Shiro Sakamaki glanced at the time—it was close to eleven o'clock at night. Most residents were already asleep, and the entire building was cloaked in a deep, uneasy quiet.
The dormitory looked old, its exterior worn and weathered by time. Towering cherry blossom trees stood outside, their thick trunks suggesting decades of silent witness.
Pushing open the rusted iron gate, he followed the directions Chihiro had provided, making his way to the fifth floor. When he reached the assigned room, he found himself momentarily speechless.
The door, though still intact, had long since faded from its original color. Of the four nails holding the door number in place, only one remained, stubbornly clinging on as the others had fallen away. Years of neglect had clearly taken their toll.
Still, these were surface issues. With a bit of repair, it'd be manageable.
What truly gave him pause was the constant seepage of negative energy from behind the door. Cold and malevolent, it leaked through the cracks like smoke, unmistakably cursed. His instincts screamed—this place wasn't just old. It was haunted.
In that moment, he genuinely wanted to call his mother and ask if her so-called best friend had lost her mind. Leaving him stranded at the airport was one thing. But arranging a haunted dorm room? That was another level.
While this level of curse wasn't much of a threat to him, the living conditions were... questionable at best.
Still, it was nearly midnight. It would be smarter to wait out the night and consider moving tomorrow.
He retrieved the key from beneath a flower pot by the door. The lock, stiff from neglect, took several attempts before finally clicking open with a reluctant creak.
As the door swung open, a cold gust hit him—damp, moldy air thick with decay. The temperature dropped sharply, as if he had stepped straight into a meat locker.
Sensing the energy inside, he gauged the strength of the spiritual presence—it was likely between the Paper and Parallel levels.
An ordinary person exposed to this yin energy would've fallen seriously ill. The only reason people still lived in this building was likely because the spirit hadn't yet grown strong enough to leave the room. Most curses were bound to the site of their death unless they reached Merge level or above.
The apartment itself was modest—a typical one-room bachelor unit with a paper sliding door separating the bedroom from the living space. A small bathroom completed the setup. It was sparse and basic, with an ever-present chill seeping from the bathroom door.
He flicked on the lights. A dim, flickering bulb lit the room, revealing layers of dust and cobwebs in every corner. Roaches scattered in panic at the sudden brightness, making Shiro, who had a mild cleanliness obsession, visibly uncomfortable.
He strongly suspected Chihiro hadn't even inspected the place before handing it over to him.
With a sigh, he strode to the window and threw it open. Pinching his fingers into a spellcasting seal, he summoned a miniature whirlwind that swept through the room, collecting dust and insects before flinging them into the trash bins below.
He did the same for the bedroom. Once the debris was cleared, he sat cross-legged on the tatami floor and chanted softly:
"Heaven and earth are natural, the filth is scattered. The cave is mysterious, and the world... shall be cleansed."
As the mantra echoed through the room, the oppressive cold lifted. While the furniture still looked worn, the suffocating presence had vanished.
Satisfied, his gaze shifted to the one remaining unexamined area—the bathroom.
He pushed open the door, expecting filth, only to be met with a surprising sight.
It was immaculate.
From the sink to the toilet, every surface gleamed like new, as though it had never been touched.
At first, he suspected it might be an illusion, but a glance with his spiritual sight confirmed it—this bathroom really was clean.
"A clean-freak Curse, huh? Now that's rare," he muttered.
In his years of training, he'd helped his master exorcise plenty of spirits—most of them lived in filthy, rancid spaces. A ghost like this? It was a first.
Shiro narrowed his eyes and turned to the mirror. "Come out. I know you're there."
The room's lights flickered violently before going out completely with a sharp pop.
Moments later, a wave of intense cold flooded the bathroom. The surface of the mirror rippled like water, and a ghostly figure emerged—a man with pale skin, bulging eyes, and a deep gash around his neck. He wore a wrinkled shirt and held a broken glass stained with blood—the probable cause of death.
The ghost grinned wickedly.
Then—wham—a cold breath brushed against Shiro's neck from behind.
"Bold," Shiro muttered with a smirk. "But foolish."
Without hesitation, he activated a golden spell sigil. A radiant whip of light materialized in his hand, and with a crack, he swung it behind him.
The whip struck true.
The ghost barely had time to react before it was annihilated—dissolving into light before it could even scream.
The lights flickered back on, and silence returned to the room.
Shiro calmly chanted the Pure Heaven and Earth mantra once more, sweeping away the lingering negative energy. The temperature returned to normal.
---
Meanwhile, at a small izakaya in Tokyo, Chihiro—slightly tipsy—was on the phone. Had Shiro been present, he would've recognized the voice on the other end.
It was his mother.
"Rena, are you sure this is okay?" Chihiro asked with a worried frown.
"Relax," Rena replied confidently. "He's my son. I know what he's capable of."
After hanging up, Chihiro still looked unsure. Her anxiety didn't go unnoticed by the woman sitting next to her—Shizuka Hiratsuka.
"Hey, Chihiro. What's up with you tonight? You've been out of it since we got here."
---