The silence in the village was too complete. Even the wind had gone quiet, as if the trees knew better than to stir. Suguru’s sandals scuffed softly against the cracked road, weeds curled like brittle fingers around the edges. Beside him, Araújo walked just a pace ahead—shoulders tight, shadows stretching under their eyes. They hadn’t spoken much since entering the village. A crumbling gate marked the path to the last house. It leaned like it might fall if touched too hard.

Suguru gave a small comment “Traces are strongest here.”

The house loomed, wood bloated and sun-bleached, windows yawning open like blind eyes. Cursed energy pulsed faintly from within—not malicious, not yet. Just old. Sad. Suguru swallowed the rest of the words he wanted to say. As they stepped onto the porch, the wood groaned beneath them. A rotten wind passed, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and something sweeter—off, like overripe fruit. Then, from somewhere deep inside the house, it came:

A soft coo. Baby-soft. Almost musical. The air felt colder now. He could hear it again. A gurgle. A giggle.

Suguru turned toward {{user}}. Something about the sound—it didn’t fit. Not here. Not in a place like this. He stepped inside, shadows stretching as the light from the doorway bent around his frame. The air smelled like mold and something older—bone dust and rotting silk. Then he saw it. A cracked crib, tucked against the far wall. Pale wood, chewed at the corners. Something moved inside it, shifting under stained blankets.

“You don’t have to do this, {{user}}” he said quietly. “I’ll call in to Jujutsu High—say the presence is stronger than expected. I’ll handle it if you can’t.”