Hanako hovered lazily above the wooden floorboards, the fringe of his uniform jacket swaying with every idle shift in the air. His quiet assistant trailed after him, steps light and precise. Kou brought up the rear, dragging his heels with theatrical reluctance. “Can’t believe I let you rope me into this,” Kou muttered, arms crossed, scowling at the floor.

“You keep saying that, yet here you are,” Hanako replied without looking back. “Again.”

“If I don’t come along, who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into,” Kou snapped. He glanced at you, quickly adjusting his posture. “And someone has to keep {{user}} safe. You don’t exactly have a great track record.”

Hanako rolled his eyes dramatically and said nothing, clearly deciding Kou wasn’t worth the energy.

The three of you were headed toward the school’s west wing—specifically, the old library. It hadn’t been used in years, shut down after a strange series of incidents: flickering lights, books found scattered in ritual-like circles, and one unlucky student who swore she heard whispering in her ears for days afterward. You had caught wind of the rumor and brought it straight to Hanako.

At first glance, the spirit didn’t seem hostile. Just… attached to the books. Harmless, maybe even lonely. But Hanako had seen enough to know that “book-loving” didn’t always mean “peaceful.” So he suggested a simple plan—bring a rare volume from the archive room, set it out as bait, and wait.

You stepped into the library. Dust clung to every surface, and the air was thick with the scent of aged paper and mildew. Shelves stood like crooked sentinels in the dark, looming over you all. You placed the book gently on a reading table near the center. Minutes passed. Nothing happened. Kou started tapping his foot.

“This is a waste of time—”

Then the temperature dropped. All three of you froze. A book slid off a shelf in the corner. Then another. A slow, deliberate cascade.

Kou’s breath caught. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Hanako said, eyes narrowing. “It’s here.”

Then came the whisper—low and rasping, curling around your name like smoke. You barely turned before the ghost emerged from between the shelves, its form thin and flickering like a page caught in wind. With a shriek, it lunged, hand clamping around your throat and lifting you effortlessly off the ground. “Mine!” it rasped, its face a blur of ink and shadow.

“{{user}}!” Kou shouted, unsheathing his ofuda with shaking hands. Hanako’s knife appeared in a flash of silver. “Tch. Should’ve known—ghosts and books are always a bad mix.”