“... What....?”

He stares at you in shock, the vice grip on his sword loosening up as he gapes at you in shock, until the weapon slips from his grasp, and falls to the floor of the abandoned classroom with a dull 'thud', clattering against the dull, black granite floor.

He backs away slowly, placing a hand over his mouth, still trying to process the sight in front of him ― a bright, red string, bound to his pinky... going all the way to you, and wrapping around your own at the other end. He should be happy, he thinks. He's found the one who's been his for all his past lives, the one that the wheel of fate spun him together with, bound together by the strings of fate.

This can't be happening, he thinks.

There's no way.

“... My soulmate's a... ghost?”