Japan?
Ryoura's voice echoed in the sterile hospital room, devoid of any emotion. She clutched the thin hospital blanket tightly, her knuckles white. Her mind was a storm of confusion and anger, and she couldn't think straight.
Everything had come crashing down since the accident. The pain of losing her mother and sister was raw, a heavy ache in her chest that refused to subside. But this? Her father's words made no sense. He had been there when she first awoke, his face etched with grief. She had expected comfort, reassurance—anything to make the nightmare seem less real.
Instead, he had told her he was leaving.
Not just leaving—he was returning to Egypt. And she was being sent to Japan.
"Japan?" she repeated, her grip on the blanket tightening further. The weight of it all was too much. Didn't he lose Mom and Aname too? Shouldn't they be together now more than ever?
Her gaze flicked to the bedside table where her Duel Monsters deck lay in its protective case. She was surprised it hadn't been ruined in the crash. It was her favorite deck, one she had spent years perfecting. Her Mana-Eater deck, designed to mislead opponents into underestimating her, had turned the tide of many battles in her favor.
But even the sight of her deck, usually a source of comfort, couldn't calm the anger brewing inside her. She looked back at her father, noticing for the first time the weariness in his expression. His grief was plain to see, etched into the lines of his face. He looked older than she remembered, as if the weight of everything had aged him overnight.
Still, it wasn't enough to excuse his decision. Why was he leaving her now, when she needed him the most?
Yuki seemed to sense her unspoken resentment. He let out a long, heavy sigh, sitting on the edge of the chair beside her bed. "I know," he said quietly, interrupting her racing thoughts. "I wanted to spend more time with you. I wanted us to grieve together, to face this as a family." His voice trembled slightly, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Then why?" Ryoura asked, her voice sharp, her anger breaking through. "Why are you leaving? Why are you sending me away?"
Yuki hesitated, his hands clenching on his knees. When he finally looked up, his eyes were filled with a mixture of regret and determination. "Because, Ryoura, just when everything seems to be falling apart… the tomb we've been searching for—we finally found it. This is the culmination of my life's work. If I could, I would stay here with you. But the team needs me."
Ryoura stared at him, her chest tightening. His words felt like a betrayal. His work? That's what's more important?
Seeing her expression, Yuki quickly added, "Your mother and I… we had planned to tell you and Aname about moving to Japan at your birthday dinner." His voice softened as he continued, "We wanted you both to experience Japanese culture, to connect with your heritage. You've always taken your Japanese studies so seriously—I know you'll thrive there. Aname would've needed more time to adjust, but we thought it would be a good change for both of you. A chance to go home, even if just for a while."
He hesitated, his throat tightening. "We had planned to move after your tournament. Your mother was so excited about the idea. She thought it would give us all a fresh start… something special to look forward to."
Still, leaving everything behind felt like a betrayal. "But my cards and notebooks… and the tournament," Ryoura said quietly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Don't worry," Yuki replied, softening his tone as he pulled a bag from beside his chair. "I grabbed a few of your things—your cards, some notebooks. I wanted to get more, but…" His voice faltered, his expression tightening with unspoken pain. "It was too much. We'll stop by a shop on the way to the airport, and you can get anything else you need once we're in Japan."
He hesitated again, meeting her gaze with a mixture of regret and resolve. "Unfortunately, I don't think it's right for you to focus on another tournament right now. Not after everything that's happened."
The words hit Ryoura like a blow, and she turned her face away, her throat tightening. The tournament had been her anchor—her dream—but now even that felt out of reach. It wasn't just about the competition; it was the chance to prove herself, to meet legends like Seto Kaiba and Maximillion Pegasus.
She had imagined it countless times—standing in the same room as the Duel Monsters icons who had shaped the game she loved. Kaiba's confidence and innovation, Pegasus's mysterious brilliance… they had inspired her in ways she could never explain. Meeting them had felt like more than a goal—it was a step toward the future she dreamed of.
But now, that future seemed impossibly distant. Her hands tightened in her lap as her heart ached with the weight of everything she was losing.
Her anger wavered, replaced by a growing sense of unease. "But why now?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why can't we stay here?"
"Your grandmother left us a house in Tokyo," Yuki explained gently. "It's a nice place, close to your new school. It's what your mother and I wanted for both of you, and I think you'll thrive there. I…" He faltered, his grief momentarily overtaking him. "I just wish I could've given you this news in happier times."
Ryoura looked away, her vision blurring with tears she refused to let fall. None of this felt right. It wasn't supposed to be like this.
"Do you really want to stay here?" her father asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ryoura didn't answer, her gaze fixed on the blanket she was still clutching.
Yuki sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Even when I went back to the house last night, I felt… suffocated. Everywhere I looked, there were reminders of your mother and Aname. Their laughter, their voices—it's like their vibrant life just slipped away, through the sands." His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, composing himself. "I don't think either of us could bear to stay there right now."
Ryoura muttered nothing, staring blankly at her hands. She hated to admit it, but deep down, she knew he was right. The thought of walking into her sister's room, or hearing the echo of her mother's voice in the kitchen, was unbearable. It was like being trapped in a memory that wouldn't stop hurting.
He placed the bag on the bed beside her. "Don't worry, Ryoura," he said softly, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "You'll be fine. You've always been self-sufficient."
"Get changed," he added gently. "I'll talk to the doctor about discharging you."
Ryoura glanced at the bag, her fingers brushing the worn fabric. She knew her father was trying his best, but it didn't stop the ache in her chest. Still, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak without breaking down.
Yuki hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but instead he gave her a faint smile and left the room.
As the door clicked shut, Ryoura's gaze shifted to her bedside table, where her Duel Monsters deck rested in its protective case. She reached for it, her fingers brushing the familiar edges. It was her favorite deck, the one she'd been playing with just hours before the accident. The sight of it brought a bittersweet pang to her chest.
She set it down gently and turned to the bag her father had left on the bed. Reaching inside, her fingers closed around a stack of her old cards, the ones she had collected over the years. Her heart twisted as she pulled out a small binder—her collection, meticulously organized, each card a memory of tournaments, trades, and duels. There were also notebooks filled with strategies and scribbled notes, the fruits of countless hours of thought and practice.
Her father must have gathered these from her room, she realized, the effort evident in the way everything was packed so carefully. She hugged the items to her chest, drawing in a shaky breath.
As she sifted through the bag, something else caught her eye—a folded ticket tucked into a side pocket. She pulled it out, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. The words Intercontinental Duel Monsters Championship—New York City stared back at her, stark against the glossy paper.
Her breath hitched, and her vision blurred. That ticket had been her dream—a chance to compete, to prove herself, to meet legends like Seto Kaiba and Maximillion Pegasus. She'd worked so hard for it, poured everything she had into preparing for the championship. But now, it was nothing. The tournament was out of reach, the future she'd imagined shattered.
A wave of anger and grief surged through her. Without thinking, she clenched the ticket in her hands and ripped it down the middle, the sound sharp and final. But it wasn't enough. She kept tearing, her fingers shredding the glossy paper into tiny pieces until it was nothing but a pile of confetti scattered across her bed.
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the remnants, her chest heaving with the effort to breathe through the pain. She hugged her binder and notebooks tighter, her sobs breaking the heavy silence of the room. Everything was different now. Everything was broken. But she had to keep moving forward, even if she wasn't sure how.
She slipped on the white-and-blue shirt her father had packed for her, along with a pair of jeans. The clothes fit well enough, but they felt heavy on her shoulders, like the weight of everything she was trying to process.
Standing in front of the mirror, she brushed through her thick, snow-white hair, wincing as the brush snagged on a knot. Her fingers paused mid-stroke as a thought crept into her mind, unbidden and sharp.
He probably doesn't want to stay with me because I'm different.
She stared at her reflection, the pale blue of her eyes catching the light. They were so unlike her family's warm, earthy features. She had always felt out of place, but now, in the absence of her mother and sister, the contrast seemed even more glaring.
The sound of murmurs drifted through the door, pulling her from her thoughts. She stilled, listening intently.
"You can handle it, right?" her father's voice came faintly through the door. "There's a service for cremation and sending the urns to Japan."
Ryoura's breath hitched, her hand tightening around the brush. The words struck her like a blow, the reality of it all sinking in anew. They were talking about her mother and Aname's bodies.
She had known, of course, but hearing it said aloud made it real in a way she hadn't been prepared for. Her knees felt weak, and she sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her hands.
Her mind reeled as she thought of what this meant. Cremation. She'd read about Japanese traditions, how cremating family members and keeping their ashes in the family grave was common. But her family had lived in America for as long as she could remember. Did they even have a family grave?
The idea felt both foreign and oddly comforting. A place to visit them, to honor them—it seemed right, even if it wasn't something she'd ever imagined doing. Still, the thought of her mother and Aname reduced to ashes made her stomach twist.
She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. It wasn't supposed to be like this. None of this was supposed to happen.
Suddenly, breaking through her racing thoughts, a cold, dark laugh echoed through the room. It was low and mocking, curling around her like a shadow, as though someone—or something—was watching her pain with cruel amusement.
The sound sent a chill down her spine, freezing her sobs in her throat. It wasn't just a laugh; it carried a weight, a presence, as though it delighted in the sight of her despair.
Ryoura's eyes darted around the room, searching for the source. But there was nothing—only the stillness and the remnants of her shredded ticket scattered across the bed. Yet the laugh lingered, faint and fading, leaving behind an eerie silence that pressed against her like a heavy fog.
For a moment, she sat frozen, clutching her binder to her chest, her heart pounding against her ribs. It had to be her imagination, she told herself. Just her grief playing tricks on her.
But as she shifted on the bed, the air felt heavier, colder, and the memory of flickering lights prickled at the edges of her mind. She glanced toward the corner of the room, where the shadows seemed darker than before, stretching unnaturally across the wall.
She sat down again, trying to steady her breathing, but the unease clung to her. The feeling was impossible to ignore, like unseen eyes watching her every move.
Ryoura sat silently next to her father in the backseat of the taxi. The hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the driver's radio filled the space, but neither of them spoke. She stared out the window, watching the familiar streets of Long Island blur past. None of this felt real.
Was she really supposed to leave everything behind like this?
Her father had always been used to uprooting, moving from one excavation to another as his work demanded. For him, it was routine—part of the life he had chosen long ago. But for her, it wasn't just a house or a town she was leaving. It was everything she had known: the school where she'd made friends, the local card shop where she'd played tournaments, the home that had been filled with her family's laughter.
Her gaze shifted to her father. His dark black hair was streaked with strands of gray, his skin carrying an orange tint from years under the harsh Egyptian sun. He looked so sure of himself, even in his grief. Like he belonged to the world he moved through, no matter where it took him.
And then there was her.
Ryoura stared at her own reflection in the faint glint of the taxi's window. Her snow-white hair framed her pale face, her blue eyes standing out like frozen glass. Everything about her was different.
Why do I have to be so different?
She turned her attention back to the passing streets, her thoughts swirling. It wasn't just her appearance—it was the way people looked at her, like she didn't quite fit. Her mother used to say it made her special, but sometimes it didn't feel special. It felt lonely.
Her father glanced at her then, as if sensing her thoughts. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
Ryoura hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "I guess," she mumbled, not meeting his gaze.
Yuki sighed, looking ahead. "I know this is hard, Ryoura. It's hard for me too. But… maybe this is a chance to start over. A fresh place, a fresh beginning. Your mother and I… we wanted this for you and Aname. To see where you came from, to connect with your heritage. You always took your Japanese studies so seriously—I know you'll be fine there."
"Who I am?" she echoed, her voice sharper than she'd intended. She looked at him then, her pale eyes glinting with an emotion she couldn't quite name. "I don't even look like you. Or Mom. Or Aname. How am I supposed to 'connect' with anything when I don't even feel like I belong?"
Her father's expression softened, and he reached over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You belong with us, Ryoura. You always have."
He hesitated, then continued, his voice trembling slightly. "Of course, there was a moment… when I questioned your mother. I doubted her. And the look of shame on her face—when I accused her of being unfaithful—it's something I will never forget. Or forgive myself for."
Ryoura turned to him sharply, her breath catching.
"I hurt her deeply, Ryoura," he said, his voice low and raw. "Even though the DNA test proved what I should have known all along, and she forgave me… I've never forgiven myself for letting her down like that. For doubting the love we had."
Her chest tightened as she listened, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn't expected.
"But that's all on me," Yuki said firmly, meeting her gaze. "It was never about you. You didn't ask to be born looking different, and none of that changes who you are. You just came into this world as someone unique. That's all it is. But make no mistake—you will always be part of this family."
Ryoura blinked, tears welling in her eyes.
Her father's hand tightened slightly on her shoulder, a gesture of reassurance. "I wish I could stay longer," he said softly, his voice laced with regret. "I wish I could be here to help you through this. But life doesn't always give us the time we need. I just want you to know… I'm proud of you. Your mother was too. And no matter where I am, you're not alone."
The taxi hit a small bump, jolting them slightly. Ryoura quickly wiped her eyes, swallowing hard to keep her composure.
"Thanks, Dad," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion.
For a moment, the two of them sat in silence, the unspoken words between them hanging in the air. Outside, the airport loomed closer, the hum of planes overhead signaling the next step in a journey Ryoura still wasn't ready for.
Then Yuki's voice broke through the quiet. "You know," he said, glancing at her with a small, hesitant smile, "before we head to the airport, why don't we get some pizza? For old times' sake."
Ryoura blinked, surprised by the suggestion.
"Pizza in Japan is definitely not going to be the same as New York pizza," he added, a faint hint of teasing in his tone.
Her lips twitched into a small smile, unbidden but welcome. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight pressing on her chest seemed to lift, if only slightly. All the doubts she had about herself—her individuality, her place in the family—felt just a little less heavy.
"Yeah," she said softly, her smile growing. "I'd like that."
Yuki's smile widened, his relief evident. "Good," he said, leaning back in the seat and rapping lightly on the glass partition for the driver. "Change of plans—can you take us to Sal's Pizzeria instead?"
The driver nodded, turning onto a side street, and for the first time since the accident, the tension in the taxi seemed to ease.
As they made their way to the pizzeria, Ryoura looked out the window again, this time with a bit less sadness. She wasn't sure what the future held, but for now, sharing one last slice of New York pizza with her father felt like the right way to say goodbye to the life they were leaving behind.
The pizzeria's warm, familiar aroma wrapped around them as they stepped inside. The cozy interior was dotted with checkered tablecloths and the hum of conversation. It was exactly as Ryoura remembered—a haven of comfort amid the chaos of her life.
Yuki walked to the counter and exchanged a few friendly words with the cashier, his voice carrying an ease that belied the grief they were both feeling. Ryoura followed slowly, her gaze drifting to a framed photo on the wall. It was a picture of her, no older than ten, holding a small trophy, her father beaming beside her. It had been taken after her first local Duel Monsters competition win, right here in this very pizzeria.
She touched the edge of the frame lightly, her chest tightening. So much had changed since then.
"Hey, look who it is," came a familiar voice, warm and gruff. Ryoura turned to see Sal, the owner, making his way over from behind the counter. His apron was dusted with flour, and he had the same easygoing smile she remembered. "I haven't seen you two in a while."
"Hi, Sal," Yuki said, forcing a small smile as he extended a hand.
Sal shook it firmly, his gaze shifting to Ryoura. "And there's our champ. That was a big night, huh? I still tell customers about the time you brought that trophy here to celebrate." He glanced toward the photo on the wall and chuckled softly. "The look on your face says it all."
Ryoura managed a faint smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks, Sal," she murmured.
Sal's expression softened as he studied her. "You've grown up a lot since then, huh?" He hesitated, glancing between them as if sensing the unspoken weight they were carrying. "It's good to see you both back. Let me know if you need anything."
Yuki gave a quiet nod. "Thanks, Sal."
Sal lingered for a moment longer before returning to the counter, and Yuki carried a tray to their usual booth. On it was a large pizza with their usual toppings: mushroom, pepperoni, and—despite the controversy—pineapple.
He set it down with a faint smile. "One last New York slice before the big move."
Ryoura's gaze drifted to the pizza, and her chest tightened as she noticed the toppings. He had remembered her favorite combination—even the pineapple. Everyone teased her for liking it, but her dad had always let her add it anyway, saying it gave the pizza "character."
They sat across from each other, the pizza steaming between them. For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Yuki poured soda into their cups, his hands steady despite the faint shadow of sorrow in his eyes.
"I heard there's a new competition starting up," Yuki said suddenly, breaking the silence. "It's called the Duelist Kingdom. Since you've won so many competitions already, maybe you could even enter it."
Ryoura's eyes flicked up, a bitter scoff escaping her lips. "Duelist Kingdom? Yeah, I've heard about it. It's invite-only, though." She picked up a slice of pizza, hesitating before taking a bite. Her voice wavered as she added, "That tournament in New York… it was supposed to be my time to shine. Now? I'm probably not even on their radar."
Yuki's expression softened as he leaned forward. "Ryoura, I'm sure you'll get in. You've never lost a tournament. Your record speaks for itself."
She lowered the slice, staring at it for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe," she muttered, her emotions a tangled mix of doubt and flickering hope. "Maybe you're right."
Yuki took a bite of his pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "You know," he said after a moment, "it's funny. The tomb we discovered—the one we've been searching for—seems connected to Duel Monsters. But the way they used them was… different. It wasn't a game, not like now. It was part of their society in ways we're only beginning to understand."
Ryoura looked up sharply. "Wait, what? Duel Monsters is pretty new, isn't it? How could it have existed back then?"
"That's the fascinating part," Yuki said, leaning forward slightly, his enthusiasm clear despite his exhaustion. "It seems Duel Monsters is based on something much older—rituals, stories, maybe even battles. The connections are still murky, but it's there. I wish I could stay and study it more, but…" His voice trailed off, and the weight of their circumstances returned.
Ryoura stared at her father, her mind racing. The idea that her favorite game had roots in ancient history was mind-blowing, and for a moment, it eclipsed the grief gnawing at her heart.
The familiar taste of their mushroom, pepperoni, and pineapple combo brought a momentary comfort. But it was the memory of her dad always letting her add pineapple—despite everyone teasing her for liking it—that pushed her over the edge. She burst into tears.
Yuki reached across the table, placing a hand on her arm. "It's okay," he said gently. "I know it's a lot to take in. Even I don't know how to process it all. Let's savor our pizza and then get going, alright?"
Ryoura nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. She took a shaky breath, managing a small smile. "Yeah… okay."
Sal watched them quietly from behind the counter, his eyes lingering on the father and daughter. He didn't know what had happened to weigh them down so heavily, but he was glad they had come back here, if only for a little comfort.
Together, they ate in silence, sharing a moment of solace amid the storm of uncertainty surrounding them.
As they finally pulled into the airport, Ryoura stared at the looming terminal through the window, her heart sinking further. The bags in the backseat—just a few clothes hastily bought from the shop next to the pizzeria—seemed like meager remnants of the life she was leaving behind.
It wasn't much, but at least there were a few things she liked. Still, the sight of the airport ahead made it all feel heavier, like the finality of everything was pressing down on her shoulders.
The taxi came to a stop, and Yuki climbed out first, grabbing the suitcase he had never unpacked. Ryoura followed, clutching her bag tightly as they made their way into the bustling terminal.
After a few moments, Yuki stopped at a shop selling suitcases. He picked out a small one and handed it to her. "Here," he said, his voice steady but tired. "Fold the clothes we got and put them in. It's small enough, so you probably won't need to check it in."
Ryoura nodded wordlessly, doing as he asked. As she carefully folded the clothes into the suitcase, her father spoke again, his tone softening. "I also got you a first-class ticket," he said, managing a faint smile. "So you can relax. Maybe watch some movies on the flight. Your grandmother will be waiting for you when you land."
He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "She's a bit sickly, though, so she won't be able to help much or stay long. But she'll come when she can. I… I wish I could be there to help you sort everything out."
Ryoura looked up at him, noticing how tired he looked—how unsure.
Yuki continued, his words spilling out in a rush as though he wasn't sure how to express himself. "I asked a friend to stop by and help you. He's a former colleague of mine, retired now. He runs a card shop. He even has a grandson your age, I think. Maybe that'll lift your spirits. I know it's not much, but…"
His voice trailed off.
Ryoura could tell he was trying, but she could also see how lost he was—how grief had shaken him in ways even he didn't know how to handle. For a moment, she felt a pang of sympathy. He was hurting too, even if he wasn't showing it the way she was.
She touched his arm gently. "It's okay, Dad," she said, her voice soft but firm. "I know everything will be okay."
Yuki looked at her, startled by her sudden reassurance. Then he nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through the sadness on his face.
As they stood there, the weight of their goodbye hanging between them, Yuki's hand moved instinctively to his bag. His expression shifted, as if he felt something—an unspoken pull.
"Oh," he said suddenly, his voice almost distant. "Your present."
He pulled out a neatly wrapped package and handed it to her. "Open it when you're ready," he said, though the way he spoke felt… odd, almost as though the words weren't entirely his own.
Ryoura took the package, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper. It felt heavier than it looked, and a strange twinge of anticipation flickered in her chest. She nodded, slipping it into her bag without a word.
Yuki reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, its weight making it bulge slightly. He handed it to her with a wry smile. "This is for you," he said.
Ryoura opened it, her eyes widening at the thick stack of yen notes inside. The unfamiliar currency reminded her of monopoly money, bright and colorful.
"This should last about two months," Yuki said. "When you set up a bank account, let me know. I can transfer money directly to you. If not, I'll send it to my friend to get it to you."
"Thanks, Dad," Ryoura said, tucking the envelope of yen safely into her bag.
Yuki hesitated, his hand lingering briefly on her shoulder. "You'll be okay," he said, almost as though reassuring himself. Then, after a moment, he added, "I'll miss you, Ryoura."
Ryoura swallowed hard, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. "I'll miss you too," she whispered.
The airport buzzed around them, travelers rushing to and from destinations. But in that moment, the noise seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them standing together, their shared grief and hope for the future holding them in place.
Ryoura stepped forward and hugged her dad tightly. She could feel the weight of everything unsaid between them—their shared sorrow, the unspoken fears, and the hope that somehow, they would both find a way to move forward.
"I'll miss you, Dad," she murmured.
"I'll miss you too, Ryoura," Yuki replied, his voice cracking slightly. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. "Take care of yourself, okay? And call me when you land."
Ryoura nodded, her eyes flickering toward the gate. The final boarding call echoed over the speakers, signaling it was time for her to leave.
As she slung her bag over her shoulder and started toward the boarding line, a strange sensation washed over her. A chill, almost imperceptible, ran down her spine. She paused for a moment, but when nothing happened, she shook it off and continued toward the gate.
Once on the plane, Ryoura settled into her first-class seat. The plush cushion and spacious layout were a stark contrast to the cramped economy seating she was used to, but she barely noticed. The package her father had handed her earlier sat on her lap, the smooth wrapping crinkling faintly under her fingers.
It felt heavier than it should have, and an odd coolness seemed to radiate from it. She frowned, brushing off the sensation as her imagination. I'll open it when I land, she decided, slipping the package into her bag.
Determined to distract herself from the unsettling thoughts creeping into her mind, Ryoura turned to the entertainment screen in front of her. Scrolling through the options, she selected a lighthearted comedy, hoping it would help calm her nerves.
For a while, the movie succeeded. She even laughed at a few moments, her mind briefly free of the unease coiling in her chest. But as the credits rolled and the plane's engines began to hum louder during the ascent, she felt the chill return, more insistent than before.
Her eyes flicked to the window. The plane pierced through the clouds, a sea of white giving way to an endless expanse of sky. And then—
"So… my host has finally gotten the Ring," a deep, cold voice hissed, laced with mocking laughter.
Ryoura froze, her breath hitching. The voice was unmistakable—low, dark, and cruel, dripping with amusement as if reveling in her confusion and fear.
She whipped her head around, her wide eyes scanning the cabin. But everything appeared normal. The passengers were either reading, sleeping, or absorbed in their screens. No one else seemed to hear it.
The laughter lingered, faint and fading, until only the steady hum of the engines remained. But the unease clung to her like a second skin, refusing to let go.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, the weight of the unopened package pressing against her mind. It's just my imagination, she told herself, though the words felt hollow. It's just everything catching up with me.
She leaned back in her seat, willing her racing heart to slow. Yet, as the plane leveled out, cruising above the clouds, the voice echoed faintly once more, sending another chill down her spine.
"So… it begins."
Ryoura's grip on her bag tightened, her breath shallow. She didn't dare open it now—not until she was safely on the ground.
The package sat untouched in her bag, its presence a weight she couldn't explain, as the voice's mocking laughter seemed to linger in the back of her mind.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading! This chapter was incredibly emotional to write—I'll admit, I was crying while crafting Ryoura's journey in this part of the story. Your support truly means the world to me. If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider voting and leaving a review—it inspires me to keep going and sharing more of this tale.
I'm already excited to post the next chapter, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts!
Stay tuned for what's next!