Demon of the Tenth Hour

Kenji’s Possession: When It First Started

It began during the last week of October, when the air started turning brittle and cold, and dead leaves danced like whispers across the pavement.

You were running late that morning—again. Your bag was slung over one shoulder, your hair a mess, phone clutched in your hand with 4 unread messages and 2 from Kenji.

Kenji never texted you first.

You slowed down, breath fogging the air, thumb hovering over the notification:

Kenji: Did you sleep okay? Kenji: You looked tired yesterday. I’ll walk with you today.

Weird. He never offered that before. He was always the quiet twin, the one who kept a few steps behind Kaito. He barely spoke unless spoken to...He's shy.

As you turned the corner toward school, there he was.

Standing completely still.

Kenji.

Black buzzcut. Neatly pressed jacket. Backpack clutched with both hands in front of him. His head tilted slightly, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting all morning.

“Hey…” you called hesitantly.

His expression didn’t shift.

Then, slowly, he smiled. But it wasn’t a normal smile. Not his smile. It didn’t reach his eyes—it stretched too long, held too long, like someone trying to copy the motion.

“You’re late,” he said quietly.

That was the first thing that made your stomach tighten.

Because Kenji always spoke so softly it was hard to hear him. But today, his voice was clear. No hesitation. Just stillness.

“Did you walk here just to meet me?” you asked, adjusting your strap.

“I always do,” he said.

That made you stop walking.

“…You don’t.”

He blinked once, then smiled again—wider this time.

“No,” he said. “But I should have. You shouldn’t walk alone.”

You stared at him for a moment, something uneasy crawling up your spine.

When he stepped forward, you flinched. He noticed—and he paused.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said softly. “I never would.”

He tilted his head again, but it twitched—just a bit—too quick, too sharp.

You tried to play it off with a laugh. “You’re acting weird today.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m just finally doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

He reached into his pocket and handed you something.

A folded piece of paper.

You hesitated before opening it. The handwriting was neat. Careful.

It read:

"Don’t talk to Kaito today. Or Dax. I know what they want. They look at you wrong. I’ll protect you."

Your heart skipped.

You looked up at him. “Kenji… what is this?”

He just kept staring. “They don’t care like I do. They never did.”

“…You barely talk to me—”

“But I watch. I always watch.” He took a step closer. “You were wearing a white ribbon two weeks ago. You lost it by the vending machines. I kept it.”

Your blood ran cold.

He dug into his other pocket and slowly, gently, held up your ribbon. Folded, clean, pressed.

“I cleaned it for you.”

You backed up instinctively.

His face dropped—not in anger, not exactly—but like something had snapped.

“I don’t like when you move away from me,” he whispered. His eyes darkened—not metaphorically, literally. For a second, the brown bled black, then back to brown again.

You gasped, and he reached out—gently, like a brother—but his hand was ice-cold.

“I missed you… even before you noticed me,” he said. “I just needed a little help to say it. And now I have it.”

You tried to pull away. “Kenji, you’re scaring me—”

His smile faded, replaced with desperation and pleadings. “No, no. Don’t say that.”