the misconduct and cover-ups that had occurred before he was brought in. Once he’s finished, Iwamoto heaves a deep sigh. “I appreciate your efforts so far. Truly. But, please, try to find a resolution soon. If only for the sake of my staff, if nothing else.”

“I understand, Mr. Iwamoto,” Yashiki replies.

“Thank you. You’re welcome to try interviewing the staff that showed up today, but I doubt they’ll have much to say,” Iwamoto says.

It’s not a surprising state of affairs after last night’s incident. “Right now, I’d like to ask about what happened last night. Is there anyone around who could tell me?” Yashiki asks.

“I’m not sure. The staff that didn’t immediately leave after last night’s incident were given the option to take today off to recover, and many of them did. Some of last night’s tech crew should be in, I think. They were relatively isolated from the sound in the control booth,” Iwamoto explains.

Yashiki nods, “Thank you for the advice. I’ll do that and leave you to your work.”

“Good luck, Mr. Yashiki. We’re counting on you.” Iwamoto turns back to the files spread out on his desk, dismissing Yashiki.

Yashiki heads to the central backstage area in search of a member of the tech crew. There isn’t much activity at all, compared to the previous two days. The sound of people talking is coming from nearby. He follows the sound to the electronics storage closet, where two stagehands are standing. One of them is visibly annoyed with the other, gesturing with quick hand movements as she raises her voice.

 “I get that you’re freaked out, but you knew what happened last night before you came in. Either suck it up and get to work or move so I can do mine. I don’t care which you choose, just get out of my way!” a female stagehand snaps at the male stagehand standing in the doorway of the closet.

“But, aren’t you the least bit scared? You were on duty last night, you saw what happened to Higuchi and the others,” the male stagehand objects.

His words only receive a glare and a hiss, “Last warning, Miyake. Either do your job or go get someone who will, because I’m done with your whinging. Get out of my way.”

Something in either her words or her expression convinces the male stagehand to move aside, allowing the female stagehand into the closet. He watches her stride into the closet with a baffled expression. He then notices Yashiki standing nearby. “Uh…hi? I’m sorry about that,” he sheepishly says.

“It’s okay. What are you doing?” Yashiki asks.

“We’re supposed to be getting the fog machine together to send it out for repairs, but someone keeps not pulling their weight,” the female stagehand growls from inside the closet. She’s kneeling next to a device that has a bright orange sign taped to it that reads “Out of Order,” and glares over it at her colleague.

The male stagehand sighs. “Can I at least introduce myself before you trash me again?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m Kurihara Otone,” she says, standing back up, holding the machine. “He’s Miyake Sunao. You’re one of the people the manager hired to figure out what’s up with the accidents, right?”

“Kurihara!” Miyake sounds scandalized by her audacity, but she shrugs it off.

“Yes, I’m Yashiki Kazuo. I overheard that you were present last night, Kurihara. Would you mind telling me about it?” Yashiki asks.

“Sure. Hey, Miyake,” Kurihara steps forward and shoves the machine into Miyake’s arms, “Take this to the manager’s office and box it up. He’ll tell you what else to do with it.”

“But, hey, wait a second!” Miyake protests, but Kurihara turns him around and pushes him in the direction of the office.

“The sooner you get over there, the sooner you don’t have to deal with my bitchy ass. Now, get moving!” Kurihara says. Evidently, Miyake doesn’t feel like arguing with her anymore, as he does as he’s told and heads to the office. Kurihara turns to Yashiki and says, “You want to know about last night. Well, I was in the control booth at the time, so I could see the stage pretty well, but I can’t tell you what people were saying.”

He pulls his notebook out and asks, “How so?”

 “We have a good view of everything, but we’re pretty isolated from the sounds onstage unless the mics are on. We use headsets to contact the stagehands working backstage.” Kurihara mimes putting a headset over her ears.

“‘We’? Who else was in the control booth? What were you doing up there?” Yashiki asks.

“Me and a couple other tech crew. You might’ve met one of them, Mr. Eto,” Kurihara explains. “Anyway, we were tuning the sound equipment for the night’s show, setting the lights, and generally doing prep work.”

That makes sense. I did run into Eto yesterday, so of course he’d have been in the control booth last night. “So, what happened, from what you could see?”

Kurihara folds her arms and looks towards the stage as she recalls the memory. “Well, the stage manager had the stagehands rehearsing the introduction for the show. They turned the fog machine on, to get that mysterious vibe going, I guess. Everything was normal until the stage got really foggy. Then, all hell broke loose. There was this awful shriek, like proper hair-raising, blood curdling screams. Scared the shit out of us up there. We tried contacting the people backstage through the headsets, to see if they meant for that to happen, but the receivers on our end were all spewing feedback and static. I think the screaming knocked them out of the proper frequency. I had to go downstairs and to the stage itself to get answers, and found just about everybody backstage in pain and groaning. The people worst off were those actually working with the fog machine. They were bleeding and the machine was totally busted.”

So, the scream was in response to the fog overtaking the stage. “Is that all you know?” Yashiki asks.

Kurihara makes a face before responding, “Well…I talked to a couple of folks who stuck around. They had been farther away from the stage, so they weren’t affected as badly. They all said that there were words in the screams. They said it sounded like someone screaming about smoke and liars.” The spirit must have mistaken the fog for smoke, but why “liars”? Yashiki frowns down at the notebook in his hand. What’s the connection between smoke and liars? Kurihara looks at him skeptically. “Doesn’t look like you have any more idea what that means than we do,” she remarks.

“At the moment, no. There’s still something I’m missing,” Yashiki says.

“Sorry, man, but that’s all I can tell you. I dunno anything else,” Kurihara replies with a shrug and a head shake.

“No, thank you for telling me. I’m sure it will all make sense soon.” Yashiki closes his notebook, hoping that he's right that things really will make sense soon.

“I sure hope so. I’m no coward, but it’s getting crazy.” She sighs, “I should get back to work. We’re already understaffed as it is. Good luck on figuring out whatever’s going on here.”

“Thank you again, Kurihara,” Yashiki says. He puts his notebook away and leaves the storage closet. Kurihara is glaring up at a shelf of parts and wires as he exits.

Upon reentering the central backstage area, Yashiki finds it just as bereft of activity as before. Now what should I do? Just as he’s pondering what his next step should be, the clicking of shoes on the polished wood floor announces the arrival of another person. He turns toward the sound, which is coming from the actors’ wing. “Excuse me, Mr. Yashiki?” It’s Makino, one of the students from the day before last. She looks more polished today than before, dressed in a nice blouse, dress pants, and heels. “Could I have a moment of your time to speak with you?”

“Of course, but is something wrong?” Yashiki asks.

She glances towards the storage wing, then looks back at him. “Not necessarily, but would you mind if we walk to the actors’ wing?” she asks.

It’s a little suspicious, but he doesn’t have anything else to go off of right now, so he might as well hear her out. “No, that’s fine,” he says, gesturing for her to lead the way. Once they’re about halfway down the hallway, Makino stops and turns around to face him again.

“I’ll get to the point: Kiho told you about the shrine, didn’t she?” Her bluntness is a little surprising, given her previous cautiousness.

Given Date’s reticence regarding giving details on the shrine, he decides to play it safe for now, replying, “I’m not sure if I should say one way or the other. Why do you ask?”

Makino sighs. “Short answer? I noticed things had been moved when I checked a moment ago. Long answer? Because I know Kiho. She’s a sweet, earnest girl and, if anyone would share that secret with outsiders poking around backstage, especially if they were ones that had been kind to her, it would be her. I also found some things missing that I know for a fact none of the actors would have dared to remove. With what happened last night, I think it’s best if those items are returned as soon as possible, just in case. So, please, did she tell you, and did you remove those things from the shrine?” She looks quite worried as she relays her request, but she's maintaining her poise quite well despite it.

I suppose I have no choice but to be honest. “You’re right. She did tell us about the shrine and I have the items that were removed. I assume you want to put them back?” he asks.

She nods. “Please. Could we do that now? There’s so few people around, there isn’t much risk of being caught. I’ll keep watch.”

Thanks to Rosé, I don’t need those pictures anymore, so there’s no point in keeping them, I suppose. “I understand.” Once again, he pulls the pouch Date had given him from his bag. “Let’s get this finished quickly.” Makino breathes out a sigh of relief and nods, walking away a few steps towards the central area to stand guard.

It’s a much faster process now that he knows what he’s doing. He pulls the picture frame down and sets it aside. The hidden panel pops right open with encouragement from the nail file, revealing the shrine. The wilted flower in the bud vase has been removed, replaced with a fresh, peach colored lily. Makino must have put this here earlier. What’s the significance of lilies to this spirit, anyway? Is it just a pet name? Regardless, he removes the postcard of the opera house and the photo of the performers from his bag, placing the postcard with the other offerings and returning the photo to its frame inside the shrine. Once he finishes, he closes the shrine back up and shuts the panel. He hangs the frame back up and it’s like there was never anything there at all.

Yashiki turns to get Makino’s attention, but he’s interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing. Makino pulls a phone from her pocket and answers the call. “Hello? Fukumi, why’re you calling? Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He walks up to her and she puts a hand up, gesturing for him to wait. Her eyes widen and she pulls the phone away from her ear as the talking from the phone suddenly increases in volume. It’s so loud, Yashiki can hear it without needing to stand too closely.

“I’m telling you, Kayo! I messed up! I don’t know why!” Tamura wails from the other side of the call.

“Fukumi, calm down! What happened? What’s wrong?” Makino asks.

“I don’t know! I was talking with Professor Nakamura in his office between classes, about the end of term project. He had a CD playing in the background. I didn’t realize it at first, but I recognized it!” Tamura blurts out.

Makino glances at Yashiki with a startled look on her face, before redirecting her attention back to the phone. “What was it, what did you recognize?” she asks.

“The voice! The music’s singer was the same voice as the ghost!” Tamura cries. What?! Then, that means…

“I don’t understand. How does that mean you messed up?” Makino asks.

“’Cause I asked about it! I asked if he knew who the singer was, because I recognized their voice, but didn’t know who it was. He just gave me this look, I dunno how to describe it. He demanded to know where I’d heard that voice, so I said the theater, and he just… He kicked me out before he ran out of the office, out of the building even! I don’t know why, but I know I messed up somehow!” Tamura wails again.

“Fukumi, I need you to take a breath and calm down, please,” Makino pleads.

“Okay, okay…” Tamura goes quiet as she begins taking a deep breath.

Makino puts a hand over the phone’s receiver, speaking lowly to Yashiki, “Do you have any idea what that’s about? Professor Nakamura isn’t like this normally.”

“I don’t know for sure, but…” Yashiki glances over his shoulder in the direction of the hidden shrine. “I think he knows the spirit.”

Makino inhales sharply in shock. She recovers quickly, saying, “You’ll need to speak with him, then.”

“It looks that way, yes,” Yashiki replies. But, if he’s left his office, I don’t have a way to track him down.

The ringing of the doorbell to the staff entrance shatters the quiet of the backstage. It’s insistent, like the person on the other side can’t simply wait for a response. “Who could that be? Employees would know better than to spam the doorbell,” Makino remarks, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

“Kayo?” Tamura’s voice pipes up from the phone again.

“Hang on a second, Fukumi,” Makino says, covering the receiver again as she turns to Yashiki. “I need to take care of Fukumi. Will you be okay on your own?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you for asking. I hope Tamura bounces back soon. Goodbye, Makino,” Yashiki says. Makino nods and goes back to her phone call. Yashiki leaves her to it and walks out of the actors’ wing.

Chapter Text

With so few staff present today, no one has gotten to the door before Yashiki makes his way to the central backstage area just outside the staff door. The doorbell is still ringing insistently. He spots Miyake heading his way from the office. “Excuse me, Mr. Yashiki,” he says as he passes by to reach the door. He opens the door to a stormy-faced Professor Nakamura. “Can I help you, sir? This entrance is for staff and performers only, you see,” Miyake says. So, he left the university to come here.

“I’m aware,” Nakamura huffs. “I’m a professor from H City University. I was made aware of something today that I need to speak with management about right away.”

“Um…I’m not sure I can let you do that.” Miyake glances towards the office. The action makes Nakamura look behind Miyake and he spots Yashiki standing nearby. His eyes narrow at him and he steps around Miyake, much to the stagehand’s dismay.

“You. You’re coming with me to see management,” he says firmly. He doesn’t get into Yashiki’s personal space, but his body language suggests he won’t be taking no for an answer.

“Wait a second, you can’t just barge in here and make demands of a guest!” Miyake protests. Nakamura sidesteps his interference.

“It’s okay, Miyake. I think I understand what brings Professor Nakamura here. I’ll take him to see Mr. Iwamoto,” Yashiki intervenes. This doesn’t need to turn any uglier than it needs to be.

Miyake sags a bit, his shoulders drooping, then nods. “Okay, Mr. Yashiki.”

“Can we get this over with now, please?” Nakamura asks.

“This way, Professor,” Yashiki gestures for him to follow him as he walks toward Iwamoto’s office. The professor trails after him for the short distance. He knocks on the closed office door to ask for permission to enter, only to have it open right away.

Iwamoto is standing there, looking confused. “I’m sorry, I thought you were Miyake. I asked him to get the door. Where is he?” he asks.

“Miyake is in the hall. May we come in? Your visitor is with me and needs to speak with both of us,” Yashiki says, indicating Nakamura standing just behind him.

Iwamoto opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it before standing aside to let them in. Once both men are inside, he shuts the door behind them. “Please, have a seat,” he offers as he walks back behind his desk and sits in his office chair. He glances nervously at Nakamura before looking to Yashiki, as if asking if he knows what’s going on here. Yashiki can only offer a single nod to reassure him. “So…what can I help you with, Mr.-?” Iwamoto asks.

“I’m Professor Nakamura from H City University,” Nakamura says. “A number of my students are interns here. I’ve been made aware of some things that have been happening here.”

“Ah.” Iwamoto looks like he’s swallowed a bug, his eyes wide. “If you’re concerned about the interns’ safety, I can assure you-”

Nakamura cuts him off. “I'm aware that they haven’t been harmed, yet, according to Mr. Yashiki here.” He nods towards Yashiki sitting nearby. “He came by to ask me some things yesterday. But, that isn’t what I’m here about.”

“It-it isn’t?” Iwamoto stutters.

“No.” Something burns behind Nakamura’s eyes. “What I want to know is how my students have heard the voice of a woman who has been dead for seven years here in the theater. What happened here to wake her up?” he demands.

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Professor,” Iwamoto says, although without much conviction.

Nakamura scoffs, “Don’t act dumb. I know what the company that owns and manages the theater is like. I used to work for them at the previous theater. Someone did something here that woke up the spirit of someone who died during that theater’s fire. I’m certain of it.”

“If I may?” Yashiki cuts in. “Professor, do you know who the spirit you’re referring to may be?”

Nakamura turns his attention to Yashiki, glaring at him. “You were asking about the names of performers from the old theater yesterday. You were asking because you think one of the fire victims is the one causing the accidents you mentioned, right?”

I need to be careful here. He’s already feeling irritated. He’s the best chance I have of getting to the bottom of this. Yashiki briefly glances at Iwamoto, who has gone pale and silent. Looks like I just have to use my best judgement. “You’re correct. The evidence we’ve found so far suggests that a victim from the old theater’s fire is the cause of the recent accidents,” he says.

“Prove it,” Nakamura challenges him. “Tell me what you know about the spirit. I might give you the name if you’re convincing.”

Yashiki considers his words carefully for his summary. “The spirit is a woman, an actress and singer. She had a fondness for opera music and Western theater. She was talented enough to take up learning pieces of music known for their difficulty. She liked lilies enough to make them a favorite offering to her spirit. She inspired a great deal of loyalty during her life that persisted after her death during the fire.” He pauses. I wonder if I should… He glances at Nakamura, who wears a carefully controlled look of neutrality, waiting for Yashiki to finish. “If I may speculate, I believe she may have tried to protect other actors from harassment from senior staff. It seems to have been a trigger for her spirit.” He faces Nakamura. “Is that sufficient?”

Nakamura is silent for several moments, before his stony exterior cracks and he sighs deeply. “It’s enough. The person you’re looking into, her name is-was Higashi Ririka.”

Finally. We have the name of the spirit. “Thank you, Professor,” Yashiki says.

“I hate to ask, but is there anything else you need me for?” Iwamoto tentatively asks.

Nakamura shakes his head. “For now, no.” He gets up to leave, but Yashiki stops him, motioning for him to wait.

“Mr. Iwamoto, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Professor Nakamura in private. Is it okay if we use one of the dressing rooms to do so?” Yashiki asks.

Iwamoto nods. “Take any of the rooms after number 4. The first few rooms are currently in use.”

“That will work, thank you. Sorry about the interruption.” Yashiki leads Nakamura out of the office

Back in the hallway, Nakamura side-eyes Yashiki as he leads the way to the actors’ wing. He remains silent until they reach dressing room 5. Yashiki flips the light switch on, finding the room in about the same state it had been two days ago, save for the chairs being moved to different spots, likely by the staff as they cleaned the rooms. I didn’t think I’d be using this room again, much less for another interview.

Yashiki turns around to speak to Nakamura when a thought occurs to him. I should let Mashita know we have the spirit's name now. “Excuse me for one moment, Professor. I need to leave a message for someone.” Nakamura silently waves him off, so Yashiki steps out of the door. He pulls out his cell phone, dialing Mashita’s number, and waits as it rings. It rings until the voice messaging system picks up, meaning Mashita is likely busy with work at the moment. Yashiki leaves a short message, “It’s me. I have a name for the spirit: Higashi Ririka. I just found out a minute ago, so that’s what I have for now. I’ll let you know if I learn anything else, but I thought you should know that detail right away. I have to get back to speaking with someone, so this is goodbye for now.” He ends the call, puts the phone away, and enters the dressing room once more.

He finds Nakamura looking at the darkened vanity with a melancholic expression. “Professor?” Yashiki says to get his attention.

Nakamura looks up, schooling his features into a calm, impassive look once more. “I suppose you want to ask about her, Ririka, that is. That’s why you wanted to talk out of the way, right?” he asks.

“If you wouldn’t mind. Anything you can tell me could help us to dispel the grudge keeping her here,” Yashiki replies.

A look of grief passes over Nakamura’s face at that statement. He nods, sighing. “She shouldn’t be kept here any longer.”

“Who was Higashi Ririka? She was a friend, wasn’t she?” Yashiki asks to start off with.

“She wasn’t just a friend, she was my mentor. She took so many of us younger actors and stagehands under her wing, helped us hone our crafts, supported us to challenge ourselves in our roles. She could have spent that time on herself, trying to achieve her own goals, she was so breathtakingly talented, but she chose to be our teacher because she saw potential in us,” Nakamura recalls. “She never got the chance to fulfill her own dreams.”

“Because she died in the fire?” Yashiki prompts.

The stormy expression Nakamura had worn at the staff door clouds his face once more. “Not just because of the fire, although that obviously took her life. She was the person who stood up to those who tried to abuse the younger and more naive staff. She could get really worked up, to the point of threatening the offenders with whatever recourse she had available.” He turns his glare away. “Even when she started getting in trouble for it, she still refused to back down.”

“What do you mean by that?” Yashiki asks.

Nakamura sighs again. “Do you mind if I sit down? It’s a bit of a long story,” he says.

“Not at all,” Yashiki replies. Nakamura nods and pulls out the vanity chair and sets a folding chair out. He takes a seat at the vanity chair, apparently leaving the folding chair for Yashiki. Not wanting to be rude, Yashiki sits down across from him. Nakamura looks a bit lost in thought, so Yashiki gently interrupts, “I’m ready to listen when you’re ready to tell me.”

Nakamura blinks, turning his attention back to Yashiki. “Sorry. I was just feeling a bit nostalgic, sitting at an actor’s vanity again. I haven’t acted much since Ririka died, just didn’t have my heart in it after what happened to her,” he explains.

“So, you became a teacher instead?” Yashiki infers.

“I wanted to use my experience to be useful to someone. Teaching was a good way to do so. And, if I have to be honest, it felt like I was honoring her legacy, guiding my students like she did with me and the others,” Nakamura says.

“So, you said that Ms. Higashi was getting in trouble for standing up for the other actors and stagehands. How so?” Yashiki asks, returning to the topic at hand.

The scowl on Nakamura’s face deepens, the topic bringing him no joy to recount, “It was several months before the fire, around the end of the year. Ririka had gotten a reputation by then for her aggressive defensiveness over the people she considered her responsibility. Some of the more obnoxious individuals in higher positions thought it was funny to get a rise out of her, playing ‘pranks’ on her mentees with stuff like tripping people, stealing or defacing scripts, hiding costumes and props before performances, locking people out of rooms, messing with the settings of equipment. Very juvenile behavior. Going to upper management didn’t help. They shrugged it off, saying nobody was really hurt and they didn’t want to deal with the paperwork for ‘such frivolous matters.’

“Things went on like that for another couple months. The final straw came when they dumped water on a girl who had just finished getting ready for a show that night. They even taunted her, saying things like ‘Where’s the wet T-shirt contest?’ and ‘How much do you charge for a lap dance?’ The poor girl’s hair and makeup were completely ruined and she was humiliated, so she burst into tears and nearly ran from the building. She was only stopped because she was soaked to the bone and it was especially cold out after dark. I was there that night, so I remember it quite well.” Nakamura shakes his head with a grimace.

“When Ririka found out, she was furious. It turns out that they’d targeted the girl because she’d asked for Ririka’s advice about her role for the performance that was held that night. She was so angry that she got into a fight with the ringleaders and ended up punching one, a production manager. I think it was only because her agent had a silver tongue and a smart entertainment lawyer on their payroll that she didn’t get reported to the authorities. Upper management stepped in at that point, but the damage was already done. The harassers got reprimanded into stopping, and Ririka was put on probation and was forbidden from being onstage for a while. The production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was the first performance she was allowed to take part in since the incident.”

“Aggressively defensive,” indeed. It doesn’t seem like that’s changed. “Was that the last of the conflicts between Ms. Higashi and the harassers?” Yashiki asks.

Nakamura shakes his head. “No, they just got smarter about it and directed all of their ‘attention’ onto Ririka exclusively. It was stuff that could be easily excused as 'accidents,' like bumping into her, knocking things out of her hands, ‘losing’ her schedules and papers, but it was consistently happening, so it wasn’t coincidental. Honestly, it didn’t work like they thought it would, because she spent her time on probation working on something for herself.”

“What was that?”

A faint smile makes its way onto Nakamura's mouth as he thinks back on the memory, “She went back to singing. We, that is, her mentees, were surprised to hear how she’d switched gears to remain productive, but we were happy that she was happy and singing was one of her greatest joys. We encouraged her to do something with her talent, especially since it was looking like she was going to get run out of the theater sooner or later. She had always talked about going to Europe to train in a professional school for opera there someday. She spent a lot of that time on probation making recordings of her singing opera to make a full tape to demonstrate her commitment. She had to put recording aside while taking part in the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but she kept practicing. She had finished her last recording when the fire happened.”

Nakamura’s face falls as grief overshadows it. “After the fire, her family found the tape in her apartment. One of us was good with the tech in music production, so they converted it to CD format, made a bunch of copies for everyone that wanted them, and returned the tape and some extra copies of the CD to her family. I have a couple copies of it myself.”

That would explain how Tamura recognized the voice from the songs Nakamura was listening to. “Do you know why she’s been attacking stagehands?” Yashiki asks.

“She’s been attacking people?! You never mentioned that!” Nakamura looks horrified.

Yashiki winces, realizing his blunder. “I apologize, but, yes, a spirit that we believe is Ms. Higashi has been targeting the stagehands for the last four months or so. There’s been a few people hospitalized as a result of injuries sustained in the attacks. There was an attack last night that resulted in two people being hospitalized with likely burst eardrums from the spirit screaming. People who were here said she was screaming about ‘smoke’ and ‘liars.’” He looks at Nakamura, examining his reaction closely. “Do you know why she would use those words specifically?”

Nakamura covers his face with one hand, bowing his head and slumping forward. “So, the accidents you said you were investigating were the attacks?” he asks, still processing the information he’s just been given.

“Myself and my partner, yes. We were called in with the hopes that we can end the haunting as the attacks have been getting more frequent and more severe, such as the incident from last night that I mentioned. Please, Professor, can you tell me any reason for why the attacks have been happening?” Yashiki asks.

“Oh, Ririka, what happened…?” Nakamura murmurs. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and sits back up. “I don’t know for certain, so take my theories with a grain of salt.” He sighs. “No one would tell any of us ‘lower status’ staff members anything to do with the fire. No one would listen when we pleaded with investigators to look for Ririka after they said they’d found all the bodies. Then, they found her in that closet weeks later. She died alone and no one could be bothered to find her. It was infuriating!” He slams a fist down onto his leg, still feeling the frustration from seven years ago.

He pauses to calm himself before continuing. “After her family was allowed to lay her to rest, a group of us got together to find answers. We weren’t able to find out what started the fire, other than it began in the storage rooms. All we could find was that Ririka was blocked into the room she was found in. She didn’t escape because she literally couldn’t leave. I was going to talk with a stagehand that had been there that day, but he never got back to me after we made plans to meet and he didn’t show up to the meeting. Management closed ranks and the trail went cold after that.”

“So, you want my theories for why she’s attacking stagehands and screaming about ‘smoke’ and ‘liars?’ It’s pretty clear to me that her harassers covered up what happened to Ririka, given how they obstructed any attempts at finding answers. I don't doubt that she knows that the company did a lot of lying to facilitate the cover up. As for the ‘smoke?’ I have two theories for that. Theory One: She can't stand the appearance of smoke because of the way she and others died in the fire, choking on the smoke. Theory Two: There was never any reason given for how the fire started. I think someone was smoking backstage and hiding in a storage room to do so in secret. It was forbidden to smoke inside the theater, with all the flammable things kept backstage, but people still snuck cigarettes when they didn’t want to go outside. Maybe the culprit got scared and didn’t put the butt out properly, maybe a stray ember fell on something in the room that smoldered until fire broke out. I don’t know for certain. But, that’s just a theory,” Nakamura offers, finishing his explanation at last.

I had a feeling that Nakamura would be key to figuring out the details of this spirit, but…wow. “Thank you, Professor,” Yashiki says. “I’m sorry that recounting these memories was upsetting for you. I’m also sorry that it’s taken this long for anyone to listen to you.”

“I appreciate your sympathy, but what are you going to do now? What will happen to Ririka?” Nakamura asks.

Therein lies the rub. I’m not sure what we should do. “We’ll have to confront her, but I’m lacking the tools or a plan to do so at the moment,” Yashiki says.

Nakamura frowns. “What do you mean by-” He’s interrupted by a knock at the door.

The men exchange looks, confused as to who could be at the door. Yashiki gets up from his chair to answer the knock. He opens the door to find Rosé on the other side. “Good, you’re still here,” she says. She looks over his shoulder to see Nakamura sitting at the vanity. “And the professor is still here as well. Excellent.”

“Ms. Rosé, why are you here?” Yashiki asks. Do I even want to know?

“It’s just Rosé, I already told you. Now, isn’t it obvious? I’m here to help,” she says. “Won’t you be a gentleman and invite me inside?” She looks at him with the certainty that she is not likely to be denied.

She’s not likely to leave even if I ask. It’s times like this that I wish I had Mashita here. Yashiki silently steps aside, letting Rosé into the room. She smiles, pleased, and steps inside. Yashiki shuts the door behind her. He has to resist the urge to sigh. It’s not that I dislike Rosé; she’s been very helpful already. But, something about her is unsettling. Maybe I am picking up something from her, like Mashita said.

Meanwhile, he overhears Nakamura and Rosé introducing themselves to each other. He turns around just as Rosé hops onto the vanity to sit, crossing her legs at the knees, showcasing the slender limbs clad in sheer nylon. “Come, Yashiki, sit down,” she invites, waving him over.

Yashiki returns to his seat at the folding chair. Rosé looks like she already has something in mind to discuss. “How do you plan to help, Rosé?” he asks.

“Well,” she begins, looking over at Nakamura, “Professor Nakamura here has a personal connection to the spirit haunting the theater, yes?”

Nakamura regards her warily, like a stray cat regards the approach of an unknown human. “Yes. Your point being…?”

Rosé flashes a disarming smile at Nakamura. “That’s good. We can use that to draw the spirit out.”

“What do you mean by that?” Yashiki asks.

“If the Professor here is as attached to the spirit as I think he is, he may have something we can use to get her attention and calm her enough to dispel the grudge keeping her bound to this place,” Rosé suggests.

“How do you know that? What do you know about Ririka? Were you listening at the door?” Nakamura demands, leaning forward in his seat in his agitation.

“You just told me as much by asking those questions,” Rosé says. Nakamura goes silent, slumping back in his chair and fuming at how easily she got details out of him. “At any rate, I suspect that we can use her love of singing to accomplish our goal.”

Yashiki jumps in, not wanting to distress Nakamura further, especially if he does have something that could help. “What’s your plan?”

“I suspect that the spirit didn’t get to accomplish some goal before her death. I believe it has to do with singing, given how she’s been heard singing multiple times by different people. So, let’s give her one last show, a proper send off for a performer of her caliber,” Rosé says, establishing the basic framework of her idea.

It’s a good plan. It’s just a matter of working out the details of how to do so. Just as Yashiki opens his mouth to speak, his cellphone starts ringing in his bag. He fumbles to get it, self-conscious of the two pairs of eyes now staring at him. Once he has it in hand, he sees Mashita’s number flashing on the display. “Excuse me. I need to take this. Feel free to discuss the plan while I’m out,” he retreats, leaving the dressing room as he answers the phone.

“About time you picked up,” Mashita gripes in place of a hello.

“Sorry, I was in a meeting,” Yashiki says, heading into another unused dressing room to talk in private. He flips the light switch on and shuts the door behind him.

“Whatever. I got your message. Did you get any other details about the spirit?” Mashita asks.

Did I ever. “I think I got most of the details we’ll need at this point. Professor Nakamura showed up at the theater earlier. He ended up being a gold mine of information on the spirit. He’s the one who gave me the name Higashi Ririka. It turns out that he was one of her mentees while they worked at the old theater,” Yashiki explains.

“Huh. That’s a helluva coincidence. Glad to see your trip out to the university yesterday wasn’t a wasted effort,” Mashita sounds pleasantly surprised as he speaks. “You did good, getting him to talk to you.”

Yashiki can feel a smile tug at his lips, bashful at the unexpected words of praise. He clears his throat, refocusing himself onto the task he’d deferred for this call. “Rosé showed up when I was talking with Nakamura. I was just talking with them about a plan to confront and cleanse the spirit.”

“Oh, really? Whose idea was that?” Mashita’s tone flattens, turning skeptical.

“Rosé proposed that we give the spirit an opportunity to perform. You called before we could discuss the specifics,” Yashiki replies.

Mashita grumbles unintelligibly, then says, “Okay. It doesn’t sound like the worst suggestion, but I’m going with you, regardless of what the details end up being.”

I’m glad he’ll be there. I’ve missed having him around. The thought makes Yashiki’s face burn, a dim awareness of what he’s been feeling starting to come together. I like him. Once the concept coalesces in his mind, it shines a new light on their recent interactions, causing the blush to deepen. Oh, I really, really like him. Instead of concentrating his mental energy on it, he returns to the phone call, asking, “How soon do you think we can finish this? I don’t know if we’ll be able to set everything up by tonight, but I’m also not sure that we should wait another day.”

The creaking of a chair on the other side of the line accompanies Mashita’s toneless hum as he contemplates the question. Yashiki can picture him as he likely is at the moment: sitting back in his chair at his desk, his gaze turned upward in thought, expression calm while his focus is turned inward. “That depends on how involved the plan is and whether you already have what you need to fight the spirit.”

“You’re right.” Yashiki’s eyes drift toward the door. “I guess I should get back to the other two, then.” He’s not looking forward to the discussion. Nakamura is already upset after recalling the spirit’s history and his own unresolved feelings on the matter. Meanwhile, Rosé is a wild-card, her knowledge already having proved useful, but she regards the situation more casually than he’d like and doesn’t seem to care if her behavior bothers others. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have much choice in his allies at the moment.

Mashita’s response draws his attention back to the phone. “Call me back once you have more information for me. Hopefully, my contact will have brought the information I requested by then.”

“Of course. Goodbye for now.”

“Later.” Mashita hangs up and Yashiki puts his phone away with a sigh. Back into the belly of the beast I go.

Chapter Text

The office phone rings just as Mashita is wrapping up work for the day. He picks it up with a direct statement, “Mashita speaking.”

“Hey, it’s Ishii. I got the information you wanted. Where can I meet you to hand it over?” Ishii says. While Ishii might be nosy, the fact that he doesn’t waste time when discussing serious matters is something Mashita appreciates about the guy.

“That was fast.” Faster than I expected, honestly.

“Yeah, well, you got me curious about the case, so I’ve been digging through files during my break time. So, where do you want to meet?” Something’s off in Ishii’s tone. He doesn’t sound as casual as he had the night before. He almost sounds rattled, like he found something he didn’t want to know.

I’ll grill him when I see him. “I’m still at work, Ishii. Just bring it by the office. I know you already have the address.”

He isn’t imagining the shaky breath he hears from the other side of the phone. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be over in about fifteen minutes. Later.” Ishii hangs up. Weird. Ishii isn’t that jittery, usually. The hell did he find?

Twenty minutes later, Mashita has finished the last of the work he’s willing to do for the day (bar the theater case) and is contemplating calling Yashiki for an update when the buzzer for the front doors to the building goes off. He gets up and heads to the intercom, picking up the receiver. “Yeah?”

“It’s me. Could you let me in?” Ishii says. Mashita pushes the button to open the door, hearing the corresponding buzz of the lock disengaging through the receiver. “Thanks. See you in a minute.”

When the police detective shows up at the office door, he looks about what Mashita expected after the phone call: restless, wary, holding the handle of his briefcase in a tight grip. Mashita lets him into the office and closes the door behind him. Ishii sets the briefcase down on a chair, but doesn’t immediately sit down, instead choosing to fuss with the lock on the briefcase, like he’s forgotten the code.

Mashita gets to the point, “So, where’s the info I asked for?”

Ishii looks up and blanches under Mashita’s glare. He chews his lip before breaking eye contact. He gets the briefcase open and pulls a manila envelope out, handing it to Mashita. “Copies of the investigation report on the fire, as requested. All eight victims’ names, ages, and causes of death are listed. There’s a map of where the bodies were found and where the investigation concluded the fire began. It looks like an ordinary case of negligent management of fire safety precautions that resulted in manslaughter,” he explains.

Mashita opens the envelope and pulls out the report. He flips through it until he pulls out the map. Crosses indicating the location of the deceased are mostly crowded around the one exit, a bottleneck that likely contributed to the deaths. A couple of crosses are scattered around in the halls leading to the exit, presumably those that either succumbed to smoke inhalation or collapsing infrastructure while fleeing. There’s only one outlier, a cross in the storage section, far from the other bodies. Between the lone cross and the central backstage area is a fire icon, located on a space that looks like a closet. It’s where the fire started.

Nothing we didn’t already expect. He goes back to the rest of the report, finding the list of the victims. The majority of the victims died from smoke inhalation, choking on the toxic fumes, as expected. A few deaths were from asphyxiation by crushing. At the end of the list is an entry which reads: “Higashi Ririka, 34 years old, immolation.” There you are.

“Looks like you found what you wanted.” Ishii tries to sound nonchalant, but his fidgeting with his shirt cuffs gives away his underlying nervousness.

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Mashita gives him a scrutinizing look. “Oi, what’s up with you? You’re being shifty.”

Ishii flinches, but, likely knowing Mashita isn't about to let this go, starts to explain, “When I was looking into the records for that fire, one of the names I came across sounded familiar, so I looked them up. The name ended up being from a case I’d worked on some years ago.” He shoots Mashita a glance, before reaching into his briefcase again. “When I got curious about the people involved with the old theater, I found a connection between it and a series of suspicious deaths.” He pulls another envelope out and extracts the contents, but doesn’t hand them over. “I’m really bending the rules showing you these. They aren’t fully closed, so I can only let you read through them.”

Mashita sets the fire investigation report on his desk and steps closer to read the reports in Ishii’s hands. Ishii hands him one of the reports. It’s an investigative report into the death of Iwata Tsuneo. He looks up at Ishii with a skeptical expression, but skims the report anyway. Iwata's cause of death is listed as carbon monoxide poisoning. Apparently, he died in his sleep and was discovered by his roommates when he didn’t show up to his work shift at a movie theater. The report mentions that no one else in the apartment was affected and the source of the gas was undetermined. Okay, that's weird.

He swaps the report on Iwata for another. This one is a report on the death of Matsuno Koji, whose cause of death is listed as asphyxiation by crushing, after a shelving unit and its contents collapsed onto him while at work in a warehouse. The shelving unit had been listed as being “in good condition” at the time of the collapse, and no one had been near the unit other than Matsuno. The report concludes that his death is “suspicious, but lacking evidence of foul play.”

The last report is on the deaths of Obara Ichiro and Yano Mutomu, who were in the same car when it caught fire and they were unable to escape, burning to death. The source of the fire was undetermined, but foul play hadn’t been ruled out as a cause, despite no evidence existing beyond the fact that the fire overtook the car rapidly, leaving no time for rescue. Weird, but I’m not seeing how these are connected, other than all of them happening within the same year. When he’s finished reading the investigative reports, he asks, “I agree that those are suspicious, but where’s the connection?”

“Look through the report of the theater fire,” Ishii replies as he returns the investigation reports to the envelope.

Mashita grabs the fire investigation report and thumbs through it again until he comes across a list of those who were present at the theater the day of the fire. All four names are on the list: Iwata and Matsuno are listed as Senior Stagehands, Obara as a Stage Manager, and Yano as a Production Manager. The puzzle pieces click together in his head and he looks back at the list of the deceased, specifically the causes of death.

“You get it, right?” Ishii says.

“The causes of death are the same as the fire victims, they all worked at the theater in positions of authority, and they were all there when the fire happened,” Mashita summarizes.

Ishii nods. “Yeah. The parallels are fucking freaky. It’s too specific to be coincidence. They all died within a year of the fire, too.”

“It is creepy, but I doubt that’s what’s got you acting like a scaredy cat,” Mashita points out.

“I…” Ishii’s eyes dart around nervously. “Look, have you ever come across something that just gives you bad vibes?”

A certain demonic Lolita doll comes to mind, but he wouldn’t know that. Mashita isn’t in the mood to humor any dodging around the subject of Ishii’s anxiety. “Get to the point, Ishii.”

Ishii slumps a bit, his shoulders drooping. He reaches for his briefcase again. “I found this in with the files on Obara and Yano’s deaths.” He hands Mashita something in a plastic, zip-top bag. Mashita examines the item as best he can without opening the bag. It appears to be a thin paperback book, practically a magazine with its slimness and wide pages. It’s a book that’s seen better days, judging by the stiffness and discoloration of the paper.

He gives Ishii a disbelieving look, “Seriously? This is freaking you out?”

“Don’t look at me like that. There’s something wrong with that thing. It’s not even recorded anywhere in the reports or evidence list. I checked,” Ishii protests.

“So, nobody will mind if I take a closer look?” Mashita asks.

“You’re the one on the hook if you do. I’m not touching that thing directly,” Ishii shakes his head and backs away, obviously wanting to be well away from the book.

Mashita opens the bag and removes the book. Looking at it up close, designs of music notes and staff lines stand out through the stains and warping of the cover’s material, both likely the result of whatever conditions it was found in. He cracks it open carefully, mindful of its fragility, finding musical scores with lyrics printed on the pages. A song book? Why would this be in the possession of a stage manager and a production manager? The songs in the book are unfamiliar, their titles and words in other languages. He flips through the pages until he finds a title that rings a bell. “The Queen of the Night Aria.” That’s the name of the song Yashiki says he heard the spirit singing the other night. He skims the lyrics, trying to judge if the words sound like what he’d heard that night, but he’s no musician and the words are in German. Annoyed, he flips back to the beginning of the book. The title page reads, “Legendary Opera Songs.” Opera, again. Something makes him look under the front cover. At the bottom of the inside cover, he finds “Property of Higashi Ririka” written in faded ink. Well, shit. Looks like this spirit is a killer, after all. Wonder what they did to incur her wrath other than poaching her stuff.

“Hey, Ishii, you mind if I keep this?” he asks. It might come in handy for dealing with the spirit, if she’s as attached to it as he thinks she is.

“Be my guest. I don’t want anything to do with it. I doubt anyone else will come after me to get it back,” Ishii replies. He looks glad to be able to wash his hands of the thing.

“Good.” Mashita returns the song book to the bag and zips it shut. He sets it down on his desk for the time being.

“If that’s all you need from me, I’m gonna head out.” Ishii puts the envelope of investigative reports back in his briefcase and shuts it. He picks it up and turns to face Mashita, an expression of unease on his face. “After finding that book, I get the feeling that something dangerous is involved with your case. I won’t ask further and I know you’re going to do whatever you want anyway, but could you try not to do anything too reckless?” Ishii says.

“Why bother asking if you know what I’m like?” Mashita retorts.

Ishii sighs. “For the sake of my own sanity, if nothing else. I can’t say I didn’t try, at least.” He heads for the office door. “Take care, Mashita. See you later.”

“Later, Ishii.” The other man exits the office and Mashita locks it behind him.

He turns and faces his desk. Before he can get distracted, he writes down the important details from the reports on the deaths of the four men onto the back of one of the documents from the fire investigation report, then puts all of the documents back into the manila envelope. He picks up the envelope and the song book and tucks them into his own briefcase. Should I wait until Yashiki calls back before leaving, or- The cell phone starts ringing from its spot on the desk. He snags it and looks at the screen. Speak of the devil. “Hey. You have good timing. I just finished talking with my contact in the police force,” he says as he answers the call.

“Was the information as useful as you hoped it would be?” Yashiki asks.

“We’ll see once we compare notes. How did planning with the professor and magician go?” Mashita asks.

Yashiki sighs. “Planning was difficult. Professor Nakamura didn’t enjoy working with Rosé; they got off on the wrong foot. Although, he did try to remain civil. He had to leave earlier to return to the university, but he did promise to bring a copy of songs the spirit sang while she was alive. Rosé said she’ll make the arrangements to get the stage set up for the spirit’s performance. They both volunteered to bring in extra help, but they think they'll need another day to do so.” Judging by the weariness in his voice, Yashiki must have spent the planning session mediating between the two.

Glad I wasn’t there for those fireworks, then. “Sounds like a plan. I might have something that could help with luring the spirit out.”

“Really? What is it?” The prospect of having a helpful item brings a bit of energy back to Yashiki’s voice.

“A song book that looks like it belonged to the spirit. I’ll tell you more about it later.” Among other things.

“Okay. I’m on my way home, so I’ll see you there later?” Yashiki’s words are accompanied by the background noise of cars driving past and the distant sound of crosswalk signs, so he must be on the street, walking back to his car.

“Yeah. Just need to lock up and I’ll head over.” Mashita has already put the files he was working on away before Ishii arrived, and the items Ishii brought over are already in his briefcase, so it won’t take long.

“I’ll let you go, then. See you soon.”

“Yeah, later, Yashiki.” He ends the call and puts the phone away in one of the pockets of his coat, hanging on a nearby hook. He scans the office, mentally ticking off what he’s already done to end the day. He glances toward the briefcase sitting on his desk. The song book definitely has all the makings of being important to whatever plan Yashiki cooked up with the other two, but he’s wary of letting Yashiki handle it.

The memory of dragging a semi-conscious Yashiki out of the theater the night before last flashes through his mind. I didn’t mention it at the time since I couldn’t be sure if it was just the heat of the theater, but now I’m pretty certain that the spirit was making him overheat. He’d been able to feel the overwhelming heat through the sleeve of Yashiki’s coat as he’d lead him by the arm. Considering how literally cold the man tends to be, a drastic change like that could be dangerous. If that book throws him into a vision, it could happen again. I’ll have to think of something to mitigate the danger. He resents how powerless he is to prevent Yashiki from being endangered by his work with the supernatural, but he’s a realist; trying to keep Yashiki from getting involved with spirits was a fruitless endeavor. Devising ways to keep the risk of harm low was the best he could do while respecting the other man’s autonomy. He still needed to talk to Yashiki about the night before, as well.

Despite his outwardly cool exterior, internally, he is a storm of conflicting desires and impulses, with Yashiki at the center of it. Dammit, why’d I have to fall for someone as clueless as him? I almost wish he was more aware of how I feel, but, then, he’d probably notice how often he gets hit on. I want him all to myself. Him and his unreasonably pretty face. He groans, rubbing his forehead to stave off a building tension headache. At least, it looks like he feels the same way, if his recent behavior around me is any indication. Doubt he’s figured it out yet, though. He’s too focused on the theater case right now. I’ll come up with something once we close this, some way to get him to focus on me and only me.

He sighs. He’ll be waiting for me, so I better lock up and leave now. He grabs his coat from the hook and puts it on, the familiar weight of it a balm to his restless mind. Picking up the briefcase in one hand and pulling his keys out with the other, he exits the office, locking the door behind him, and heads out to the Kujou Mansion.

Chapter Text

It’s a relief to be back in the mansion after the dramatics at the theater today, even if he knows he’ll be going back tomorrow to put an end to the case once and for all. Yashiki busies himself with the familiar process of brewing coffee, knowing he could really the extra energy, after dealing with so much drama today. I should probably make extra, since Mashita is on his way here. He adds more water to the kettle and sets it on the stove to boil. Meanwhile, he puts another measure of coffee grounds into the French press and pulls a pair of mugs down from the cabinets. Soon enough, the water boils and is poured into the French press to brew. He caps the beaker with the lid, and he sets the timer to wait. The warm smell permeates the kitchen while he thinks.

• The spirit’s name is Higashi Ririka. She was an actress and singer who worked at the previous theater and mentored several younger actors and stagehands while she was there.
• She was protective over the younger workers to the point of becoming violent when pushed far enough. It made her a target for harassment by senior staff. Upper management didn’t intervene until after violence had occurred.
• She had made a tape of her performing opera before her death in the fire. Her mentees all had copies of the tape.
• She had been trapped in the room in which her body was found. The circumstances surrounding how she had been trapped were covered up by management after the fire.
• Nakamura had tried to talk to a stagehand that had been present during the day of the fire, but the stagehand never showed up to their meeting and Nakamura hadn’t heard from him again.
• Rosé proposed giving the spirit a final performance to soothe her. Nakamura is bringing a copy of songs the spirit knows. Rosé is setting up the stage. They plan to confront the spirit tomorrow night.

The ringing of the timer signals the completion of the coffee brewing, returning him to the present. He depresses the plunger, filtering the coffee, and pours the contents into the waiting mugs. Just as he finishes sweetening his mug to his taste, there’s a knock at the front door, soon followed by Mashita’s voice saying, “I’m coming in.” He heads out to the front hall, mugs in hand, and meets Mashita there. “Hey,” the detective greets him, his gaze falling on the mugs Yashiki’s carrying.

“I made coffee while I was waiting for you to arrive. We can drink them in the study while we talk,” Yashiki suggests.

“Sounds good to me,” Mashita replies, falling into step with Yashiki as he heads to the study. Once they’ve settled into chairs with coffee in hand, they start comparing the information they’ve acquired on their own and fitting things together.

“Hey, Yashiki,” Mashita says.

“Hm?” He looks up from the investigation report of the fire at the other man.

Mashita has Yashiki’s notebook in his hand, opened to the most recent notes he had taken today. “The professor said he was supposed to meet with a stagehand about the day of the fire, but the guy didn’t show. Did he tell you the guy’s name?” he asks.

Yashiki narrows his eyes as he tries to recall if Nakamura had mentioned a name, but nothing comes to mind. He shakes his head, “No, he didn’t. Why?”

Mashita groans. “I was hoping it might line up with some things my contact brought up.” A grimace flickers over his face for a moment before it’s replaced by the mask of coolness again. “You remember how this spirit has attacked people, but she hasn’t been deadly yet, as far as we knew, right?”

“Yeah?” Yashiki gives him a sidelong glance, wary of where Mashita is taking the conversation.

“Well…” Mashita sighs, “That might be because it looks like she already killed some people long before these attacks.”

Yashiki’s hands tense on the report he’s holding. “You wouldn’t say that without reason. What makes you think that?”

“I circled four names in that report, in the list of people present during the fire. My contact found that they died within a year of the fire, all under suspicious circumstances,” Mashita explains while Yashiki searches through the report for the document. “He didn’t make copies of the investigation reports for the deaths, so don’t bother asking, but I wrote down the important details.”

Yashiki extracts the list and reads the circled names aloud, “Iwata Tsuneo, Matsuno Koji, Obara Ichiro, and Yano Mutomu. Two stagehands, a stage manager, and a production manager.” He finds notes in Mashita’s handwriting on the back of the page.

“Hey, do you have a thermometer?” Mashita asks out of the blue.

Yashiki looks up from the notes he’d just begun reading. His eyebrows draw together in his confusion, “Yeah. In the medicine cabinet in my bathroom upstairs. Why do you ask?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Read through those notes while I’m gone.” Mashita gets up from his chair and leaves the study, with Yashiki staring after him in bewilderment. What’s that about? What could he be planning? He sighs heavily and returns to the notes in his hand.

• “Iwata - died by carbon monoxide poisoning in his sleep. No source of gas found in apartment. Others in the apartment at the same time as the time of death were not affected by the gas in any way.
• Matsuno - died by asphyxiation from being crushed under collapsed shelving. Shelving was in working condition at time of collapse, no signs of tampering. No one else was around at the time who could have caused the collapse.
• Obara and Yano - became trapped and burned to death in a car fire. Fire burned too quickly, no chance for rescue. Cause of fire unknown. Foul play not ruled out, but lacks evidence to support it as a theory.
• All four had the same causes of death as the deceased from the theater fire (smoke inhalation/poisoning by toxic gas, asphyxia by crushing, and immolation).
• Song book found with files on Obara and Yano’s deaths, not recorded in evidence list. Presumed to have been found in their personal belongings after the car fire. ‘Property of Higashi Ririka’ written under front cover.”

Footsteps approach and Yashiki looks up from the page. Mashita re-enters the study and sets the digital thermometer on the desk. “Care to tell me what it is you have in mind?” Yashiki asks while Mashita is digging through his briefcase for something.

“I’m confirming a theory.” Mashita turns back to him, an item stored in a zip-top bag in his hand. “Before you take a look at what’s in here, I want to get a baseline temperature for you.”

While Yashiki can’t say he understands what it is Mashita is trying to prove here, he does trust his judgement. “Okay.”

Mashita nods and removes the thermometer cover, fiddling with the device until it beeps. He hands it to Yashiki and gestures for him to put it under his tongue, which he dutifully complies with. They wait until the thermometer beeps again, having completed its measurement. Yashiki pulls it from his mouth and reads the display, 36.1° C. “Low side of normal, like I expected,” Mashita mutters from where he’s standing next to Yashiki’s chair. “Reset the thermometer, would you?”

Yashiki does as asked and Mashita pulls the item out of the bag. “Here’s what we’re doing. I’m going to hand you this book. If my theory is correct, the thermometer reading will change. Just so you know, the moment I think the book is becoming dangerous to you, I’m taking it back. Got it?”

“Got it.” Yashiki moves to put the thermometer back under his tongue, but pauses. “Mashita?” he asks.

“Yeah, what?” Mashita looks up from the book he’s scowling at.

“Thanks. For looking out for me.” Yashiki puts the thermometer under his tongue and looks at Mashita expectantly.

Mashita grimaces, but hands him the book with a mutter, “Somebody has to.” The moment the book is in his hands, Yashiki feels a sharp tug on his consciousness and a new scenario overtakes his vision, an unknown voice speaking as he’s mentally whisked away to a different place and time.

“What a goddamned mess this all is,” a man’s voice complains. A pair of men in hard hats and wearing dust masks clamber across the blackened and debris strewn floor of a burned out building. The one wearing a high-vis vest and carrying a crowbar is the one complaining.

“Shut it. This is your fault, asshole,” the other man snaps. His suit jacket is dusted with ash, fallen from the rafters above.

“My fault? It was your idea, Yano!” the man in the vest retorts.

“Yeah, but whose underlings were the ones to cause the damned fire with their negligence in the first place? That’s right, yours,” the man called Yano growls.

“Whatever, man. Let’s just clear the area so we can head back.” The man in the vest shakes his head. They pick their way through the debris until they reach a set of locker rooms. This area isn’t as badly burned as the rest of the building, most of the visible damage the result of smoke and water. It must have been further away from the fire. “The execs said they’d cover for us while we’re here, right?”

“Yeah. They don’t want it getting out how bad this fuck up was, either,” Yano grumbles. “It helps that the paper records got torched with everything else. No need to go through and alter them if they don’t exist or can’t be read anymore.”

They go through the locker rooms, searching for something. “This sucks. Remind me to put people’s names on their lockers in the future,” the man in the vest whines.

“Remember on your own. We’ll be lucky if we keep our jobs, much less end up in the same place again,” Yano scolds. He opens a locker that wasn’t locked shut and searches it, ignoring the other man.

“Ugh, why do I even bother…” the man in the vest shakes his head and wanders to a another set of lockers. He starts opening lockers, prying them open with the crowbar. He pulls any notebooks, papers, or other information media he finds from the lockers and tosses them into a bin. He pulls a cassette tape from one locker, pulls the magnetic tape out of it, crumples it, and tosses the cassette into the bin with the documents.

“Obara, over here,” Yano demands. The man in the vest, presumably named Obara, walks up to where he’s standing by a set of lockers. “I need you to pry these open.”

“Alright, I got it,” Obara responds, hefting the crowbar up and jamming the end in the gap of a locker door, wrenching it open with a pull. He moves on to the next locker and repeats the motion. Yano starts rummaging through the opened lockers. With all the lockers opened, the pair continue removing things from the lockers.

“Hey, Yano, look,” Obara says, holding a book in his hand. Yano comes over to examine his find. The cover has a design of musical notes and staff lines scattered across it. It looks like it’s a song book. Yano takes the book and opens it. It’s titled “Legendary Opera Songs” on the first page. “Property of Higashi Ririka” is written on the inner side of the front cover.

“There’s nothing else written in here, is there?” Yano asks, flipping through the pages.

“Other than the musical scores and lyrics, no,” Obara replies.

Yano closes the song book and tucks it into a pocket. “Good.” He moves to continue searching the locker room.

Obara eyes him suspiciously. “You’re keeping it?”

Yano shoots him a glare over his shoulder. “After the trouble that bitch put me through, I want something to prove she’s dead,” he snaps.

“I’m pretty sure she’s dead as fuck. Not like it’s any of my business,” Obara scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re innocent in this. You gave the order to block the hall,” Yano growls. He turns around and faces Obara directly.

“Yeah, because you told me to. How was I supposed to know that people were sneaking smokes in the storage closets?” Obara fires back.

“It was literally your job to manage the stagehands, shithead. And now, we barely have jobs and the authorities are sniffing around, because our workplace literally burned down, so excuuuuuuuse me for being angry,” Yano snarls, getting into Obara’s personal space as they argue.

“Well, maybe if you didn’t try to get into younger women’s pants all the time, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.” Obara jabs Yano in the chest with his hand.

“What did you say?” Yano hisses, shoving Obara back.

“You heard me. You were the one with an axe to grind. I wouldn’t have given a shit if you weren’t bitching all the time about how she hit you. I told you that going after her pet projects was a bad idea. You didn’t listen until you got socked in the face, and, even then, you kept pushing the issue! Maybe, if my subordinates weren’t attending to your little 'pranks' so often, they would have had time to go outside to deal with their nicotine fixes and not have been smoking indoors!” Obara shouts.

The men are too far into their argument to notice it, but when Yano kept the song book and insulted the dead woman, a pair of embers sparked into existence. With every admission of their part in her death, the embers glow brighter and brighter. By the time the men are shouting at each other, they have become a pair of brilliantly blazing eyes, glaring at the men with a deep fury evident in their flames. They definitely don’t notice the snarling voice that accompanies those eyes.

“Abusers. Liars. Murderers! You took everything from me! You left us to die! You deserve to die for what you’ve done! I will make you suffer the same fate you left your victims to endure! I will avenge us all!” the voice vows.

Chapter Text

The beeping of the thermometer brings Yashiki back from the vision. He feels something taken from his hands and a hand comes down on his shoulder to steady him as he tries to catch his breath, wheezing as the thermometer drops from his mouth. “37.7° C,” a voice at his side reads. He blinks, clearing his sight, and sees Mashita standing at his side, glaring down at the thermometer that he must have caught as it fell.

“What…?” Yashiki mumbles, bleary in his post-vision daze. He takes in a deep breath to try to bring himself back to normalcy, the cool air of the house helping to clear off the haze clinging weakly to his consciousness.

Mashita looks up from the thermometer. “Good. You’re back. I just proved that theory I had.” He doesn’t look pleased about it, though, a scowl affixed to his face.

“What was the theory?” Yashiki asks. The lingering side-effects of the vision have begun fading to nothingness, thankfully. He’s more than clear-headed enough to get the full explanation of what Mashita’s been thinking.

“It was about you. Specifically, how that spirit affects you. I noticed that you were hot to the touch when I pulled you out of the theater a couple nights ago, so I suspected that the spirit’s influence causes you to overheat. And, I was right. Your temperature went up by one and a half degrees while you were off seeing whatever that book triggered.” Mashita waves the thermometer to emphasize his statement. “Nothing dangerous yet, but it could become dangerous if it makes your temperature go much higher.” He sets the thermometer down on the desk behind him, its purpose fulfilled for now.

Oh. He’s upset because of the danger to me. That’s why he’s not happy about proving his theory right. “I see,” Yashiki murmurs. Now that he’s aware of himself again, he realizes that he’d begun sweating, likely the result of his temperature increase, feeling the unpleasant sensation of his shirt sticking to the skin of his torso as a result of sweat permeating the fabric.

“Did you learn anything useful from that, or should I just send you off to wash up?” Mashita asks, eyeing at how Yashiki plucks at his shirt.

“I did,” Yashiki nods and proceeds to recount the vision, paraphrasing the tasteless language used against the spirit out of respect for the dead, and the spirit’s vow to seek revenge.

Once Yashiki’s finished relating what he’d seen, Mashita says, “I had surmised as much, but it’s good to know we’re on the right track.” He’s since moved his hand from Yashiki’s shoulder and returned the song book he’d taken back from Yashiki to the zip-top bag. Yashiki almost misses the reassuring weight of his hand as it had supported him, but there are other matters to attend to right now. He can focus on dealing with that chaos later.

“Yeah,” Yashiki agrees. “With those responsible for her death already dead, there’s no one left that she needs to punish. I think that she’s been quiet since the shrine was put up because it gave her a way to be remembered. She only awakened when the attempted assault took place last summer and it was covered up.”

“It probably reminded her too much of what happened to her, so she’s been rampaging ever since,” Mashita speculates.

Yashiki nods in agreement. “It’s likely. With her rage rekindled and no one she can fully assign blame to, she hasn’t been able to calm down, so she’s been lashing out at anyone who reminds her of what happened. If she can be calmed enough to understand that she doesn’t need to linger in this world, we should be able to end her grudge. We can definitely use the song book as a lure to get the spirit’s attention as part of the plan,” he says.

“Speaking of the plan, mind telling me what it is now?” Mashita requests as he leans against the desk, using his hands to brace his weight on it.

That's right. Yashiki hadn't updated him on that yet. “Oh, right. The plan is to get the spirit’s attention and bring her onto the stage. Once she’s there, we plan to use the recordings she made in life to make her remember her love for performing. We’re hoping getting the chance to perform one last time will help her move on, since she never got to fulfill her dreams before her death. Rosé is making arrangements to set up the stage and audio equipment for this, and Professor Nakamura will bring a copy of the recordings. They both said they’d look for others to take care of the technical and backstage controls to pull this off, since none of us have the experience necessary to do so,” Yashiki explains. "It sounded like they had specific people in mind, which is why they need another day to contact them and bring them up to speed."

“It’s not a bad plan, but I’m holding onto that book. If the spirit gets upset and wants to go after someone, I’ll be better off taking the hit than you would be. It's nothing new for me, as you well know,” Mashita adds. Mashita's willingness to put himself in danger in place of himself brings a frown to Yashiki’s face. This doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oi, what’s that face for?”

“I don’t like the thought of you getting hurt by a spirit because of me. I don’t think I could handle it,” Yashiki replies. It reminds me too much of being in the forest outside Konoehara, when you lured the Departed away. I don’t want to feel like I lead you to your death ever again.

That makes Mashita round on him with a snarl, “Well, how do you think I feel when I see you putting yourself in risky situations with spirits? You think it’s easy for me to watch you walk into danger? You’re too willing to get hurt if it means a spirit will be pacified.” He growls, hands balling into fists with how upset he is. “Do you have any idea of how frustrating that is for me? Or of how important you are? You say you don’t think you could handle me getting hurt. Well, it’s the same for me when it comes to you, you oblivious idiot!” Mashita rants. He crosses his arms, turning his face away from Yashiki as color blooms on it. He mutters to himself, “Fuck…”

Yashiki is stunned silent by the admission. His thoughts are all over the place, the storm of emotion scattering them to the winds. He really feels that strongly about me. I didn’t think…no, that’s not right. I knew he cared. I just didn’t think he wanted more than that. He glances over at Mashita, finding him tense and refusing to look in Yashiki’s direction, almost like he’s bracing for a negative response. I need to say or do something, before he mistakes my silence for indifference. “Mashita,” he begins, causing the other man’s eyes to warily shift over to him, “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.” He casts his gaze downward as he tries to find the right words, then meets Mashita’s eyes once he begins to speak again. “I didn’t want to be a burden to you. But, I’ve done the opposite of that, making you worry about me. I’ll be more careful going forward. I promise.”

“Even if you say that, you’re always going to be at risk by the very nature of who and what you are, Yashiki. I know I can’t stop you from pursuing spirits, it’s a fool’s errand to even try.” Mashita sighs, the scowl on his face simmering to a troubled frown. “But, I’ll take that promise of yours with one additional detail: I’m sticking with you, especially when things get serious. You understand?” Mashita doesn’t say it, but there’s a definite subtext to his words, some rarely seen, unguarded emotion coming through. There’s a plea in those intense gray eyes, asking for Yashiki to catch onto his meaning.

Yashiki gets to his feet and Mashita’s eyes track him as he does. “I understand,” he says, and he means it. I know I have feelings for him. I need to know if he feels the same. It's nerve-wracking, gathering up the courage to take that next step into the unknown, with so much at risk. I couldn't bear it if I ruin everything. Nevertheless, he takes a step forward, entering Mashita’s personal space, watching for any sign that his advance will be met with rejection, but Mashita remains motionless, watching Yashiki just as carefully. He’s letting me get close. Does that mean what I want it to mean? He takes another step, only a wisp of space left separating them, and still no rejection comes. If I try to hold him, would he let me?

Something must show through on Yashiki's face as he hesitates at the last second, as the detective’s last thread of patience seemingly snaps. He seizes Yashiki’s tie and yanks him forward, reeling him in until they’re nose to nose, so close he can feel the heat of the blush radiating off his cheeks. “If you don’t want this, you can shove me off and we won’t discuss this again, but if you do, well, we’ll have to talk later, because I’ve had enough dancing around this,” he says before he crushes their lips together in a fierce kiss. It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take it, Yashiki thinks as he returns the kiss, feeling how the tension unspools out of Mashita's body in what must be relief at the requited feelings.

When Yashiki closes the distance between their bodies by wrapping his arms around Mashita and pulling him close, he can feel him smile into the kiss before a hand comes up to grasp the back of his head, tangling in his hair, tugging at the fine strands. The gasp of surprise he makes is immediately used to deepen the kiss, the faint taste of smoke underlying the traces of coffee on Mashita’s tongue as it is pressed into his mouth. It's an unfamiliar sensation, but he can't get enough of it, something that Mashita must also feel, how his grip on Yashiki tightens when a small sound of pleasure bubbles out of his throat. The intoxicating sensations of the kiss inspire an impulse to tantalize his partner in return. He yields to it, nipping at Mashita’s lower lip as he pulls away for a breath, feeling a rumble of laughter ripple through the other in response, another smile on his lips when he dives back in for more. When he finally breaks the kiss to meet Mashita’s eyes, he isn’t surprised to see the satisfied smirk on his face.

“You realize that you’re stuck with me from now on, right? There’s no take-backs,” Mashita says.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Yashiki shakes his head, a little rueful that it took him so long to understand his own feelings after that electrifying experience. He leans forward to press their foreheads together, feeling a blissful contentment spreading throughout his being. “That applies to you too, you know. You have to keep me.”

Mashita chuckles and moves his hands to hold Yashiki’s face, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. Yashiki's eyes flutter shut, melting into the gentle touches. “Good. Because I have some ideas to run by you,” Mashita murmurs, making Yashiki crack his eyes open his eyes just enough to smile before kissing Mashita again. He finally has an answer to the question he’d asked of himself the night before, a name for his feelings. Moreover, his feelings are wholeheartedly returned. It's more than he could have hoped for, and he can't wait to see what those ideas of Mashita's might be. Even if he has a feeling it will fluster him. Mashita is worth all the embarrassment, and more. He's priceless.

END OF ACT 3

Chapter Text

They use the rest of that night’s time to themselves to relax and rest up in preparation for the confrontation with the spirit. Blessedly, it seems either the stage crew was cautious enough for the night’s performance or the return of the postcard and picture to the shrine was enough to prevent another attack, as there was no panicked phone call from Iwamoto on Mashita’s office phone when he gets in the next morning. After Mashita finishes work for the day in the evening, they meet up at the mansion before they head back to the theater.

When they arrive, the patrons for that night’s performance have long since left the building and the stagehands are busy cleaning the auditorium and stage for tomorrow. The pair bump into a few stagehands leaving for the night as they enter through the staff door. The end of the night chores look to be near finished, judging by how the auditorium carpets are in the process of being vacuumed already and someone is mopping the stage, polishing off any scuffs it has acquired during the day.

Yashiki and Mashita go to Iwamoto’s office, finding the manager sitting at his desk, Rosé sitting across from him, the pair engaged in conversation when they approach the door. “It’s like I said earlier: we have the necessary manpower for tonight. You don’t need to worry, Mr. Iwamoto. You met one of the others earlier, after all,” Rosé says.

Iwamoto glances at Yashiki and Mashita in the doorway, then focuses back on Rosé, “Yes, I remember. If you’re certain…”

“Quite certain,” Rosé replies, shifting back in her seat and turning to look to the doorway with a charming smile. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She gives them a long, appraising look before she turns her attention back to Iwamoto.

Iwamoto turns to greet them, “Good evening, Mr. Yashiki, Mr. Mashita. Ms. Rosé was telling me you plan on cleansing the ghost tonight?”

“That’s the plan, yes,” Yashiki nods.

“And you’ll be using the stage to do so?” Iwamoto asks.

“Naturally. How else could we have a performance without the stage?” Rosé answers.

“I understand that, but…” Iwamoto fidgets uncomfortably, “How many other visitors did you say are coming?”

“There should be at least two more. Professor Nakamura is one of them and he’s bringing the other person with him. So, six people will be involved: myself, the two gentlemen here, Professor Nakamura, my associate you met earlier, and the other person the professor is bringing in,” Rosé says, ticking off the numbers on her manicured fingers. “They’re a stage manager, from what he said. And, my associate will be taking care of the technical aspects. The theater is in good hands, I assure you.”

“Ah, well, then, proceed as you see fit, I suppose? Try to not cause any more damage to the theater if you can, and stay safe?” Iwamoto says, although he doesn’t look very soothed. It isn’t too surprising, though. He’s the one with the most at stake, career-wise, being the one who instigated the investigation in the first place and the one upon whom the consequences will fall if things go wrong.

“Your understanding is much appreciated.” Rosé gets up from her seat and saunters out the office door, saying, “If that’s all you need from me, I’ll be heading back to dressing room 1. Please, excuse me.” Mashita eyes her dubiously as she goes, to which she smiles and winks at him, before continuing down the hall. I can see why the professor was so irritated with her. She’s already getting on my nerves.

“Anyway,” Mashita says, refocusing the conversation, “From what Yashiki’s told me of the plan, we’re going to need access to the control booth. Can you give us the keys?”

Iwamoto opens his mouth, as if to protest, but quickly shuts it and gives a resigned sigh. He pulls a drawer out and rummages around inside it. Eventually, he retrieves a set of keys and holds them out for Mashita to take. “You’ll have to return these along with the entrance key when your work is completed, so don’t lose them, please,” he implores them.

Mashita grabs the keys while Yashiki responds, “Understood, Mr. Iwamoto. Thank you for trusting us with this.”

“Good luck tonight, gentlemen.” Iwamoto shakes his head and utters a humorless laugh. “I suppose I ought to tell you, ‘break a leg,’ instead, but I’d rather not jinx anything.”

“Yeah, I’d prefer that we didn’t give this spirit any ideas,” Mashita mutters. “You should leave soon. We’ll let you know what happens tomorrow.” Hopefully. Provided we don’t end up in the hospital ourselves.

Iwamoto looks down at his disorderly desk with a tired grimace. “Very well.” He pushes his office chair back, standing up and walking to the door. Yashiki and Mashita step out of the office with him. “I need to get my coat from downstairs, so I will leave you for now. Good night.” He walks away down the storage wing, heading to the stairs.

“We should probably go see Rosé now,” Yashiki suggests.

“Yeah, sure,” Mashita replies. Might as well get this started sooner rather than later. They turn and walk to the actors’ wing, finding dressing room 1’s door cracked open and voices talking inside, one of them Rosé’s. Mashita knocks briefly before pushing the door open. “I hope you’re decent with the door left open like that.”

“Decent? That depends,” Rosé says from her perch at the vanity. She spins around to face the men as they enter the room.

“Yeah, depends on whether or not you’re looking to flirt with someone, you mean,” the other occupant of the room, another woman, retorts. She looks to be in her early thirties and is dressed similarly to the stagehands, in all black business casual. She’s leaning against the vanity with her arms folded and a smirk on her face. She looks the men up and down, then turns to Rosé, and says, “I think you’re out of luck this time, Rosé.”

“Oh ye of little faith, my friend,” Rosé responds. There’s a relaxed smile on her face, so it doesn’t seem like she’s offended by her companion’s cheekiness. “Why don’t you introduce yourself to our guests?”

The woman gives an exaggerated roll of her eyes, but looks over and gives a short wave to them, “Evening. I’m Tagawa Hibiki. I’m an audio/visual engineer. I usually work in production at the local TV station, which is how I’ve met Rosé before. She called me out here tonight, said you need someone to man the control booth for an unusual performance.” She makes air quotation gestures with her hands as she says “unusual performance,” then returns her arms to their fold across her chest. “Rosé said I’d be meeting a paranormal investigator by the name of Yashiki. That you?” She directs the question to Yashiki.

“That would be me, yes,” Yashiki nods.

“And, you must be the private eye I heard the manager mention,” she says, looking over to Mashita.

“Pretty much. I’m Mashita,” Mashita replies. He casts a suspicious glance over at Rosé, before asking Tagawa, “How much do you know about what’s going on here?”

A grim look comes over Tagawa’s face, the mirth falling away. “If you mean, do I know you intend on confronting the spirit of my dead friend? Then, yeah, I know. I also know that Nakamura’s involved in tonight’s plans. He’s a friend from back when I worked at the old theater in the tech crew,” she explains. “I called him after I got done talking with Rosé. He said he’s asking someone to come with him to help.”

“Is the other person that’s coming another worker from the old theater?” Yashiki asks.

“Yeah. They should be here soon,” Tagawa says. As if on cue, the doorbell for the staff entrance rings. “I’ll go get that.” She pushes off the vanity and glides past the men out the door.

“I assure you that Tagawa is quite capable of handling the technical details, which is why I thought of her first. Also, according to her, the stage manager Nakamura is bringing with him will complete the set of expertise we require for tonight,” Rosé explains after Tagawa has left. “Even if this isn’t a proper production by the usual standards of live theater, there’s plenty of moving parts that need to be tended to.”

“It’s less for us to deal with, so we can focus on the spirit,” Mashita mutters.

“True enough,” Rosé replies. “But, I’ve been rude by not introducing myself earlier.” She gets to her feet and performs a dramatic bow. “Rosé Mulan, at your service. And, you are Mashita Satoru, former police detective turned formidable private investigator.” She straightens up with her seemingly signature sly smile on her lips.

Mashita sends a sidelong look at Yashiki, as if asking if he’d said anything to her about him. Yashiki gives a quick shake of his head in response. “Charmed, I’m sure,” Mashita grinds out. Rosé doesn’t miss his poorly concealed disdain, her face taking on a look of smug intrigue, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Indeed. It’s always a pleasure to be working with handsome men in such an exclusive field as this, regardless of the circumstances,” she remarks, casting a subtle glance at Yashiki, one that is clearly checking him out, traveling over his body, rather than focusing on his face. Mashita bristles at her coquetry, even if it seems like it flies over Yashiki’s head, not reacting to the comment at all. Like hell am I going to let some femme fatale flirt with him right in front of me. Before either of them can speak and possibly start bickering, Tagawa arrives with Nakamura and another man around the same age in tow.

“Got ‘em,” Tagawa says as she enters the room.

“Good evening,” Nakamura greets them. He notices the addition of Mashita to the group and bows his head in greeting, “Pardon me, we haven’t met before. I’m Nakamura Seita of H City University. You must be the colleague Mr. Yashiki mentioned.” He returns his attention to the rest of the room and indicates the other man he brought with him with one hand, “As we discussed before, I’ve brought another of Ririka’s mentees with me to help.”

The other man takes a step forward and nods to the other three as he introduces himself. “My name is Oshima Geiju. I’m a stage manager in K City, but I used to be a stagehand on the general backstage crew,” he says. He’s a bit shorter than Nakamura, but more solidly built. He wears the dark clothing seemingly favored by those working backstage.

“Lovely to see you again, Oshima,” Rosé responds, giving him an airy wave.

“Same to you. Long time no see, Rosé,” Oshima greets her.

“Seriously?” Mashita asks. “Just how many of these people do you already know?”

“I was also unaware you knew another of the spirit’s mentees, Rosé,” Yashiki interjects, trying to defuse Mashita’s building annoyance.

“I’m a performer in high demand, and I’ve met a great many people, what can I say?” Rosé replies. Her cat’s smile only sharpens with her amusement at Mashita’s irritation. She’s quite aware of the effect she’s having on his temper.

“Tch, fine. I’m Mashita, he’s Yashiki, everybody knows everybody else’s names, let’s get this shitshow on the road,” Mashita declares, causing Yashiki to sigh at his crudeness. This is such a bad start.

Chapter Text

Between the six of them, they decide what everyone’s roles will be. Tagawa takes the keys to the control booth and will be stationed there, taking care of the lighting and playing the recordings over the sound system once she has it set up. Nakamura and Oshima will be backstage, controlling the curtains, setting up the stage microphone, and standing by with fire extinguishers, just in case. Rosé will be with Tagawa in the control booth, helping her with her tasks. Of course, Mashita and Yashiki have the task of actually fighting the spirit.

It’s once they have the stage almost fully set up and Tagawa has finished setting the lights that everything goes to hell. Nakamura is tuning the microphone onstage and Oshima is somewhere behind the backdrop, checking on the various switches used to control the curtains, winches, and other stage equipment. Mashita and Yashiki are standing by the backdrop, waiting for Tagawa to finish setting up the sound system so they can draw the spirit onstage. “Can I ask you something?” Yashiki murmurs quietly to Mashita.

“What is it?” Mashita responds, glancing away from the stage at Yashiki.

“Why are you being so rude to Rosé? She’s been very helpful so far,” Yashiki says. Mashita had been noticeably prickly during their discussion earlier, particularly whenever Rosé spoke. He didn’t shoot down her ideas or involvement, but his words were sharp, snappish, and he wasn’t subtle with the glares he aimed in her direction.

“I don’t like her,” Mashita grumbles.

Yashiki sighs. “You don’t like anyone. You’re being especially brusque with her, so it isn’t just your usual dislike of people.”

Mashita turns his head and looks at him directly. “You know very well that I don’t dislike everyone,” he says, giving a pointed, meaningful look towards Yashiki’s tie.

The reference to their “activities” from the day before brings a fierce blush to Yashiki’s face and he breaks eye contact. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he complains.

“You said it, not me. That’s not my fault,” Mashita shrugs. “But, yeah, I know what you meant.” He crosses his arms, looking away while he thinks. “I don’t like how coy she acts. Rubs me the wrong way. I also really don’t like her flirting with you. You’re not up for grabs.” The last part is nearly a growl.

Yashiki blinks in bewilderment. “She was flirting with me?”

Mashita snorts and shakes his head at Yashiki’s response. “You were practically oblivious to how I felt about you until recently, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you didn’t notice. You didn’t notice the attempts of those high schoolers either.”

“Correction: I did notice. I just ignored them in hopes they’d give up and leave me alone. I have absolutely no interest in people half my age,” Yashiki demurs, feeling irritable just thinking about it. He doesn’t look back on Konoehara with any fondness after being coerced into the Departed’s wedding, and having to fend off the misplaced affections of Doryou and Kinukawa even after they were freed had done nothing to change his opinion on the matter. He’s glad that finals season is keeping them well away from him, especially with the recent developments between him and Mashita. I don’t want them monopolizing time I could spend with him, or, God forbid, barging in on us together. That’s the last thing I need.

“Yeah, your interest seems to lean towards surly ex-cops,” Mashita laughs. Yashiki opens his mouth to respond, but stops short. He shuts his mouth with a click and his eyes go wide, his gaze unfocused. “Yashiki?” Mashita asks, concerned by his sudden silence.

“Do you smell something burning?” Yashiki asks in a low voice. The atmosphere of the theater suddenly feels charged, like the sensation in the air before a powerful storm hits. Something is coming, he can feel it. It feels inimical.

“Something burning?” Mashita’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to catch a whiff of the smell. It ends up not mattering, as the quiet of the theater is shattered by a loud, unearthly cry.

“You don’t belong here! GET OUT!” a woman’s voice screams, the command reverberating through the building.

“Fuck! That’s loud!” Mashita hisses as they cover their ears and cringe away from the sound. Yashiki can’t help but silently agree, with how his ears are ringing from the scream. They both look up as Oshima comes running out of the backstage, his face white with shock. He’s followed by a billowing cloud of heat.

“She’s already here, but Tagawa hasn’t finished setting up yet! What do we do?” Oshima blurts out. He looks like he’s beginning to panic.

“Oshima, did she see you?” Nakamura demands, abandoning the microphone as he runs up to them.

“I think so, but it doesn’t seem like she’s able to recognize me,” Oshima shakes his head. “I was close to the storage wing when-”

All four men look up when they hear a crackling, popping sound, reminiscent of the sound of logs burning in the hearth. A glowing silhouette approaches from the storage wing, heralded by a wave of heat that sweeps ahead of it. The overwhelming heat makes the air around the figure ripple, becoming superheated. The figure’s shape is that of a person, or what remains of one, their body cloaked in flames, their clothing tattered and blackened, the skin an amalgam of searing red and sooty black, eyes like burning coals glaring in their charred, melted face under a frizzled mop of burning hair. This is undeniably the face of the spirit that has been haunting the backstage.

“Why do you remain? What other miseries are you planning? Haven’t you done enough?! Leave or I’ll KILL YOU!” the spirit shrieks. Her hostility generates an accompanying feeling of crushing pressure, and, between the pressure and the heat, sweat begins to break out across the skin of the four standing by the stage curtains.

“Ririka…” Nakamura whispers, staring at the spirit with horror and grief contorting his face. Oshima is at his side and looks equally staggered. The pair of them are stuck motionless, unable to comprehend what they’re seeing.

Mashita risks a quick look up towards the control booth window. He sees a backlit shadow moving with frantic urgency. It seems like Tagawa and Rosé can see the situation, but it also doesn’t seem like they’re close to finishing their preparations. Looks like we need to buy time. Mashita reaches into his pocket and pulls out the song book, an action that Yashiki notices. “Mashita, don’t-” Yashiki tries to warn him, but Mashita ignores him.

“Hey! Recognize this?” he shouts to get the spirit’s attention and holds up the song book.

“That’s…that’s mine! GIVE IT BACK!” the spirit cries. She darts forward, her misshapen hands outstretched to snatch the song book. Nakamura and Oshima throw themselves out of the way with panicked yelps as she charges forward.

“Come and take it, then!” Mashita grabs Yashiki by the wrist and drags him along with him as he dashes away down the actors’ wing, with the spirit in hot pursuit.

“What’s the plan?” Yashiki asks breathlessly as they run down the hall.

“Keep her distracted until they finish setting up and try not to die!” Mashita retorts. They come to the turn in the hall and change direction, following it to the stairwell door. To their luck, someone has left the door propped open with a doorstop, so there is nothing to hinder their progress as they run down the stairs to the lower level. Emergency lights along the walls illuminate the stairwell in shades of red, washing their bodies a sanguine hue as they hurry past.

They pop out of the stairwell into the lower level and bolt down the corridor. Yashiki pulls his flashlight out to light the way as they leave the glow of the stairwell lights and head into the stygian shadows. A screech in the stairwell behind them tells them that the spirit is still right on their trail. Their footsteps echo in the empty hall as they reach the cavernous central area under the stage.

A flickering spark in the periphery of his vision is all the warning Yashiki gets as he feels the heat at their backs suddenly flare up and the sense that something is flying towards them. The realization of who is closest to the direction it’s heading toward hits him hard and he makes a split-second decision. He wraps his free hand around Mashita’s upper arm and yanks him along as he throws them both out of the way, the momentum causing Yashiki to slam against the hard metal of a nearby machine with a bone-rattling impact that nearly makes him drop the flashlight. A fireball scorches past them, tongues of fire reaching outward as if trying to ensnare their target in their conflagrant embrace. It just misses them, hitting the floor and bursting apart where Mashita would have been had Yashiki not moved in time. Yashiki’s side already aches from the impact, hinting at the painful bruise he’s in for later, but it’s a small price to pay compared to Mashita’s safety. Mashita gives him a quick look of gratitude before their pursuer makes herself known again.

Using the song book to lure the spirit has worked a little too well. The spirit storms toward them, fire trailing in her footprints, leaving spots of soot behind. “Give. It. Back,” she demands.

Thinking quickly, Yashiki grabs the zippered pouch from his bag and pulls out one of the hairties, handing it to Mashita. “What’s this for?” he shoots Yashiki a skeptical look, while not letting his eyes stray too far from the angry spirit.

“Roll the song book up, fasten it with that, and throw it past her. It’ll buy us time, then we run like hell for the other stairs,” Yashiki explains. The spirit gets closer. There’s little time to deliberate over their options.

“This better work.” Mashita follows Yashiki’s directions, then waves the rolled up song book at the spirit, who stops her advance, totally focused on it. “You still want this?”

“It’s mine!” the spirit cries.

“Better get it then!” Mashita winds his arm back and throws the song book as far as he can. The song book flies end over end through the air and skids across the floor as it lands, disappearing into the darkness down the hallway they had come from. The spirit shrieks and runs after it. “C’mon!” Mashita grabs Yashiki’s hand again and they sprint down the hall. They reach the storage wing stairwell and begin climbing the stairs when they hear another outcry. “Oh, for fuck’s sake…”

“Just ignore it,” Yashiki wheezes, starting to get winded from being chased around the theater and through the stairs so quickly. They burst through the door back into the storage wing just as they see the telltale glow of the spirit entering the stairwell below them. Yashiki stumbles on the way out of the stairwell, his legs starting to burn from the near constant running.

Mashita catches him before he can fall, steadying him with a grip on his upper arm as he hauls them both towards the turn in the hallway. “You think you can keep going?” he asks, keeping his gaze facing forward.

“Not like I have much choice,” Yashiki groans. “They have to be nearly finished.”

“Here’s hoping,” Mashita mutters. They manage to make it around the corner and spot Nakamura crouching in the shadow of the backdrop before the stairwell door bangs open. “Goddamn, she’s persistent.” Nakamura beckons them closer, gesturing toward the stage, before he flees down the hall ahead of them.

“Please, let that mean they’re done,” Yashiki murmurs. The thought of having to run another lap through the backstage to buy more time is an unpleasant one, to say the least.

“We’ll find out, won’t we? We’re almost there.” Mashita leads the way to the backdrop, keeping an eye on Yashiki as he struggles to keep up. They’re slowing down, despite their best efforts, which is letting the spirit close the distance between them. She catches them just as they pass the backdrop and reach the stage.

“No more running. No more tricks. It’s over,” the spirit declares, her mantle of fire burning brightly around her, the flames dancing wildly with the force of her vehement emotions. She’s yet to notice their location, the dazzling stage lights shining down onto the polished wood floor of the stage. She advances on them, only to freeze in place when a voice rings out through the theater.

“Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva!” the familiar voice sings in a slow vibrato. The voice is tremulous as it sings, wavering with palpable sorrow as the gentle notes of string instruments rise to meet it. It’s eerie, how nearly identical the voice is to that of the spirit onstage, full of life where the spirit’s has been hollowed out. Yashiki sags with relief as he realizes that it is one of the recorded songs that has begun to play. Mashita remains stable at Yashiki’s side, steadying him with a hand on his elbow, ready to grab his arm again to run away if the song fails to calm the spirit.

“That’s…that’s me. That’s my voice! It is my voice, isn’t it? But, how…?” the spirit wonders aloud, her anger guttering as it’s replaced by confusion. Her attention has been drawn upward by the speakers delivering the recording into the space.

Yashiki exchanges a look with Mashita, an unspoken understanding of what to do passing between them. Yashiki clears his throat, needing to project his voice to be heard, “It is your voice. You made this recording. Don’t you remember, Ms. Higashi?”

The spirit’s gaze drops to focus on the pair in front of her. “What? That’s…” She seems at a loss, struggling to make sense of his words at first. Recognition eventually comes. “That’s right… I remember this song. I remember my name,” she says slowly, her fire receding, the anger fueling it running low as she grows calmer with her sense of reason returning with the memories. “I’m Higashi Ririka. I remember now.” She shuts her burning eyes in thought for just a moment.

While Yashiki speaks to the spirit, Mashita spots movement in the shadows of the backdrop from the corner of his eye, just before a paper airplane soars out from the shadows and lands lightly in front of them. He glances over to see Nakamura peering around the edge of the backdrop, Oshima hovering just behind him. Nakamura motions toward the paper airplane, mouthing, “Open.”

Figuring it can’t hurt to look, Mashita casts a quick peek at the spirit to ensure she’s not looking his way, then crouches and picks up the paper airplane. He unfolds it and finds a message hastily written inside, one whose wording rings a bell. He nudges Yashiki to get his attention and hands it to him. Yashiki skims the message and recognizes its significance, exchanging a look with Mashita, who nods toward the spirit. Faintly, he registers the song going quiet in the background, nothing left to drown out his voice. He takes a deep breath and begins to read aloud:

“Dearest Ririka,

We hope this message reaches you, wherever you are. We’ve made this shrine in secret to honor your memory. We tried to get a memorial put up instead, but the bosses refused. We couldn’t bear leaving you forgotten.

Please, forgive us. We should have been there for you when you needed help, like you always were there for us. Guilt haunts us for failing to do anything before. We’re sorry. We’re so very sorry. We miss you.

May our love and prayers guide you to peace. We pray that we meet again in the next life.

Adieu, our Lily.”

When he finishes reading, he looks up to see the spirit a few steps away from him. He startles back, but quickly understands that she is no longer a threat. The fire she has been veiled in since she manifested has all but burned out, reduced to smoldering embers on her scorched skin and ragged clothes, smoke trailing down the charred remnants of her hair. She reaches out with ruined hands, the digits near totally fused together and stiff. “That letter. Can I have it? Please?” she asks. Wordlessly, Yashiki holds the letter out to her and briefly feels the heat of her burns from the proximity of their hands before she pulls her hands away with the letter clutched in their grip.

“I remember these words,” she trails one hand down the paper as she gazes down at it. “I remember my friends.” A soft sound, almost like a stifled sniffle, from somewhere behind Yashiki and Mashita makes the spirit look up and past them, an expression of forlorn recognition settling onto her disfigured face. “Oh. Oh, my starshines…I’m so sorry.” She presses the letter to her chest, curling around it.

“Your protégés have worked very hard to put you to rest tonight, Ms. Higashi,” Rosé’s voice echoes through the speakers around the stage, breaking through the gloom and startling everyone onstage and just offstage. She must have been listening through the onstage microphone and is using the PA system to speak. “This has all been arranged for you.”

“It’s time for you to be at peace, Riri,” Tagawa’s voice adds, also over the PA system.

The spirit looks around, seeming conflicted. “There’s still time left for a finale,” Oshima calls from where he and Nakamura are watching offstage.

The spirit seems to understand their wishes, bowing her head. “I’m sorry. You can leave the stage. I won’t follow you,” she says to Yashiki and Mashita. She turns away from them, facing the auditorium. “I have one last thing to do. A swan song before I go.” She gazes up to where the control booth is located, where it watches over the auditorium. “Hibiki, cue up Dido’s Lament, please.”

Yashiki takes Mashita’s hand and leads him offstage. As they settle into a position to observe, music begins to play over the speakers. The string instruments sound as if they are weeping as they create a plangent dirge before the recorded voice and the spirit join them, the spectral nature of her voice adding a haunting quality to her song as she harmonizes with her former self, “When I am laid, am laid in earth, may my wrongs create no trouble, no trouble in thy breast…”

“Hey.” Mashita’s voice is quiet, but they’re so close together, standing shoulder to shoulder in one of the wings offstage, that Yashiki doesn’t miss the call for his attention. He turns his head to look, a questioning expression on his face. “You doing okay?” Mashita asks.

It takes Yashiki a moment to answer. Physically, he’s very tired and likely to be quite sore tomorrow. Mentally, he’s still processing all the twists and turns he’s gone through over the last day. Emotionally, though? He feels quite calm. It could just be the result of being too tired to worry anymore at this point, but it’s more than that. This spirit’s grudge has been cleansed and she will take her leave soon, so it feels alright to call this case closed for now. That thought brings him peace, thus he feels calm. “I’m fine. Just really looking forward to going to bed after this.”

“I’m with you on that. I’m damned tired,” Mashita sighs. “Suffice to say, I’m staying at your place tonight.”

“I’d have asked you to stay even if you were considering going back to your apartment.” Yashiki can feel a blush rising on his face as he says, “We still need to talk about ‘us,’ after all.”

Mashita chuckles. “I was wondering whether you were going to bring it up. Yeah, sure, we’ll talk about ‘us’ later. It’s better to establish boundaries sooner rather than later, anyway.” He must notice the reddening of Yashiki’s face, as he gives Yashiki an impressively smug smile, which does nothing to alleviate the rosiness. In fact, it only increases the rate at which the blush spreads.

“Okay,” Yashiki mumbles and breaks eye contact, feeling the blooming blush beginning to make his ears burn. He returns his gaze to the stage, where the spirit seems to be approaching the end of her song.

“Remember me, remember me,” she croons, her voice ethereal and elegiac, “But, ah! Forget my fate!”

I doubt its mere coincidence she chose this for her final song. Yashiki glances toward the opposite wing, where he can see the cluster of Nakamura, Oshima, and Tagawa, having recently rejoined them downstairs. The trio all wear expressions of grief, the shine of fallen tears on their faces glimmering in the glow of the stage lights. But, there’s a kind of sad acceptance, of closure tempering the pain. They have their arms around each other as they watch their cherished mentor for the last time, their companionship serving as a balm to their collective loss.

The spirit’s body has begun to disintegrate, the edges of her form falling away in floating ashes, with the last notes of the song resonating in the empty auditorium. “Remember me. But, ah! Forget my fate…” She dissipates entirely as the echo fades to a ringing silence, and the theater feels colder than ever with her departure.

END OF ACT 4

Chapter Text

Yashiki is awakened out of a deep sleep by the ringing of a phone nearby. He’s so groggy from the rude awakening that it takes him several moments to process what is causing the noise. Ugh…I don’t want to move. The soreness of his muscles makes itself known with a burning ache in his legs, and his side feels tender. The pain in his side is likely why he’s curled up on the opposite side of his body, as opposed to lying on his back, as is the norm for him. His body aches make him even less inclined to move and find the phone that is still ringing.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels movement on the bed next to him and a sour voice grumbles, “Stupid fucking phone…” Yashiki’s eyes snap open and he turns his head to see Mashita leaning up in bed and reaching over to the nightstand to grab the ringing phone. He glares at the phone’s display before he answers the call, “What do you want now, you old hag?” There’s an indistinct murmuring from the phone and Mashita growls, “Of course, I sound rough. You woke me up.”

Yashiki sags back into the mattress as he tries to make sense of what’s happened. He remembers the confrontation with the spirit last night. He remembers saying their goodbyes to Nakamura, Tagawa, Oshima, and Rosé. He remembers leaving with Mashita and reaching home. But, he doesn’t remember much after that, and he definitely doesn’t remember how Mashita came to be in his bed.

“Yeah, the spirit’s been dealt with. I was going to call Iwamoto after I’d rested. But, someone interrupted that,” Mashita grouses, shifting in place to a more comfortable position, still talking on the phone. “I’d like to get back to doing that, so if you could wrap this up, I have a nice, warm bed calling my name.” His eyes drift over toward Yashiki as he listens to the phone. When he sees that Yashiki’s awake and looking back at him, the frown on his face softens. He moves the phone to his other ear, and his now free hand reaches out to grasp Yashiki’s hand from where it lies in front of his body on the bed. He laces their fingers together and gently squeezes Yashiki’s hand before his attention is drawn back to the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll let him know. Later.” Mashita ends the call and puts the phone back on the nightstand. He lies back down and rolls over to face Yashiki. “Hey. I’m guessing the phone woke you up?”

“Yeah,” Yashiki murmurs. “Was that Yasuoka?”

“Unfortunately,” Mashita groans. “She said she wanted a status report on the theater case. Honestly, I think she was just checking in on me, and you by extension.” His nose wrinkles, irritation with the elderly medium evident. “She told me to give you her regards.”

“I’ll give her a call later.” Yashiki glances down at their hands, still entwined between them. “Do you remember what time we got in last night?”

“Fuck no. After all that drama, we just came back here and crashed. We didn’t bother changing beyond taking our outerwear off. I didn’t even plug in my phone.” Mashita studies him for a moment. “You want to know why we’re both in your bed, don’t you?” Yashiki feels a blush rise on his face. Mashita’s observation is spot-on, as usual. He doesn’t trust that he won’t embarrass himself further, so he nods in response. “Well, in short, you’re really clingy when you’re exhausted,” Mashita clarifies for him. Those words bring back a fuzzy memory of returning to his bedroom and sitting on his bed with Mashita at his side. He remembers scraps of a conversation they had and gradually slumping against Mashita's shoulder as fatigue weighed heavier and heavier on him. His face burns a brighter red when he realizes he must have fallen asleep on Mashita and held onto him when he had attempted to pry himself free. “Looks like you remember now,” Mashita says, his voice light with suppressed humor.

“Yeah. Sorry,” Yashiki mumbles, embarrassed by his sleepy clinginess. He tries to hide his face in the pillow, only for Mashita’s free hand to slide up and cup his cheek, preventing him from completely burying his face. So embarrassing… But, his hand feels really nice. He’s warm. Yashiki’s eyes slide shut, enjoying the affectionate gesture.

“It’s fine. Your bed is pretty comfortable and you’re a quiet bedmate. I probably slept better than I usually do,” Mashita reassures him. “Well, until the unwanted wake-up call.” Yashiki can’t disagree with his assessment. It seems that they both benefited from sharing a bed last night. He doesn’t sleep soundly very often, but he doesn’t remember waking up during the night at all. His musing is interrupted by Mashita asking, “Just so we’re clear, you’re okay with sharing a bed, right? We didn’t exactly get to discuss boundaries yet.”

Yashiki opens his eyes, thinking about the question before he can answer. “Yeah, I’m comfortable with sharing a bed. I’m just embarrassed about the behavior that necessitated having to share a bed last night,” he responds. It’s also embarrassing to admit that aloud. But, he can’t hide from Mashita, he’s too observant, so being honest about his embarrassment it is.

Mashita chuckles. “You’re cute when you get flustered.” His comment naturally makes Yashiki feel even more bashful, making it hard to maintain eye contact. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“Sore. I ran more than I should have last night and I’m pretty sure I have a bruise on my side,” Yashiki admits.

“That’s right, you hit something when you pulled me out of the way of that fireball.” Mashita’s eyebrows furrow in concern, his eyes scanning over Yashiki’s body. “You should probably check on that.”

“I guess…” Yashiki plants one hand on the bed for the leverage to move, but a cramp that botches that plan, making him hiss and scrunch his eyes shut from the pain radiating across his side. He feels a warm hand on his arm, and he opens his eyes to see Mashita shifting the arm he had tried to use to a position that puts less stress on his sore body.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he scolds. The frown on his face has only deepened with his worry over Yashiki’s condition. A look of unease joins the concern in his expression. “Do you want me to look, instead?” he asks.

If he wasn’t currently in pain and still pretty tired, it would be easy to tease Mashita about how he has to undress Yashiki to do that. They’ve only just changed the status of their relationship to something more intimate, which makes this dilemma all the more awkward. That’s something Mashita already realizes, evidently. “Would you mind?” Yashiki asks.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did. Just making sure you’re okay with me removing your shirt,” Mashita replies. His hand skates up to the hem of Yashiki’s shirt, unwilling to push this next boundary without express permission.

“Yeah, go ahead. I trust you, remember?” Yashiki murmurs, keeping his eyes fixed on Mashita’s face. Those words put an expression into his eyes that Yashiki hasn’t yet seen: one of tender affection, with a hint of a hungry passion waiting under the surface. The ardor of it makes a pleasant thrill diffuse through Yashiki’s chest. It’s captivating, loving and being loved in return. Why did it take me so long to understand?

Mashita shifts up to kneel on the bed so he can move more easily. His hands are careful as he unbuttons the front of Yashiki’s shirt and opens it to look. The hiss that Mashita makes in response to what he sees doesn’t bode well. “It isn’t pretty, that’s for damn sure. You’ve got one helluva bruise.” Featherlight fingers brush along the bared skin of Yashiki’s waist, and he can’t help the shiver the gentle touch causes, both from the ticklishness and the soreness of the area.

“I can imagine. How big is it?” Yashiki asks.

Mashita narrows his eyes and purses his lips in response. “Maybe about the size of my hand. It’s a little hard to tell.” His eyes skim Yashiki’s body as he speaks, moving down to Yashiki’s hip. Considering his reluctant answer and where he’s looking…

Ah. I see. “It goes lower than my shirt, doesn’t it?”

“Looks like. Your hip probably took the brunt of the hit.” Mashita scowls at the injured area. “While I’m not happy you got hurt doing so, thanks for literally pulling my ass out of the line of fire.”

“A bruise is minor compared to what the fire could have done to you. I’ll heal.” But, I can’t lose you. Yashiki nudges one of Mashita’s knees. “Consider it repaying the favor for you having to drag me out of there a couple days ago.”

Mashita shakes his head at him. “Dumbass. You realize why I was so angry about that now, right?”

Yashiki blinks up at him in confusion until he makes the connection. “Oh. You…” His face flushes red again and he averts his eyes downward.

“Yeah.” Mashita puts a hand under Yashiki’s chin to make him look up and meet his eyes again. “I’ve wanted you for a while, and I hate watching you get hurt. I’m protective of what’s mine, and you’re mine now.” The intensity of his eyes makes it hard to look away. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m also pretty possessive over you.”

“I gathered that after last night,” Yashiki replies. He finds that he doesn’t mind the possessiveness. It’s just another part of Mashita, and, if the possessiveness is the result of the depth of his feelings for Yashiki, that just means he cares. It’s also a little flattering, though Yashiki doubts he’ll admit to that out loud.

“Good. You’re not as hopeless as I thought, then,” Mashita says, a little of his humor starting to come back. He releases Yashiki’s chin and sits back on his heels. “Well, I doubt we’re going to get any more sleep now. Want me to help you get up so you don’t strain that injury further?”

“Please.” I’m not looking to repeat that cramp from earlier. Mashita nods and puts a hand into Yashiki’s chest, pushing him onto his back, before he gets out of the bed. He walks to the other side of the bed and hands Yashiki his glasses before he steps close and wraps one of Yashiki’s arms over his shoulders. Yashiki still hasn’t quite caught onto his plan when he slides one arm under Yashiki’s knees and the other behind his back, and lifts him off the bed, making him squawk with surprise. “Ah! Mashita, put me down!”

There’s an amused, roguish twinkle in Mashita’s eyes. “I’m not going to drop you. Relax.”

“That’s not the problem,” Yashiki complains, feeling more than little embarrassed at being carried like a bride.

Mashita grins at him, “Remember how I said you’re cute when you’re flustered? Well, right now you’re being very cute.” Yashiki groans in response, his head falling back as he sulks. Mashita just laughs at his embarrassment, the handsome tease that he is. Even worse (for Yashiki’s composure), he carries Yashiki all the way downstairs before he sets him in one of the kitchen chairs.

“You’re awful,” Yashiki whines once he’s sitting down. He purposely looks away from Mashita as he rebuttons his shirt for decency’s sake.

“Hm, I don’t think you really mean that,” Mashita says, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He waits until Yashiki finishes buttoning his shirt to invade his personal space again, cupping his jaw with one hand and claiming his lips in a torrid kiss. Any resistance, even on principle, melts under the fervor of Mashita's mouth on his, and Yashiki finds his hands clutching onto Mashita’s shirt to pull him closer. He even parts his lips easily when the unspoken ask of a tongue sliding along the seam comes, eyes falling shut as the kiss deepens. He unconsciously surrenders under the force of his own previously unrecognized, now unleashed desire for the other man. When Mashita finally breaks the kiss, pulling back to stare into Yashiki’s face, he smirks at the love-drunk look he finds, heavy lids fluttering open to reveal half-blown pupils, lips wet and reddened from the force of the kiss. “Seems I was right.” He presses one more quick kiss to Yashiki’s lips before releasing him. “Think you’ll be okay if I leave you alone for a bit so I can go make a call?” he asks.

“Huh?” Yashiki’s still too dazed from the kiss to respond intelligently, blinking up at his partner in bewilderment.

Mashita chuckles and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He takes a step back and turns to leave the kitchen. “Why don’t you make some coffee while I’m busy?” he suggests as he exits the room.

Yashiki’s wits catch up to him a smidge too late. “Wait a second! You can’t just kiss me like that and walk off like it’s nothing!” he protests. The only response he gets is a hearty laugh from down the hall. “You’re the worst!” He did that on purpose! Ugh. I really could use some coffee, but now I’m annoyed by the thought of it. He glowers down at the table in front of him for a moment, then sighs. I’m just punishing myself at this point. He takes care not to aggravate his injury further as he gets to his feet to begin the process of making coffee. I have half a mind to sweeten his coffee just to annoy him back, but that would be a waste of perfectly good sugar.

Chapter Text

“Yeah, we’ll come by later to get the paperwork out of the way,” Mashita says, one hand holding his cell phone up to his ear as he looks down at the accumulated documents they’ve acquired or generated with this case spread across Yashiki’s desk. They’ll need to organize the lot of them for his own records. Not now, though. Later.

“That would be much appreciated, Mr. Mashita. Your work has been invaluable to the theater, you and Mr. Yashiki,” Iwamoto commends him from his side of the call. The general manager sounds much better than he had yesterday. The near tangible air of dismay in his voice has been replaced by an almost annoying level of aplomb and ample praise. But, he’s the one who will be writing the check to pay for their work, so Mashita can’t exactly complain about it (much).

He rolls his eyes and asks, “Is there anything else you need from me right now?” I’d like to get back to my partner.

“No, that should be it for now. Just know that if you plan on visiting the theater today, you should do so before 4 pm. We’ll begin setting up for tonight’s performance after that and it will become too busy backstage at that point,” Iwamoto advises.

“Got it. Well, I’ll be going now. Bye,” Mashita replies. He’s eager to get out of this conversation.

“Goodbye, Mr. Mashita. Thank you again,” Iwamoto says.

Mashita ends the call and sets his phone down on the desk. Glad that’s done with. He needs to plug his phone into a charger soon, but that can wait for now. I wonder if Yashiki took my suggestion. His coffee is better than the stuff from the pricey coffee shops. He chuckles to himself, remembering the other man’s indignation when he’d left him in the kitchen. He really is too easy to tease. He gets up from the office chair with the intent to head back to the kitchen when he hears a shocked yelp and the sound of shattering ceramic. He’s out of the study in a flash and runs to the kitchen, worried about what could have happened in there to make Yashiki yell like that. He charges into the room to find a truly awful sight.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands of the uninvited guest in the room.

“Visiting, of course,” Rosé replies matter-of-factly. She’s sitting at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, looking perfectly polished compared to their own rumpled state. Yashiki is standing by the kitchen counter, rubbing the space between his eyebrows with the air of someone who sincerely regrets having woken up today, but he looks fine, otherwise. The fragments of a mug lie strewn on the floor in front of him.

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t give any invitations to come to my house last night,” Yashiki mutters. Under his breath, he adds, “That was a good mug, too.”

“How did you even get in here? I know I made sure the doors were locked last night,” Mashita growls, glaring at the woman even as he walks up to Yashiki.

“Detective, what’s the second role I play as a performer?” Rosé asks instead of answering the question directly.

Mashita reaches his partner and positions himself between Yashiki and Rosé, shooting her a dirty look as he analyzes her words. Her role? She’s a magician. What does that have to do with anything? Wait…she specializes in escape tricks. Goddammit. “Breaking and entering is literally a crime. You do realize it wouldn’t be that hard for me to see you arrested for this, right?” he snaps.

“Do you really think that would work?” she cheekily replies.

Before Rosé can provoke Mashita further, Yashiki interrupts, “That’s enough. Mashita, I’m fine. I just got startled. Rosé, please, stop antagonizing him.” He sighs heavily. “I haven’t had the caffeine necessary to deal with squabbling.”

“Oh, fine. Spoilsport,” Rosé complains, disappointed to have her fun thwarted, sitting back in her chair.

Mashita keeps an eye on her as he fetches a small hand-broom and dustpan from under the kitchen sink to remove the broken ceramic before someone can hurt themselves on the shards. Meanwhile, Yashiki returns to what he’d been doing before someone snuck up on him, fetching two mugs (after getting a replacement for the one he’d dropped) for the coffee waiting in the French press on the counter. Once the coffee has been poured into the mugs and the emptied beaker set aside for the moment, he turns to Rosé and asks, “Since you’re here anyway, can I offer you anything to drink? There’s a good selection of tea in the tea chest.” He indicates the polished wooden box sitting on the counter nearby.

“That would be lovely. Yes, thank you,” Rosé smiles at him, and gets to her feet to peruse the contents of the box. Yashiki nods and returns to the stove to grab the kettle to refill it. Mashita finishes disposing of the broken mug and heads to the sink to wash his hands, meeting Yashiki there as he fills the kettle.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks in low voice.

“I could use some painkillers, but I can get those myself once I put this on the stove. I’m fine, really,” Yashiki replies.

“Alright, but you have to tell me if that changes,” Mashita relents.

“Of course,” Yashiki nods, then moves to set the kettle on the stove to boil. To Rosé, he says, “I’ll be right back.” To Mashita, he whispers, “Please, don’t fight while I’m out of the room.”

“I’ll try, but no promises,” Mashita shrugs. I can’t promise anything while she’s hanging around. Yashiki sighs again, knowing that’s the best he’ll get for now. He leaves the room, albeit reluctantly.

Needless to say, as soon as Yashiki is out of earshot, Rosé turns to Mashita with a mischievous grin. “So,” she starts, “You spent the night?”

“So what if I did? How is that any of your business?” he growls, turning to grab one of the mugs of coffee for himself. He agrees with Yashiki that he needs caffeine before he can deal with any bickering likely to take place.

“I suppose it isn’t,” Rosé offers. “I’ve just noticed that you’re rather possessive over your partner. I wonder why that is.”

“That especially isn’t any of your business,” he replies irritably. He’s mine. Keep your paws off him. He takes a sip of his coffee to distract his temper.

“Now, now. I’m not asking out of my own interest in him, although he is an interesting person,” she says, her tone turning conciliatory.

“Then, why are you asking?” He fixes her with a hard stare.

“Curiosity, more than anything.” She shrugs and turns back to the tea chest. She selects a blend from the variety displayed and pulls a tea bag from the chest. Yashiki returns just as the kettle boils, so he goes directly to the stove to take it off the burner and switch off the heat. He sets a mug out, pours the hot water into it, and hands the mug to Rosé. “Thank you.”

“If you need it sweetened, we only have sugar,” Yashiki says as he reaches for the sugar bowl himself. No need to mention why we don’t keep honey in the house.

“No, that isn’t necessary. Thank you for asking, though,” Rosé replies, adding the tea bag to her mug. She inhales the smell of the contents as they steep and sighs with appreciation. “What a lovely scent.”

Yashiki nods and joins Mashita by the counter, taking the remaining mug of coffee for himself and preparing it to his own taste. It’s a testament to how annoyed the other man is by the presence of Rosé that he doesn’t even comment on how sweet Yashiki makes his coffee. “So, why is it that you came here? How did you even find my address?” he asks of Rosé.

“Ah, yes.” Rosé sets her mug down on the table and faces them directly. “I have a message for you from Tagawa. She and the other two talked after leaving the theater last night. They realized there are some details that you likely still have questions about. Oshima had to return to K City last night, and Nakamura is busy with exams and end of term projects, so neither of them have the time to stick around. Tagawa volunteered to answer any questions you may have, but she didn’t have your contact information, so she called on me as a go-between. As for how I knew where to go, well, let’s just say that I have my ways and leave it at that.”

She’s way too damn cocky. “And, that meant you needed to break in?” Mashita asks, still frustrated with how easily she infiltrated the mansion.

“Not necessarily, but it was a fruitful endeavor,” Rosé replies. An impish look glitters in her eyes. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“For what? Cleansing the spirit?” Mashita retorts, unsure of what she’s implying.

She must have waited for the opportune moment for chaos, as, just as Yashiki goes to take a sip of his coffee, she says, “Why, the advancement of your relationship to a romantic entanglement, of course.” Yashiki chokes on his coffee and starts coughing. Mashita takes the mug from him, setting it on the counter, and pats his back while glaring at Rosé.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” he demands, not admitting to anything.

“I must have misheard, then. A little while ago, I heard someone protesting being kissed and the other person walking away from it ‘like it was nothing,’ if I’m interpreting what I heard correctly,” Rosé replies, a wicked smile curling her lips. She giggles when both men turn very red at being caught out. “You don’t need to worry about me gossiping about it. That’s not my style. I will say that you aren’t the most subtle about how you feel about each other, though.” She sends a very pointed look at Mashita. “All the glaring was a dead giveaway.”

Yashiki glances at Mashita with a questioning look, while still struggling to stop coughing. “I already explained myself earlier. I don’t like other people flirting with you,” he says, averting his eyes despite how red his cheeks have gone. In a low mutter, he adds, “You’re mine.”

“Regardless, you have my support for your new status. If I may clear up something, I wasn’t being serious with my attentions toward Yashiki.” Rosé turns to Yashiki. “While I find you a fascinating individual and wouldn’t mind working with you again, I’m afraid you’re not my type. I prefer younger men,” she explains.

“So, all the flirting was for what?” Mashita asks. He’s not inclined towards forgiving her just yet (if ever).

“My apologies, but I was testing you, specifically. I’d heard about your personality long before we met, so I was curious to see how you interacted with Yashiki. Imagine my surprise when I saw how protective you are over him. That hinted at something more going on than was immediately apparent, so I paid a bit more attention to him to see if you’d take the bait,” she giggles again, amused by how well her scheming turned out.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Mashita groans and turns away from Rosé, thoroughly embarrassed. Yashiki’s coughing tapers off and he smiles sympathetically at Mashita, then looks over at Rosé.

“I appreciate the support, but don’t do that again, please,” he requests in a hoarse voice.

“My curiosity has been sated, so no worries there,” Rosé replies. She picks her tea up from the table and takes a deep sip. She shuts her eyes for a moment, thoroughly delighted at the taste, before speaking again. “Returning to the official reason for my visit, Tagawa told me she’ll be visiting the theater later today if you’d like to speak with her. She said she’d tag along with someone who does work there, so you can go whenever you like.”

“We still need to complete some paperwork for Iwamoto, so we’ll talk to her when we go do that. Thank you for relaying the message, Rosé. Although, I will ask you to not break into my house in the future. I’d prefer it if you called,” Yashiki says.

“We’ll exchange numbers. I can’t promise I’ll always be available, but I’ll get back to you when I have a chance. My work takes me all over the country, and even overseas, after all,” she adds.

Yashiki nods and turns back to Mashita, who is grumbling over his coffee and looking put out. “Are you okay?”

“Just…finish your coffee so we can get this day over with. Barely been awake an hour and I’m already tired. Fucking busybodies…” he mutters and downs the rest of his coffee.

Chapter Text

Rosé took her leave after finishing her tea and leaving a card with her contact information. Once they’d had a chance to clean up properly (neither had any energy left to do so after running around the theater last night) and change into clean, crisp clothes, Yashiki and Mashita head back to the theater, for, hopefully, the last time.

As they enter the theater through the staff entrance, it already feels markedly different inside the backstage. It feels brighter, less claustrophobic, despite the clouds gathering outside heralding the arrival of a late winter rainstorm. A few stagehands are scurrying about in the storage wing, readily conversing with one another as they reorganize the contents of a storage room with the ease of those who have done so a thousand times before. The door to Iwamoto’s office is open and the general manager is at his desk as usual. He looks far better than he did yesterday, more put together, hair combed neatly and not a wrinkle to be seen on his suit. He greets them with a bright smile as they enter, “Welcome back! Thank you again for everything you’ve done. Please, sit down so we can get the forms finalized. I can cut you a check once we’re done.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mashita responds as he and Yashiki sit down in the old chairs for the last time. Iwamoto hands them both a pair of prepared clipboards with different forms attached. It’s mostly the process of filling out an invoice and a report of the events of the previous night that need to be completed. Iwamoto had separated the forms between the two of them. With the splitting of the work, they finish within a half hour.

Once they’ve finished filling out the forms, they hand them back to Iwamoto, who removes them from their clipboards and files them into folder he has waiting by his side. “Thank you. One moment, please,” Iwamoto asks. He reaches for a drawer in his desk and pulls a lock box out. He sets the box on the desk, reaches into another drawer for a key, and unlocks it. Inside are a zippered bank deposit bag and checkbook. He pulls the checkbook out and sets the lock box aside. “Has the rate we discussed earlier changed, at all?” he asks, as he reaches for a pen.

“No. Daily rate’s the same. Just multiply it by four, for each day of investigation,” Mashita replies.

“Understood,” Iwamoto nods. He calculates the total amount, writes out the check, and pulls it from the checkbook, handing it to Mashita.

Mashita looks at the check, then looks up in surprise. “This is more than what you owe. You sure you didn’t mess up your calculations?” he asks.

“Consider it a bonus for taking care of the theater so promptly. As well as payment for any injuries you have suffered,” Iwamoto replies. “I won’t be persuaded otherwise that you aren’t deserving. On behalf of myself and my employees, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Iwamoto. It’s been an experience, to be sure,” Yashiki intervenes, sending Mashita a look that says, “Just accept the money. You worked hard for it.”

“Ah, before I forget, I need the keys to the staff entrance and the control room back,” Iwamoto requests.

“Yeah, here.” Mashita folds and puts the check away, and pulls the keys from a pocket of his coat, handing them to Iwamoto.

“Much appreciated,” Iwamoto says, accepting the keys and putting them away in his desk. “Please, know that you’re both always welcome here.”

“Sure, thanks,” Mashita replies. He catches Yashiki’s eye and gives a tiny jerk of his head toward the door. He’d like to leave.

“If that will be all, Mr. Iwamoto, we have an appointment to keep, so we will have to leave you here,” Yashiki excuses them.

“Of course. Thank you again. Have a good rest of your day!” Iwamoto bids them farewell and returns to his work. The pair leave the office and head back to the central area.

Mashita stops by the staff door with an annoyed look on his face. “She never told us when to meet Tagawa, did she?” he asks.

“Ah.” That’s right. Rosé didn’t tell us when to meet with Tagawa. Just to find her here sometime today. “No, I’m afraid she didn’t,” Yashiki shakes his head.

“Goddammit. Now, what?” Mashita groans. Yashiki is at a loss for what to do next when the staff door creaks open and a pair of familiar faces walk through.

“Here they are! Told you they would be, Haru-chan,” Tagawa grins at the young man next to her.

“Ms. Tagawa, please…not the nickname,” Uehara complains. It seems they’re quite well acquainted with one another.

“Good afternoon, Tagawa, Uehara,” Yashiki nods to the pair.

“Ah, um, good afternoon to you as well, Mr. Yashiki, Mr. Mashita,” Uehara greets them. He looks rather unhappy to be teased in front of them again. “I’m…going to go now.” He quickly walks away down the actors’ wing.

Tagawa shakes her head at his retreat. “That kid. I do him the favor of driving him here, and he can’t wait to get away from me,” she gives an exaggerated sigh, as if she’s actually disappointed. The act doesn’t last long, as she turns to the pair with a smile. “Thanks for agreeing to meet up. This won’t take long, but I imagine you’d like to be a smidge more comfortable, so, shall we?” She gestures toward the actors’ wing.

“Why the hell not?” Mashita shrugs.

“That’s the spirit! C’mon,” Tagawa laughs and walks down the hall. She leads the way to dressing room 8, opening the door for them. It doesn’t look like this room sees much use, as there’s no vanity, only a cabinet and several folding chairs stacked against a wall. She flicks the light on, and immediately heads over to set out chairs. She sets a trio of chairs out and flops into one with purposeful inelegance, and says, “Get comfortable. Rosé gave you the summary of why I needed to talk to you, right?”

“If you mean by, she said that you, Nakamura, and Oshima wanted to clear things up, then, yeah,” Mashita replies as he takes a seat. That, among other things. He’s still cranky about her “visit” this morning. Yashiki takes the chair next to him and pulls out his notebook.

“Cool. So, there’s gotta be some stuff you don’t have answers to yet. Hit me with your questions,” Tagawa volunteers.

“I have a couple. I assume you must know about the hidden shrine. Who built it and why?” Yashiki asks.

Tagawa doesn’t look surprised that he knows. “Starting with the hard ones, eh? Alright,” she remarks. She sets her hands in her lap and begins, “The group of us built it. Those of us who Riri coached, specifically. One of us did a lot of set building while he was at the theater, so carpentry was already something he knew well. He built the shrine after he got some advice on the proper methods for doing so.”

“As for why? Originally, we weren’t going to build a shrine at all, but we realized it was necessary after a couple managers from the old theater died in a car fire and then their lackeys died as well. At that point, we figured out why. Since they were the ones who had been stirring up trouble for Riri when she was alive, she had to be taking revenge on them. So, we put up a shrine in a hidden spot to pacify her while Debut Entertainment got into legal battles over the burnt out theater, then we moved the shrine when the demolition started. When they started building this place, the construction crew were having way too many accidents, so we sweet-talked the foreman into letting us leave the shrine on the property, and, wouldn’t you know, the accidents stopped. After that, he had no problem making a spot to hide it in the new building,” she finishes explaining.

“It was that easy?” Mashita asks, casting a doubtful look at her.

“Look, man, you saw how freaked out the manager here was yesterday. It was a lot closer to when the fire happened, so the construction crew was already jumpy, working on a spot where people died because of bad construction and a lack of safety precautions. Think how wigged out they got when they started seeing shit break in front of their eyes and people getting hurt. After that, the foreman was so happy to have a solution that worked and have his crew working without problems, we could’ve asked him to build a sign that said ‘Debut Entertainment Sucks!’ and he’d have only asked us to pay for the materials,” Tagawa illustrates her point.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Mashita admits. “How’d it become a secret between the actors and costume department?”

“That was Nakamura’s doing. He wanted to be sure the shrine was taken care of, and he knew very well how much Riri loved watching newbies blossom in their work, so he started a rumor with the kids going in for internships that there was a spirit who would watch over them if they left their respects at her shrine. Worked pretty well, for a while at least,” Tagawa replies.

“Speaking of Nakamura, that letter he threw at us last night. How’d he know it would help?” Mashita asks.

Tagawa blinks, looking a bit confused, then she hums as she thinks of an answer. “Oh, right, that. Well, I can’t say for certain what his and Oshima’s thought process was, but, if I had to guess? They knew or at least had a good guess that you had gotten into the shrine, so it doesn’t take too much guesswork from that to infer that you read the letter we left in there. They must have predicted that you’d need something to prove to Riri that you were there to help. So, I’m still guessing here, Oshima wrote up a copy of the letter and Nakamura turned it into a paper airplane to throw it to you,” she explains.

“That clears up a lot of the loose ends we still had, thank you,” Yashiki says.

“Anything else?” Tagawa asks.

“Yeah, I have one. What’s the deal with her and lilies? We kept finding references to them, or gifts to her that involved lilies,” Mashita points out.

Tagawa lets out a bark of laughter, “Oh, is that all? It’s in her name, duh. The ‘Riri’ in ‘Ririka’ means lily. She always said her family called her Lily as a kid, so she grew up loving the flower and just about anything with lilies on them. It’s why I still call her ‘Riri,’ even though she’s gone. She loved that nickname.”

That’s actually pretty straightforward. “Alright, then,” Mashita remarks, accepting the answer.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Tagawa. We really appreciate it,” Yashiki says, closing his notebook.

“It’s no problem. Thanks for letting us get some closure, finally. Oh, while I’m thinking of it, would you mind doing us a small favor?” Tagawa asks.

“That depends on what the favor is,” Mashita replies.

“We’d like a copy of your findings, specifically regarding anything you can tell us about the cover-up after the fire. Hell, throw in the harassment cover-up from this theater. We’d like to light a fire of our own under the asses of the scum that enabled all of it, make ‘em squirm like the gutless worms they are,” Tagawa explains, a vicious gleam in her eyes.

“Are you sure that’s safe for all of you? You could destroy your careers,” Yashiki warns.

Tagawa waves the concern off. “I’m aware. That’s why I’ll be taking anything you give us to my boss. I work for the local TV station, remember? That includes the local news program. The journalists will eat this up and Debut can’t do shit, ‘cause the station is part of a network larger than theirs. Besides, I doubt Mrs. Makino will be too thrilled about a harassment cover-up where her daughter, godson, and their friends are interning.” She chuckles to herself, a wicked tone to her laughter.

“Makino? You can’t mean that kid we met a couple days ago,” Mashita interjects. It would be another crazy coincidence in this web of connections to this place.

“As far as I know, there’s only one Makino Kayomi that’s an intern here, so, yeah, I do mean her. Nice kid, good head on her shoulders, talented as hell to boot. I’ve known her and Haruo for some years, basically since I started working at the station, ‘cause her mom’s a show producer and his dad’s a cameraman. They’re decent folk and they know how sketchy people can get in this industry. So, if I bring evidence of shady shit to Mrs. Makino, I trust that she’ll do the right thing with it,” Tagawa explains.

Mashita and Yashiki exchange looks, a silent conversation over if they should hand over the information. Eventually, Mashita nods and turns back to Tagawa. “Okay, we’ll get you a copy of what we found out. You’ll probably want to get hard-copy evidence of the cover-up that took place here directly from Iwamoto. I talked to him about it, and he’s pretty pissed with his superiors for hiding such serious transgressions from him. If you ask, he’s likely to provide you with what you need,” he suggests.

“Really? I didn’t know that,” Yashiki remarks, surprised at how bold Iwamoto is willing to be.

“It came up during the call I made this morning. If Tagawa here wasn’t volunteering to take the info to the news, I’d have suggested we make use of that acquaintance of ours to get it into the open,” Mashita explains, knowing that Yashiki can pick up on who exactly he’s referring to.

“Christie would be furious if we involved her in this, even if the spirit is cleansed and has moved on. She was quite angry with you for asking for information on the background of that case last September,” Yashiki chides him.

“Wait, you know Arimura Christie? How’s she doing, if it isn’t too much to ask?” Tagawa cuts in.

Yashiki gapes at her for a moment, a little surprised at how quickly she made the connection and how genuine her concern is. “She’s doing well, the last I heard from her. She returned from overseas a month or so ago, after the furor from her expose died down,” he answers.

Tagawa sighs in relief. “That’s good. People at our station were real worried about her last year. After that expose she published, there were a lot of people who were dying to get a hold of her, so we were worried about what they’d do to score an interview. Glad she weathered the storm and stayed the hell out of the way while people lost their fool minds. Hey, if she’s ever struggling with finding work, you can send her over to our station. We’d be happy to have her,” she says.

“I’ll be sure to relay your well-wishes,” Yashiki assures her.

“Cool, glad to hear it. Do you have any other questions or requests?” Tagawa asks.

“Oh, yes.” Yashiki reaches into his bag and pulls out the zippered pouch. “Since you know Uehara, could you give this to him?”

Tagawa takes the pouch from him, eyeing it curiously. “Sure? It doesn’t look like his style, though.”

“It belongs to one of his friends. She lent it to us during the investigation. Since we’re done here, I’d like for it to get back to her,” Yashiki explains.

“That makes sense.” Tagawa looks at the pouch in her hand again, then gets an amused look in her eyes. “Mind telling me which friend? He’s got several.”

“Date Kiho,” Yashiki responds.

That brings a smirk to Tagawa’s face. “Oh, then I’ll definitely make sure to get this to Haruo.” The way she says that likely means there’s a great deal more teasing in store in Uehara’s near future. Poor bastard.

Tagawa stands up from her seat. “If that’s everything, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

“It should be everything. If we have any other questions, would you mind if we could have your contact information? We also need to know where to send the case report as well,” Yashiki asks.

“Sure. Can I borrow that notebook and your pen real fast?” Tagawa asks in return. Yashiki opens the notebook to a blank page and hands it and a pen to her. She starts writing, then pauses. “Do you need an email address or just my number and a post box address?” she asks.

“I’m not very good with computers, so just a number and an address I can send the copy of our findings to are fine,” Yashiki replies. Not very good with computers is putting it mildly.

Tagawa catches the awkward look on his face and snickers. “Whatever you say,” she remarks, whilst scribbling something into the notebook. She finishes writing her information down and hands the items back. “Here you go. Just don’t call at the witching hour or expect an immediate response if you leave a message. I still gotta work and sleep, after all.”

“Of course,” Yashiki nods, stowing the notebook and pen away again.

Tagawa takes a step toward the door and stops, furrowing her brow as if confused. “Dammit, I’m forgetting something. I’m sure of it.” She looks up toward the ceiling as she racks her brains. “What was it?”

“It can’t be your coat; you’re still wearing it,” Mashita points out.

“No, it was something I was supposed to give you, I think,” Tagawa responds. She pats her hands over her coat, searching for something. “Ah! Here it is! That’s right, Nakamura said you should have this.” She pulls a CD case from a pocket of her coat and hands it to Yashiki.

“A CD?” Mashita asks, peering at the item from next to Yashiki.

“It’s one of the CDs of Riri’s recordings. Specifically, the one we used last night. When I went to give it back to Nakamura, we found that written on it,” she points to the CD case. There’s words written in an elegant script on the surface. Well, written isn’t entirely right. It would be more accurate to say the words have been lightly etched or burned into the surface. They have a simple message:

“Give them a copy, and tell them thank you for me. And, that I’m sorry for causing trouble. Shine bright, my stars. Love, always, Riri.”

“We figured she could only be referring to you. Rosé already has a copy that I gave her after she asked for one, and we all have copies. That just left you two,” Tagawa explains. “Nakamura has another copy at home, and we never could deny Riri anything, so he said you should have this copy.”

“But, why? I can’t figure out what reason she could have to ask for this.” Mashita frowns at the CD case, as if it could answer his questions.

“I think…this is the legacy she wants to leave behind. She never meant to become the wrathful spirit we met here. I think she’s asking us to remember the person immortalized in the recordings, not the spirit,” Yashiki murmurs, looking down at the CD case with something akin to admiration.

“‘Remember me, but forget my fate,’” Tagawa quotes, echoing the last words of the spirit. “Yeah, that sounds like something she’d do. Honestly, she probably felt really indebted to you, so this is the best method she could think of to repay you. Either that, or she wanted to make opera lovers out of you. Could be either or both at the same time.” She shrugs, although her tone imparts the lack of confidence she has in her latter theory.

Yashiki puts the CD case away in his bag for the time being. “Thank you, Tagawa. We’ll keep it safe.”

“If by ‘we’ you mean yourself, then, yeah, it’ll be safe. I don’t need it cluttering up my office,” Mashita grouses. Yashiki chuckles. You mean you don’t want it period and want me to keep it. You’re too transparent to me about this. Mashita gives him a look from the corner of his eye that speaks of the storm of sardonic words he’d be in for if he voices any of the thoughts in his head, so Yashiki keeps it to himself, save for a slight smile he can’t quite smother.

“Okay, for real this time, I’m done. I’ll see you around, maybe. Have a good one!” Tagawa waves as she leaves the dressing room.

“Glad that’s done with. That’s the last thing we had to do here, so let’s head back to your place,” Mashita suggests as he folds up the chairs they’d been using. Yashiki helps him by leaning them against the wall again and soon they’ve flicked the light switch off and left the room for good. On the way out of the theater, the stagehands they pass convey their thanks to them, which they accept as politely as people can when they’re eager to leave. Fortunately, they’re quick exchanges of words and they soon reach the staff door. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before anyone else can stop us,” Mashita urges, practically pushing Yashiki out the door. Yashiki lets him, figuring he might as well let him get the impatience out of his system. They hurry back to the parking garage with rain beginning to sprinkle down on the area.

Back in the familiar comfort of Yashiki’s car, Yashiki takes the wheel while Mashita sits beside him with his bag. He wastes little time rummaging through it while Yashiki drives them out of the parking garage and back home. He casts a questioning glance at Mashita, wondering what he’s up to. It’s not like he doesn’t know what’s in the bag this time. “I’m just looking for your notebook,” Mashita explains without looking up, feeling the curious look on him by some instinct or intuition.

“If you say so,” Yashiki replies, redirecting his complete attention to the road ahead. The paper of the notebook makes a ruffling sound as Mashita flips through it. Just as they reach the highway, Mashita makes a strangled sort of sound. “What? What’s wrong?” Yashiki risks a glance at his partner and finds him turning a bright red and covering his face with one hand. “Mashita?”

“Save me from these damned meddling women,” Mashita groans.

Yashiki keeps his eyes on the road, despite how curious he is as to what could be causing his embarrassment. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Tagawa. She must’ve been conspiring with Rosé, because she left a very particular note with her contact information. Ugh,” Mashita complains. He shoots Yashiki a look that he catches from the corner of his eye. “I’m absolutely not reading it to you, so get that thought out of your head if you were going to ask. Fucking hell…” He shuts the notebook and puts it away in the bag. What could Tagawa have written that caused this reaction?

The ride back to the mansion is quiet, as there’s nothing Yashiki can come up with to assuage Mashita’s embarrassment and Mashita is none too inclined towards chatting while he’s as red as a tomato. Once they pull into the garage and Yashiki puts the car in park, Mashita hands him his bag and says, “Go ahead and read for yourself. I’m going inside.” He stalks off to the house without another word, his ears still noticeably pink.

Yashiki leaves the car and slings his bag back on, then locks the car. He starts to follow after Mashita, but curiosity gets the best of him and he pulls his notebook out. He flips to the most recent page and finds Tagawa’s name, a phone number, an address, and a message written there:

“I hope you’ve kissed that sarcastic detective already. Rosé said you did, but I’ll believe it when I see it. At any rate, he’s clearly besotted with you, so if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? You’re so obviously into each other, it’s enough to make me agree with Rosé that you need a push. Go get him!

 If you’re reading this, detective, then you better get to it and claim the guy already! Fortune favors the bold, after all! Seize the day! Or just seize him and fuck each other silly, whatever you prefer. I leave that up to you. Cheers!

P.S. Your secret is safe with me. Have fun, you two!”

Yashiki can feel how hot his face is burning from blushing once he’s finished reading the message. I can see why Mashita was so mortified. Oh my God. He puts the notebook away and moves his glasses out of the way to scrub a hand down his face. Are we really that obvious? The latter part of the message, the part addressed to Mashita, pops back up in his head and he can feel the blush deepen when he remembers the last suggestion Tagawa had made. He shakes the thought from his head and returns his glasses to their place. Regardless of Tagawa’s “encouragement,” he’s doing himself no favors hanging out in the unheated garage while he deals with his embarrassment, so he heads back to the house, where it’s warm and his most cherished person is waiting.

END OF ACT 5

Chapter Text

It’s been a few weeks since the theater case was closed and they’ve been taking each day at a time with regards to their new relationship. It’s been pretty thrilling, even the little things, like spending time together at the end of the day or learning each other’s likes and dislikes. Every new tidbit of information Mashita gleans about Yashiki is carefully filed away for future usage. Like how he learned that Yashiki is quite sensitive to touch at the same time he figured out that Yashiki really likes it when Mashita leaves marks on him. The man has acquired quite the collection of love bites under the coverage of his shirt since Mashita learned that nugget of information, as well as a couple that aren’t so well hidden, deliberately left to remind any who’d try to flirt with Yashiki that he’s very much taken, thank you very much. No, Mashita does not have any jealousy issues, despite what certain members of the peanut gallery that comprise their social circle might say.

Other things required more difficult conversations to work out. Mashita had to all but demand that Yashiki join him as a partner in the investigation agency. The man still hadn’t taken him seriously when he had asked him to join him for the second time last Autumn. Apparently, Yashiki was laboring under the misconception that he’d be a burden rather than a boon to the business. Sure, he loses focus sometimes when Mashita isn’t there to redirect him, but he’s definitely not a burden or useless. Mashita realized that he really needs to work on the guy’s self-esteem issues after learning about that misapprehension. However, after all the legwork he’d done for the theater case, and the fact that Mashita did not want to handle legitimately spiritual phenomena without him, Mashita isn’t letting him get away this time.

Then, there’s the topic of having Mashita move into the mansion permanently. They aren’t quite there yet, in terms of being comfortable living together full time, but, given that he’s there almost every day now, rent in the city isn’t exactly cheap, and it’d mean he’d have access to Yashiki all the time, it’s looking like it won’t be too long until he becomes a permanent resident. It’s hesitation on his own part that’s keeping him from moving in, really. He still can’t quite believe that Yashiki loves him, the guy who’s more likely to insult him than to pamper him. A tiny piece of him dreads the possibility of Yashiki someday deciding he wants nothing to do with him anymore. Maybe it’s the result of his own history of losing important relationships unexpectedly. He doesn’t know for sure. At least, he knows that Yashiki doesn’t think any less of him for his faults and reservations.

Basically, other than their own hang-ups that they need to work through, things are good.

Regarding the outcome of the theater case, the theater has returned to putting on more complex shows. It had taken some time to prepare, but Tagawa’s promise to see the cover-ups made public had borne fruit. An expose, produced by the local news station, brought the details that Debut Entertainment had wanted kept secret into the light and the scandal caused some big ripples in the local entertainment industry. As predicted, the company had to bow their heads and take the public censure, with the pressure from the news networks reporting on the disgrace and from H City University making their displeasure over the cover-up known. Not to mention, the pressure also coming from their own in-house law team and board of directors, who were less than thrilled at the infamy the company had incurred by hiding things from them and trying to skirt employment regulations. The affair resulted in a major shake-up in the company’s corporate hierarchy.

Iwamoto wasn’t able to keep his position as general manager in the midst of the crossfire, but it didn’t seem to faze the man. Last they’d heard from him, he’d moved on to take a position as an operations manager for a convention center in K City. The stagehands injured during the haunting have healed, and those that wished to move on from their positions were given generous severance payments and those that stayed had their medical bills and time off paid for by Debut Entertainment, at their lawyers’ insistence.

In the meantime, Spring Break has come and gone for students of all ages, and the high school seniors have graduated. Ai had wanted to invite the Mark Bearers to her graduation, only to have those plans dashed by her manager, to no one’s surprise but her own, unfortunately. Her lamentation and apologies were profuse, but no one begrudged her the lost opportunity. It seemed that the experience had directly lead to Ai plotting with Moe to not miss the next event held by one of the Mark Bearers.

Meanwhile, Shou invited both Yashiki and Mashita to his graduation ceremony, only really expecting that Yashiki would come. Finding them both there had surprised him, happily so. The arrival of Moe and a carefully disguised Ai, both chaperoned by Daimon, was another pleasant surprise that brought a smile to the teen’s face. Well, until he got dragged into a hug by his enthusiastic mother in front of everyone, much to his red-faced and vocal dismay. His protests had only gotten louder once he realized that Moe had taken pictures of the whole moment. The pictures came out beautifully once developed, everyone agreed after the fact.

Spring moves forward, bringing new life and warmth with it, along with wind and rain. Other work comes their way, as well as surprises, but those are stories for another time.

The End.