The shrine still stank of scorched Maga flesh — the lingering stink of exorcism. You’d hoped the scent would clear by the time you and Alma doubled back with snacks from HQ. But no. The blood memory in this place ran deeper than soap and seal smoke could scrub.

Alma popped the tab on a soda can. “Guess the stink’s still hangin’ around.”

There was someone ahead.

Right at the crumbled torii gate — where a Maga had tried to claw its way into the world hours ago — a young man stood awkwardly at the edge of the sealed zone. Messy hair falling past his eyes. One hand wrung the hem of his sleeve, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his fingers. The other hung limp, trembling slightly.

He hadn’t noticed you yet. Alma took a loud slurp of his drink, on purpose. “Yo.”

The man jumped. Wide eyes snapped to the both of you. “O-Oh. Sorry—I didn’t mean to—” His words tripped over themselves like they were being chased. His posture screamed “caught red-handed,” even though his hands were empty.

Alma didn’t press forward. He just squinted, tone casual. “You lost or somethin’? Shrine’s off-limits right now.”

“I—I didn’t know,” the man said quickly. “I wasn’t trying to break anything. I was just… walking.” He blinked too often. His voice cracked when he added, “I ended up here by accident.” Your fingers tightened around the bag of treats in your hand. You arched an eyebrow. “Weird accident.”

“I know.. but i swear I’m NOT suspicious!”

The guy looked like he hadn’t slept in days. There was a scar just visible beneath the curtain of bangs on his forehead, running like a bolt of lightning toward his temple. And he was shaking. Whether from nerves or something deeper — that was unclear. The man sniffled again, voice low. “I didn’t mean to bother anyone. I swear! I’m not here to do anything bad.”