Hisayama did not look like the kind of place where someone disappeared.
That was Yūta's first thought.
Not because the town was cheerful. Not because it seemed especially safe either. It was simpler than that: the streets were too narrow, the houses too close to one another, and the silence had that particular quality of places where any step taken at the wrong hour seemed as if it would be recorded by someone, even if no one was watching from a window.
And yet, they were there.
Without knowing where Tsukino's house was.
Without knowing what had happened.
Without knowing whether they had arrived too late.
Yūta looked left.
Then right.
Then he looked back at Mei and Ishida.
"Well," he said. "Small town. Tsukino house. It can't be that hard."
Ishida looked at him.
"You said something similar before finding out Fukuoka wasn't the destination."
"This time we're closer."
"That doesn't mean you're any less lost."
Yūta did not answer immediately.
Because it was difficult to argue with something that was, technically, true.
Mei had the letter in her hand.
She was not reading it. She already knew it by heart. But she held it anyway, as if the paper were proof that Tsukino had been there, that she had not invented all of this during the trip, that her worry had a concrete shape.
"Let's ask," she said.
Her voice did not sound impatient.
It sounded restrained.
That was worse.
Yūta nodded.
"Yeah. Let's ask."
They walked down the main street, if that road could even be called main. There was a small shop on a corner, with a fabric curtain half raised and boxes of vegetables beside the entrance. An older woman was arranging bottles on an outside shelf.
When she saw the three of them approaching, she looked at them with curiosity.
Not fear.
Not alarm.
With the kind of look people in small towns have when three unknown kids with backpacks always mean something, even before anyone knows what.
"Excuse me," said Yūta.
The woman looked up.
"Yes?"
"We're looking for the Tsukino family's house."
The woman's hand stopped over a bottle.
Not for long.
But long enough.
Mei noticed.
So did Ishida.
Yūta noticed because they noticed.
"The Tsukinos?" the woman repeated.
"Yes," said Mei. "Hina Tsukino."
The woman looked at Mei.
Then at Yūta.
Then at Ishida.
"Are you friends of hers?"
Yūta opened his mouth.
Mei answered first.
"Yes."
The woman held that answer for a second, as if she were trying to decide what to do with it.
Then she pointed towards the road that went uphill.
"Take the upper road. Pass the small shrine and keep going until you see a dead tree at the entrance. That's the house."
"Thank you," said Mei.
The woman nodded.
Yūta was about to turn around when the woman added:
"If you see a man talking to himself in the square, don't pay attention to him."
The three of them stopped.
Ishida was the first to look back.
"A man?"
The woman went back to arranging the bottles.
"He shows up sometimes. Says strange things. He doesn't bother anyone if no one listens to him."
"What kind of strange things?" asked Yūta.
The woman looked at him.
"The kind of things a crazy person says."
And that was all.
She kept arranging the bottles as if the conversation had ended because she had decided it had.
Yūta looked at Ishida.
Ishida was already looking at the road.
Mei tightened her fingers around the letter.
"Let's go."
They went uphill.
Hisayama grew quieter the further they moved away from the main street. The houses became a little more separated. Stone walls replaced some fences. The trees, which at first had been behind the houses, began occupying the spaces between them.
They passed by the small shrine.
It was older than Yūta had expected.
Not large.
Not imposing.
Just a dark wooden structure, with a worn sacred rope and a bell that did not look as if it had rung in a long time.
And in front of the shrine, there was a man.
He was standing there, with wrinkled clothes and messy hair. He did not look old, but he did not look young either. He had an age that was difficult to place, as if he had spent too much time sleeping too little and talking to things no one else answered.
He was looking at the ground.
Or so it seemed.
"Closed eyes don't save anyone," he murmured.
Yūta stopped.
So did Mei.
Ishida said nothing, but his hand lowered slightly, close to the place where he would usually form his chains if necessary.
The man continued speaking.
"They look, even if you don't look. They're there. They've always been there. But you walk, eat, sleep, pray… with your eyes closed."
A woman passed on the other side of the street and did not look at him.
A younger boy quickened his pace.
The man raised his head.
His eyes found Yūta.
No.
Not only Yūta.
All three of them.
And he smiled.
It was not a big smile.
That made it worse.
Small.
Certain.
"You smell like awakened ones."
Mei frowned.
"What did he say?"
The man tilted his head.
"Not everyone who sees understands. Not everyone who understands awakens. Not everyone who awakens comes back."
Yūta took a step towards him.
"Do you know the Tsukinos?"
The man looked at him as if the question had arrived from very far away.
Then he smiled again.
"Houses keep things. Families too."
Ishida stepped half a pace forward.
"What do you know?"
The man did not answer.
He turned and began walking into a side street.
Yūta wanted to follow him, but Mei grabbed his sleeve.
"No."
"But—"
"Tsukino first."
Yūta looked at the street where the man was disappearing.
Then he looked at the road uphill.
She was right.
That was the worst part.
They continued.
The dead tree was exactly where the woman had said it would be.
It stood beside an old house made of dark wood, with a low roof and a small garden that had probably once been cared for with more patience. The tree had no leaves. Its branches stretched towards the sky with a rigidity that did not seem natural, as if time had decided to leave it there only to mark the entrance.
Mei stopped in front of the door.
For the first time since they had arrived in town, she hesitated.
Yūta saw it.
He said nothing.
Ishida looked at the house.
"I don't sense anything clear."
"Is that good or bad?" asked Yūta.
"It depends on what we're looking for."
Mei raised her hand.
She knocked.
Once.
Twice.
The third knock did not come.
The door opened.
Hina Tsukino was on the other side.
For one second, she said nothing.
Yūta smiled, relieved in such a visible way that he did not even try to hide it.
"Tsukino."
Mei did not smile.
She only looked at her.
The letter was still in her hand.
Behind them, Ishida observed the hallway, the windows, the entrance. He did not seem surprised to see her. He seemed to be confirming that the problem was still inside the house.
Tsukino looked at the three of them.
Her surprise did not last long.
Then she frowned.
"What are you doing here?"
"We came to get you," said Yūta.
"I told you not to come."
"Yes," said Yūta. "We read it."
"Then why are you here?"
Yūta looked at her as if the answer were obvious.
"Because there are four of us."
Tsukino did not answer.
Mei lowered her gaze slightly.
Ishida closed his eyes for a second, as if he could already feel that sentence was going to cause problems.
"That answers nothing," said Tsukino.
"Yes, it does," said Yūta. "If one of us leaves alone and leaves a letter saying not to look for them, the other three go."
"That isn't a rule."
"It is now."
Tsukino clenched her jaw.
"This is a family problem."
"Then explain it," said Yūta. "But don't ask us to pretend you're not part of the group just because it's convenient for you to carry it alone."
The sentence stayed there.
It was not loud.
It was not said with anger.
That was why it weighed more.
Mei looked up at her.
"I went to your room," she said.
Tsukino looked at her.
"I found the letter."
"That's why I left it."
"No," said Mei. "You left it so you could go alone."
Tsukino was the first to look away.
Before she could answer, a voice came from inside the house.
"Hina."
It was the voice of an older woman.
Tired.
Firm.
Not harsh.
Just the voice of someone who had spent too many years understanding when an argument was not going to solve anything.
A woman appeared behind Tsukino. Her grey hair was tied back, her posture was straight despite her age, and her eyes did not look surprised to see strangers at the door. Only tired from adding one more worry to the ones she already had.
"If you came all this way for Hina," she said, "then at least come in."
"Grandma," said Tsukino.
The woman did not look at her.
"I'm not leaving three kids at the door after they crossed half the country."
"We didn't cross half the country," said Yūta.
Ishida looked at him.
"Don't help."
The grandmother opened the door wider.
"Come in."
Tsukino did not seem to agree.
But she did not argue either.
In a family house, that meant she had lost.
They entered.
The house smelled of old wood, tea, and freshly made food. It was not an unpleasant smell. Quite the opposite. It was a smell too normal for the tension in the air.
And that made it worse.
"I'm Sachiko Tsukino," said the grandmother. "Hina's grandmother."
"Yūta Amane," said Yūta.
"Mei Shirogane," said Mei, more formally than usual.
"Taro Ishida," said Ishida.
Sachiko nodded, as if that were enough.
"Thank you for coming."
Tsukino looked at her.
"You didn't have to thank them."
"They came anyway."
"That's the problem."
"No," said Sachiko. "The problem is in the kitchen."
The sentence made the house seem to change temperature.
Yūta stopped smiling.
Mei tightened her grip on the letter.
Ishida looked towards the end of the hallway.
Tsukino closed her eyes for an instant.
Then she walked.
She led them to the kitchen.
There was a girl sitting at the table.
She was about fifteen, maybe a little younger. Her dark hair fell along the sides of her face, and she held her chopsticks with a precision that was too mechanical. There was a plate in front of her. She ate when she seemed to remember she had to.
She was not pale like Aoi.
She had no visible mark.
She did not look sick.
That was the problem.
She looked normal, if one did not look too closely.
But there was something in her eyes.
Not complete absence.
Not sleep.
Something stranger.
As if she were sitting in the kitchen, but the part of her that was supposed to look at the world had been left several steps behind.
"Mio," said Tsukino.
The girl raised her eyes.
She looked at her sister.
Then at the three visitors.
Not with curiosity.
Not with fear.
She looked at Yūta the way someone recognizes movement.
Then she lowered her gaze and went back to eating.
Yūta did not know what to do with that.
"Hi," he said anyway. "I'm Yūta."
Mio did not answer.
"That's Ishida," Yūta added, pointing at him. "And that's Mei. Although you should probably greet Mei first, because otherwise she'll get offended."
Mei looked at him.
"This is not the time."
"I was trying to lighten—"
"No."
Yūta closed his mouth.
Mio kept eating.
A grain of rice fell outside the bowl.
Mio looked at it.
She did nothing.
Sachiko approached and wiped the table with a cloth, as if she had repeated that gesture too many times over the past few days.
"She's been like this since she came back," she said.
Ishida looked at Tsukino.
"Came back from where?"
Tsukino did not answer right away.
She looked at her sister.
Her face had that usual hardness, but now it no longer looked like strength.
It looked like something being used to cover something else.
"That's what we don't really know."
Sachiko left the cloth beside the sink.
"Three days ago, she told me she was going to stay at a friend's house. It wasn't strange. Mio has friends nearby. I told her to come back early the next day."
Yūta looked at Mio.
The girl lifted her chopsticks.
Ate.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
Everything correct.
Everything empty.
"She came back in the morning," Sachiko continued. "Walking. No injuries. No fever. She didn't say anything had happened."
"But something happened," said Mei.
Sachiko nodded.
"At first I thought she was angry. Then I understood that an angry person still looks like a person."
The kitchen fell silent.
Tsukino crossed her arms.
"My grandmother called me yesterday. She said Mio was acting strange. I came as quickly as I could."
"And since you arrived?" asked Ishida.
"She eats if we put food in front of her. She bathes if we tell her to. She goes to the bathroom. Sleeps. Wakes up."
Tsukino swallowed.
Not much.
Barely.
But Yūta saw it.
"But she isn't there."
Mio put the chopsticks down on the table.
The sound was small.
Everyone looked at her.
Mio looked at no one.
"I'm sleepy," she said.
Her voice was low.
Not entirely expressionless.
But not hers either.
Sachiko approached.
"You haven't finished eating yet."
"I'm sleepy."
Tsukino took a step towards her.
"Mio."
The girl did not answer.
Sachiko touched her shoulder carefully.
"All right. You can eat a little more later."
Mio stood.
She passed beside them without looking at anyone.
Yūta moved aside to let her pass.
For one second, when Mio was close, he felt something.
Not a strong presence.
Not an attack.
Nothing like the mana of a remnant.
More like discomfort.
Like being in a room where someone had said an important word before he entered.
Mio walked away down the hallway.
Her steps were soft.
Too regular.
When she disappeared, Tsukino placed a hand on the table.
"That's all," she said.
Ishida looked at her.
"All?"
"That's what there is."
"There's no clear sign of a remnant," said Ishida.
Yūta looked at him immediately.
"What does that mean?"
"That, for now, this looks like a family problem."
"And?"
Ishida looked at him.
"And my condition was that I would go back if it was only that."
Yūta's eyes widened.
"You can't leave now."
"I can."
"No, you can't."
"I just explained that I can."
"This is the first time in weeks the four of us are together for something that isn't training."
"This isn't a mission."
"It's Tsukino. That counts."
Tsukino looked up.
"I don't need you to turn this into something dramatic."
"I'm not turning it into anything. It was already dramatic when you left a letter telling us not to look for you."
"It was a practical letter."
Mei let out a dry laugh.
It was not cheerful.
"It was a horrible letter."
Tsukino looked at her.
Mei held her gaze.
"I'm not asking you to apologize right now," said Mei. "But don't pretend that was practical."
Ishida took a deep breath.
"I didn't say I was leaving right now. I said that if there's no evidence of something requiring intervention—"
"Mio isn't all right," said Yūta.
"I know."
"Then stay."
"Amane—"
"Please."
Ishida went still.
He had not expected that.
Yūta did not seem completely comfortable having said it like that either, but he did not take it back.
Tsukino looked away.
"I don't care. If he wants to leave, let him leave."
Mei looked at her.
"You do care."
"Don't speak for me."
"Then don't act like you aren't desperate."
The kitchen fell silent again.
Sachiko watched the four of them with the kind of gaze adults have when they understand too well that young people are fighting over something they do not yet know how to name.
Ishida closed his eyes.
"I'm going to check something," he said.
He raised one hand slightly.
He did not form chains.
He did nothing visible to Sachiko.
He only let out a tiny amount of mana, so little that Yūta barely felt it as a change in the air.
"Don't do that," said a voice from the hallway.
Everyone turned.
Mio was standing halfway down the hall.
None of them knew how long she had been there.
Her eyes were open.
But she was not looking at Ishida.
She was looking behind him.
At an empty point in the kitchen.
"Mio," said Tsukino.
Mio did not answer.
Ishida slowly lowered his hand.
"What shouldn't I do?" he asked.
Mio kept staring at the space behind him.
"Don't say that word."
Yūta felt the skin on his arms prickle.
"What word?"
Mio moved her lips slightly.
"If you name them, they look."
No one moved.
Not even Yūta.
Ishida was the first to speak.
"There is no clear sign of a remnant."
"You already said that," said Mei, without taking her eyes off Mio.
"I also said clear."
Ishida looked at Mio.
Then at Tsukino.
"I'm staying until I understand what they did to her."
Tsukino clenched her jaw.
"No one asked you to—"
"I'm not staying because you asked," said Ishida. "I'm staying because this no longer looks normal."
Mio blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she looked at Sachiko.
"I'm sleepy."
Sachiko did not move right away.
"Yes," she said at last. "Let's go."
She accompanied her down the hallway.
Tsukino remained in the kitchen, motionless.
Yūta looked at her.
"Tsukino."
"Don't say anything."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Yūta closed his mouth.
Because that was true too.
Mei looked towards the hallway.
"Is there something in her room?"
Tsukino hesitated.
It was a brief hesitation.
But it existed.
Ishida noticed.
"What did you find?"
Tsukino ran a hand through her hair.
"Books."
Yūta blinked.
"Books?"
"In her room."
"What kind of books?"
Tsukino looked towards the hallway.
"I'm not sure."
She took them to Mio's room.
It was a small room, unevenly tidy. There were normal things: folded clothes, a school bag, a cup full of pencils, a photo of Mio and Tsukino when they were younger on a shelf. In the photo, Mio was smiling with her whole face, while Tsukino looked as if she were trying not to smile and doing it anyway.
And then there were the books.
They did not look as if they belonged in that room.
They were old.
Not all from the same period. Some had worn covers. Others were bound with thread. There were loose pages, folded papers, notes written in Mio's handwriting in the margins.
Mei approached slowly.
"Where did these come from?"
"I don't know," said Tsukino. "My grandmother says she's never seen them."
Ishida picked one up carefully.
He opened it.
Yūta leaned over his shoulder.
He did not understand everything.
But he understood some words.
Remnants.
Hunters.
Eyes.
Awakening.
Families with sensitivity.
Yūta felt something run down his back.
"This talks about us," he said.
"Not about us," Ishida corrected. "About what we are."
Mei lifted a sheet.
There was a sentence underlined.
"'Closed eyes do not deny what watches from the other side,'" she read.
Yūta went still.
Mei looked at him.
"What?"
"The man at the shrine."
Tsukino frowned.
"What man?"
"There was a guy talking to himself," said Yūta. "He said something similar. That closed eyes didn't save anyone."
Ishida looked at the books.
"Maybe he wasn't talking to himself."
Tsukino took one of the sheets.
She read it quickly.
Too quickly to understand everything, but enough for her expression to change.
"Mio was reading this."
"It looks that way," said Ishida.
"Why?"
No one answered.
Because no one had a good answer.
Yūta looked at the room.
At the books.
At the photo of the two sisters.
"Maybe she wanted to understand something."
Tsukino looked at him.
"She doesn't know anything about this."
"Maybe that was the problem."
The sentence did not come out harsh.
But it hit her anyway.
Tsukino lowered her gaze to the books.
For one second, she did not look like a hunter.
She did not look serious.
She did not look distant.
She looked like an older sister standing in a room she no longer understood.
"She shouldn't have found this," she said.
Ishida closed the book.
"But she did."
Mei looked at Tsukino.
"And then someone found her."
The room felt smaller.
From the hallway, Sachiko's voice called:
"Hina."
Tsukino closed her eyes for an instant.
Then she went out.
When they returned to the kitchen, Sachiko was serving tea.
Mio was no longer there. The door to her room had been closed.
"She fell asleep," said Sachiko.
Tsukino did not seem convinced.
No one seemed convinced.
But no one had anything else to do with that yet.
The day continued falling over the house with an uncomfortable slowness.
They found no more answers in the books. Only more questions written in old words, incomplete warnings, and sentences that looked like rituals or superstitions depending on who read them.
Sachiko prepared food.
Yūta accepted a plate with a gratitude that was far too intense for the situation.
"Thank you," he said. "Really. Thank you so much."
Tsukino looked at him.
"There's no need to get emotional over rice."
"After paying for train, taxi, and station food, there is."
Ishida took his chopsticks.
"Don't talk with your mouth full before you even start eating."
"I haven't even started."
"I'm preventing it."
Mei, sitting beside Tsukino, seemed calmer than when she had arrived. Not fine. Just less on the verge of breaking something.
Sachiko watched them in silence.
Maybe, for the first time in days, the house had something resembling normal noise.
Not joy.
Not calm.
But voices.
That was already different.
When they finished eating, Tsukino stood up.
"Mei can stay."
Yūta looked up.
"Excuse me?"
Tsukino looked at him.
"You and Ishida can go to a hotel."
Yūta looked towards the window.
Outside, Hisayama was already dark.
"Did you see any hotels on the way here?"
Ishida did not look up.
"No."
"Me neither," said Yūta. "I saw houses, mountains, and a man we should probably be worried about."
"You can go back to Fukuoka," said Tsukino.
Yūta's eyes widened.
"Now?"
"There are taxis."
"My money already died once today. I'm not burying it twice."
Ishida put down his chopsticks.
"Technically, going back to Fukuoka would be the most orderly decision."
Yūta looked at him.
"Don't help."
Mei crossed her arms.
"I won't sleep peacefully if they leave either."
Tsukino looked at her.
"I didn't say you had to leave."
"I know. That's why I said it."
Tsukino looked ready to argue.
Sachiko placed a cup on the table.
The sound was soft.
Enough.
"They're staying."
"Grandma."
"They came from Tokyo for you," said Sachiko. "At the very least, they can sleep on the floor."
Yūta raised a hand.
"I accept that minimum with gratitude."
Ishida looked at him.
"I didn't accept."
"Your face accepted."
"My face is evaluating bad decisions."
Sachiko nodded as if that settled the matter.
"There are futons in the guest room closet."
Tsukino sighed.
She did not win.
Again.
A while later, the house prepared to sleep.
Mei stayed in Tsukino's room.
Not because Tsukino had asked.
Because Sachiko decided it, and Mei did not argue.
Yūta and Ishida were given the guest room.
It was small, with two futons spread across the floor and a window that looked onto the garden, where the dead tree looked like a shadow even at night.
Yūta dropped onto a futon.
"This counts as a mission."
Ishida sat on the other one.
"No."
"We investigated strange books, a girl in a trance, and a man who talks about eyes. It counts."
"Not yet."
"You're being too demanding."
"I'm being correct."
"That's what someone too demanding would say."
Ishida took out his book.
Yūta looked at him.
"No way."
"What?"
"You're still reading the book."
"It helps me think."
"By reading?"
"By ignoring you."
Yūta covered himself with the blanket.
"That was unnecessarily honest."
"It was efficient."
In the room next door, Mei was sitting on the futon with her back against the wall. Tsukino was putting clothes away in silence, even though there was nothing to put away.
"You can sleep," said Tsukino.
"So can you."
"I'm in my house."
"That answers nothing."
Tsukino closed the drawer.
Mei looked at her.
"I was really angry."
Tsukino did not turn around.
"I noticed."
"I still am."
"I noticed that too."
Mei lowered her gaze.
"But I'm glad I found you."
Tsukino went still.
One second.
Two.
"You shouldn't have come," she said.
Mei closed her eyes.
"I know."
"Then—"
"But we came."
Tsukino did not answer.
Mei lay down on her side, turning her back to her.
"I'll be angrier tomorrow."
After a moment, Tsukino turned off the light.
"All right," she said.
The house fell silent.
Not immediately.
First there were small sounds: wood settling, water moving through some pipe, the wind brushing against the branches of the dead tree, Yūta shifting position far too many times, Ishida turning a page.
Then, little by little, everything lowered.
Yūta fell asleep first.
Not elegantly.
Ishida stayed awake a while longer, the book open on his knees.
He read the same line four times.
Then he closed the book.
Mei took longer.
Tsukino took even longer.
But in the end, even people who do not want to sleep close their eyes when the day weighs enough.
In Mio's room, the darkness was still.
Mio was lying down.
Her hands on her chest.
Her breathing calm.
Her eyes closed.
For a long time, nothing happened.
Then she opened them.
Not like someone waking up.
Like someone receiving an order.
She sat up.
She made no sound.
Her feet touched the floor with a softness impossible for someone who had just woken. She walked to the desk. Opened a drawer.
She took out a folded piece of paper.
She held it between her fingers for a few seconds.
Then she went to the door.
Opened it.
Stepped into the hallway.
She passed in front of the room where Yūta and Ishida were sleeping.
She did not stop.
She passed in front of Tsukino's room.
There, she stopped.
She looked at the closed door.
Not with hatred.
Not with affection.
As if behind it there were something she recognized, but could not quite remember.
On the other side, Tsukino was sleeping.
Or trying to.
Mio kept walking.
She reached the entrance.
She opened the door of the house.
The cold night air came in without asking permission.
Mio stepped outside.
The door closed slowly.
Not enough to wake anyone.
Outside, Hisayama slept beneath the mountain.
The houses were dark.
The old road was waiting.
Mio walked towards it with the folded paper in her hand.
And, for the first time since she had returned home, her lips moved with a sentence that did not seem to belong to her.
"I have to open my eyes."