The air felt heavy as the goddess gave a soft, commanding glance toward Shira, who had been standing nearby with her usual playful demeanor. The goddess' voice, though calm and composed, held a subtle weight to it that couldn't be ignored.
"Escort him out of the shrine, Shira," she ordered, her tone as if this was a task she had already deemed necessary. "The time for explanations is over. He must return to the outside world."
Shira didn't say anything at first. Instead, she gave Megumi a look that was half amused, half resigned, as if she knew there was something more to be said but chose not to voice it yet. She nodded lightly, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips before she turned to lead him out of the domain.
As they began walking away, Megumi couldn't help but notice something peculiar about Shira's movements. Normally, she glided with an ethereal grace, her feet never truly touching the ground. She moved as though floating, her every step like a whisper of wind. But now, it was different. He could hear the subtle thud of her feet against the floor. Each step was firmer, deliberate, and oddly... almost human in a way he wasn't used to. It was as if she were trying to blend in with the world around her, yet still remaining completely out of place.
He couldn't help but feel a small spark of suspicion. Shira had always been mysterious, but this was strange even for her. Why the change? She had never been so grounded in her movements before. Was she trying to communicate something to him? Or was it some kind of hidden message, a clue she was giving without fully revealing her intentions? Megumi's mind raced as he walked quietly beside her, his eyes occasionally flicking toward her to try and figure it out.
As they walked through the domain, Megumi's mind continued to race, trying to piece together the strange shift in Shira's behavior. He had a hunch that there was more to the situation than she was letting on, but pressing her directly hadn't yielded any answers. Instead, Megumi's thoughts drifted back to the rare moments they had shared in the past, when the two had spent quiet hours together, learning and exchanging bits of knowledge.
One of those moments stood out in particular: a time when, for whatever reason, Megumi had taught Shira the basics of Morse code. It was an odd choice at the time, something that had come about more out of boredom than necessity. Yet, now, it felt like it might be exactly what he needed. A subtle, covert way of communication that could bypass Shira's usual evasiveness.
Without breaking his stride, Megumi shifted his focus to the way his foot struck the ground. He kept his steps purposeful, each one falling in a careful rhythm as he subtly tapped out a message. His right foot hit the ground, followed by the left, each step spaced just enough to deliver the message in Morse code.
.._.._ _.
Megumi's footfalls continued the pattern.
He kept the sequence steady, not allowing his pace to falter, but his mind raced through the series of taps. The message he sent was clear enough, though Shira had no idea she was being subjected to his hidden signal. He wasn't entirely sure how she would react, but he had a strong feeling that she'd pick up on it.
"What are you trying to say?"
The question was simple but laden with layers of suspicion, a thinly veiled demand for answers. Megumi's footfalls weren't hurried, but every tap on the ground carried weight. He knew Shira had learned the code, even if she hadn't used it much. And while she might pretend not to notice, the way she walked so deliberately now suggested she was paying attention to something.
They kept walking for a few moments, with Shira still maintaining that strange, almost grounded pace. Then, without warning, a soft, nearly inaudible chuckle escaped her lips. Megumi didn't miss it. She had noticed the rhythm of his footsteps.
"You really never forget anything, do you?" Shira said, her voice light, though there was a trace of amusement beneath the surface.
Megumi didn't respond immediately, keeping his eyes forward, pretending to focus on the path ahead. He didn't need to speak; the rhythm of his footsteps already conveyed his question. He was waiting for her to reveal what she was hiding.
After a few moments of silence, Shira's pace slowed ever so slightly, and Megumi felt her gaze shift toward him. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, but he didn't flinch. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of looking over.
Finally, Shira broke the silence. "You always make things more complicated than they need to be, don't you, Megumi?" she said, though the tone was more reflective than reproachful. "But I suppose... I can't really hide everything from you, can I?"
Megumi's steps slowed as well, feeling the subtle shift in the air. She had cracked. That small moment of vulnerability was all he needed to know he was getting through to her.
"So, you're not going to tell me what's really going on?" Megumi asked, still walking forward but now with a slight edge of frustration. "I know you're trying to protect me, but you've never been so... careful. What's really happening?"
Shira's gaze flickered again, her eyes betraying a moment of hesitation. She stopped walking for a brief second, the rhythmic pounding of her footsteps halting.
As they walked, Shira subtly changed her footfalls to a rhythmic tapping against the ground. The sound was soft but distinct, a carefully measured pattern—a message in Morse code. It wasn't an accident, and Megumi immediately recognized the familiar code from the years they'd spent together.
— ..-. —-. .. .-. . .-.. she tapped out, the series of short and long pauses sending a chill of clarity through Megumi.
He paused for a second, listening to the pattern, then carefully responded with his own subtle foot taps, his answer coming with a beat of measured steps.
.. -. - . .-. .-.-.-
("I know.")
Shira's expression didn't change, but he could tell from her posture that she was relieved. She continued, tapping out a new sequence.
—. -- -.. -.. . ... ...
("She's a monster hiding her true form. Don't trust her.")
Megumi kept his expression neutral as he processed the message. His thoughts already aligned with what Shira had been hinting at, but hearing it confirmed from her made the situation feel more tangible. He slowed his pace slightly, feeling the weight of the information sink in.
..- -. - . .-. . ... - .-.-.-
("I never intended to trust her," he responded, his tone unwavering as his feet barely moved, his mind focused on the silent conversation they were having through steps.)
Shira's eyes softened as she tapped another message back, her rhythm smooth and assured.
—. -- -- -.. .-.-.-
("Good.")
Her smile, though small, was more genuine now. Megumi could feel the relief in the air. For a moment, it was as if they were speaking the same language, as if there was no barrier between them. He had already made up his mind the moment he'd felt the unease in the goddess's presence. Trust was something he couldn't afford to give so freely, and he wasn't about to make that mistake now.
As they continued walking in silence, Shira gave one last tap, a gentle click of her feet against the ground.
.-.. . - ... -- ...
("Let's get out of here.")
Megumi nodded in agreement, his resolve firm. "Yeah," he muttered quietly, "let's get out of here."
And with that, the two continued their journey in perfect understanding, each step a reminder that no one—no goddess, no monster—would control him.
———————
The walk continued in complete silence, the rhythmic sound of their footsteps the only thing filling the space between them. Megumi remained lost in his thoughts, the reality of the situation weighing on him. Shira's cryptic message still lingered in his mind. The goddess, a monster in disguise—his instincts had been right all along, even though the revelation left an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The stillness of the air around them was only interrupted by the occasional tap of Shira's feet, which matched his own careful steps. It felt like time itself was suspended.
As they moved, the scenery slowly began to change. The once grand and alien shrine gradually faded into the background, its otherworldly atmosphere receding. The air became crisper, the heavy, almost oppressive energy of the shrine lifting, and Megumi felt a sense of liberation. It was as though the very fabric of reality was shifting, drawing him back to a place that felt safer, more grounded. He didn't notice the subtle change in the landscape, nor did he realize that they had crossed some invisible boundary between the shrine and the world outside. Everything seemed to melt into the quiet tranquility of the moment.
It wasn't until the air grew lighter, the heavy weight of the divine presence lifting, that Megumi suddenly realized how much distance he had covered. He looked around, eyes widening slightly as the surroundings around him had completely transformed. The high, looming mountains that had surrounded the shrine were gone. Instead, he found himself standing at the mountain, with the familiar faces of his classmates and teacher waiting just ahead.
He blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend the sudden shift. His heart raced for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. The last he remembered, he had been walking with Shira, on a path leading deeper into the shrine—but now, he was standing outside, the familiar faces of his classmates in front of him. How had he gotten here?
His teacher, a middle-aged man with a kind face, gave him a quizzical look. "Megumi," he said, a slight frown forming on his face. "You're here. Everyone else already got to the top. We were expecting you to be there, too. What happened?"
Megumi's breath caught in his throat, trying to keep his composure. His classmates glanced at him, confused and concerned. They seemed genuinely puzzled about his sudden appearance. How had he arrived here, and why hadn't they realized his presence sooner ?
"I—I must have… gotten lost," Megumi muttered, not sure what to say. He had no other explanation. One moment, he was walking with Shira, and the next, he was standing here.
"Lost?" one of his classmates, a girl with short hair, raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her face. "You really gave us all a scare, you know. The teacher was about to send a search party for you. We thought you were messing around or something."
Megumi offered a vague smile in return, still processing everything that had just happened. He had been inside the shrine, had spoken with Shira—had learned things that seemed too surreal to believe. But now, he had been pulled out of that strange place without warning, standing back on the familiar mountain path as if nothing had happened.
The teacher, seemingly satisfied that Megumi was unharmed, simply waved him over. "Come on, we're going to continue up. We're almost there. It's not that far now."
With a nod, Megumi followed his classmates toward the peak, feeling a sense of unease settle in his gut. His gaze kept flickering to the distance, as if expecting Shira to appear again—perhaps to speak with him further, to reveal more secrets about the goddess, or to give him some hint about what had just occurred.
But Shira didn't appear.
And just like that, everything felt different. He could hear his classmates chatting behind him, but his mind was focused elsewhere. He didn't understand how it had happened, or why, but one thing was certain—his life had shifted, and the weight of what he had learned was now firmly resting on his shoulders. The goddess, Shira's warning, his cursed energy returning—it was all connected, and Megumi was no longer just a passive participant in this world of curses.
As Megumi continued to walk alongside his classmates, the familiar buzz of their idle chatter barely reached him. His mind was consumed by a storm of questions, each one more pressing than the last. His cursed energy hummed beneath his skin, a powerful sensation that grounded him, but it couldn't quite distract him from the unsettling thoughts that continued to swirl in his head.
First and foremost was Shira. He couldn't stop thinking about her silence during their entire walk. Normally, Shira was full of life, whether it was the banter she exchanged with him or the odd remarks she made about everything around them. But this time, there had been nothing—no teasing, no sharp words, not even a glance in his direction. It was as if she had swallowed her tongue entirely. The tension in the air had been palpable, and Megumi couldn't ignore the growing sense of unease that accompanied her silence.
But the strangest part of it all wasn't Shira's odd behavior—it was the sudden realization that he hadn't seen her make a single move to communicate or resist being observed.
The goddess—the monster in disguise—must have some means of surveillance. Megumi had no concrete evidence, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was watching him. Shira's quiet obedience, her stillness, and her lack of protest when they left the shrine all seemed to fit the picture of someone who knew they were being observed. The goddess couldn't have missed his every movement, not if she was truly as powerful as Shira made her out to be. And if she had the ability to control and watch over her followers—even her aides—there was no way Shira could have escaped her gaze.
But why didn't Shira speak up? Megumi clenched his fists, trying to suppress the frustration building inside him. He wasn't a fool. Shira had been more than willing to share her true feelings about the goddess—at least, what she could manage in Morse code. She clearly resented the entity that had given her orders, but Megumi couldn't help but wonder what had made Shira stay so quiet. Why had she chosen not to say anything when they were alone, when they had the chance to discuss things more openly?
The more Megumi thought about it, the more it made sense: Shira had to have a binding vow. She had to be bound to the goddess, or whatever she was, by some unseen force, some oath that dictated her actions, whether she liked it or not. The possibility of a vow weighed heavily on him. If it was a binding vow, then it was likely more than just an agreement—it was something that forced her to obey.
Perhaps it wasn't even a matter of choice. Shira had been under the influence of the goddess since Megumi had met her. What if the goddess held some kind of power over her, something that forced her into servitude or servile compliance? It would explain why Shira had never made any real attempt to defy her orders or break free. Megumi recalled the subtle reluctance in her actions—the way she had never fought back, never asked to leave, and had simply accepted her position as though it was inevitable. She might have resented her duty, but was she really free to act otherwise?
The thought gnawed at him. How could Shira, someone who had shown him some semblance of genuine care, someone who had been willing to help him, still remain in the service of something she clearly loathed?
"Why?" Megumi muttered under his breath, his voice almost a whisper in the breeze that rustled around them. "Why would she serve something she despises? What's keeping her there?"
He wasn't entirely sure what answer he was expecting, but he had a growing sense that something more was at play here. Shira's connection to the goddess might not have been of her own choosing, and if that was the case, Megumi couldn't help but feel a growing sympathy for her. Despite all of her behavior, her jabs, and her stoic exterior, Megumi could sense her underlying struggle. The tension between what she had to do and what she might actually want to do felt like it was suffocating her.
His thoughts turned to the possibility that Shira had been manipulated in some way. What if the goddess had put some kind of curse on her or bound her soul in a way that forced her loyalty? If that was true, then it wasn't just resentment Shira was harboring—there might be anger, frustration, and a sense of hopelessness that she had learned to bury deep within herself.
As they continued up the mountain path, Megumi couldn't stop the questions from spiraling. If there was a binding vow, it meant Shira was, in a sense, trapped. And now, after everything that had happened with the goddess and her warning to Megumi, it seemed clear to him that Shira had no intention of trusting the goddess any more than he did.
But even knowing this didn't make the situation any easier. Megumi knew that to uncover the full truth, he would need more answers. Answers that could only come from Shira herself. But whether she was willing to reveal those answers to him—especially with the stakes so high—was something he still wasn't sure about.
Megumi sighed, his mind still racing as he followed the others. The mystery of Shira's past, her relationship with the goddess, and the truth about her bond—all of it weighed on his thoughts like a looming shadow. But now, with the goddesses' true nature in question, and the bond between Shira and the mysterious entity, Megumi couldn't help but wonder if he could help her break free.
One thing was certain—he wasn't going to leave her alone to deal with this burden, not if it meant keeping secrets from him. He had his own answers to find, and Shira's might be the key.
———————
Megumi stood at the peak of the mountain, staring out over the sprawling landscape before him, but something was wrong. The vibrant green of the trees and the distant city below were all perfectly serene, but the feeling inside him gnawed at him like a persistent, invisible weight. His cursed energy, the technique he had honed, and the trials he had overcome should have felt like progress, but today they felt... off. His mind wasn't at ease. The unsettling interaction with the goddess, the silence from Shira, and the unknowns surrounding the vows—it all brewed in his thoughts like a storm waiting to break.
As he stood there, taking in the view, his gaze drifted, but his thoughts never quieted. The shrine had looked different, otherworldly, like a place that didn't belong in the mortal realm. And now, standing at its peak, a strange emptiness seemed to settle over him, as though the place itself was disconnected from everything else in the world. There was something unnatural about it, something that made him feel like he didn't truly belong.
Shira's warning echoed in his mind: "Don't trust her."
He didn't want to trust the goddess. In fact, he never had. But still, there was something about her presence that made him feel uneasy, like he was being pulled into something he didn't fully understand. And Shira—he couldn't shake the image of her silent resignation as she walked beside him. She wasn't herself, and it felt like she was being held back, forced to keep her thoughts locked away.
Megumi closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing. He needed to calm his mind, to dispel the storm inside him. But the longer he stayed in the quiet, the more unsettled he became. The peaceful surroundings of the mountain only seemed to amplify his discomfort. He longed for something familiar, something grounding.
After a while, he decided it was best to leave. He couldn't stand the weight of the questions any longer, and though the shrine and its secrets loomed in his mind, he knew he couldn't stay at the peak forever. His classmates were already making their way down, and he followed them, though his thoughts lingered elsewhere.
——————
By the time he returned home, the sense of unease still hadn't fully left him. The events of the shrine, the goddess, and Shira's strange silence were still pressing at the back of his mind, like a puzzle with too many missing pieces. He moved through his home, going through the motions, but something felt off.
It wasn't until he saw his parents that the weight on his chest began to lift. The sight of them, sitting together in the living room, talking quietly as they always did, brought a strange sense of comfort. His mother was reading a book, and his father was watching TV, a familiar presence that immediately softened the tension inside him. Their simple, normal lives felt like a sharp contrast to the complexities of the world he was involved in, and for the first time in days, Megumi felt like he could take a breath.
"You're back early," his mother said with a smile, looking up from her book.
Megumi gave a half-smile, nodding. "Yeah, just thought I'd come back before it got too late."
His father didn't look away from the TV, but he still acknowledged Megumi's return. "Good to see you. How was the trip?"
"It was fine," Megumi replied, though he didn't go into detail. His mind was still too clouded to talk about the shrine, the goddess, or the strange things he'd experienced. Instead, he focused on the simplicity of the moment. It felt normal. Grounded. His parents were here, in their own little world, completely unaware of the turmoil he had just come from.
As Megumi sat down on the couch next to them, his mother passed him a cup of tea, and he took it gratefully. The warmth of the tea seeped into him, and for the first time all day, he felt a flicker of peace. The nagging feeling that had followed him since his encounter with the goddess began to fade, and he could almost forget the complexities of the world he had just left behind.
He didn't have all the answers, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next. But in that moment, sitting with his parents, he felt... normal. For a brief while, he was able to set aside the weight of his responsibilities, the mysteries of the shrine, and the unsettling truths that still hung over him like a cloud.
The evening air had turned crisp by the time Megumi joined his family in the kitchen. The familiar scent of simmering broth and grilled fish filled the house, evoking a warmth and comfort that was almost soothing. The flickering light of the lanterns in the living room cast a soft glow over the space, giving the home a quiet, cozy atmosphere. The simple yet well-prepared meal his mother had cooked was laid out before them on the dining table—each dish looked both elegant and familiar, each one a staple of traditional Japanese cuisine.
His mother, smiled warmly at him as he took a seat. "Dinner's ready. I hope you're hungry."
Megumi nodded, a faint smile appearing on his lips, though his mind still lingered on the events of the day. He tried to focus on the present, on the warmth of his home and the simple joy of being with his family, as his mother placed the dishes before him.
The first dish was miso soup, the rich, salty broth steaming gently in its bowl. The soup contained bits of tofu, wakame seaweed, and small cubes of daikon radish, floating in the warm liquid. The aroma was both comforting and familiar, a taste of home. He picked up his chopsticks and took a sip, letting the warmth fill him from the inside out.
On the side was a platter of grilled fish—a beautifully charred mackerel, its skin crisped to perfection. The fish was served whole, accompanied by a wedge of lemon and a small dish of soy sauce for dipping. Megumi deftly picked apart the fish, pulling off the tender meat, savoring the simple yet satisfying flavor. The fish was light, delicate, but hearty in its own way, and it paired perfectly with the rest of the meal.
Next, his mother placed a small bowl of rice in front of him. The rice was white, sticky, and perfectly steamed—each grain held its shape, yet it was soft and tender. It was the kind of rice that required no seasoning, its natural sweetness enough to stand on its own. Megumi picked up a scoop with his chopsticks and brought it to his mouth, savoring the satisfying texture.
His father, who had been quietly enjoying his meal, finally spoke. "How was the trip? Did you enjoy yourself?" His voice was steady and calm, always a grounding presence in their home.
Megumi swallowed the rice before answering. "It was alright," he replied, his voice soft. "A lot of walking around. The shrine was... interesting, at least." He didn't want to go into details. The strange, unsettling feeling from earlier still lingered within him, and he didn't want to burden them with it. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to the odd, unfamiliar world he had stepped into recently.
His mother, ever perceptive, glanced at him with a soft look. "You seem a little distant," she said gently. "Is everything okay?"
Megumi hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, just a little tired. It's nothing."
She smiled knowingly, though she didn't press further. "If you say so," she replied, offering him another helping of soup.
His father, more focused on his food, chuckled softly. "Well, you'll need all the energy you can get. You've got a big few years ahead of you. Middle school's no joke."
Megumi gave a quiet nod, his thoughts briefly turning to the future. His parents had always been supportive, but there was a quiet pressure that came with that support, an expectation of responsibility that weighed on him. It wasn't their fault—he understood their intentions. But sometimes, he longed for simplicity, for days like this where he could just sit with them and enjoy a meal without the constant pull of the cursed world hanging over him.
The meal continued in relative silence, with his parents occasionally making small talk about their day and how things had been at work. The clink of chopsticks against dishes, the soft sounds of sipping tea, and the faint rustling of their clothing as they moved about the room created a peaceful, familiar rhythm.
Near the end of the meal, Megumi's mother placed a small dish of pickled vegetables on the table—bright green cucumbers, radishes, and thin slices of eggplant, their tartness offering a refreshing contrast to the heavier flavors of the meal. Megumi picked up a small piece of cucumber, feeling the crunch as he bit into it. The vinegar and salt were sharp and tangy, a cleansing note to the meal, refreshing his palate.
Finally, the meal ended with a bowl of green tea, its earthy, slightly bitter taste lingering on the tongue. His mother always made it just right, ensuring it wasn't too strong but still bold enough to cleanse the palate after the rich flavors of dinner.
Megumi sat back in his chair, his body relaxing for the first time since his return. The weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter, the feeling of home slowly creeping back into his heart. Despite the unsettling thoughts swirling in his mind, he found peace in these small moments, in the familiarity of his family's presence, and in the comforting rhythm of their daily life.
The simple dinner, filled with comforting traditional dishes and quiet conversation, had a grounding effect on him. Even if only for a short time, it reminded him of the world outside of curses, of the love and connection he had with his parents. It reminded him that no matter how strange and dangerous the world around him became, there would always be this: home.
The evening had settled into a peaceful rhythm as Megumi and his parents sat around the dinner table, finishing up the last bits of their meal. The atmosphere was warm and comfortable, the simple act of eating together bringing a sense of normalcy that Megumi cherished. But as the dishes were cleared away and they sat back in their seats, the conversation shifted to something more significant—his future.
His mother, always the one to ask about his ambitions and dreams, gently broached the subject. "Megumi," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "now that middle school is approaching, have you thought about where you'd like to go? Your test scores are excellent, and you've got so many options."
Megumi felt a slight weight settle in his chest at the mention of his future. He had always been a good student, his academic abilities far outstripping his peers. But while the praise was often there, he knew that it came with expectations. His mother was right—his scores were high enough that he could choose practically any middle school in the area.
He shifted in his seat, fingers tracing the rim of his tea cup absently. "I don't know," he replied, his voice thoughtful. "I guess I haven't really thought about it much."
His father, who had been listening quietly, gave a small smile. "You know, Megumi, you've always had a lot of options. You could go to one of the prestigious schools, the ones known for their rigorous academic programs. But… I know your mother and I want you to go somewhere that's not just about the grades."
His mom nodded. "It's not just about getting into a tough school. We want you to find a place that challenges you, but also where you can grow and be happy. Somewhere that gives you a sense of purpose, not just a degree."
Megumi thought about their words for a moment.
"I've been thinking about that too," Megumi said quietly. "Maybe a school that's more focused on… I don't know, my interests? Somewhere where I can still focus on my studies, but also have space to explore things outside of just grades."
His mother gave a soft, understanding smile. "You've always been mature for your age. It's important to find that balance, Megumi. But there's something else, isn't there?" She looked at him intently, sensing that there was more on his mind than just the school choice.
Megumi shifted his gaze to the side, uncertain for a moment. The truth was, his life had always been different. He couldn't ignore the strange world that constantly loomed in the background—the world of curses, and his unique role in it. His scores were high, yes, but his mind was constantly preoccupied with other things, things that his parents wouldn't understand.
His father leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his expression serious. "Megumi, we've always supported you, and we want you to make the decision that's best for you. But I know your future isn't just about academics."
Megumi looked at his father, feeling a surge of gratitude. His parents might not know everything, but they had always given him space to figure things out on his own. He knew they were trying to understand, even if they didn't fully grasp what was going on in his life.
"Thanks," Megumi said softly, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting his parents' eyes again. "I appreciate it. I guess I just… I don't know what I want to do yet. I'm still figuring it out."
His mother reached across the table and placed a hand on his. "That's okay, Megumi. We don't expect you to have all the answers now. Just remember, we want you to be happy and healthy, above all else. So, take your time."
Megumi nodded, the warmth of his family's support filling him with a sense of reassurance. His parents wanted him to succeed, but more importantly, they wanted him to feel fulfilled in whatever path he chose. And while he still had a lot of questions about his future—especially about the world of curses that constantly lurked in the background—he knew that he didn't have to figure everything out right now.
For a moment, there was a comfortable silence. The weight of the decision about his middle school hung in the air, but it didn't feel as heavy anymore. Megumi would make a choice, and it wouldn't be based solely on his grades or what was expected of him. It would be his decision, and whatever it was, his parents would be there to support him.
"I'll figure it out," Megumi said, more to himself than to anyone else. "I'll choose what feels right."
His mother smiled. "That's all we can ask for."
His father nodded. "Just make sure you're true to yourself, Megumi."
Megumi felt a sense of peace about the future, knowing that no matter what path he took, he had the support and understanding of his family behind him.
——————
As the days passed, Megumi threw himself into the process of researching different middle schools. His grades were high enough to give him a range of prestigious schools to choose from, but that didn't make the decision any easier. He spent hours poring over brochures, websites, and talking to other students about their experiences at different schools. He had to consider everything—academics, extracurriculars, social environments, even the locations and the reputations of the schools. It felt like a monumental decision, one that could shape the next few years of his life.
But in the midst of his research, something was missing.
There was an emptiness in the air, something subtle yet undeniable. He hadn't fully realized it at first, but the more time he spent searching through all the information on these schools, the more he became aware of the absence. The presence that had always been there, lurking just on the edge of his consciousness, had faded. Shira. She wasn't there anymore.
At first, he had simply brushed it off. After all, Shira had always been a mysterious presence in his life—sometimes a shadow, sometimes an ally, and sometimes, in her own way, a friend. But she had always been there. Her quiet banter, her strange communication methods, her subtle hints—he had grown accustomed to it, perhaps even relied on it, in his own way. It was like a safety net, even if he had never fully understood what she had been doing or why.
Now, without her near him, Megumi couldn't help but feel something was missing in the rhythm of his day-to-day life. It wasn't that he wanted her presence to guide him in choosing a middle school—he was capable of making this decision on his own. But her absence left him feeling unbalanced, as though a corner of his world had been stripped away.
He found himself glancing over his shoulder at times, half-expecting her to be there, leaning casually against a wall or slipping out of the shadows with her usual sardonic smile. But there was nothing. The silence around him felt heavier than usual, like a lingering fog that wouldn't lift. Even when he concentrated on his work, something about his focus felt... off.
He didn't know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, the bizarre and unsettling aspects of his life with Shira had become something of a comfort. Despite how strange their relationship had been—filled with cryptic messages, hidden motives, and unexpected insights—he had come to appreciate the unspoken bond they shared. She was part of his world, whether he understood her or not, and now that she was gone, Megumi realized how much he had taken her presence for granted.
There were times when he was alone in his room, deep into his research, and he'd almost hear her voice in the back of his mind, like a faint echo of something he was used to. He would think he saw a shadow moving out of the corner of his eye, only to turn and find nothing there. It wasn't just the lack of her companionship—it was the void left by the absence of a connection, something he hadn't realized he had valued so much.
He continued his research, of course. The schools weren't going to choose themselves, and he couldn't waste time brooding over something he didn't fully understand. But in the midst of his academic decisions, Megumi's mind would inevitably wander back to Shira, wondering where she had gone, what she was doing, and why she had suddenly disappeared. It wasn't like her to leave without a word, and that thought unsettled him more than he liked to admit.
As he sat at his desk, the flickering light of his desk lamp illuminating the piles of research papers and school brochures in front of him. His hand hovered over a piece of paper as he stared at the list of middle schools, but his mind was elsewhere, once again drifting to thoughts of Shira. It had been several days since she'd vanished, and despite his best efforts to focus on his decision, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.
His thoughts were interrupted when a soft, almost imperceptible sound broke the silence of his room.
Megumi's eyes narrowed, instinctively tuning in to the subtle shift in the air. The feeling was familiar—a strange weight on the atmosphere, like the air itself was subtly bending around a presence. The same feeling he'd gotten countless times before, but this time, it was sharper.
His heart skipped a beat.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Without a word, Shira appeared in his peripheral vision, stepping out from the shadows with her usual nonchalant presence. Her bright, shifting eyes met his from across the room, and she tilted her head slightly, as if surprised by his lack of a reaction.
"Well, well," she said with that usual teasing tone, "I thought you'd at least jump or something. Have I lost my touch?"
Megumi blinked, forcing himself to maintain his composure. He hadn't expected her to appear so suddenly, especially after all this time. But despite the surprise—despite the way his pulse quickened at the sight of her—he managed to keep his face neutral. His years of training and experience dealing with curses had taught him how to mask his emotions, even when faced with something unexpected.
"You have a bad habit of doing that," Megumi muttered, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him. He was trying to pretend as though her sudden appearance was no big deal, but inwardly, he couldn't help the relief flooding his chest. She was back.
Shira narrowed her eyes at him, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "Is that so?" she teased, stepping closer, her steps barely making a sound against the floor. "I was starting to wonder if you'd finally become too predictable for me to sneak up on. But I guess not. You're still good at hiding your reactions."
Megumi didn't respond immediately, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He was still processing the surprise, trying to shake off the instinctual rush of emotions. Seeing Shira again after she'd been gone for so long felt strange, like a part of him he didn't realize he was missing had been restored.
"So, where the hell have you been?" Megumi asked casually, keeping his tone cool, as though her sudden disappearance had barely fazed him. "I've been stuck with nothing but school stuff for days. You could have at least sent me a message or something."
Shira's smile faded slightly, a flicker of something serious passing through her eyes. She didn't immediately respond, as if debating whether to tell him the truth. But then her smile returned, mischievous as ever.
"Ah, you know how it is," she said, brushing off the question with a nonchalant wave. "I had some things to take care of. Couldn't stick around for your little middle school research session. Besides, you seemed fine without me."
Megumi glanced over at her, still maintaining his calm exterior. There was something in her tone that suggested she was holding back. He knew Shira well enough by now to recognize when she wasn't being entirely forthcoming. But for the moment, he let it slide. He had more pressing matters to focus on, like the looming decision of which school to choose and why she had reappeared after such an extended absence.
"Don't disappear again," he muttered, pretending to focus on his papers but secretly glad to have her back in the room with him. He couldn't bring himself to show it openly, but a sense of quiet gratitude settled in his chest. After all, it hadn't been the same without her.
Shira only gave him a knowing glance, her eyes flickering with amusement. "Wouldn't dream of it," she replied. "I have to make sure you don't mess things up, don't I?"
With that, she leaned against the desk casually, her posture still relaxed, but there was a glint of something deeper in her gaze—something he couldn't quite read. Despite his best efforts to hide it, Megumi felt a slight tension creeping back into his shoulders. It seemed like Shira had her own secrets, and he had learned long ago that pushing her to reveal them wasn't always the wisest course of action.
So instead, he let the silence settle between them, feeling a strange sense of normalcy return, as though everything was back in place.
After a few moments of comfortable silence, Shira finally spoke again, her voice breaking the stillness of the room. Her tone had softened, but there was an unmistakable weight to her words.
"You know," she began, her eyes flicking over to him with a hint of seriousness, "I won't be around you 24/7 like I used to. I've got other things to attend to, and... well, the goddess has her own plans. She might send me when she needs to deliver a message, but that's all. You're on your own for the most part."
Megumi didn't look up from his papers immediately. The mention of the goddess, or rather that goddess, stirred a discomfort he couldn't quite shake. He didn't want to think about her any more than necessary. But still, he felt an odd pang of loss at the thought of Shira's absence. She'd been a constant, whether he liked it or not, and the idea of her being less accessible made him feel, well... strangely empty.
He took a deep breath, trying to mask the thoughts behind his usual aloof expression. "I see. I guess I'll manage. Not like I need a shadow hovering over me all the time anyway."
Shira snorted, the sound of her amusement sharp and quick. "Yeah, I bet you're fine on your own. But don't go thinking you can just brush me off when things get rough. I'll be around, just not... every moment of the day."
There was something in her tone, a bit of playful banter mixed with an unspoken understanding. It reminded him, once again, that Shira wasn't just some random ally—she had been a constant, and despite her cryptic nature, there was a bond of some kind between them. Megumi wasn't sure if he liked that idea, but it felt true, nonetheless.
"Fine," he replied, his voice neutral. "If you're gonna show up when I need help, I'll take it. But I'm not exactly helpless."
Shira's grin returned, her eyes glinting with mischief as she crossed her arms. "Oh, I know. You've got more power now, haven't you? Got all that cursed energy back." Her eyes flicked toward the corner of the room where his tonfa sat and the faint shadow of Kuro and Shiro lingering in the air. "But power doesn't solve everything, does it? You're going to need more than just brute strength to navigate whatever's coming next."
Megumi exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair as he considered her words. He hated to admit it, but she was right. It wasn't all just about raw power. There was strategy, cunning, and foresight to consider.
"I know," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "But I'll figure it out. I've been doing okay so far."
Shira studied him for a moment, and for once, there was a touch of warmth in her gaze. She seemed to understand, in a way, the weight of the responsibility he was carrying—perhaps more than he realized.
"Yeah, I know you will," she said quietly, before the usual teasing edge returned to her voice. "But just remember, Megumi, you don't have to do everything alone. Even if I'm not always around, there are others who can help. You just have to be smart about it."
He nodded, a quiet acknowledgment in his gaze. Despite her cryptic and often abrasive nature, Shira had always been there in her own way—offering her protection, advice, and sometimes even a much-needed distraction.
The room fell into a comfortable silence once again, and Megumi found himself almost wishing she would stay longer, even if only for a few more moments. But Shira was already slipping back into her usual detached stance, as if sensing the fleeting nature of this rare moment.
"I'll be around, don't worry," she said as if reading his thoughts, a smirk curling on her lips. "But you'd better not get soft, okay?"
Megumi managed a small, wry smile. "Don't worry about that. I'll be fine."
Before Shira could leave, Megumi furrowed his brow, a practical thought crossing his mind that had slipped his attention until now. He leaned forward slightly, looking at her with his usual composed expression.
"Wait," he said, his voice a touch more serious than before. "How am I supposed to call for you when I need help? I don't exactly have time to waste waiting around for you to decide to show up."
Shira paused, clearly caught off guard by the question. She blinked a couple of times, then let out a soft laugh. "Ah, right. Almost forgot about that."
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small, ornate bell. It was a delicate little thing, with a faint shimmer to it, almost as if it had been crafted from some ancient material. The bell had an intricate design engraved on it, delicate spirals that wrapped around its surface, giving it an ethereal quality. It looked like something that belonged to a shrine or a ceremonial altar.
She held it out to him, an amused smirk tugging at her lips. "Here. Ring this whenever you need me. It'll notify me instantly, and I can teleport right to you."
Megumi took the bell cautiously, inspecting it in his hand. It was surprisingly light, almost weightless, despite its ornate appearance. The thought of it somehow connecting him to her—especially after everything that had happened—felt odd, but he couldn't deny the practicality of it.
"You'll just... show up wherever I am, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Shira nodded. "Exactly. It'll be like I'm right there, no matter how far. It's a little... personal service, I guess." Her voice softened slightly, the usual teasing tone replaced by something a little more genuine, though it was still faintly playful. "You've got the power now, but sometimes, you might need a bit of extra help. This will make sure I don't leave you high and dry."
Megumi pocketed the bell carefully, not entirely sure what to make of it, but grateful for the reassurance it offered. "Alright. I'll keep it with me. But don't go getting the wrong idea. I'm not gonna be ringing it for every little thing."
Shira rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smirk that tugged at her lips. "Yeah, sure. But you better not forget you've got me in your corner when things get tough."
"Thanks," he said simply, not looking her in the eye, but there was a touch of sincerity in his voice that wasn't lost on her. "I'll try not to."
With that, Shira gave him a small nod, her form beginning to fade, ready to leave as quietly as she had arrived.
"Take care, Megumi. And remember, don't screw things up too much." Her voice echoed faintly as she vanished completely, leaving only the quiet air and the subtle weight of the bell in his hand.
Megumi stood still for a moment, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the bell. It was a strange feeling—having something that connected him to her, something that symbolized a bond that was still, in many ways, unclear. He didn't fully understand Shira or her true nature, but he knew one thing for certain—he couldn't afford to be too dependent on anyone, even someone like her.
With a deep breath, he tucked the bell away and turned back to his desk.
—————
Megumi sat in his room, surrounded by an array of open books, notes, and his phone—though the device remained largely untouched as he stared at a specific page in one of the books. The midday sun filtered through the window, casting long, slanted shadows over the cluttered desk, but the peace of his school break was lost on him. His mind was in overdrive. It had been days since his cursed energy had returned, and he still hadn't found a moment of real rest.
He didn't want to, either.
After the intense surge of power and the overwhelming wave of sensations that came with regaining his cursed energy, he found himself unable to sit still. Even when he wasn't actively training, his thoughts revolved around it. Every idle moment, every empty second, felt like an opportunity to refine his control. So, he was constantly practicing, whether it was activating his cursed energy in small bursts or channeling it through his body to get used to the flow again.
In the quiet of his room, Megumi could feel the vibrations of the energy inside him as if it was a part of his very bones. His fingers flexed without thought, channeling cursed energy into the air like a whisper. His shadows swirled around him, responding instinctively. He didn't need to look to know they were there. The sensation was becoming familiar, more natural, and he wanted it to stay that way. He had to keep moving, keep adjusting, keep pushing further, despite the nagging sense of exhaustion creeping up on him.
The only break he took was when his parents insisted he eat. Even then, his mind often wandered back to his techniques—his cursed energy management, his divine dogs, his martial arts. There was still so much to learn, so much to refine, and the time for relaxing seemed distant.
His thoughts were interrupted as his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at it for a brief second. It was a message from his father, asking about his school decision. That's right—he still hadn't decided which middle school he wanted to attend. The thought barely registered in his mind, a distant concern. He was supposed to have fun, to take time off from everything, yet the prospect of choosing the next step of his education seemed like a minor detail compared to what he was dealing with now.
He exhaled slowly, irritated with himself for letting the decision linger so long. It wasn't like it was a huge issue, but still, with all that was happening, he didn't want to waste his focus on something so trivial. Or at least, it felt trivial when compared to his cursed energy and techniques.
A low hum in his chest signaled the almost instinctual pull of his cursed energy, a small tremor running through the air as his shadows danced eagerly. Megumi's fingers twitched, and without thinking, he drew a quick circle in the air with his hand, summoning a small shadow construct. It was a simple action—a shadow of a dog that appeared in front of him, harmless in its form, but a reminder of how much he had grown since he regained his cursed energy.
He admired it for a second, mentally testing the shadows, noting how effortlessly they shifted, how naturally they obeyed his thoughts. But this moment didn't feel like rest. Not at all.
Megumi stood up, stretching his legs as he moved away from the desk and toward the small, open space in his room. He didn't know how much time had passed since he started this practice, but it felt like hours, and his body still itched for more. Even now, he wasn't satisfied. He could do better. He had to.
"Right," he muttered to himself, walking to the corner of the room to retrieve his Tonfa. "Gotta keep the momentum going."
He moved fluidly, like a dancer to the rhythm of battle, swinging the Tonfa through the air with precise, calculated motions. He focused on form, on balance, on the way his body was able to flow from one strike to the next. Even though his mind told him he was supposed to be relaxing, every motion felt like a step toward mastery. The Tonfa felt heavier than it did before, a challenge, but he welcomed it. The cursed energy surged through his body, helping to reinforce his strikes and giving him more control. The effort was taxing, but it felt right. Every day, his cursed energy felt more like a part of him, less like a power that needed to be tamed and more like something that belonged.
But as he finished yet another practice session, he found himself staring again at his phone. Another reminder. He had to choose his school. This was supposed to be his break, but his thoughts were so tied up in his cursed energy and his ability to control it that he couldn't focus on anything else.
He thought back to the time spent with his classmates during the trip to Kyoto—how they viewed him as their older brother figure, how his role as someone dependable had helped him form bonds. But what did that really mean when it came down to his next step? He could go anywhere with his grades, but every school seemed so far removed from the path he was walking now, as a sorcerer. The options felt meaningless when compared to what he was becoming.
Taking a deep breath, Megumi tossed the phone aside. There was no point in dwelling on it now. He had more important things to focus on.
"Alright, let's get back to work," he muttered, as he turned his focus back to his shadows and cursed energy.
It would have to wait. Everything else could wait.
But when he was in the middle of adjusting his Tonfa when a soft rustling noise behind him caught his attention. He immediately tensed, his shadows flickering in response, but when he turned around, there she was—Shira. She appeared as suddenly as always, her figure almost floating above the floor, gliding silently as she did whenever she arrived. But today, something felt off.
He immediately noticed the rhythmic tapping of her foot on the wooden floor. Tap. Tap. Tap. The sound wasn't like her usual soft, ethereal steps. It was deliberate, punctuated, and most importantly—distinct.
Shira paused mid-step, as though realizing her slip-up, but her eyes met his, and she grinned. "What? You seem a bit too sharp today, Megumi. Did you miss me?"
Her voice was as playful as usual, her tone light, almost teasing. She stood casually, her usual regal and poised demeanor in place, but the tapping continued, each tap distinct and deliberate, forming a pattern Megumi knew all too well.
Morse code.
He quickly focused, his mind already working out the message.
... -- ... -.-. -- -- .-.. .. -. --.
He didn't need to think twice. S.O.S. C.O.O.L.I.N.G.
It was a signal. It was a message, but one that couldn't be said aloud. Something she had to communicate without drawing attention. Megumi narrowed his eyes, immediately understanding that whatever this message meant, it wasn't good.
He turned his attention back to her, masking his growing suspicion behind an expression of mild indifference. "What's the matter, Shira? You're acting... a bit too strange today."
Shira blinked innocently, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn't stop her verbal banter. "You've been way too focused lately. You've been training like a maniac. You really need to relax." She flashed him a teasing grin, but her foot continued to tap in rhythm—tap, tap, tap.
... -- ... -.-. -- -- .-.. .. -. --.
Megumi's mind raced, piecing together what Shira had just sent. Her words might have been lighthearted, but the message behind her tapping told a different story.
The goddess—that same goddess who had pulled him into her web in the first place—was preparing for his sacrifice. The idea, cold and sudden, sent a ripple of anger through him. But the more chilling part was the fact that Shira wasn't telling him this directly. She was hiding it, signaling it through the only means she could.
He frowned, his grip tightening on the Tonfa. Shira's message wasn't just a warning—it was a cry for help, of sorts, even if she couldn't say it out loud. She was being monitored. The goddess was aware of her actions. Megumi felt the weight of that realization sink in. Shira was never this cryptic unless there was a pressing reason, and the pressure of being watched, controlled, was unmistakable in her carefully composed expression.
He met her gaze again, quieter now. "So, what are you telling me?" he asked, his voice laced with calm tension.
Shira's lips curled into a half-smile. "I'm just saying," she continued, her voice still playful, "you might want to start being careful." But her foot betrayed her. The tapping persisted—tap, tap, tap—despite the casualness of her words.
Megumi understood the gravity of it. He couldn't ignore her cryptic warnings anymore.
"Shira…" he began slowly, now eyeing her with more intent, "Is this how things are going to be from now on?"
Shira didn't answer immediately. Instead, she let out a soft sigh, and for a moment, there was a flash of something behind her eyes. A flicker of frustration? Helplessness? It was gone in an instant, replaced by her usual facade.
"You're too sharp, Megumi," she said, her tone shifting to something more resigned. "It's exactly as you think."
The tapping stopped for a moment, but the air between them felt heavy. Megumi's mind whirred. He was no fool—he knew now that this goddess wasn't just some benign figure, someone with plans that could be ignored. She had her sights on him, and whatever "sacrifice" she had planned couldn't be good.
He stared at Shira, his focus sharpening. "You don't have to say anything more. I get it."
Shira nodded slightly, her gaze hardening just a little. "I'll help where I can. Just… keep your head down." She paused, looking at him one last time. "You have no idea just how deep this runs."
With that, she turned away, making to leave, but before she could disappear as she usually did, Megumi called after her. "Shira," he said, his voice steady but tinged with something more serious than before.
She paused and looked back over her shoulder, a quiet acknowledgment in her expression.
"I won't let them have me," Megumi said firmly.
Shira's lips curved into a small smile, something softer and more genuine than he'd seen in a while. "I know." And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone with the weight of the message she'd conveyed.
The tapping, the hidden message—it wasn't just a simple warning. It was a cry for help, a sign that there was a force out there, watching, manipulating. But Megumi wasn't about to let himself fall into that trap.
He had his own plans now. He had his own purpose.
And he wasn't going down without a fight.