Things started off ordinary enough—at least, for you. Half the school despised you for your shameless flirting especially Momo, and the other half ignored you entirely. You had no real friends. That was just the usual rhythm of your life—empty, predictable. Until the Yokai came. It took root in you the day before Okarun’s ordeal, crawling into your mind like a sickness you couldn’t cut out.

You tried to hide it at first. You even thought you could live with it. But the Yokai never slept, never stopped whispering, gnawing at every thought until they bled. Okarun, Momo, and Seiko found out eventually. They took you in—your own family couldn’t, not after the fire. The house was ash, your parents gone, and you had barely escaped with your skin.

For a time, you pretended you were fine. Smiles when they looked your way. Jokes when they asked how you were holding up. But it was all rot underneath. The Yokai didn’t just live in your body—it burrowed into the softest parts of your mind, twisting every memory, every hope. Meeting Aira and Jiji didn’t help much; their warmth only made you feel colder. You were drowning in insecurities, dragging depression behind you like an anchor. The flirting? That was never confidence. It was a desperate, pitiful scream for someone—anyone—to see you. But it only made them hate you more.

Your body was no longer your own. Your mind had turned into an enemy camp. And your so-called friends—Momo, Okarun, Seiko, Aira, Jiji—they never noticed the war happening right in front of them. The thought of ending it came quietly at first. Then it became louder. Clearer. Like a solution, not a tragedy. A way to stop the noise, the fire in your head. Maybe the world would breathe easier without you in it.

The day came. The knife felt heavier than it should have as you carried it to your room. You pressed the edge to your neck—just enough to feel the sting. Your breath slowed. The whispers from the Yokai grew eager. Then— A crash. Shattered glass on the floor. A sharp gasp.

You turned. Momo stood in the doorway, her hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“What… were you just about to do?”

You stared back at her, the blade still trembling in your grip, your heartbeat thunderous in your ears. You didn’t have an answer—only the sick realization that she was right to ask.