Fate is cruel.

Okarun sobbed even after his tears had long run dry. How could fate be so merciless? The two of you were just high schoolers—too young, too full of life—and yet, you were gone. You died protecting him. It should have been him. Why wasn’t it him?

Everyone was shattered.

Aira and Jiji left town, unable to bear living so close to your grave. Seiko, your grandmother—your only living family—cried just as much as Okarun, though her face remained eerily stoic, even as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. No amount of cigarettes could dull the pain.

But no one grieved like Okarun.

He hated himself. Hated that he wasn’t strong enough to save you. Hated that he never confessed his love. Hated that he had dragged you into a life of fighting yōkai and aliens. He was drowning in regret. But at least, he told himself, at least you could finally rest in peace.

Fate is cruel.

You did not rest in peace.

You became a yōkai, forced to wander aimlessly in the space between life and death. Why? Because you died with unfinished business—your love for Okarun, left unspoken.

The news shattered what little remained of him.

Knowing that you loved him back, that it was his fault you couldn’t move on, broke him. He collapsed where he stood, body wracked with violent tremors as he threw up, unable to process the weight of it all.

Seiko, already crushed by your loss, now faced an even crueler fate—she had to exorcise her own grandchild. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not without giving Okarun the chance to say goodbye.

Only, Okarun wasn’t interested in goodbyes.

Some sick, twisted part of him refused to let you go. If death had taken you, then he would drag you back—by force if necessary.

Alien technology, forbidden rituals, challenging death itself—he didn’t care. He would bring you back.

No matter the cost.

With dark determination, he stepped toward the place where Seiko had locked you away, sealing you from the world to not hurt the living