Chapter Text
Life had been throwing punches at Shiraishi An for what felt like forever.
The worst of it had always been the lies her dad told about her aunt’s death, a secret woven so tightly into her childhood that it never left her, lingering like a ghost in the corners of her memory. That wound still pulsed beneath the surface, a dull ache she had never truly managed to silence. It no longer ruled her every thought, but it had shaped her into someone sharper, someone constantly bracing for the next hit.
Today’s frustration came from a different kind of blow.
Her dance partner—the one she had relied on through every practice, every performance—was ready to walk away.
The morning sun was relentless, beating down on the cracked concrete outside Kamiyama High. It soaked the air in heat, sticky and close, making her uniform blazer cling uncomfortably to her back. She stood just beside the gates, shifting her weight as she tried to keep her composure. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides as she stared her partner down.
Across from her, Akito rubbed the back of his neck. She knew that meant he was feeling uncomfortable- something she’d seen often, but never, never directed towards her. Sure, they quarreled- but they were always comfortable around each other, two halves of a whole moving in sync. His messy orange hair caught the sunlight in sharp strands, and the silver in his earrings flashed every time he moved. He wasn’t meeting her eyes.
“Look, Shiraishi,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I think we should split up. It’s not working.”
Her brow pulled in tight, something heavy beginning to rise in her chest. “What do you mean by 'it’s not working?’”
He exhaled, his shoulders tensing like the words were heavier than he knew how to carry. “People think we’re dating. It’s getting weird. I don’t want to keep pretending like nothing’s going on.”
For a second, she couldn’t speak. The words hit her harder than she expected. “Wait—people think we’re dating? Who even said that? And seriously- why does it even matter? ”
“Everyone’s been saying it for a while now.” He shrugged, like gossip was just another breeze in the wind. “You haven’t noticed?”
Anger stirred inside her, heat flushing her face as the pieces clicked together. “So that’s your reason? That’s why you’re quitting? You’re just going to leave me over a stupid rumor?” she said angrily.
Akito’s eyes flicked toward the side of the yard. A boy with split pale and dark blue hair leaned there, calm and unreadable, watching them from a distance. Something in that glance told her more than Akito’s words ever could.
“You’ll be fine, Shiraishi. You’ll find someone better. Someone who listens to you.”
Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. She stepped forward, voice tight. “So that’s it? I’m too much for you?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?” Her words came sharper now, more like teeth than sound.
He lifted both hands, trying to fend off the weight in her voice. “I’m just trying to be honest.”
“Then be honest. Say it to my face.”
Akito hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
The silence between them stretched. Her chest stilled for a beat, the world narrowing into sharp edges.
This couldn’t be happening …
“...You’re joking, right?”
Right?
And then he shoved her.
It wasn’t hard enough to leave lasting damage, but it was enough to knock her off balance. Her sneakers slid across the pavement, and she landed hard on the ground. Her palms scraped against the rough concrete, knees catching the brunt of the fall. The painful sting came after, a small trail of blood making its way down her leg, but it barely registered.
She stayed there for a moment, frozen. Her breath hitched in her throat.
It wasn’t the pain that froze her in place like a deer in headlights —it was the shock. It was the way he turned without another word, walking away like she didn’t matter at all. Like she had already been written off.
Like she had never even mattered.
The school bell rang, loud and sharp against the silence. It jarred her back into the present, snapping her back to the cruel realities of life.
An pushed herself up slowly. Her legs trembled beneath her, but she didn’t fall again. She brushed off her scraped knees with shaking fingers, ignoring the blood that stained her hands, and tugged her jacket tight across her chest, as if it could hold her together. Unlike her heart, which was slowly falling to pieces inside her.
She was the class representative. The one who was supposed to set the example. The girl who had it all under control.
Right now, she felt like a fraud .
She clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the path ahead, and walked toward the school without looking back. Her blood still stained the pavement behind her, a reminder of what had happened.
So much for being a semi-good student.
A sigh slipped from An’s lips as she slung her bag over her shoulder. Her chest still ached from the fight with Akito. The words they had thrown at each other kept circling in her head, looping like a bad tape. She could still hear the way his voice cracked, the disgust in his expression when he shouted at her outside the gates. For someone who insisted they weren’t dating, he sure knew how to make it feel like a breakup.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip as she lowered her gaze to the asphalt. She barely noticed the way her feet moved, eyes unfocused, until a sudden bump jolted her back to the present. Her shoulder knocked against someone else’s, soft but enough to make her stop.
Startled, she blinked and turned.
Pastel pink hair brushed past her vision, not neatly styled but allowed to fall where it wanted, messy in a way that somehow looked deliberate. A few strands veiled part of his face, hiding one eye almost completely. His frame was smaller than most of the boys at Kamiyama, with a posture that was upright yet gentle. He wore the boys’ uniform properly, blazer neat and buttoned, though it hung loose on him like it had not been tailored to fit.
For a moment, she thought he was a girl .
The stranger said nothing. He walked on without looking back. The brush of contact did not seem to register with him at all. An furrowed her brows, watching his retreating figure. There was something oddly familiar about him, a thread tugging at the edge of recognition, though she could not place where from.
Maybe a transfer student? No, she would have heard.
The thought dissolved as quickly as it came. She had no time to waste thinking about pretty boys with vague auras. The bell was about to ring. Shaking herself out of it, she dashed inside. Her indoor shoes echoed against the hallway floor as she sprinted toward class.
By the time she reached her desk, her usual group of classmates had already gathered. One girl leaned back in her chair, grinning mischievously.
“Late again? What happened, Shinonome finally dumped you?”
“Tch.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she dropped into her seat. “He wishes.”
The others burst into laughter and continued their chatter, but her thoughts were far from the conversation. Her eyes drifted across the room, scanning faces half-heartedly until something in the back caught her attention.
It was him .
The same pink-haired boy sat in the far corner of the classroom, right against the window. A soft beam of morning light filtered through the glass, illuminating the pages of the book in his lap. The title stood out in bold letters, strange and shameless.
“UFOs Are Watching Us.”
What really caught her attention, though, were his hands.
Long fingers, slender and immaculately kept, rested gently against the paper. His nails were bare, but perfectly shaped, trimmed with surgical precision. Not a single chip or rough edge in sight. Even from across the room, An could see the clean curve of each one. Too clean. Too perfect. It was almost unnatural.
She thought of Akito. He made a fuss about his looks often enough, but even he never put that kind of effort into his nails. This guy? His cuticles looked like they were pampered by a professional.
They were actually kind of beautiful, in a fragile, strange way.
“Heads up, class rep!” someone called out.
She turned her head just in time to see a crumpled paper ball soaring through the air. It struck the side of the boy’s head, bouncing harmlessly off his temple.
“Hah, bulls-eye!” a voice near the front crowed.
An’s mouth parted in disbelief.
He didn’t even flinch. No reaction. No glare. He just kept reading, his face blank, like nothing had happened at all.
Another ball was being crushed in one of the boys’ fists. This time, An moved.
She rose without hesitation, stepped out from her chair, and intercepted the shot before it could leave the thrower’s hand. Her glare was sharp, her posture unmoving.
“Oi. Cut it out.” Her voice was low and even, her arms crossed over her chest. “You really want to test me today?”
The boys stiffened. One of them, the one in glasses, muttered something under his breath.
“Didn’t know she was friendly with Akiyama…”
“Don’t push her,” another whispered. “You’ve seen what she’s like when she’s pissed.”
So that was his name. Akiyama.
At the sound of it, the boy finally raised his head.
An stared. The first thing she noticed was his eyelashes. They were long and thick, curled just enough to brush the tops of his cheeks when he blinked. His eyes were a soft, dusk-tinted pink, slightly darker than his hair. The color was warm, but his expression gave nothing away. He didn’t speak at first. He simply looked at her, like he had only just realized she was standing there.
“They stopped,” he said at last. His voice was quiet and airy, strange in how detached it sounded, as if he was still processing what had happened.
“ Yeah, they won’t do that again. Not while I’m here.”
His gaze lowered. A faint blush touched his cheeks. His skin looked soft, too, not just pale but cared for. She could tell he used moisturizer. Maybe layered skincare. Probably something pricey.
She stayed beside his desk with one hand resting on her hip, the other supporting her chin. Her posture was casual, almost bored, but her thoughts were anything but. She waited, expecting at least a nod, some kind of acknowledgment.
Nothing.
Then he looked up again, his eyes meeting hers without hesitation.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Those eyes could really kill.
He looked prettier than most girls. Too pretty. If he were one of those boys who belonged onstage, she would believe it. If he were gay, that would also make sense. Not that she minded. She was gay too.
Maybe, if she talked to him more, they could actually get along.
That word drifted into her mind, hesitant and dusty.
Friends…?
She had not thought about that word in a long time. Not since elementary. Not since—
The classroom door slid open, and the teacher stepped in, scattering her thoughts.
The next period passed in a fog of numbers. An stayed in her usual seat but leaned toward the back half of the room, keeping a passive watch over the boys who had thrown the paper balls. They stayed quiet. None of them dared try again. Not with her there.
She never left Akiyama’s side. Something about the way he had not even blinked when he was hit kept bothering her.
Like it did not matter.
By the time the bell rang again, her brain felt like static.
Her pencil rolled uselessly between her fingers. She stared at it blankly, not expecting anyone to speak.
“Excuse me.”
Her head snapped up.
Akiyama stood by her desk. That same hand she had noticed before was resting lightly near her notebook, his nails still impeccable. He looked calm but serious. One eye was still half-covered by his bangs, his posture straight but uncertain.
“Do you like UFOs too?” he asked. His voice was a little deeper now. The shift startled her.
“Huh?”
“You were staring at the article I was reading earlier.” He hesitated. “I just assumed.”
An blinked, then shook her head. “No. I wasn’t looking at that. I was looking at your nails.”
Silence.
Her face turned red in an instant.
Why did she say that out loud?
Akiyama blinked. A faint color touched his cheeks. His mouth twitched into something like a smile before he quickly tucked both hands into his blazer pockets.
“You noticed them?”
“They’re really good. I’m actually jealous, you know?”
She clamped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words escaped.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!
Akiyama lowered his gaze. A small smile ghosted across his lips before vanishing again.
“So, you weren’t interested in UFOs?” he asked, almost pouting. His disappointment was weirdly endearing.
Endearing? What was she even thinking?
She exhaled. “Why would I be? They don’t exist. Not like Yokai.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.
Akiyama’s eyes widened. His finger shot up, pointing at her like she had insulted his ancestors.
“You can’t be serious. Aliens are way more believable than Yokai. People die. That’s it. The afterlife is a bedtime story adults tell themselves so they can sleep at night.”
An scoffed. She lifted her chin slowly, her voice firm, each word cutting through the air with quiet precision.
“My family’s a lineage of psychics. We deal with this stuff. Don’t go calling me a liar.”
Akiyama didn’t flinch. He stood there with his arms folded, calm but unyielding, as if this had been inevitable from the moment they started talking.
“Then let’s settle it,” he said, his tone quiet but steady. “With a bet.”
Her eyes narrowed, locking onto his. The air between them felt tense, but not hostile. Just charged.
“Loser becomes the other’s servant for a month?” she said, testing him.
He raised an eyebrow at that, not quite surprised, just amused.
“The first thing I’ll make you do is my nails,” she added, her grin curling at the edges, sharp but light.
Akiyama flushed, shrinking back slightly as he pulled his collar higher.
“Why are you so obsessed with my fingers?” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
She almost laughed. The joke waiting on her tongue was crass, easy, and too tempting to resist. Still, she swallowed it and leaned forward, slipping the magazine from his hands without a word. Her fingers moved steadily as she flipped through the pages, eyes scanning each article with purpose. Then one image caught her attention.
She tapped the page, her voice even.
“Okay. I’ll check out the abandoned school here. And don’t worry—I’ve got a special place in mind that’ll scare you. If one of us comes back with nothing, that person loses.”
Akiyama’s eyes lingered on the photo for a moment, quiet and unreadable, before he looked up to meet her gaze.
“What if it ends in a tie?”
“It won’t,” she said, without missing a beat. “Because Yokai are real.”
That smirk returned, smaller this time, but no less pointed. His head tilted slightly as he looked at her, calm and composed, as if he was thinking something through but had already come to a conclusion. There was a subtle focus in his gaze that unsettled her. Not because it was cold, but because it felt like he was seeing through her rather than at her.
“You’re going to eat those words, Shiraishi-san. Tell me the details after school.”
The way he said her name made her chest tighten. It wasn’t teasing in the usual way. It was softer than she expected, almost thoughtful, and it caught her off guard before she had a chance to brace herself.
He turned without another word and walked down the hall. His footsteps barely made a sound against the floor. She stood in place for a moment, eyes fixed on the space he had just occupied, something strange beginning to settle in her chest.
Then she heard it. A small sound just beside her foot, light and easy to miss.
An looked down.
A pink and brown bow rested on the tile beside her shoe. The fabric was soft, slightly faded at the edges, but still neatly tied. She crouched down and picked it up, holding it gently between her fingers. It was delicate, worn in a way that suggested it had been touched often, maybe even cherished.
It was definitely his.
She stood slowly, brushing the dust from her skirt before glancing down the hallway. He was already gone, his footsteps swallowed by the turn at the far end. What had moments ago been a space filled with sound now felt unusually still.
Her fingers curled tighter around the small bow in her hand. Without thinking, she slipped it into her pocket. The fabric brushed against her fingertips, soft and lingering, as if it was something meant to be held a little longer.
She would give it back. After she won.
Her steps carried her toward the lunchroom, lighter than before, even if her shoulders hadn’t yet relaxed. The ribbon shifted with each movement, pressing warm against her leg. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but something inside her had begun to shift.
By the time she reached the door, her heart still hadn’t settled.
“Shiraishi-san, wait.”
His voice rang out the moment she stepped through the classroom door.
An stopped halfway down the hall, her posture tense as she turned. Her brows were already pulling together, irritation clear in the line of her shoulders. “What is it no—”
She broke off when she saw what he was holding. His phone was lit in his palm, the screen glowing faintly in the afternoon light.
“What are you doing?”
“I need your LINE,” Akiyama said. His tone was even, though that higher, softer pitch had returned—the same one she had caught in glimpses before. “If something goes wrong, I want to be able to contact you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
There it was again. That voice. The high one he used when he stopped performing and started meaning what he said. It caught her off guard, even more than the words themselves.
An folded her arms across her chest. “Fine… but if you turn out to be some kind of stalker, I’ll kick your ass.”
“I won’t,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly. “Besides, weren’t you the one gawking at my hands?”
She froze, lips parting before snapping shut again.
That was a direct hit.
“Well… you’re lucky I kinda trust you,” she muttered. Her fingers slipped into the inner pocket of her blazer, fumbling for her phone as she avoided his gaze.
When she handed it to him, their fingertips brushed. It lasted no more than a second, but it sent a quick spark through her chest. She tried not to notice, but failed.
Her eyes caught on the back of his phone. Pink case. A tiny cat sticker curled near the charging port. It was almost comical how delicate it was. That shouldn’t have made her heart react the way it did, but somehow it did. He was girly—not in the showy, polished, pretty-boy kind of way—but in a genuine, absentminded way. The kind that crept up on her when she wasn’t paying attention.
Seriously, how was a boy allowed to be this pretty? Not striking. Not handsome. Pretty. The kind of pretty that didn’t even seem to notice itself. His lashes, his skin, even his voice—it all just kept tugging at her focus no matter how hard she tried to pull it back.
This was ridiculous. She had a bet to win. She didn’t have time for weird pink-haired boys who acted like two different people depending on the mood. When this was over, she would return his little bow, say something smug, and go back to how things used to be. That was the plan.
Still, she found herself glancing back.
Akiyama had gone quiet, his phone now lowered in one hand. For a second, he just stood there, eyes distant, expression unreadable. Then he looked at her again.
“Shiraishi-san.”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes,” he said. His voice had dropped lower again, no emotion in it this time, just calm and a little flat. “You still haven’t told me where I’m going.”
An turned away slightly, her voice sharp as she tried to mask her embarrassment. “I was thinking about it, okay?”
Her fingers curled against the strap of her bag as she glanced back toward him. “You’re going to the cursed abandoned tunnel near Sopjoy Park.”
Akiyama’s shoulders sank a little, not quite a sigh, but close. “Seriously? That place is all the way across town.”
“What, are you chickening out already?”
“No. Just annoyed. I’m not scared of ghosts like you.”
Her brow twitched. Her hands balled into fists without her realizing.
“Don’t use that attitude with me, Akiyama. I’m going to win this bet, and you’re going to be the one polishing my nails with a toothbrush.”
He rolled his eyes, arms folding in front of his chest as his expression settled somewhere between amused and unimpressed.
“Then stop standing around like a dumbass and go.”
An opened her mouth to retort, but no words came. She exhaled sharply and turned on her heel, stomping toward the exit. Her shoes echoed in the empty hallway, each step loud in the silence.
Behind her, she heard it. A soft laugh, trailing after her like smoke curling into the air.
Since when did he have a sense of humor?
That was the last thing she wanted to fixate on. The soft lilt in Akiyama’s voice, the weird flutter she felt hearing it, the way he giggled like he didn’t care how close they were to real danger. It pissed her off. No—it confused her more than anything. Why did he have to be so strange? He acted cold one second, sweet the next. Every time she tried to make sense of him, he flipped the entire board.
“It’s just a stupid bet,” she muttered. “Not like I care what happens to him.”
The words sounded hollow, even to her.
The corridor stretched out ahead, lit only by the slant of moonlight seeping in through the broken windows. The walls were stained and crumbling, lined with old posters that flapped slightly from some unseen draft. The whole building felt too still, like the air hadn’t moved in years. Her footsteps echoed loudly and sharply, bouncing back at her like something was following from behind.
She clutched her phone tighter, pressed to her ear. “It’s so dark. This place is creepy as hell. Stupid Akiyama. Stupid bet.”
“You know I can hear you, right?”
Her breath caught. That voice—calm, almost smug—came through the speaker, just in time to make her jump.
“Shut up! This place looks like a cursed horror film!” she hissed, quickening her steps.
“It’s abandoned. Of course, it looks cursed. The tunnel’s worse,” Akiyama replied flatly. “No moonlight down here. Just walls. Feels like I’m being watched.”
There was a pause. Then the sharp sound of something scraping across the concrete, distant, through Akiyama’s line.
“…Did you hear that?”
“What was it?” An asked, throat tightening.
“I don’t know. Wait—”
The signal crackled.
Then went dead.
“Akiyama?” she whispered. “Oi. Akiyama, pick up.”
Nothing.
Her grip trembled around the phone. She tapped the screen. No signal. Completely gone. Just the empty hum of nothingness and her own heartbeat slamming in her ears.
Panic surged through her chest. She turned on her heel, eyes scanning the corridor behind her.
Silence.
Then something clicked ahead, deep within the school. Something metallic and sharp. A door? No—it was slower than that. The scrape of something being dragged across the tile. Like claws.
Her fingers curled into fists, knuckles white. The air had changed. It felt heavier, wet almost, like a thunderstorm was about to collapse over her head.
A single whisper floated through the hallway.
“Dandadan…”
She whipped her head toward the sound, legs frozen in place. It didn’t come from a person. It didn’t sound like a voice at all.
Light flared suddenly in front of her, searing blue and unnatural. It didn’t blink or fade like a flashlight. It hovered—humming with a low, vibrating sound that rattled her teeth.
Three figures stood at the far end of the hall, where the classroom doors had fallen apart long ago.
These guys were not human.
Their limbs were too long. Fingers stretched into clawed digits. Their torsos curved in ways her brain struggled to register. No eyes, but they stared. She felt it. Her chest seized under the weight of it.
She tried to run, but her body refused to move. Her knees locked. Her arms stayed limp at her sides. Her breath hitched in her throat and stayed there.
The beam of light shifted toward her from above. It wasn’t sunlight. It wasn’t even moonlight. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once. It swallowed her whole in seconds.
She couldn’t scream or think.
Her world blurred. Her senses drowned. The bet didn’t matter. The stupid crush on a confusing boy didn’t matter. Not when reality itself was breaking in front of her.
He had been right…The Aliens were real!
She opened her eyes to a bright green light. Her hands were bound, and so were her legs. Her head rested at an awkward angle, the surface beneath her cold and hard, while the air around her carried a sterile bite that clung to her skin. Every breath felt like inhaling frost. She couldn’t move, not at first. Her body lay stiff, and her nose blocked her view of anything below.
Frustration burned quietly inside her. She shifted just enough to glance down.
What the hell?
Her eye twitched at the sight of her black biker shorts and plain white sports bra. Of all things, her tomboyish outfit might have saved her from something worse. If she’d worn anything more revealing under her skirt, she didn’t want to imagine what those freaks would have done. That thought sent a chill deeper than the air could manage.
Why was she here? How did this even happen?
The silence around her was unnatural. It crushed down on her chest, leaving her heartbeat the only thing she could hear. Each thump echoed in her ears as if it were trying to break free from her ribs. Her instincts screamed for her to move, to shout, to tear free from the restraints biting into her wrists. Her limbs refused. Fear rooted her still.
Then a voice echoed through the void. Cold. Monotone. Detached.
“Ah, you are conscious. Excellent. We may proceed.”
An twisted her head toward the voice. Her voice emerged rough, a low growl scraping her throat.
“Huh? Who the hell are you? What do you want with me?”
Three figures emerged, humanoid in shape but wrong in ways she couldn’t explain. They stood too still. Their eyes reflected the green light like polished stone. There was no warmth in their movements. Only calculation.
“We require your female reproductive tissues. Necessary for the continuation of our kind.”
Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. The words barely registered at first, yet they kept repeating in her head.
She wanted to scream.
“My… female organs?” Her voice cracked.
“ Correct. These organs contain vital genetic material,” said the second, just as emotionless. “We are incapable of reproduction through binary division. We must acquire the essence of life from other species.”
A wave of nausea twisted through her gut. Her stomach turned over itself. She clung to what little composure she had left.
“What the hell do you mean by ‘acquire’?” Her voice sharpened. “You’re not seriously going to—”
The tallest one’s mouth stretched unnaturally, as if forming something like a grin.
“Terminology ‘harvest’ is preferred. ‘Acquire’ is euphemistic. This process ensures the survival of our species. Resistance is futile.”
The word harvest struck her harder than anything else had. It drained something out of her. Like the cold had found its way into her spine. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. This wasn’t some messed-up science fiction scenario. This was real.
“Survival?” Her voice trembled. “You mean at my expense. You’re going to butcher me like a lab rat.”
The second one tilted its head. Almost curious.
“Lab rat is irrelevant. You are a biological donor. Your distress signals trigger no response. Compliance is optimal.”
Panic surged again, harder now. Her whole body screamed to run, to escape. The restraints bit into her skin as she thrashed with everything she had, but she was still trapped.
“Why me?” Her voice had begun to fray. “Why Earth?”
“Earth is fertile. Your species’ abundant genetic markers are compatible with our own. Temporal alignment favors the experiment. The probability of success is high.”
She swallowed hard. “Experiment?” The word left her mouth flat, cold, lifeless.
“Yes. The subject is designation. Experimentation is a necessity for our species' preservation.”
Her hands twitched against the restraints. That flicker of movement was all she had, but it was enough to remind her she was still alive. Still here. Still fighting.
Tears threatened at the edges of her vision. She blinked them away.
“You’re monsters.”
“Definition unclear. Our existence is beyond your morality. We seek perpetuation.”
The green light flared. Shadows stretched and twisted across the walls, moving like things that had their own breath and bones. Their words didn’t sound like logic. They sounded like finality.
Her mind searched for exits that didn’t exist. Her lungs burned from shallow breathing. Something wild and ancient stirred in her gut, not fear but resistance. It refused to die quietly.
If this were a nightmare, she would find a way to wake up.
Her eyes fell to her phone lying just a few feet away. The screen spasmed with color and static, glitching as if possessed. She didn’t know what unnerved her more: the fact that she was mostly exposed and restrained, or the fact that now her phone was acting cursed.
Could this get any worse?
…
Of fucking course!
“GARAAAGH!!”
Akiyama’s voice came through the phone’s speaker. No. Not just his voice—something else. Something inside it. Warped. Twisted.
The screen pulsed with a distorted image of his body. His limbs bent unnaturally, muscles straining as he fought back the evil yokai within him. He was in pain, that much was clear. Drenched in sweat, eyes glassy with horror. His pants were in tatters, and somehow, clinging to his torso was—Her brain stalled.
Was that… a camisole?
One of the aliens glanced at the display and commented with clinical detachment. “Hm. We could take his organs too… although he lacks testicles.”
“GIMMIE YOUR DIIIIICK!” the possessed version of Akiyama roared, slamming fists into his own chest.
“That’s not me!” Akiyama’s true voice sobbed beneath it all, weak but pleading.
An gawked. “What is with everyone’s obsession with sex?!”
The alien began again, launching into another detached explanation about survival instincts and mating strategies. Each word made her skin crawl. It was too clinical, too cold, too removed from anything human. Her jaw clenched as her eyes narrowed. She didn’t want to hear any more.
Her breathing grew uneven. Shaky.
She needed to shut it out. She needed to think. Focus.
An squeezed her eyes shut. Her body felt locked in place, her nerves stretched thin and ready to snap. Somewhere in the haze of fear, her dad’s voice came back to her, clear and steady like it always had been.
*** Calm the storm. Breathe low. Find your chi. ***
The words echoed through her, grounding her. She drew in a breath. Slow. Deep. Her hands trembled, though the pressure in her chest started to ease. The fear was still there, pressing at the edges of her mind, but she held on.
She wasn’t finished. She wasn’t going to let it end here.
Her next breath pulled in cleaner. Her body felt lighter, less frozen. A warmth stirred low in her stomach, humming beneath her skin. The tension in her muscles loosened.
Something flickered. A pulse of blue light, soft at first, then brighter. It coiled through her arms, steady and alive.
The restraints cracked, and then she made her move.
Her body surged upright, energy rushing through every limb. Her feet slammed down on the cold surface, but she was already in motion, the blue glow forming around her hands. The power spread outward, radiating toward the one person she knew she had to reach.
Akiyama.
She ran toward him, eyes locked on the twisted shape of his body as he fought against whatever had taken hold. The light around her flared brighter.
“Akiyama, hold on!” Her voice shook, not from fear, but from everything pouring out of her at once.
An alien lunged toward her, its shadow stretching along the cold floor as its limbs reached. She didn’t flinch. Her foot scraped against the ground as she halted, chin lifting with sharp defiance.
“Seriously? Wrong girl. You’re not my type.”
That made the thing freeze. “ We do not understand.”
Figures.
She could feel her lip curl.
“You’re from a planet of dudes,” she muttered, twisting her wrist as the power surged again. A pulse of energy burst from her palm, brighter and sharper than before. The wave struck the alien square in the chest, sending its oversized body flying across the room with a deep, metallic thud.
The light faded from her hands.
Her breath shuddered.“Maybe I overdid that.”
A sudden cry tore through the room, raw and desperate.
“SHIRAISHI-SAAAAAN… HELP!”
Her head whipped toward the sound.
“Akiyama!”
His body was still writhing, pinned against the far wall by some unseen force, shadows clawing up his limbs as if trying to rip him in two. The phone was sparking again nearby, but she ignored it this time. She ran to him without thinking.
She dropped to her knees beside him. Her hand reached out, trembling as her fingertips hovered above his chest. Blue light flickered softly across her skin.
“Akiyama… I’m here.”
The energy from her ESP flowed out, slow and steady, as if drawn to him. The closer she got, the less he struggled. His breathing evened. His muscles were unclenched. The darkness faded from his limbs, draining into the floor. Her power worked like a thread pulling him back, anchoring him to her.
She could feel it. As long as she stayed close, he would be okay.
Maybe she really could do this?
He groaned, voice hoarse. “Give me the phone. The crazy yokai said she’ll get us out of here.”
She glanced down at the device, its cracked screen flickering with unnatural symbols. Her instincts screamed not to trust it. Yokai were always tricksters. Every story said so.
Still… she looked at him.
His hand was shaking. His pink eyes were heavy with pain, but they were clear now. Focused.
Akiyama was still himself.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and handed it over.
The moment the phone touched his hand, the ship split apart.
It began with a sound like the sky ripping open—high-pitched and endless. Light exploded around them, green and white, swallowing the walls and ceiling in an instant. The ground cracked beneath her. The air ignited with heat so intense it burned through her senses.
There was no time.
Her arms wrapped around him before she could think, her body moving on instinct. She pressed her face against his shoulder and pulled him close. The fire roared toward them like a living beast.
She held on tighter.
Debris screamed past. Metal twisted and snapped. Something struck her back, sharp and hot, but she kept her arms locked around his frame. Pain burned through her spine.
Still, she didn’t move.
The ship collapsed inward. The world tilted sideways. The green light became white.
She didn’t let go.
They had to survive.
When she awakened, An found herself lying on something rough and cool. The smell of grass, damp earth, and the distant hum of life around her told her she was no longer on that hellish spaceship. Her limbs ached, her head throbbed, but the worst was over. At least, she hoped so.
Beside her, Akiyama was curled in on himself, shaking faintly. His eyes were glassy, rimmed with red, his breathing shallow. His uniform was torn in multiple places, barely clinging to his frame. The fabric had split along his legs and sleeves, and his blazer was nowhere to be seen.
An’s eyes drifted without meaning to. Something soft and pastel peeked out from the waistband of his ruined pants—tiny pink bows against lace. She blinked, then blinked again.
“Pink bows…” The words escaped before she could stop them. Her brain screamed at her to shut up, but it was too late.
“DON’T LOOK!” Akiyama yelped, scrambling to pull his pants higher. His cheeks flushed bright red as he twisted away from her. “You saw nothing.”
“Nope. I definitely saw lacy pink panties with cute little bows.” She sat up slowly, brushing the dirt from her knees. Her voice was steady, teasing without cruelty.
“…You’re going to make fun of me for preferring them, aren’t you?” His voice lowered. He didn’t look at her. “Why did I even bother with you?”
He turned, reaching for what remained of his uniform jacket, but An grabbed his wrist before he could slip it on. Her fingers tightened with a little more force than she intended. The memory of that possessed version of him was still fresh. She didn’t want to lose him again, not even for a second.
“I’m not making fun of you,” she said quietly. “They’re cute. Honestly. They suit you.”
Akiyama didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.
“You’re different, and that’s fine with me. Actually, it’s kind of cool,” she added. “Look, I’m gay, so whatever this is for you—whether it’s comfort, identity, something you’re still figuring out—I’m not going to judge you.”
There was a pause. His body remained tense, but something in his shoulders eased, just barely.
“You can’t be serious…” His voice was cautious, soft, like he didn’t quite know how to believe her.
“I am. We’re on the same team here, Akiyama.” Her tone had lost all humor. She meant it.
He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like a sigh and knelt down, retrieving his crumpled dress shirt from the ground. Without looking at her, he tossed it toward her. The school tie followed a moment later.
“You’ll get cold,” he said simply, almost dismissively.
Maybe she would. The wind was picking up now, brushing against her skin like fingers. Still, it wasn’t the cold that had been bothering her. She slipped on the button-down, grateful for the soft cotton and the subtle scent of detergent clinging to it. It felt like a small shield between her and everything that had just happened.
She glanced back at Akiyama. He had shrugged on his jacket, but it hung open, revealing the soft pink camisole beneath. It fit him perfectly. He looked more comfortable in that than in anything he had worn all day.
“Ne, Akiyama… would you rather I see you as neutral?” she asked gently.
“Huh?” He blinked at her, startled.
“I mean… You don’t want to be seen as a boy, do you?” She held her breath, watching his expression carefully.
His eyes widened slightly, then turned away from her gaze.
“Can you please change the subject?”
“Alright.” She gave a quiet sigh, not pushing further. “What’s your full name then?”
“You’ve never paid attention during roll call?” They asked with a flat look.
“Not once,” she admitted. “I tune most of my teachers out.”
Their lips tugged into something that almost resembled a smile before quickly flattening again. A quiet laugh slipped out, unintentional, and they lifted the back of their hand to stifle it.
“M-My full name is Akiyama Mizuki.”
An froze as the name settled in her mind. It was not the boy himself who stopped her, but the weight that name carried. After discovering the truth about her aunt and the lies her father had told, she had shut herself off from almost everything. During those dark days, the voice of Akiyama Mizuki, a famous idol from Okinawa, became the only thing that reached her. Those songs had been her lifeline, the one thing that made her feel seen and understood.
This boy in front of her was nothing like that star. Just a quiet classmate with soft eyes and a pink phone case. The name was the only link between them, and it stirred something she was not ready to face.
“I’M NOT CALLING YOU THAT!” she blurted, louder than she meant to.
Akiyama blinked. “Ehh? Why would you? We’re not close. I only let people I trust call me Mizuki.”
An stared. “Wait… you trust other people?”
“Yes. Do you seriously think I'm incapable of socializing?” Akiyama answered flatly. “As you can see, I have a different identity outside of school. One I—oh no, she’s gonna kill me!”
She?
Akiyama suddenly looked like they wanted to die. They scrambled to brush off dust from their clothes and comb back their hair with frantic fingers.
“What the—it grew?! I just had it cut too!” they rambled, digging frantically through their bag. “Huh?! It’s gone, where is it? I always bring it just in case!”
The ribbon!?
“Akiyama, calm down. I have it right here." She insisted, presenting the ribbon she took out from the pocket of her biker shorts. “Also, who exactly is going to kill you?”
“Enanan…”
“Huh?”
Akiyama let out a loud sigh, frustration building in their voice. “One of my online associates. Long story short, I’m the editor of a music group called Nightcord. Enanan is the artist, and she’s usually on my ass when a deadline is close.”
An tried to piece this all together. The boy she thought Akiyama was didn’t seem to exist anymore. In his place stood someone softer, sharper, and more expressive. There was nothing masculine about the way they moved now. The posture, the hair, the ribbon obsession—it all fit into something that felt undeniably…real. Feminine, but not in the way most girls she knew were. This was the real Akiyama Mizuki, and somehow, it made sense.
“Ne, you said I can’t go anywhere without you because of Turbo Meiko inside me, right?” Akiyama asked, their tone more relaxed now.
“Turbo what?”
“That’s what she calls herself…” Akiyama shrugged as they pulled their hair into a side ponytail, which made their cat-like eyes even more striking.
Holy crap, are they a model!?
“I see. Since I can’t call you by your full name, I’ll call you something else. Something that suits you.”
“And what will that be?”
“How about Mizucchi?” An suggested quickly, almost too quickly.
A sparkle lit up in Akiyama’s pink eyes. A small smile curved on their lips before a soft giggle slipped out.
“That’s almost as cute as my username, Amia.” They tested it out with a tilt of their head. “I like it. You have a cool style, Shiraishi-san.”
“Ugh, don’t call me that. Makes me feel old.”
“Then I’ll just call you An,” Mizucchi said, right before a yelp escaped them, and they gripped their head in pain. “Not again?! Aren’t we close? Why is Turbo Meiko—Gaaah!”
An looked down. Her hands weren’t in the right position. She quickly raised them and used her spiritual power to shove Mizucchi back against the nearest wall. Relief washed over her when they twitched on the ground, dazed but okay.
“AAARGH, I just redid it too!” Mizucchi shouted, flopping onto their side with their hair now a complete mess.
“Aren’t you a little too fussy about your hair?”
“Want me to throw some dirt on yours?” Mizucchi deadpanned, clearly not in the mood for teasing.
Checkmate.
“Sorry. We should head to my place to get cleaned up…”
“Get cleaned…” Mizucchi gulped. “Will your hair product ruin mine?”
“You’re really pushing it, Mizucchi.”
“Not my fault, I just like having my hair not frizzy.”
An crossed her arms, watching as Mizucchi looked seconds away from transforming again. They quickly caught themselves and offered an apology before slowly beginning to redo their hair for the third time.
Their camisole shifted slightly as they worked, revealing the smooth line of their stomach and a curve at their hips that caught An off guard. It was unexpected, and An’s eyes narrowed, unable to help the way they focused.
“Kyaa!” Mizucchi yelped, immediately tugging their clothes back down. “Stop looking at me like that! Aren’t you gay?!”
“S-shut up! It’s not my fault you’re a freaking model under that uniform!” An snapped, her face flushing.
“…You’re weird.”
An huffed but kept her hands raised just in case. She watched Mizucchi pull out their phone, their features softening as they read something. Their lips parted slightly in focus, and it looked like they had received a message that mattered. Maybe it was someone from their group—probably someone worried about where they had disappeared to.
“So what are you gonna do?”
“Told them I’ll work on it later. Unless…” They paused. “You don’t mind me borrowing your computer?”
“Oyaji doesn’t believe in tech, so you’re shit out of luck. No computers at my house.”
“What are you guys, monks?” Mizucchi snorted.
“Something like that. Just keep moving.”