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The Biological Diversity of Soulmarks and the Theoretical Concept of Rebirth.
Ango Sakaguchi
20XX
Before one may fully appreciate the complexity of this phenomenon, it is essential to establish a working definition of the term “Soulmark.”
Soulmark: A birthmark, invariably positioned on the right or left wrist, which denotes the initials of one’s, predetermined life partner (Given:Family.)
It is to be noted that:
- Prior to meeting, and subsequently recognizing one’s destined other, the mark presents itself only as a stark, black outline.
- Upon mutual recognition and acceptance, the initials become fully filled with a vivid green hue.
- At the passing of a soulmate, this green inevitably degrades to a deep, immutable crimson.
It is the contention of this paper that the various presentations of Soulmarks are not merely cultural artifacts, but rather biological phenomena which may, when correctly analyzed, point toward a broader understanding of spiritual continuity—perhaps even toward a working theory of rebirth itself.
Now that the fundamentals have been clarified, we may begin to examine the prevailing schools of thought…
Chuuya wanted to slam his head into the table. Scratch that, he wanted to punch his screen, throw it out the window, and then slam his head into the table.
The one thing he hated most about life was thesis papers. So why on God’s fat-ass did he have to peer review this slop?
He already had to write one, and being the brilliant bastard he was, he’d chosen to focus on the theoretical concept of manipulating gravity through the human will.
Technically, it sat under philosophy, but the way he’d worded it made it sound like half a physics paper and half a fever dream.
Suffice to say—his professors humored him. Not because it was good, but because no one wanted to be the one to tell him he wasn’t rewriting the laws of the universe.
But this? This was about Soulmarks. Something everyone already knows about, learns about, looks at daily—this was straight up a waste of time.
And of course the bastard, Ango Sakaguchi, would find this topic ‘interesting.’
He very much wished he knew where this asshole lived so he could make him very aware of his feelings. I.E., someone was going to jail and it wasn’t going to be Ango.
With no patience left to spare, he slammed his laptop closed and pushed himself away from the table.
~~~
Chuuya adjusted the tassel on his cap with one hand while the other held a lukewarm coffee he’d been nursing since dawn. Graduating. Finally. After years of lectures, papers, and the occasional existential meltdown, he had survived. And survived well, thank you very much.
Of course, survival didn’t mean he had to endure the pomp and ceremony. He had dressed immaculately—robes tailored just slightly too sharp for comfort, shoes that gleamed like tiny suns—and now he was surrounded by a sea of robes, hats, and small talk he didn’t care to hear.
“Seriously, who designed this seating arrangement?” Chuuya muttered under his breath, craning his neck to see the stage, “I can’t see shit!”
A familiar scoff cut through his one-sided bicker.
“You really need to calm down, Nakahara,” Akutagawa drawled from the row behind him, arms crossed. Black suit, black hair, black everything. The man could probably make a funeral look like a fashion show, “you’re just too short.”
“I’m not—augh,” Chuuya lowered his head in agony. He hissed in a voice too loud for a whisper, “I’m merely aware that this entire charade is beneath me.”
“Above you, actually,” Akutagawa stated, and Chuuya literally vibrated in rage.
Atsushi—who was sitting next to the frustrated ginger, gave him a friendly nudge, “Relax! Don’t let his teasing get to you! You should be excited, anyway. You survived grad school!”
Chuuya stared at him, “I hardly have the time to be excited when whoever this third-rate loser on stage is droning on about… I don’t know…Marxism?”
“Peter Singer’s applied philosophy,” Ranpo corrected, lounging lazily in the seat next to Akutagawa. He didn’t even bother looking at the stage, instead his gaze was focused on a single broken light above them, "Technically, you can manipulate gravity with your mind, Nakahara. I’d call that applied philosophy.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, “Ranpo, you are the human embodiment of a slug. How did you even get here?”
“I didn’t,” Ranpo shrugged with a curt grin, “But now I have a 2nd PhD soooo, I’m the winner here.”
Kunikida, sitting two rows up, pinched the bridge of his nose. He was muttering something about “discipline and time management.” Chuuya decided not to ask what that even meant. If Kunikida ever smiled, the universe just might collapse in on itself.
The ceremony dragged on, the principal’s voice a low hum beneath Chuuya’s inner turmoil. Somewhere in the crowd, someone whispered about Soulmarks. Chuuya heard the words because—apparently—people could not shut up about them.
“...Did you see Ango Sakaguchi’s paper this year?” a voice said, high-pitched and trembling with excitement, “he claims there’s a new theory about Soulmark persistence after death—like, some kind of…spiritual continuity thing.”
Chuuya nearly choked on his coffee, “Soulmarks,” he grumbled, “Really. In the twenty-first century? People are still obsessed with these…birthmarks.”
Atsushi leaned closer, eyes wide, “I mean…they’re kind of neat, aren’t they? Finding the one person meant for you?”
Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, “Neat? They’re superstitions! At best, a cute fairytale for the desperate. At worst, a social hazard.” he gestured vaguely at the crowd, “You want proof? Look around. Most of these people have multiple soulmates in theory—or none at all. Congratulations, society, your mystical matchmaking system has failed spectacularly."
Ranpo snorted, “You just hate that destiny is supposedly easier than your ego, Nakahara.”
Chuuya shot him a sharp glare, “I do not hate destiny,” he said primly, although his cheeks burned slightly, “...I just recognize it for the convenient fiction it is.”
Akutagawa, forever unimpressed, muttered, “Convenient fiction seems to be your entire worldview.”
Chuuya ignored him, turning back to the stage, convinced that if he concentrated hard enough, the principal’s speech would spontaneously combust. He imagined it: a puff of smoke, applause from everyone, and him—standing triumphant with his half-empty coffee and immaculate robes.
Yes, yes…he very much was not delusional.
~~~
Kenji placed down the final box with a smile, “That’s all, Mr. Nakahara!”
Chuuya hummed and looked at the vast amounts of boxes and furniture. This was the day, the day he finally got a proper apartment. It was small, cozy, close to a convenience store, and cheap—really it was everything Chuuya could ask for.
The landlord—Natsume Soseki—smiled in the corner of the living room, “I’m so happy this place finally has an owner.”
Kenji wiped his forehead and looked over with a curious smile, “Watcha mean, Sir? Has nobody lived here before?”
“Ah, not exactly,” Natsume waved an absent-minded hand, “someone used to, quite some time ago. But since his passing, nobody has dared set foot in here.”
Chuuya crossed his arms and turned to face the other, “Why? Did he get murdered here or something?”
“No no, nothing of the sort,” Natsume’s smile seemed to stretch, “just some old rumors that folks spread around. Nothing drastic, but it did keep folks away.”
“Rumors huh?” Kenji gave a low whistle then had a massive grin, “like ghosts?”
“Something like that.”
Chuuya bit his tongue to keep himself from laughing. Ghosts and rumors, how silly. He hadn’t heard anything about this place besides it having a faulty sink sometimes. It wasn't like ghosts were real anyway.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to unpack,” Natsume tapped his cane softly and moved toward the door, “Kenji-kun, mind accompanying me for some lunch?”
Chuuya watched the two leave with a quiet murmur between them. He had a strange itch that there was something that the landlord wasn’t mentioning, but he didn't care to ask.
The silence that followed seemed thicker than it should have. However, he shrugged, and moved to open the first box.
~~~
The first night passed without much fanfare. A mattress on the floor, a blanket he couldn’t find until after midnight, and a half-eaten convenience store sandwich—that he just bought—sitting on the counter.
Cozy, in a pathetic sort of way.
By the third day, the apartment started showing its quirks. Not ghosts—just quirks.
The sink groaned like an old man every time Chuuya turned the knob. The bathroom light flickered in and out until he smacked it with his fist. And the living room? Well, apparently, the living room had a draft. From where, he couldn’t pin point because none of the windows leaked.
But every time he came home, Chuuya couldn’t help but feel something was…off. Not bad, exactly. Just like—a vacancy he couldn’t quite fill.
On Wednesday, he left his mug half-filled on the counter before leaving for an interview. When he got back, the mug was clean and sitting next to the sink. He swore he didn’t finish the coffee, nevermind clean it. He chalked it up to being scatterbrained as it was his first interview since graduation.
Thursday, some of his philosophy texts he had opened on the floor were instead piled neatly on his desk. He had intended to review some works to follow up on the previous interview, but he supposed he had forgotten to get them out.
By Friday night, he found the fridge door open an inch.
That was harder to wave off.
“Guess I’m haunted by a health inspector,” he muttered, shoving it closed rather harshly with his foot..
Still, the silence of the apartment pressed on him in ways he hadn’t expected. Every creak in the floorboards made him glance up. Every shifting shadow pulled at the corner of his vision. He told himself it was just the thrill of being in a new place, alone for the first time.
Then came Sunday morning.
He woke up to the faint sound of humming. Soft, tuneless, and gone the second he sat up. He searched the entire apartment with a pan in hand—and found nothing. By the afternoon, he was pacing circles in his living room, phone glaring up at him.
“This is stupid,” he said aloud, to no one, “Ghosts don't exist. This is, augh!”
Nonetheless, he opened Reddit. His fingers hesitated over the keyboard before he finally typed out a post.
r/ghost - Posted by u/GravityGod • Just now
So uh. My apartment might be haunted. And if it is, the ghost is either really tidy, really nosy, or both. Do I need to sage the place or tell it to pay rent?
Here is a list of things I have noticed just this past WEEK.
>See Attachment<
The responses were quick.
SweetDetect: haHA! This is hilarious! @LiesofPoe
→ LiesofPoe: oh my. This is quite interesting. @GravityGod please check your dms.
→ GravityGod: uhm.
Can’tCatchMe: Had a similar problem. Just move, lol!
→ GravityGod: Bro. I literally JUST signed the lease. Don’t make me commit arson.
→ Can’tCatchMe: OH haha sorry man
Aquagawa: r u sure its not the rats? R u tall enough to see those?
→ GravityGod: I know where you live.
→ Tigerboy: ??????
→ Aquagawa: ill be waiting.
BandageKing42: careful. once you notice him, he notices you~
→GravityGod: Okay edgelord, relax.
After a moment of staring helplessly at the replies, he noticed he had gotten a message from LiesofPoe.
Poe: I couldn’t help but notice your post…
Poe: My associate insists I should offer my assistance. Would you allow me to conduct a reading in your home?
Chuuya: WHO??
Poe: Ah, forgive me, I failed to introduce myself properly. I am Edgar Allan Poe. Ranpo-kun, my most esteemed companion, suggested I offer my services. Might I?
Chuuya: You've got to be shitting me
Chuuya: No
Chuuya: Absolutely not
Poe: I assure you, I am most discreet.
Chuuya: This is literally the opposite of discreet
By the end of their back-and-forth, Chuuya wasn’t sure if he’d agreed to a ghost reading or accidentally signed up for a pyramid scheme.
Either way, Poe was coming over.
~~~
Chuuya was a bit baffled when they actually showed up.
Poe stood in the middle of his living room like he was about to perform a surgery. He clutched his leather-bound journal close to his chest, and his gaze swept over every corner with solemn reverence. Ranpo, on the other hand, had already made himself comfortable on Chuuya’s couch, tearing into a bag of chips he’d brought along. Crumbs were already scattered on the cushions.
“This is absurd,” Chuuya muttered, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, “You’re not seriously—”
“Shh,” Poe said, lifting one hand dramatically, “the energy here is delicate. One must listen for what does not wish to be heard.”
Chuuya stared, incredulously, “It’s an apartment, not a seance room.”
Ranpo grinned, crunching loudly, “Don’t mind him. He just takes things too seriously. But hey—your post was hilarious. I figured Poe would love this kind of mystery, so…here we are.”
Chuuya rubbed at his temple. Why do I put up with people…
Poe pulled out a small brass pendulum from his coat and begun to let it swing. He muttered to himself about “currents” and “lingering resonance.”
Ranpo leaned back, watching him fondly and occasionally offered unhelpful commentary, like, “It’s probably hiding in the bathroom. Ghosts like bathrooms, dontcha know?”
For the first twenty minutes, nothing happened. Just the sound of Poe scribbling notes and Ranpo’s annoying munching. Chuuya was seconds away from throwing them both out when something shifted.
The pendulum, which had been swinging lazily, jerked sharply to the side. Poe’s eyes widened, “There,” he whispered, “do you feel that?”
“I feel like I’m wasting my afternoon,” Chuuya said flatly.
But before Poe could scold him again, the overhead light flickered. Once, twice, then cut out completely plunging the room into darkness.
Ranpo stopped eating, “Okay. That wasn’t me.”
The silence that followed stretched thin. Then, somewhere right behind Chuuya, a voice drawled—low, amused, and far too close:
“Boo.”
Chuuya swore violently, stumbling forward and falling right on his ass. Poe scrambled for his journal and Ranpo broke into fits of laughter.
“Oh! I so wish I got that on camera! Holy shit!!” Ranpo wheezed, looking pointedly at Chuuya on the ground, “I suppose your ghost has got a sense of humor.”
Chuuya’s pulse thundered in his ears. He stood up rapidly, fists clenched, but the empty air around him was mocking.
“Show yourself!” he snapped.
The light overhead flickered back on. Silence. Poe crouched on the floor, analyzing the pendulum intently, and Ranpo kicked his feet up onto the coffee table idly.
Then—soft, lazy, and almost like it came from the walls themselves—
“Show myself? But I already have. You’re the one refusing to look.”
Chuuya’s throat went dry, “Who the hell said that?”
“I did.”
“Who’s I?”
A low chuckle, warm and taunting, “You’re not very good at this game, are you?”
Poe scrambled upright, notebook open, eyes darting around trying to pin the sound, “Incredible! Direct communication. This is—this is unprecedented.”
Chuuya ignored him, “Listen here, you smug son of a—”
“Oh? I quite like that tone,” the voice shifted, drifting to just above Chuuya’s shoulder, “Say more.”
Chuuya jerked back so fast he nearly fell over a box, and Ranpo wheezed another laugh.
“This isn’t funny!” Chuuya barked.
“Isn’t it?” the ghost asked, voice laced with amusement, “You call me nosy, tidy, and that I need to pay rent. Really? I’m the rude one?”
Heat rose up Chuuya’s neck. He saw the post?
“You—You read that?!”
“Mmm. You make it very easy to watch you, you know. Every time you sigh, every time you mutter. I hear it all.”
Chuuya froze, feeling his skin crawl, “You’re a creep!”
A pause, then a faint chuckle, “Perhaps. But you’re interesting. And that’s more than I can say for the last fifty years.”
Poe scribbled furiously, “Fascinating. So, you’re saying you’ve been—”
“Not talking to you,” the ghost cut in, smoothly.
Ranpo grinned, leaning forward and tossing his arms over the edge of the couch, “Ohhh, he likes you, Chuuuuuya~”
“Shut up.” Chuuya snapped. But the worst part? He could feel it. That mocking, playful attention focused squarely on him—and he had no idea what to do with it.
More silence filled the room until Ranpo stood up suddenly, brushing crumbs from his shirt, “Well, that’s that.”
“That’s—that’s what?” Chuuya demanded.
“You’ve got a ghost, it likes you, and it’s not dangerous. Case closed,” Ranpo grinned, tugging Poe toward the door despite his protests, “Come on, Poe. If we stay, he’ll never get used to it.”
“But my notes—”
“You can write about it later.”
The door shut behind them, leaving the apartment still. Too still.
Chuuya stood in the center of the room, arms crossed tight, every muscle wired. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.
For a long, breathless moment, nothing happened. No flickering lights. No disembodied voice. No sarcastic “boo” in his ear.
Just quiet.
And somehow, that was worse.
Chuuya swallowed hard, glaring at the empty room, “...This is so damn stupid.”
No reply.
He hated how much the silence felt like a smile.
~~~
The next morning started off slow. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as Chuuya sat in the kitchen sipping a small coffee and munching on crispy bacon. He scrolled idly on his phone, trying not to anxiously think about his final interview later today.
If everything went well, he would have secured a job. So, Chuuya’s heart was doing leaps in his chest.
It was almost distracting enough for Chuuya to forget about the literal ghost in his apartment.
Almost.
“You chew too fast when you’re nervous,” a voice murmured.
Chuuya nearly dropped his phone into his coffee, “God—dammit! Don’t just—don’t just sneak up on me like that!”
A low laugh rippled from the corner of the room, although no one was there, “Hardly sneaking. You make enough noise to wake the dead.”
Chuuya groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Cute. Real funny.”
There was a pause, quieter this time. Then, “You’ll do well today.”
The words caught him off guard, enough to make him glance around, “...What?”
“Your interview,” the ghost said. His voice was soft, lifting, but there was something strange in the way he lingered over the syllables, “They’ll like you. I like you. That’s the same thing.”
Chuuya stared, “That’s—no. That’s not the same thing at all.”
A hum, amused but oddly tender, “Close enough. Don’t be afraid. Even if you fail, you’ll still be mine.”
Chuuya choked on his drink, “Yours?!”
“Mm, I don’t let go easily.”
For a long moment, the kitchen was too quiet, save for the faint drip from the sink. Chuuya’s skin prickled, torn between irritation and a confusing flutter in his chest.
Finally, the voice sighed, almost wistful, “I suppose I should introduce myself properly, then. My name is Dazai. Osamu Dazai.”
Chuuya stared hard at the empty chair across from him, heart hammering. The name meant nothing to him—and yet, the way Dazai said it, so careful and deliberate, made it feel heavier than it should have.
“...Great,” he muttered, “Now I can put a name to the freak ruining my mornings.”
Dazai chuckled, quiet and warm, “Ruining? No no, Chuuya, I’m improving them.”
~~~
r/ghost - Posted by u/GravityGod • 2 hours ago
Update: Ghost’s name is Osamu Dazai and he speaks to me now. Does that name mean anything to anyone, or am I just cursed with the most annoying dead guy alive?
[Top Comments]
SweetDetect: omg WAIT.
→ GravityGod: waiting
Aquagawa: osamu dazai sounds fake. u sure this isnt just some weeb trolling you?
→ GravityGod: You’re fake as hell
→ Aquagawa: ditto
Tigerboy: …actually, that name does sound familiar. Wasn’t there an old urban legend? The lost soulmark? @LiesofPoe @SweetDetect
→ LiesofPoe: There is, but only the given name was ever documented: Osamu. Plenty of people have the name.
→ SweetDetect: ask him about his soulmark
→ GravityGod: Urban legends aren't real. I’m already stuck with the bastard, don’t make it worse
→ Aquagawa: make it worse
→ GravityGod: what is your damage?
Can’tCatchMe: bro you’re like one more post away from marriage
→ SweetDetect: kinda romantic thooo
BandageKing42: Careful, Chuuya. If you keep talking about me in public, people will get jealous
→ GravityGod: YOU????
→ SimpleServent: thats adorable @Aquagawa
→ Aquagawa: why did u tag me
[View 49 more comments]
Chuuya shoves his phone back into his pocket, his mind stirring. But of course, the damage is done.
~~~
He sat upright in the leather chair, palms slick against his pressed slacks. The offices smelled faintly of cedar and old books. Clean, orderly yet intimidating.
Across the desk sat Fukuzawa Yukichi, his expression composed as he adjusted the papers in front of him. His eyes, calm but piercing, scanned Chuuya once before focusing back on the resume.
“Mr. Nakahara,” Fukuzawa began, voice even and unyielding, “your credentials are strong. Your academic record is impressive, and your letters of recommendation speak highly of your discipline.”
Chuuya swallowed, nodding once. Okay, breathe. This isn’t so bad. Just answer like a normal person, and—
“Careful, Chuuya.”
The echo of Dazai’s message slithered up his spine.
“However,” Fukuzawa continued, “I would like to hear from you directly. Why do you feel you would be an asset to this position?”
Chuuya paused. The words hung in the air. He opened his mouth, closed it, then forced something out, “I—I think I’d be…good. At the job. Because, um…I don’t quit easily.”
Fukuzawa’s brows lifted slightly, but he said nothing.
Oh, smooth. Real professional, Chuuya.
“You’ll do well today. I like you.”
The ghost’s voice was teasing, but threaded with something oddly sincere. Chuuya’s throat tightened. He stared at Fukuzawa, who was still waiting.
“I mean,” Chuuya rushed, “I’m reliable, and I…uh…handle stress well. Usually. Very well.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Fukuzawa folded his hands on the desk, “I see.”
The silence stretched.
Chuuya tried to steady himself, but his knee was bouncing uncontrollably under the desk. His thoughts weren’t on the interview anymore; they were on the ridiculous fact that there was a dead man in his apartment.
When Fukuzawa asked a second question—something about teamwork, maybe problem-solving—Chuuya barely processed it. His answer rambled, circling back on itself, and he caught the faintest sigh slip from Fukuzawa’s nose.
By the time it was over, Chuuya felt like he’d just run a marathon. Fukuzawa stood, offering a polite but noncommittal handshake.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Nakahara. We will be in touch.”
Chuuya muttered something like, “thanks,” but his ears were ringing as he left the office. He was certain he’d just blown the best chance he’d had in months.
And all he could think about was the smug voice waiting for him back home.
~~~
With a door slammed shut, and keys tossed onto the side table, Chuuya was beyond ready to stuff his face into his pillow and sleep the day away.
But a quick sniff of the air alerted him.
Something—sweet?
Chuuya ran into the kitchen only to skid right into a halt. There was a man—an actual man—in the middle of his kitchen, humming some out-of-tune and tapping rather harshly on the keys of a laptop.
Chuuya’s laptop.
Nevermind the literal mess of the kitchen—flour, egg shells and oil plastered on every surface imaginable—the man seemed to act like he was right at home.
Chuuya’s instincts finally kicked in and he leapt forward, determined to beat the shit out of the intruder, only for him to instead fall right through and land smack on the ground.
The man finally seemed to notice Chuuya, and looked down, with confusion. He stared for a moment, before giving a cheeky grin, “Welcome home, Chuuya.”
“You—“ Chuuya fumed. He should’ve realized, “How—you,” he was at a complete loss for words.
Now in a closer proximity, Chuuya could analyze Dazai’s appearance. It was obvious now the man was a ghost, with transparency of that of a pair of sunglasses.
Muted colors of brown, slightly shaggy hair, and hazelnut eyes. His outfit consisted of a simple black vest with a white undershirt and plain khakis—but what really ticked Chuuya was the bandages.
Tightly wrapped and secure across every inch of his arms, and even visible on his neck. Chuuya had to assume his whole body was covered by the amount visible alone.
“I’m so happy~” Dazai sang, placing his hands on his cheeks, “the little puppy can see me~ How opportune.”
“What.” Chuuya blanched. Was he seriously being compared to a dog right now?
Dazai had clapped his hands, “and perfect timing too! The cookies just finished cooling.”
“Hahhh…?”
Chuuya watched as Dazai did a twirl and produced a tray of somewhat appealing cookies, “Celebratory cookies!” He cheered, “for an interview well done.”
Chuuya stared in disbelief.
“Hm,” Dazai looked down at the ginger, “y’know, I was merely joking about the puppy thing, but,” his mouth quirked up, “if you want to eat on the floor like one, I won’t judge.”
“HAHHH?!” Chuuya stood up so fast he became light headed. His hand clutched onto the counter and he pointed an accusatory finger at Dazai, “What the hell is your problem?!”
“My problem?” Dazai scoffed, and put his hand to his chest in mock defense, “I just wanted to make my new roomie some cookies! How is that so bad?”
Chuuya gestured his hands out in confusion. He quite literally didn’t know what to say, “You ruined my kitchen! How did you even make cookies? You’re a ghost! You shouldn’t be able to touch anything. Let alone fucking bake!”
“Ah, ah. But you see,” Dazai grinned and put a finger up, “I can touch things. If I put enough energy into it.”
Chuuya wanted to punch that smug face, “Can you touch me, then?”
“Oh?”
Chuuya flared up, “That isn’t what I meant!!”
“Chuuya~” Dazai leaned forward and gave a not so subtle wink, “So forward, trying to—what’s the term? ‘Rizz’ up a ghost?”
With a swift motion, Chuuya grabbed a handful of the cookies and chucked them one by one at Dazai. As expected, they went right through and shattered against the wall, “Shut up! You’re such a nuisance! I hate you!”
“My cookies!” Dazai cried and pouted at their crumbs, “How could you? I made them with so much love.”
“Fuck your damn cookies,” Chuuya hissed, “you’re the reason I bombed that interview. This is all your fault. I want nothing to do with you!”
“Huh?” Dazai turned back to face Chuuya, “how is that my fault?”
“Your stupid words!” Chuuya motioned to his head, “they wouldn’t get out of my brain! You distracted me!”
Dazai paused, then his eyes crinkled with glee, “Puppy couldn’t stop thinking about me? How sweet~”
“AUGGHH!!”
~~~
Chuuya laid in bed, staring up at the bare ceiling. His eyes traveled along each little bump and crack, connecting them like constellations.
It was late, and Chuuya didn’t dare check the time.
He was too busy lost in thought, unable to get one in particular out of his mind.
Dazai was real.
Not in the sense he was alive, but, Chuuya hadn’t been hallucinating. He was hoping that maybe Ranpo and Poe had pulled some elaborate prank on him the other day—but you couldn’t make up what happened this afternoon.
A ghost making cookies. Was Chuuya living in some sick rom-com?
He covered his eyes with his forearm. He really had no idea what to think. What even was Dazai? Sure, a ghost in concept, but no ghost should be able to have the capacity to operate a kitchen enough to bake.
Was it too late to move out?
“Can’t sleep?”
“Augh,” Chuuya groaned, “go away.”
“Can’t exactly do that, Chibi.”
Chibi…? Chuuya sighed through his nose. He didn’t have the energy to question.
He looked around the room with tired eyes, noticing that the ghost wasn’t visible. Maybe he really had used a lot of energy earlier. How much energy did he have?
Why am I even thinking about this?
“Aw, are you looking for me? Sorry, I’m a bit tired.”
“No, I’m trying to get comfortable.”
“Hmm.”
The dip in the mattress was small, but enough for Chuuya to feel the faint pull toward an invisible body. He tilted his head—nothing. Still, the space beside him felt claimed.
“Was the interview that bad?” Dazai asked.
Chuuya frowned a bit. It wasn’t exactly what he was thinking of, but he wasn’t going to let the ghost know where his thoughts really were, “I made a fool of myself.”
“I see,” There was a moment of silence before, “I didn’t mean to mess you up. I was trying to wish you luck.”
“I’m aware,” Chuuya rolled on his side, “I guess it was just my fault for thinking too much.”
Dazai snorted, “Thinking too much. What a problem to have…” There seemed to be a shift in the air. “What was the job even?”
“It was for a law firm,” Chuuya sighed, “It was the main one on my radar after graduation.”
“Ah…law. Well, I wouldn’t worry then. Law nerds are, well, law nerds.”
Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed, “What—what does that mean?”
When he didn’t get a response, he grumbled and stuffed another pillow into his face.
~~~
It had been three days since that night, and Chuuya was starting to notice a pattern.
Dazai was a menace.
Not just the kind of menace that left flour on the floor or broke into Chuuya’s playlist to play dramatic operas at two in the morning. No, no he was the other kind. The kind who seemed dead set on turning every waking moment into a Colleen Hoover novel.
And Chuuya hated—hated—that it was starting to get under his skin.
It really started to become apparent when Chuuya started his morning. He stood at the sink, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth as he practiced lines under his breath. He leaned forward, studying his reflection.
He was so lost in thought, he wasn’t prepared for the low voice just a hair’s breadth from his ear: “Don’t scowl so hard, Chibi. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.”
Chuuya sputtered, toothpaste foam nearly dribbled onto his shirt. The mirror wasn’t spared. He spun around, but of course Dazai wasn’t there. Just laughter echoing faintly against the tiles.
“Get lost!” Chuuya barked, wiping his mouth. “I’m trying to focus!”
“Well, I’m focused,” Dazai purred, “On you. So serious in the mornings, it’s very cute.”
Chuuya chucked the toothbrush in the cup so hard it nearly shattered the glass.
Later, Chuuya flipped his bacon with more aggression than necessary. He was determined not to think about Dazai’s morning comments. He had much more important things to think about—like contacting Ranpo for a job…
Dazai sat at the counter, half-visible with his head propped lazily on his bandaged hands, “Smells nice,” he mused.
Chuuya gave him a look, “Can you even smell?”
“Hm,” Dazai tapped his cheek in mock thinking, “No, but I can imagine.”
“How flattering, then.” Chuuya muttered and lowered his head.
Dazai leaned forward, harboring a cheeky grin, “This is almost romantic, don’t you think?”
“Don’t even start…”
Dazai promptly ignored him, “Newlyweds, having breakfast together. You’d make a wonderful housewife.”
The spatula slipped right out of Chuuya’s hand, clattering across the stove, “WHAT did you just say?!”
Dazai smiled wider, “Oh, don’t glare at me like that, puppy. I’m only complimenting you.”
“Compliment, my ass.” Chuuya hissed, trying to salvage the bacon, and his pride.
Finally, the afternoon struck the final cord.
Chuuya was hunched over the coffee table, papers spread out—resumes, scribbled notes and his poor attempt at a cover letter. He leaned closer, pen tapping against the page.
Once he let his guard down, the air shifted. Warm breath—not possible, it wasn’t possible—brushed against his ear.
“You get flustered so easily,” Dazai whispered, “It’s adorable.”
The pen flew out of Chuuya’s grip, skidding across the room, “DAZAI!”
“What?” The ghost leaned against the wall, expression far too innocent, “I’m encouraging you.”
“You’re harassing me!”
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
By the time night fell, Chuuya was lying in bed with his phone clutched in his hand. He stared at the blank Reddit post draft on his screen. He typed, deleted, re-typed. His face burned with secondhand embarrassment just from the thought.
Eventually, with a groan, he hammered it out in one go.
r/ghost - Posted by u/GravityGod • 12 hours ago
Update 2: Is my ghost…flirting with me??
So,
Remember my last post, how I described how this ghost in my house calls himself Dazai or whatever.
Well, it’s gotten worse.
He keeps calling me “puppy” and giving me compliments that are borderline harassment. He also keeps making jokes about me being a housewife????
Anyway, I don’t know what to do anymore. He’s a GHOST. He can’t flirt with me. Right? He’s just being a jerk cause he’s a GHOST. Yes??
[Top Comments]
SweetDetect: hah. HAHAHAHHA OHHHH MY GOD??
→ GravityGod: remind me why I’m friends with you
→ SweetDetect: WE ARE FRIENDS??? HELLLOOOO??
→ Aquagawa: screenshotted
Tigerboy: I really think you should ask him about the soulmark thing.
→ GravityGod: absolutely not.
→ Tigerboy: Say, you never shared what your mark was back in grad. It’s not O.D., is it?
→ GravityGod: it’s none of your business
→ Aquagawa: screenshotted
BandageKing42: “my” ghost, huh? Also, publicly shaming me, how kinky
→ GravityGod: GET OFF MY DAMN COMPUTER YOU PRUDE
→ LiesofPoe: I ship it
→ Aquagawa: screenshotted
→ GravityGod: STOP SCREENSHOTTING ASSHOLE
[View 129 more comments]
Hazelnut eyes stared deviously into ceruleans.
Chuuya’s hand clutched tightly around his cup, his eyes lowered and eyebrows clenched. Just what did this damn ghost want from him.
“Well,” Dazai said, after at least an hour of a stalemate, “aren’t you going to ask?”
“Ask what.” Chuuya hissed.
“About me,” Dazai gestured to himself eloquently, “what else?”
I could think of literally anything else.
Chuuya had a deadpanned look, and he felt his entire body twitch in annoyance, “I’d rather not. I really don’t give a shit.”
“Aww,” Dazai puckered a lip in a feign pout, “even after we stared lovingly into each other’s eyes for 38 minutes and 41 seconds?”
He counted??
“We didn’t stare lovingly.” Chuuya turned his gaze away and focused on his drink, “You mean nothing to me.”
“Haha, you say that, but,” Dazai tilted his head in amusement, “your little Reddit posts tell a different story.”
“You really are a stalker,” Chuuya grimaced.
“You make it very easy,” Dazai teased, his eyes squinted with his smile.
Chuuya tried to contain his scowl, but the truth was gnawing at him—he was curious. He hated it, hated how Dazai could read him so easily, hated that he wanted to know more.
Who was he? Why was he stuck here? Why did he seem only interested in Chuuya?
So many questions, but one really stood out to him. One from deep inside him he didn’t want to admit.
“What’s…” Chuuya hesitated, and bit his bottom lip, “What’s your soulmark?”
Dazai’s smile faded a bit, but was replaced with a tooth filled alternative, “I don’t know.”
“You—what?” Chuuya blanched.
“I don’t know.” Dazai stated again.
Chuuya gestured wildly, “How do you not know? Everyone knows!”
Dazai sighed and promptly lifted out his left arm, “Not sure if you’ve noticed but, I’m covered with these very fashionable bandages.”
How could I not… Chuuya frowned, “So? Didn’t you see before putting them on?”
Another dramatic sigh, and a lean forward into the table, “Sure, but, I’ve been dead for so long. It must’ve slipped my mind.”
Liar.
“Then take them off.”
“Oh? Such a roundabout way of asking me to strip,” Dazai winked, which only dampened Chuuya’s already bitter mood, “sadly, however, in this state I can’t do such a thing,” He made a show of trying to remove his coat, then bandages. His fingers went right through.
The other stared for a moment before dropping his head into his hand. Dazai was clearly lying to him—in multiple of his statements. Why even bother to offer to answer questions if he wasn’t going to respond truthfully.
“Then,” Chuuya gave a long, winded sigh, “if not that, what else is there to ask?”
Dazai shrugged, and crossed his arms with that all-knowing look, “There’s plenty of other things to ask. Like, hm, how do I like my coffee in the morning? Do I like cold or hot showers? What’s my taste in…”
He continued to list questions that offered little to no interest in Chuuya. Dazai was obviously avoiding talking about his personal life, with the questions being posed around mundane daily activities, rather than being important background history.
“Fine then, I have a question,” Chuuya interrupted Dazai who looked back with interest, “how did you die?”
Dazai stared for a moment, before there was an odd look in his eyes, “Suicide.” He supplied simply.
Chuuya figured it would be something like that. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “How? If that…isn’t rude.”
“Haha. Chuuya being rude?” Dazai snorted, “Chuuya is never rude. How do you think I did it?” He retorted.
This bastard was really making him work for answers. Chuuya didn’t know anything about ghosts or spirits, since they weren’t supposed to be real.
But he could base his assumptions on the random horror films he’s seen. Based on Dazai’s appearance, he could assume it wasn’t anything drastic like a gun or knife. He didn’t have any noticeable wounds on him.
And considering it also seemed like Dazai was trapped in this apartment, he must’ve died here as well.
With all this in his mind, Chuuya concluded, “You overdosed.”
“Heh,” Dazai smirked, “so confident. But—you’re wrong.”
“Hah?” How could he possibly be wrong? “Did you…” Chuuya looked at Dazai’s wrist then made a slashing motion.
“Nope,” Dazai leaned back in his chair, “You’re bad at this. Didn’t you wanna join a law firm?”
“What does that have to do with guessing?”
“I dunno, you tell me.”
Chuuya wanted to shoot himself. He had no idea what Dazai was trying to get at, “I don’t know, then. Hanging? There’s only so many ways to kill oneself.”
“So uncreative!” Dazai cried dramatically, “there are plenty of ways to kill yourself!”
“But, it’s very limited here.” Chuuya gestured around the apartment.
“Who said I died here?” Dazai asked.
What.
Chuuya stared blankly, “I don’t understand. How did you not die here? Isn’t your soul like, trapped here or something? I’ve noticed you can’t seem to leave.”
“Aww, Chibi pays attention to me~” Dazai cooed, and lowered his head a bit, “I’m stuck here cause this was my apartment silly. Well, before you. Doesn’t mean I died here.”
“Then where did you die?” Chuuya asked.
“I can’t just tell you, that’s so lame,” Dazai stuck out his tongue, “I suppose I can give you a hint. They never found my body~”
Chuuya stayed quiet, and his face contorted into more confusion, “How? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Come on, law nerd,” Dazai tapped his own forehead, “think about it. How would someone hide a body?”
The other scratched at his neck nervously, “There’s a few ways, but, I guess it would have to be completely mutilated—wait.” His eyes widened in realization and horror.
Dazai’s grin suddenly seemed terrifying, “What? Did you figure it out?”
There was a fairly dense forest nearby. One that had a long, and now abandoned railroad system. When Dazai was alive, Chuuya could assume it was still active then.
“You—“ Chuuya was at a complete loss of words, “You laid on the—the train tracks?!”
“Bingo!” Dazai did playful finger guns, but it all just made Chuuya feel sick, “It was so dramatic, and enticing. Ahh, I wish I could’ve watched from the sidelines. How my guts must’ve—“
“I’m going to stop you there,” Chuuya interrupted, trying to hold in his nausea, “why—why would you go through so much effort?”
Dazai’s gaze sharpened with an emotion Chuuya couldn’t explain, “I had always wanted a peaceful death. I didn’t want to involve anyone else, nor bother people with my death.”
“But…that doesn’t make any sense.” Chuuya’s hands clenched onto his knees, “surely people would have missed you—searched for you. Family, friends, coworkers.”
The laughter that broke out from the ghost was beyond startling, “Haha—Friends? Family? Oh, I made sure I didn’t have any of those.”
“What does that mean?” Chuuya felt his skin crawl.
“What do you think it means?”
Chuuya decided to stay silent, and at some point, the silence made Dazai disappear out of boredom. Dazai…Dazai…Just who was this man?
He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed answers, and he clearly wasn’t getting them from the main subject. He took out his phone, and started to text.
Chuuya: We need to talk.
Atsushi: Hello to you too
Atsushi: What’s up?
Chuuya: We need to talk.
Chuuya: Meet me at the bar
Chuuya: The one near that shitty vape shop
Atsushi: Uh
Atsushi: The one Tachihara worked at?
Chuuya: Yes
Atsushi: Okay…
Chuuya: Meet me at 6
Chuuya: Feel free to bring your freak too
Atsushi: Ryuu isn’t a freak :(
Chuuya’s leg bounced up and down. He didn’t even know where to start, despite him being the one to reach out to Atsushi.
Atsushi and Akutagawa sat across from Chuuya. Atsushi waited patiently for Chuuya to talk, while Akutagawa was slumped down, tapping rather loudly on his phone.
“OkAy,” Chuuya’s voice cracked, and cleared his throat, “I need you to elaborate on that soulmark thing you mentioned.”
“Huh?” Atsushi seemed a bit surprised, “You mean that myth? Honestly, I think Poe-san might be a better person to ask, he’s all about that stuff.”
“I’m never asking for help from him again.”
Atsushi gave a slow nod, and looked to the side nervously, “Why do you want to know about this, anyway? You’ve made it very clear your stance on soulmarks and ghosts, respectively. What changed?”
Chuuya simmered in his foul mood for a moment before he slammed his arm on the table, “It changed when the bastard starts flirting with me. And has been acting incredibly. Fucking. Suspicious." Chuuya rolled up his sleeve, and ripped off a yellow-ish bandage off his wrist.
Atsushi’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem too surprised.
The letters “O.D.” were neatly outlined on Chuuya’s pale wrist.
“I see,” Atsushi sighed, “so, you think it’s the ghost?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Chuuya hissed, “I tried to pry information out of him, but he was being incredibly avoidant. Something's up with him—and it’s pissing me off!”
Atsushi hummed quietly, “I understand. Well, I’m not sure if the myth will mean much. It was just some fairytale the elders at the orphanage would tell us to prevent bullying.”
Akutagawa snorted next to him, “That sure worked.”
“To prevent bullying?” Chuuya tucked his arm back under the table, “I thought this was about a missing soulmark.”
“It is, but it had a deeper meaning,” Atsushi explained, “it’s a tale about a boy who was born without a mark, and had gone insane because of it.”
“Insane, huh,” Chuuya looked down at his lap, “enough to commit suicide?”
Atsushi sighed, “Enough to go on a homicidal rampage.”
“What?” Chuuya felt his world spin, “murder?”
“Mhm,” Atsushi nodded, “The boy without a soulmark. He was ostracized, and abused. Even though he was an orphan like the other kids, he would’ve been better off living on the streets.”
Chuuya stared with disbelief, “Just cause he didn’t have a mark? That’s horrible.”
“Yeah,” Atsushi frowned, “it was a different time then. When they all grew up, had families and jobs, the boy went crazy. He killed every single person who had ever hurt him.”
Akutagawa finally looked up from his phone, “He slit all their wrists too, and killed them in all sorts of ways. Poison, fires, strangling. It’s honestly impressive.”
“Of course you’d find that interesting,” Chuuya grimaced.
“Just you know, clarifying.” Akutagawa stated.
“After all the murders, he disappeared into the forest and was never seen again.” Atsushi sighed, “Some say his spirit still wanders, looking for the one person who was supposed to have been his soulmate.”
Chuuya went very still.
He couldn’t stop himself from picturing bandaged arms, train tracks, and the grin that was always too sharp.
He stood up abruptly, and waved down a waitress.
He needed a drink.
~~~
Chuuya’s key missed the lock three times before he managed to shove it in and stumble inside. His jacket was half off, his hair falling out of its tie. His head was buzzing from the alcohol, but his thoughts were even louder.
“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice floated through the dark apartment, unusually soft.
The ginger ignored him and kicked his shoes off hard enough that one hit the wall, “You think this is funny, don’t you?” he spat into the room, and stumbled toward the couch.
A beat of silence. Then: “What happened?”
“What happened?” Chuuya echoed and spun around. He was unsteady, red-faced, and bristling, “I learned you’re not just some annoying ghost—no. You’re something else. And you’ve been fucking with me this whole damn time.”
“What are you talking about?” Dazai asked, and took a step closer to Chuuya.
“Don’t act like you don’t know!” Chuuya’s voice cracked, and he tossed his arm into the air. He tugged down his sleeve to expose his wrist with shaking hands, “You see this? You did this to me!”
The apartment was silent for a long moment.
“...Your soulmark,” Dazai said quietly, voice strangely hoarse.
“Yes, my soulmark!” Chuuya barked, but the fight was draining from him fast, leaving only exhaustion. He fell back onto the couch, covering his face with his hands, “Why me? Why now? Why you?”
Something cold brushed against his arm.
Chuuya flinched, then froze.
“Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice was closer now, strained, “I didn’t know—I swear I didn’t know…I’m—I…”
The chill shifted to something solid, steady. Dazai’s hand was really there—he was really there.
Chuuya lowered his hands enough just to glare through the mess of his hair, “...You’re touching me.”
“Yeah…” Dazai murmured, almost disbelieving himself, “Guess I am.”
Chuuya tried to push himself up but swayed. He nearly toppled forward until Dazai caught him with both hands, holding him steady.
“Easy,” Dazai whispered, his voice breaking into something unknown and raw, “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“As if you won’t first.” Chuuya spat, and his voice went quieter, “Since when did you care?”
Dazai didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was quiet, almost pleading, “Since I woke up, and saw the most beautiful and honest person in my space. Since you didn’t turn me away when you found out about me. Since you stayed.”
Chuuya’s chest squeezed, but the alcohol made it hard to hang onto the words.
“Come on,” Dazai said gently, “Let’s get you to bed.”
Chuuya let himself be hauled to his feet. The touch was strange—cool, weightless, yet somehow grounding.
“You sound like you’re about to cry,” Chuuya slurred a bit.
Dazai didn’t respond, and just continued to guide Chuuya to his room. He helped the other sit, and lay down on his back, “Comfortable?”
Chuuya let out a grunt, and eyed Dazai suspiciously, “You’re acting weird.”
“Hm, am I?” Dazai mumbled. When Chuuya had shifted more into a comfortable position, Dazai leaned over and brushed the hair from his face, “Sleep well.”
Chuuya didn’t respond, he was already fast asleep.
~~~
Morning came sooner than Chuuya would have liked. He was sweaty, sore and achy. Just how much did he drink last night?
He rolled over, feeling his legs press against that of another. His eyes flickered opened, and saw his ghost roommate lounging next to him in the bed.
Dazai was slouched a bit, focusing heavily on the laptop screen in his lap. Chuuya stayed silent, eying the screen. It was… a Wiki How? page? Seriously?
Before Chuuya could question, the laptop closed hastily and Dazai looked down at him with a soft grin, “Good morning, sleepyhead. Or, I should say good afternoon. It’s 12:24.”
“Ah…” Chuuya moved his legs again, and he gave Dazai a confused look, “why…can I touch you?”
“Hm?” Dazai slipped out of the bed with a smile, “You must still be waking up. I’ll be right back.” He left the room without another sound.
What the hell happened last night?
Chuuya sat up and rubbed his eyes with the back of his palms. There’s no way he drank that much. He knew his limits but why couldn’t he remember anything?
He remembers coming home, then yelling at Dazai about something. But knowing him, it could’ve been about anything.
He stared down at his lap, his head throbbing in pain. He rubbed his wrists self consciously only for his fingers to brush against soft skin. The bandage wasn’t there.
Oh. Oh. That’s what he screamed at Dazai about.
Chuuya bit the inside of his cheek awkwardly as Dazai stepped back into the room carrying a glass of water. Perhaps he should apologize to the ghost—no…no, why would he?
Dazai was more than just a criminal. He had murdered people, seemingly getting some twisted enjoyment out of it.
And yet, Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a pathetic form of sympathy.
“Here,” Dazai sat next to Chuuya, and held out the glass, “you need to drink.”
“Thanks.” Chuuya grumbled and took the water. He took slow, large swigs as he eyed Dazai.
Dazai seemed, colorful—brighter almost. Chuuya really couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating, but it really felt like Dazai was here.
“How are you feeling?” Dazai asked, and leaned forward a bit, “you barely moved an inch last night.”
“Peachy,” Chuuya really didn’t feel much better but the water did help his throat.
Dazai hummed, and closed his eyes. There was silence between them, as both were lost in their own thoughts.
Eventually, Dazai opened his eyes and inched closer to Chuuya, “Hey, can I…can you try something?”
“Hah?” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed a bit, “Why do I have to try it.”
“Ah, well,” Dazai looked away, having an odd expression on, “It doesn’t work when I do it. It has to be you.”
That’s so suspicious. God, everything about Dazai was so suspicious.
“Fine,” Chuuya sighed, and placed the glass on the bedside table, “what is it?”
Dazai held out his right wrist, “I want—I want you to try and take off the bandages.”
Chuuya stared down at Dazai’s arm, “Your…bandages. Why?”
“Just—please?” There was that look again. Chuuya was starting to dislike it.
Another long sigh. Chuuya shuffled over, and his knees brushed against Dazai’s. He gently took Dazai’s wrist with both hands. It was cold, yet warm at the same time. His wrist was so thin, Chuuya could hold it with just one hand.
With a single finger, and carefully plucked away at the wrap. Chuuya was breathless, and he could feel the wrist in his hand starting to shake.
The bandages unraveled away like petals in the breeze, revealing a wrist whiter than snow. And on that wrist, was a faint—nearly unnoticed outline of two letters:
C.N.
“Hah…” Dazai let out a single laugh. Then, his eyes went wide, as he started to shake more, “Hah—hahaha—this is! Haha!”
Chuuya moved to pull away, but the wrist in his palms twisted and grabbed onto him, “H-Hey—what are you doing?!”
“D-Don’t you see?” Dazai laughed again and pressed their marked wrists together, “I had one this whole time! Haha! Hahahaha!”
The look in Dazai’s eyes were crazed and wild, and Chuuya tried to tug away again, “I can see that—let go of me!”
“No—no!” Dazai shook his head, “I can’t. Not when—not when I have one—have you. Chuuya! You make me—you make me alive!”
“Dazai, you aren’t making any sense.”
“What isn’t there to get?” Dazai asked. He let go of Chuuya’s wrists only for them to be planted firmly on his shoulders, “I’m here. I’m alive.”
“W-what?”
Dazai hissed and grabbed Chuuya’s hand again and pressed his palm against his chest. The ginger stiffened.
He felt it. The pulse.
The ghost had—had a heartbeat.
…Through extensive observation and synthesis of anecdotal reports, it has become increasingly clear that Soulmarks are not fixed symbols of destiny, but dynamic interfaces. They are biological indicators that may react to, and even facilitate, the continuity of spiritual connection beyond a single lifetime.
In several documented cases, the recognition and “completion” of the mark coincided not merely with mutual acknowledgment between living partners, but with phenomena previously classified as supernatural: instances of spectral manifestation, shared dreams, and inexplicable tactile sensation. These suggest that the mark is not merely passive, but an active bridge, a conduit through which life, memory, and presence can flow.
It is thus my contention that soulmates may not simply guide one another through life, but may in fact serve as the catalyst for each other’s rebirth, literal or metaphysical. When one partner has passed on, the surviving partner’s acknowledgment of the bond may be enough to “anchor” the departed spirit, allowing it to regain form, sensation, and, in rare instances, a heartbeat.
Such cases challenge traditional assumptions about the finality of death and point toward a working theory: that the soulmark system is less about predestination and more about spiritual recursion—an eternal cycle that allows those who are most bound to one another to seek, find, and remake each other even beyond the grave.
In closing, I submit that the study of Soulmarks is, in truth, the study of continuity which is not merely biological, but metaphysical. If one accepts this framework, then love itself is not a singular event but a process: an unbroken chain of recognition and return, perhaps destined to repeat until its purpose—whatever that may be—is fulfilled.
Thank you for joining me.
Ango Sakaguchi.
Reviewed by: Chuuya Nakahara, Doppo Kunikida, and Ranpo Edogawa.