Work Text:
This was so stupid. One minute she was watching a guy in a paper hat rant about cryptids, the next—
Wham. Floor. Pain.
She had been squished up against Okarun in the internet café while he excitedly showed her a string of YouTube videos featuring a so-called cryptologist professor ranting about UMAs—Unidentified Mysterious Animals, as Okarun insisted on calling them.
At first, she’d written the guy off as just some raving loon in a paper hat. But the longer she watched, the more some of it actually started to make sense… Or maybe it was just Okarun’s enthusiasm rubbing off on her. That happened more often than she liked to admit.
She’d just started leaning in, half-convinced by the guy’s wild diagrams, when the chair suddenly disappeared from beneath her.
There was a lurch of weightlessness, a gut-twisting pull—and then she hit the ground. Hard.
She scrambled upright instantly, eyes darting around.
“Okarun!” she shouted.
“I’m here, Momo-san…” he groaned from somewhere beside her, pushing himself off the floor.
He looked surprised. And a little... drippy.
She blinked. Yeah. He’d slipped. His form was starting to get all bloody again. He’d been doing a decent job of keeping it in check all day, too.
She glanced around, brushing dust off her knees. The room they were in was utterly featureless—flat grey walls, a few cold-looking bench-things lining the edges, and absolutely no indication of how they got there.
Okarun reached up and adjusted his glasses with a grimace, apparently only just noticing the state he was in.
“What happened?” he muttered.
“Not sure…” she started, then froze.
The memory slammed into her like a sucker punch.
This had happened before.
The weightless drop. The grey void. The random benches.
She saw the exact moment it hit Okarun, too. His shoulders stiffened, his whole posture going rigid.
Her hands flew out to the sides in exasperation. “Again?!”
“Again…” Okarun groaned beside her, his face scrunching up like he was suddenly remembering something deeply unpleasant.
“Momo-san…” he ventured, glancing down at his hand as blood slowly dripping onto the floor. “Was I… like this last time too?”
She froze.
“Eeeeehhh…” she hedged, eyes darting away.
That seemed to be all the answer he needed.
“Is that why they were all looking at me like that?” he moaned. “‘Cursed Okarun’… those bastards!”
She winced in sympathy, but didn’t deny it.
Luckily, she was saved from having to figure out how to comfort him by a loud screech—followed immediately by the unmistakable thud of someone hitting the floor. Hard.
Together, they watched as a pair of people suddenly blipped into existence. A women hit the ground with a soft thump, while the man landed only a second later, though oddly without a sound.
Then another pair appeared, one of them hit the ground with a fair amount of force, while the other just… stopped midair.
Not the weirdest thing about them, though. Not by a long shot.
Right away, she could tell: these were alternate versions of her and Okarun.
Again.
They waited. No one else appeared.
Huh. Only three sets this time.
She glanced at Okarun. He just gave her a shrug, like yep, this again.
She turned her attention to the first pair.
The Momo was brushing off her sleeves and muttering something, while her Okarun silently pushed himself to his feet. The most immediately noticeable thing about him?
A baseball jacket.
…Weird. She couldn’t picture any version of Okarun being into sports.
That, and the bright green Crocs. Definitely… a choice.
He and his Momo looked a little older than her and Okarun—maybe college-aged? Nothing else obviously strange at first glance. His Momo groaned and took the hand he offered, letting him help her up.
The other pair, though…
They looked older too. But their Momo was floating. And didn’t have legs.
Just an indistinct, trailing shape that tapered into wispy nothingness. Like a stereotypical ghost from a kid’s cartoon.
Her Okarun was groaning and pushing himself off the floor while the ghostly Momo hovered beside him, clearly teasing him about something.
He dressed more like her own Okarun. A familiar hoodie with that punch-kick design, but something about him was… off. Subtle things.
Pointed ears. A flash of fangs when he winced. The way he shifted oddly as he stood, nose scrunching as his eyes flicked between her and the other Momo.
She glanced at her own Okarun (still very much looking like a corpse) and figured, considering the circumstances, they weren’t really in a position to judge.
The ghostly Momo seemed to notice them staring and lit up immediately, waving both arms with a grin.
“What’s up, guys? Can you see me?”
The other Momo was still looking around, squinting at the featureless gray walls.
“Where are we?” she asked, frowning.
“I don’t… recognize this place?” Baseball Jacket Okarun muttered, his voice climbing in pitch with growing panic at the end.
Huh. An oddly specific thing to focus on, all things considered.
But then he caught her staring—and visibly flinched, alarm flashing across his face.
“Miss Ayase,” he said in a hushed voice, “I think… they can see me too.”
He took a step back, but despite the plastic Crocs and the hard floor, not a sound. Not even a scuff.
She exhaled slowly, already piecing it together.
Yeah. She had a pretty good idea what the theme was this time.
One very quick explanation later—what they knew (not much, but yes, we’re probably all the same people), how this happened (no clue), and how long it’d last (not long)—and their three little groups were huddled together, semi-organized and thoroughly confused.
Baseball Okarun (they really needed to sort out nicknames soon) was standing with his head in his hands.
“It’s finally happened,” he groaned. “I’ve lost whatever scraps of sanity I had left.”
His Momo spun toward him, aghast.
“Stop that! You’re not insane!” she snapped. “I’m here too, aren’t I?”
“Exactly!” he cried, flinging out an arm. “What if you were the start of it? That’s exactly what a figment of my imagination would say!”
She smacked him on the back of the head.
“Don’t go calling me a figment, you jerk!”
Okarun winced in sympathy at his counterpart’s spiral.
“If it makes you feel any better,” he offered gently, “we’re pretty sure no one remembers any of this after it ends?”
“Aw, what?!” Ghost Momo groaned. “Lame!”
“What’s going on…?” her Okarun muttered, looking increasingly lost.
It seemed like she and Okarun were the veterans here—so to speak. So, she figured it was up to her to take the lead.
“Okay!” she clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “So last time, we kinda gave each other nicknames? Because, uh… it got real confusing, real fast.”
“Hell yeah!” Ghost Momo grinned. “What were yours?”
“Ah…” Okarun reached up like he was about to scratch his chin, then caught sight of his fingers and aborted the motion awkwardly. “They, um… called us Cursed Okarun and Cursed Momo? Though looking back, I think they were trying to be polite.”
“Polite, huh?” Baseball Momo raised a brow. “As opposed to…?”
“Dead Okarun, I guess?” he shrugged. “Though now that I think about it, a fair few of us were dead, so maybe not that specific.”
“Wait—are you a ghost too?” Ghost Momo leaned in, eyes wide. “Is that why my Okarun hasn’t totally lost it over your blood yet?”
Said Okarun hunched at that, as if trying to hide his face in his hoodie. He looked mortified.
…What?
She blinked, thrown by the sudden turn. Also, Baseball Okarun was now staring at her Okarun with growing suspicion.
“Well,” Baseball Momo cut in, “if you don’t want to go with ‘Cursed,’ you could be, I dunno… Kid Momo?” She smirked. “Since you’re basically a baby compared to the rest of us.”
“What?!” she snapped. “We’re seventeen!”
“Yeah, and I’m twenty-one,” Ghost Momo crowed proudly.
“Twenty-one here too,” her Okarun added from his hoodie, a little sheepish.
The other Momo folded her arms triumphantly. “And I’m twenty-two.”
Baseball Okarun hesitated, adjusting his glasses.
“Um… twenty, here,” he said after a moment.
Hm. His Momo shot him a bit of a look at that for some reason.
“Well… it’s better than being called ‘Cursed,’ right?” Okarun offered tentatively.
She turned and glared at him.
Traitor.
“Fine!” she huffed, throwing her arms out. Then she spun and pointed at the next pair. “You two next.”
“I, uh…” Baseball Okarun stalled.
“Um… something to do with baseball?” the other Okarun offered helpfully. “Because of your jacket…?”
She scoffed. “Yeah, right. You expect me to believe any Okarun has ever played a sport in his life? Come on.”
Baseball Okarun looked deeply offended.
“I might!” he protested, face scrunched. “You don’t know!”
Beside him, his Momo snickered, not exactly rushing to defend him.
“You can be Poser Okarun, then!” Ghost Momo declared gleefully. “Which makes you Poser Momo, too!”
“Wait—hang on, I didn’t agree—!” Baseball Momo started.
“And I’ll be Ghost Momo,” Ghost Momo announced proudly, floating into a smug little pose. “Because I’m a ghost. Obviously.” She grinned. “Okay, names sorted. What do we do now?”
“Hang on—we haven’t given your Okarun a nickname yet!” she called, pointing toward the last unnamed variant.
The Okarun in question, who had been lingering near the edge of the group and clearly uncomfortable in the brighter parts of the room, startled at the sudden attention.
“What?” Ghost Momo blinked. “He’s just Okarun.”
“Nuh-uh,” she insisted, folding her arms. “Everyone gets a nickname. House rules.”
“Alright then,” Ghost Momo sighed, clearly humoring her. “He’s… Vampire Okarun. Because, y’know—he’s a vampire.”
Vampire Okarun let out a short, awkward laugh—then winced, glancing away from the group.
A beat of silence followed.
“Vampires aren’t real,” Poser Okarun scoffed, folding his arms.
She and the other Momos turned toward him in perfect sync, each wearing the same deadpan stare.
“Dude, he’s literally a vampire,” Ghost Momo said flatly. “Drinks blood, starts crisping in the sun—the whole shebang.”
“There are plausible genetic explanations for all of that,” Poser Okarun replied, doubling down. “Like extreme photo-sensitivity syndromes, or certain iron-processing disorders—”
“Porphyria!” her Okarun cut in, suddenly animated. “It causes skin blistering in sunlight, iron cravings—”
“Yes!” Vampire Okarun perked up. “And have you read the theories that link garlic and sunlight aversions in vampire myths to rare metabolic conditions? Eastern European revenant folklore aligns so closely with—”
A glowing psychic fist smacked him in the back of the head.
“Ow!”
“Dude!” Ghost Momo barked, glaring. “Why are you backing up the guy saying you don’t exist?!”
Vampire Okarun rubbed the back of his head, sheepish. “Well… I mean, they’re good points…”
Poser Okarun stood with his arms crossed, smug. His Momo had a hand over her face, muttering something under her breath.
“Look,” Poser Okarun said grudgingly, “I’ll concede the existence of spirits, sure.”
She snorted. Like conceding his own existence counted for anything.
“But vampires? That’s pure fantasy. Right up there with—” he waved a hand, “I dunno, fairies and werewolves.”
A pause.
“Oh yeah, never met a fairy,” Ghost Momo said with a shrug. “But Jiji’s a werewolf.”
Poser Okarun faltered, then frowned. “…Okay, now I’m sure you’re just messing with me.”
Ghost Momo only laughed harder, floating backward mid-cackle.
They lapsed into an awkward lull until, to her surprise—
“So, um… Ghost Momo,” Okarun asked cautiously, his voice unusually serious, “how exactly did you die?”
Ghost Momo raised an eyebrow, then glanced at her own Okarun before folding her arms.
“Wow. Rude. Don’t see me asking how you died, do you?”
“I was cursed by Turbo Granny and fell off a cliff,” Okarun replied, deadpan.
Not… untrue, she supposed.
Ghost Momo blinked rapidly. “Oh shit, I wasn’t expecting you to actually answer that.”
She threw an uneasy glance toward Vampire Okarun, who was now giving her a a lost, panicked look.
“I, uh—I…” she mumbled, clearly unprepared.
“Wait, hang on,” Poser Momo cut in, brows raised. “You ran into Turbo Granny too?”
“Now hold on,” Poser Okarun jumped in, immediately scoffing. “I’m still not convinced about the whole ‘Turbo Granny’ thing.” His tone turned disdainful. “I maintain it was some kind of animal in that tunnel. Maybe a Dogman.”
“You were cursed too?” Okarun asked sympathetically, tilting his head. “Um… are you also—?”
He let the question trail off, but the implication hung heavy.
“I am allegedly cursed,” Poser Okarun muttered, casting a quick glance at his Momo.
“Though it was the aliens that actually killed me,” he added, almost offhand.
“You’re a ghost too?!” Ghost Momo exclaimed, lighting up.
“You met aliens?!” Vampire Okarun lurched forward, wide-eyed.
Huh. Seemed like there were way more differences between them this time around.
Okarun glanced at Ghost Momo again, eyes sharp with a mix of curiosity and something harder.
“Seriously,” he said, voice low but insistent. “How did you die?”
Ghost Momo stiffened slightly, then turned to deflect.
“Why’re you so interested in how I died, anyway, kid?” she said, still dodging the question.
“I just want to know… if he could’ve prevented it,” Okarun said quietly.
There was something off in his voice near the end—just the faintest distortion, like static bleeding in around the edges.
She glanced down—and froze.
At some point, Okarun’s hands had shifted. They were longer now, fingers ending in curved claws.
Well. Shit.
“I fell down the stairs,” Ghost Momo said flatly, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “He wasn’t even near me.”
Vampire Okarun didn’t respond. He just looked away, guilt carved deep into every line of his face.
A low growl started rising from her Okarun’s throat.
Vampire Okarun tensed. Ghost Momo’s expression darkened. The other pair were watching now—wary, shoulders tight.
Crap. This was spiraling fast.
Without hesitating, she reached out, grabbed Okarun’s yokai aura, and shoved it down—reversing the partial transformation before it could escalate.
Okarun blinked at her, startled. “Momo-san… but he let a version of you get hurt?”
He sounded genuinely confused that she’d stopped him.
“Let’s, uh… change the subject, shall we?” she said brightly, flashing a way-too-cheerful smile to the very tense room.
“So, Poser Okarun,” she said, tilting her head.
“Is that really what I’m going to be called…” he muttered.
“What’s up with the cords?” she asked, squinting.
She’d caught sight of them earlier—golden threads trailing from his aura and vanishing into the floor—while she’d been wrestling Okarun’s transformation back down before he went full rabid on the poor vampire.
He froze.
“…The cords?” he echoed, voice just a little too casual, shifting on his feet.
She frowned. Did he not know about them, or was he just playing dumb?
“Yeah. The golden cords coming out of your aura and just kinda… phasing into the floor.”
He adjusted his glasses, gaze flicking away. “Ah. Those cords.”
A beat.
“They go to his shoes,” Poser Momo added helpfully, completely straight-faced.
She blinked. “Wait, what?”
She looked down—and yeah. Huh.
She hadn’t noticed before, but stuffed inside his bright green Crocs were blood-soaked socks, the red stark against the neon plastic.
If he was like her Okarun, maybe he’d died running from something. Poor guy. Still, if shredded feet were the worst injury his ghost-form kept, he had it way better than her Okarun—
Plop.
A thick glob of blood slid off one of her Okarun’s curls and hit the ground with a very wet-sounding splat.
Case in point.
Ghost Momo raised a brow.
“…Is that why you’re stuck wearing Crocs?” she asked lazily. “’Cause you lost your actual shoes?”
“They were a gift from Miss Ayase, okay?” Poser Okarun snapped, sounding way more defensive than the situation really called for.
“And he’s not stuck wearing them!” Poser Momo added, arms crossed. “They’re convenient, okay? Waterproof.”
Huh. She tilted her head, considering. That… wasn’t a bad idea, actually.
She glanced at her own Okarun’s shoes—formerly white, now a dark, crusty red mess.
Maybe she could find him some other waterproof stuff…
Okarun caught her looking.
“Please don’t,” he said tonelessly, one dead eye glaring at her from behind his cracked glasses.
Ah. Busted.
“I was gonna ask about the blood, actually,” Ghost Momo drawled from her spot midair. “You trying to spook us or something? ’Cause it’s not working, buddy—I’ve seen worse.”
Vampire Okarun looked vaguely nauseous at that.
“Hey!” she snapped, stepping in instinctively. “Leave him alone! He can’t help it!”
“Aw, what? You can’t even hide that stuff?” Ghost Momo teased, tilting her head. “Man, you suck at being dead. You too, Crocs guy—I see that blood.”
Poser Okarun subtly shuffled sideways. Then back.
“I… I could hide it if I wanted to!” Okarun sputtered.
He closed his eyes, concentrating—and slowly, his soaked, horror-movie look faded. Clean clothes. Smooth skin. Normal human boy.
And then someone sneezed.
Okarun flinched, and immediately snapped back to full corpse mode, blood and all.
Ghost Momo made a dramatic noise of sympathy that fooled exactly no one.
“Awww,” she cooed, grinning. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it someday.”
Okarun let out a low sound in response.
It sounded suspiciously like a growl.
After that, Okarun and his vampire counterpart slipped into an animated conversation about the cryptologist guy they’d been watching videos of earlier. Okarun still eyed him warily at first—like he wasn’t entirely convinced this wasn’t some kind of elaborate trap—but the longer they talked, the more his posture relaxed.
She wasn’t sure which of them was responsible (maybe both), but Vampire Okarun always seemed to end up on the opposite side of Okarun from her.
As the discussion dissolved into excited rambling, she glanced around—and caught a hushed whisper from the Poser pair, who were not-so-subtly staring at Ghost Momo hovering at the edge of the cryptid chat.
“Miss Ayase,” Poser Okarun murmured, leaning in slightly, “is it… normal for ghosts not to have legs?”
“I dunno,” Poser Momo whispered back. “I’m working off a pretty small sample size. Maybe?”
“Hey!” Ghost Momo called out suddenly. “I hear you whispering about me!”
She crossed her arms midair, looking offended. “Why would I have legs? I’m a ghost. You guys are the weirdos.”
Huh. Momo had figured it was tied to how she died—like how her own Okarun looked the way he did...
“So wait,” she asked, curious now, “do you choose not to have them? Like, to float easier or something?”
“What? No,” Ghost Momo scoffed. “I float because I’m a ghost. Duh. You think having legs makes a difference?”
She gestured lazily. “Even if you guys wanna pretend to stand on the floor by, like, having legs or whatever, you’re still floating.”
Poser Okarun suddenly looked queasy, glancing down at his feet.
She glanced toward her own Okarun, who was adjusting his broken glasses and very clearly avoiding eye contact.
Yeah. She was positive he was standing. Fully. On the ground. Entirely solid.
She was starting to suspect that, ghost-wise, he was kind of… an outlier.
Though that did make her wonder how the others were still ghosts and not full-on yokai by now.
“Hey, Okarun,” Poser Momo said, suddenly perking up. “Can you do what she’s doing? Float in the air?”
“No!” he replied instantly. “Because I’m not floating. I’m standing on the ground.”
He didn’t sound convinced himself.
“You’re totally floating, dude,” Ghost Momo grinned. She drifted forward and casually summoned a pair of spectral hands. Before he could react, they grabbed his shoulders—and shoved him downward.
He sank a few inches with a startled squawk, like he’d missed a step. Then, scowling and clearly rattled, he awkwardly stepped back up, one foot at a time, like he was climbing invisible stairs.
By the time he was fully upright again, he looked like he might throw up.
Poser Momo, meanwhile, was starting to look thrilled. “You totally are! That means you should be able to float higher, right? Try it!”
“I’m still not convinced this isn’t some unhinged projection of my psyche trying to lure me into abandoning the last shreds of my sanity,” he muttered. “And if I give in, that’s me admitting defeat.”
“Or maybe it’s your subconscious encouraging you to embrace your cool ghost powers,” Poser Momo offered brightly.
He shot her a look of pure betrayal.
“Alternatively,” she added breezily, “if you do this, I’ll bring you extra coffee every day for the next week.”
That gave him pause.
Ghost Momo turned toward them while Poser Momo continued her pitch.
“What about you, Kid Okarun?” she teased. “You a baby ghost who doesn’t even know how to float yet?”
“I can float,” he said stiffly. “I just choose not to.”
He was skipping the part where he’d only done it three times. Two of which were accidents.
Also, the part where he was still solid. Ghost Momo probably wouldn’t love that detail.
“Yeah?” she said, spreading her arms with a grin. “Then let’s see it.”
He bristled slightly. Was he seriously developing ghost pride all of a sudden? Huh. Well—whatever got him more comfortable. He was still skittish about the whole thing back home.
“Fine!” he said, then turned to her, sheepish. “Um, Momo-san… could you?”
She snorted. All that attitude and he still needed backup.
She reached out with her power and brushed against his aura. He let her in easily—they’d done this before. Together, they nudged the yokai-tainted edges back down and coaxed his own energy to the surface.
She felt the change the moment it hit. He threw his arms out, off-balance, and she steadied him with a subtle flick of her power, guiding him upward until he hovered—wobbly, about a foot off the ground. Definitely less graceful than Ghost Momo.
“See?” he said triumphantly—though the grin he shot was aimed at her, not Ghost Momo.
She smiled back.
“Yeah, alright. You get a pass,” Ghost Momo said, waving him off. Then she turned to the final holdout. “Just you now, Poser boy.”
Whatever his Momo had promised must’ve worked, because he looked resigned.
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists—and stepped upward, like onto an invisible stool. He held there, stiff as a board, more standing on air than floating, before awkwardly stepping back down.
He nearly stumbled, but his Momo caught his arm.
“There,” he muttered, voice unsteady. “I proved your point. Can we drop it now?”
Then, quieter: “You’d better hold up your end of the deal.”
She just laughed.
“We’ll make decent ghosts out of you guys yet,” Ghost Momo declared, hands on her hips, smug as anything.
“Can we go back to talking about the typhoon human now?” Vampire Okarun asked meekly, raising his hand.
“So, ghost dudes,” Ghost Momo said casually a little while later, lounging midair with her hands behind her head, “what’d you do with your bodies?”
Huh?!
She wouldn’t say how she died—but then just turned around and asked that?
Apparently, she wasn’t the only one thinking it.
“You can’t just go around asking people that!” Poser Momo blurted, looking horrified.
Ghost Momo, entirely unbothered, just kept going.
“We kinda panicked and buried me behind the house,” she said breezily. “So I was wondering if you guys had any better ideas.”
“That was the worst night of my life,” Vampire Okarun groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
“We burned mine in the woods,” Okarun said quickly—way more casually than she’d expected. “Now will you tell us how you died?”
“Told ya!” Ghost Momo chirped. “Got electrocuted by the toaster.”
What. That wasn’t even the same story as last time!
Okarun made a displeased sound, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to go full yokai again. She kept a cautious eye on his aura anyway—just in case.
“What about you, Poser dude?” she asked, glancing over.
“Wouldn’t know,” he said distantly. “The aliens have it, I suppose.”
Behind him, Poser Momo visibly winced, her expression uneasy.
Conversation picked up again after that, drifting naturally into talk about the other versions of themselves who’d shown up the last time this happened.
There were a lot of confused looks when she mentioned that two of the Okaruns had turned out to be wolf yokai.
“Three,” Okarun chimed in absently.
She blinked at him. Huh?
The confusion quickly shifted into something closer to discomfort when she added that at least two of the pairs had kids together.
A few of them visibly stiffened.
The reactions to the Serpoian version of Okarun were just as interesting. Ghost Momo and Vampire Okarun both leaned forward with immediate fascination, soaking up every detail like it was juicy gossip.
Poser Momo, on the other hand, looked vaguely nauseated—like she was actively trying not to picture it.
Poser Okarun kept teetering between a matching grimace and… honestly, something that looked suspiciously like curiosity.
Hmmm.
Okarun had gone quiet for a while, but eventually spoke up during a lull, voice thoughtful.
“This might be a little weird,” he said, glancing between the others, “but… do either of your Momos have a habit of, uh… stealing?”
Everyone blinked at him.
“Like… casual theft. Or maybe cheating at stuff. I’m just wondering if it’s a pattern.”
This asshole. She cheats at one arcade game and suddenly—
“Wow,” Ghost Momo said, shaking her head. “Can’t believe there’s a version of me that’s a thief.”
“Miss Ayase,” Vampire Okarun chimed in politely, adjusting his glasses, “you used to steal chapsticks and nail polish constantly when we went into town. You stuffed earrings in my pocket the other day while I wasn’t looking.”
Ghost Momo scoffed. “That doesn’t count,” she said, waving him off like that explained anything.
“You keep stealing those from Miss Shiratori!” Vampire Okarun lamented. “She keeps blaming me!”
Okarun nodded slowly, as if in understanding. “I see. And you, uh… Poser Momo?”
“What? No! I don’t steal,” Poser Momo said, clearly offended.
Her Okarun nodded emphatically. “How rude of you to accuse Miss Ayase—”
“I did set a dumpster on fire, though,” she added casually.
“What?!” Poser Okarun squawked.
“C’mon, it wasn’t a big fire,” she said with a shrug. “You need to live a little—”
She caught herself mid-sentence, sucking in a breath.
Poser Okarun adjusted his glasses with exaggerated care, face unreadable.
“That… tracks,” he said, tone clipped, a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You did blow up my TV, after all.”
“You said that was fine! You had others!” she shot back, eyes narrowing in indignation.
“You still broke it,” he countered. “And you cheated at the Zener cards. And you broke a perfectly good door.”
She opened her mouth—probably to argue—but stopped, then let out a laugh instead. With a shake of her head, she bumped her shoulder against his. A silent truce.
Huh. Looked like they had a pretty consistent dynamic, even across different versions.
It was… kinda nice to think about, actually.
“I see,” her Okarun said sagely, that smug grin creeping onto his face. “So Momos are just predisposed to deviancy.”
“You jerk!” she yelled, grinning as she summoned her power and shoved him full-force with a giant psychic hand—way harder than Poser Momo’s casual bump.
If they were gonna call them the kids, then fine. She could be a little immature.
Conversation continued, and she idly wondered how much time had passed. It had been nearing sunset when they arrived… maybe it was night now?
Another lull settled over the group, broken, somewhat abruptly, by Vampire Okarun.
“So…” he said, voice a little too loud, eyes flicking anywhere but her and Poser Momo, “is anyone going to mention the skateboard?” He pointed off to the side, almost too quickly.
What?
She followed his gesture… and sure enough, sitting awkwardly in the middle of the space was a single, nondescript skateboard.
“Was… was that there last time this happened?” Poser Momo asked, frowning.
She tried to think back. “I don’t… think so?”
“Sure. Why not. At this point,” Poser Okarun muttered, voice low and resigned.
“You know how to use one, Okarun?” Poser Momo teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Being a ’90s kid and all.”
’90s? she thought, confused. Didn’t he say he was twenty?
“Do I look like I can skateboard, Miss Ayase?” he deadpanned.
“Aww,” she pouted. “That would’ve been pretty cool.”
He hesitated. Something flickered across his face—pride? Peer pressure?
“Well… I could give it a try, I suppose,” he muttered, glancing back at his Momo.
She flashed him a blinding smile and gave him a big thumbs-up.
With a sigh, he stepped forward—tentatively—toward the skateboard, confidence draining with each step.
At first, his movements made no sound at all. Even the bright plastic Crocs on hard flooring were silent.
Then came a faint, wet squelch—soaked socks inside rubber shoes—followed by the soft scuff of soles against the ground.
Huh.
When he finally reached the board, he placed one foot on it gingerly, letting it rock back and forth with painstaking caution.
“Wait!” Ghost Momo blurted, brow furrowing. “You said you were a ghost. How are you doing that?”
“It’s… night?” he offered, uncertain. “I mean… I assume it is?”
“What does that have to do with anything?!” she snapped. “Hang on—other ghost dude, can you touch stuff at night too?”
“Um… yeah?” Ghost Okarun said slowly, blinking. “And, uh… the rest of the time too, actually…”
A beat of silence.
“The hell?!” Ghost Momo shouted. “How is that fair?!”
While she continued loudly lamenting the injustices of ghost physics, Poser Okarun finally made his move.
Unfortunately, Crocs and bloody socks were not ideal skatewear. The moment he leaned forward, the board shot out from under him like a rocket.
He flailed—falling, and (was it her imagination?) falling just a little too slowly—before landing flat on his back with a muffled “oomph.”
He scrambled upright in a flash, ducking his head as he took his Momo’s hand without a word.
She let him off without a teasing comment. She had better things to do, after all.
She was still a little salty about that thief comment.
“Okay, Okarun!” she said brightly, clapping her hands and patting him on the back with just a little too much force. “Your turn!”
“…Eh?” he blinked.
“Your. Turn.” she repeated, voice sugary-sweet but laced with menace.
He got the message.
Reluctantly, he shuffled over to retrieve the board, leaving a sticky trail of blood behind him.
Alas, if Crocs weren’t made for skateboarding, then standing in a puddle of your own blood wasn’t much better. The result was nearly identical. The moment he tried to push off, he slipped—and went sprawling, even faster and with less grace than Poser Okarun.
She helped him up from the ground, doing her absolute best not to look smug.
She mostly failed.
“Wow, you guys suck,” Ghost Momo declared cheerfully. Then she elbowed her own Okarun. “Hey. You try now.”
“I would really rather not,” he muttered, adjusting his glasses.
“Man, you’re lame,” she huffed. “You’re all lame. Watch this!”
She crouched on the skateboard—or rather, floated just above it—and began manipulating it with her powers, grinding effortlessly along one of the bench-like protrusions.
It would’ve been more impressive if she actually had legs to ride the thing.
“We can literally all see you using your powers,” Poser Momo said flatly.
“And?” Ghost Momo shot back, completely unbothered as she struck a midair pose.
Then she attempted a flashy flip—only for the board to snap under the strain, splintering mid-spin.
The halves clattered to the floor in a sad little pile.
Ghost Momo, still two meters up, shrugged like nothing had happened.
“Welp.”
The two ghost Okaruns had gone quiet after picking themselves up off the floor. Both were staring off to the side, glasses slightly askew—clearly trying to hide their expressions behind the glare on their lenses.
But hunched shoulders were kind of a giveaway.
Obviously embarrassed.
That’s what they get for trying to be cool, she thought fondly.
She bent down and picked up the shattered remains of the skateboard, turning the broken deck over in her hands.
How the hell did this even get here?
She frowned, tilting a splintered edge for a closer look—only to flinch as a jagged shard sliced clean across her thumb. Blood welled up immediately, startlingly fast and bright.
“Shit,” she hissed, shaking out her hand.
“Momo-san, you’re hurt!” Okarun said sharply, voice tight with concern.
She snorted.
Coming from Mr. Walking Corpse, that level of panic over a glorified paper cut was kind of hilarious.
“I’m fine,” she laughed. “It’s just a—”
“Wait—shit! Okarun, no!”
She spun just in time to see Ghost Momo lunge, teal psychic arms flashing into existence as they grabbed her Okarun mid-sprint.
He snarled, straining against the restraints—fangs bared, eyes glowing red. Strands of his hair were already bleaching white at the tips.
Oh. Vampire. Right. Shit.
“Ugh, calm down, you dumbass!” Ghost Momo yelled, wrestling him back. “When was the last time you even ate?!”
But Momo barely had a second to process that disaster—because something behind her let out a wet, bone-deep crack.
Followed by another.
She turned—
—and froze as a looming monstrosity rose from the ground, all spindly limbs and claws. Its ragged mouth clacked open with a dull, echoing snap, revealing a second row of teeth—long and needle-thin.
It let out a sound like metal grinding on wet stone.
“Okarun,” she groaned, “not the time.”
Okarun let out a distorted screech and lunged forward. She only just managed to yank him back mid-pounce using her own powers.
“Okarun!” she barked. “Calm down! He’s a version of you, dummy!”
God.
She suddenly felt ridiculous—like she and the other Momo were holding back angry dogs from mauling each other.
While she kept her Okarun from smearing the poor, scrawny vampire one across the floor, she caught part of a whispered exchange from the third pair.
“Miss Ayase…” Poser Okarun whispered urgently, clearly disturbed. “Is that what I look like when I fought the aliens”
“Ehhh…” Poser Momo tilted her head, uncertain. “You kinda had a jaw like that, at least?”
She winced, rubbing the back of her neck. “You were a little more… dirty mop-looking.”
“I thought you said I looked like an ogre,” he muttered, betrayed.
“I was trying to be nice,” she mumbled, looking away.
Momo groaned, already beyond done with the bickering.
“Either of you gonna help, or what?!” she shouted, her voice tight with strain.
Okarun was still inching forward against her grip. She gritted her teeth, hands trembling slightly from the effort of keeping him restrained.
Thankfully, Poser Momo ran over, summoning her own spectral arms. The pressure on Momo’s powers dropped immediately—thank god—but Okarun only growled louder in response.
“Momo-san, let me go!” he snarled, voice warping around the edges. “I need to stop him!”
Oh, so he was still aware. He was choosing to be dramatic.
Across the way, Ghost Momo looked like she was managing slightly better—her Okarun didn’t seem quite as physically strong—but he was snarling too, low and guttural.
“The blood!” Ghost Momo shouted. “Do something about the blood!”
What?
She glanced down at her hand, still slick with blood from the earlier cut.
Oh. Right.
Without hesitation, she jammed her finger into her mouth, sucking up the remaining blood.
The effect was immediate.
Vampire Okarun’s body slackened, the red draining from his eyes. His breathing evened out, and he blinked, sluggish and dazed.
Then his gaze dropped to his hands—and slowly rose to meet his Momo’s. She was absolutely livid, her spectral arms still hovering midair, crackling with residual energy.
A look of horror spread across his face.
He bowed his head instantly, clasping his hands together in a pleading motion.
“I’m sorry!”
Ghost Momo didn’t miss a beat. Her psychic fists latched onto his shoulders and gave him a solid shake.
“You should be, you idiot!” she snapped. “How many times do I have to stop you from trying to murder someone?!”
It was… honestly kind of funny. And weirdly comforting, now that he wasn’t staring at her like a late-night snack.
Still, she had her own mess to manage.
“Okarun, come on,” she groaned, still struggling to hold him in place. “He’s not doing anything anymore. Chill.”
“But Momo-san!” he whined—yes, actually whined—even with full reverb-monster voice distortion.
But he seemed to get the message. Gradually, the resistance faded from his body. She and Poser Momo let go at the same time, both exhaling in relief and shaking out their arms.
Though… he didn’t drop the form.
He stood there, looming in full yokai mode, eye and markings glowing like he was trying to be threatening. Like she hadn’t just had to hold him back like a rabid dog.
She crossed her arms, looked up, and raised a single unimpressed eyebrow.
Reluctantly, Okarun took a step back. With the usual nauseating sound of creaking bones, he began shifting out of his monstrous form, shrinking back into his usual—if still vaguely gory—self.
She didn’t drop the glare the entire time.
Only once it was done did he adjust his cracked glasses and look away, avoiding her gaze.
"Was he still too shaken to rein in the gore—or just trying to intimidate the other Okarun?"
“Hey! Poser dude!” Ghost Momo called out, releasing her now thoroughly dazed Vampire Okarun. He slumped forward, blinking slowly. “Believe he’s a vampire yet?”
Poser Okarun crossed his arms, voice stiff. “Could’ve been a psychotic break.”
Still, he looked… off. Pale. And maybe a little nauseous. Though she figured that probably had more to do with her Okarun, who was still occasionally glancing his way like he might lunge again.
His eyes flicked toward his Momo, who had returned to his side. The way he looked at her—almost reverent.
Well, at least he was calm now. Still…
“Hey, vampire guy!” she called out. “Why’d you go full feral over, like… a splinter on me, when my Okarun is—”
She waved vaguely in Okarun’s direction. All of him was explanation enough.
Okarun gave her a tired, flat look. Bold, for someone she’d just had to stop from attacking like a feral attack dog.
“Kid Okarun?” Vampire Okarun said. “Your blood smells kinda bad to me. Sorry.”
The two Okaruns stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“It’s… okay?” her Okarun offered, though it sounded more like a question.
She elbowed him.
“Sorry for trying to attack you as well?” he amended quickly.
“’S’okay,” Vampire Okarun muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kinda deserved it. I’m just glad I didn’t hurt anyone.”
He shot a glance toward his Momo, who was still glaring.
Off to the side, the third pair were staring at them like they were all unhinged.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” Poser Momo asked flatly.
Their conversation was cut short as the diffuse light around them began to flicker.
Ah.
She knew what that meant. Okarun did too—his shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly.
“I think that means this is about to end?” he said, glancing around.
“Already?” Vampire Okarun frowned. “What was the point of all this, then?”
“Was there a point last time this happened?” Poser Okarun asked dryly.
She shrugged. “I dunno. That older wolf guy kind of gave a bunch of us therapy, I think.”
“Did it help?” Vampire Okarun asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity.
She paused, thinking.
“Yeah? He was kinda vague, but I felt better after. Things… sort of worked out?”
“Huh,” Poser Momo murmured, shooting a sidelong glance at her Okarun. “Shame we missed out on that.”
“Excuse me!” Poser Okarun huffed, clearly offended.
“Well, I mean… your first reaction was that you’d finally lost your mind.”
“I think that’s the reasonable response to all this, actually—” he began, only to cut himself off as Momo turned and hit him with a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Maybe the point was for you losers to see how awesome being a ghost is,” Ghost Momo said, lounging midair with her arms behind her head.
Poser Okarun looked deeply disgruntled.
“I don’t see how th—”
Alas, they didn’t get to hear the rest.
Because in the very next instant, the world went dark.
She jolted awake with a snort, face mashed into the sticky keyboard of the internet café.
Ugh.
The monitor in front of her was frozen on a video autoplay screen—the thing they’d been watching long finished.
Beside her, Okarun stirred, blinking blearily.
Had they seriously both fallen asleep in public?
“Momo-san…” he said slowly, still staring at the screen.
A long pause.
“Do you think I could learn how to skateboard?”