------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author Note:
' ' = Thoughts
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another month passed.
For the last month, everything had continued almost too normally. Kaelthorn went to Yomiyama North Middle School during the day and remained inside the room assigned to him, leaving only during lunch break to walk outside for a short while and observe the school from a distance. After school ended, he returned directly to the clinic, opened it until late at night, waited without expectation, and then closed the shutter when the town finally sank into silence.
The cycle repeated every day.
School. Clinic. Night. Silence.
Nothing changed.
At school, a few teachers had visited his room for minor checkups, mostly out of curiosity or politeness rather than genuine need, but not a single student came to see him. The clinic was the same. The sign remained outside, the rooms remained clean, the equipment remained ready, and yet, as usual, not one patient entered.
There was only one visible difference in the school.
One teacher had stopped coming entirely.
The assistant homeroom teacher of 9th grade Class 3.
Ms. Mikami.
Or more accurately—
this year's Extra, Reiko Mikami.
After her confrontation with Kaelthorn, she had not returned to school even once. At first, the staff did not think much of it. She had left that day saying she was not feeling well, so everyone assumed she needed rest. Illness was common enough, and in a school like Yomiyama North, where everyone had learned to avoid speaking too directly about unpleasant possibilities, pretending not to worry was almost second nature.
But a month had passed.
Now the concern had spread beyond the teachers. Students had begun asking about her as well, not only those from 9th grade Class 3, but also students from other classes who belonged to the art club. Reiko Mikami was not only an assistant homeroom teacher. She was also the art teacher and the advisor of the art club, so her continued absence had become difficult to ignore.
The teachers had tried contacting her many times.
She always answered with the same kind of explanation.
She needed more time to recover.
Some teachers suggested visiting her. Some students quietly asked whether they could send something. But that proved useless, because the address written in the school records was her old one, and Reiko did not tell anyone where she was currently staying.
There were only two people who knew her true address.
The first was Kōichi Sakakibara, her nephew, because they lived under the same roof.
The second was Kaelthorn.
He knew because he had never stopped watching her.
Even though Reiko had not returned to school, she had not escaped his attention. After reaching home that day, she had locked herself inside her room and isolated herself from everyone. No matter how many times Kōichi knocked, called, or pleaded, she refused to open the door. If not for the food placed outside her room disappearing every time, he might have believed something had already happened to her.
Kaelthorn knew better.
She was alive.
Or at least, she continued to function in the manner this world called alive.
For now, that was enough.
.
.
.
FLIP.
The sound of a page turning echoed softly through the empty library.
Kaelthorn sat alone at one of the tables, reading through the school records from previous years. Several bound reports lay open in front of him, their pages filled with class lists, attendance records, graduation photographs, and official documents that had been preserved with the dry patience of administration.
To an ordinary person, nothing would have appeared wrong.
The names were written clearly. The photographs were visible. The reports seemed complete.
But Kaelthorn could see the distortion.
In certain years, there was an extra name.
A name that should not have existed.
It had not been erased. That was the cruel part. It was present on the page, written in the same ink as the others, placed among the same records, and yet the bizarre power surrounding the calamity prevented people from truly noticing it. Their eyes would pass over it. Their minds would fail to hold it. Even if they counted the names, their thoughts would somehow return to the belief that the number was correct.
The curse did not hide evidence by removing it.
It hid evidence by making people unable to care that it was there.
Kaelthorn turned another page and examined the graduation photographs. In each year where the calamity had manifested, he could see the Extra clearly. A student standing among the living. A face that should not have been included. A dead person folded back into the class through memory, records, and acceptance.
Before coming to the school, Kaelthorn had already obtained much of this information. He had seen the names, the photographs, and the old records through his own investigation before ever setting foot inside Yomiyama North.
But here, inside the school, the effect was stronger.
This was the center of the wound.
As he continued reading, the same force that had tried to cloud his mind before moved against him again. This time, it came more fiercely. The power pushed against his thoughts, trying to make the reports look ordinary, trying to make the extra names feel unimportant, trying to make his reason for searching seem vague and unnecessary.
In this place, surrounded by the source of the calamity, the influence was sharper than before.
Unfortunately for it, the result did not change.
Kaelthorn dismissed it without effort.
The pressure vanished from his mind like mist striking a blade.
DING!
The school bell rang.
Lunch break was over.
From outside the library, the sound of students hurrying back to their classrooms filled the hallway. Shoes struck the floor in uneven rhythms, voices rose in brief laughter or complaint, and doors opened and closed as the school returned to its routine.
Kaelthorn remained seated until the noise faded.
Only after the corridor had settled did he rise from the chair. He gathered the reports, walked to the librarian's desk, and placed them back exactly where they belonged.
The librarian was absent at the moment, likely having stepped out during lunch break and not yet returned. His name was Tatsuji Chibiki. Twenty-six years ago, he had been the homeroom teacher of 9th grade, Class 3—the same year the calamity first manifested. He had witnessed the beginning of everything.
Under normal circumstances, such a man would have been valuable.
But not to Kaelthorn.
Chibiki might know stories, memories, and fragments of what happened in the past, but Kaelthorn already possessed more information than anyone in the school. He had no need to question a witness who could only explain events from a limited human perspective.
So he left before the librarian returned.
DRR.
The library door closed behind him.
Kaelthorn began walking back toward his assigned room on the next floor.
PITTER.
PATTER.
Rain had begun falling outside.
He glanced through the windows lining the hallway and saw the first thin streaks running down the glass. The sky had darkened while he was inside the library, and with each passing second, the rain grew heavier. What began as a light shower quickly thickened into a steady downpour, blurring the school grounds beyond the windows.
Kaelthorn looked forward again and continued walking.
As he reached the stairs and began ascending, he heard a voice from above.
A girl's startled cry.
Then a scream.
Then the sound of someone falling.
There was another sound mixed with it as well—something lighter, sharper, and metallic, striking the stairs as it came loose. Kaelthorn did not need even a second to understand that something had gone wrong.
He was only two steps away from the landing between the first and second floors when the source of that sound appeared before him.
A white umbrella struck the landing.
The impact forced it open.
The metal spike at its tip pointed upward at a terrible angle, facing the direction of the second floor.
Then the girl who had lost her balance on the stairs came tumbling down.
For a brief moment, her body seemed almost suspended in the air, helplessly carried by momentum. She could not twist away. She could not raise her hands in time. She could not even turn her head enough to understand where she was falling.
Then she landed.
SQUELCH!!
The metal tip of the umbrella pierced her throat.
It drove in deep, crushing through flesh and sinking all the way to the base. Blood burst from the wound in a violent rush, spilling over the white umbrella and turning it red within seconds. The landing beneath her began to stain as well, the fresh blood spreading across the floor in thick, horrifying streams.
The sight was nauseating.
A moment ago, it had been an ordinary school staircase on a rainy afternoon.
Now it had become the first proof that the calamity had fully begun.
The girl's body twitched weakly.
Her fingers moved once against the floor.
Then again.
The sound of rain continued against the windows.
Kaelthorn stood there, watching the scene unfold directly in front of him, without even the slightest ripple passing through his heart. His posture did not change. His breathing remained calm. Behind the visor, his expression stayed cold and unreadable.
After a few seconds, he spoke quietly.
Kaelthorn: So, it has begun.
.
.
.
The clinic was no longer empty.
For the first time since Kaelthorn had purchased it, people had entered not out of curiosity, business, or formal obligation, but because a life had been brought here after standing at the edge of death.
Principal: Thank you… Thank you, Doctor. Truly, thank you.
The principal of Yomiyama North Middle School bowed again and again, his voice trembling with relief and disbelief. Several teachers stood behind him, and they too lowered their heads toward Kaelthorn with deep gratitude in their eyes. Some still looked pale from what they had seen at the staircase. Others were shaken by the fact that the girl lying behind the curtain was still breathing at all.
Kaelthorn did not turn to face them.
His back remained toward the group as he checked the condition of the girl on the bed. She was the same student whose throat had been pierced by the umbrella. Now she lay on the soft medical bed with bandages wrapped around her neck and a tube inserted to maintain her breathing. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady motions, each breath carefully supported by the treatment Kaelthorn had given her.
She was alive.
That alone was impossible.
When the umbrella pierced her throat, her life had been fading with terrifying speed. The wound, the blood loss, the damage to her airway—any ordinary doctor would have considered her beyond saving before proper help could even arrive. Yet Kaelthorn had witnessed the incident directly, moved before death could fully claim her, delayed the collapse of her body, called the ambulance, and then had her brought to his clinic for proper treatment.
The ambulance staff had been stunned.
The teachers had been stunned.
Even those who tried to remain calm could not hide the disbelief in their faces when they realized the girl had not died. They had seen the amount of blood on the stairs. They had seen the umbrella driven through her throat. They had seen her body twitching on the landing like something already leaving the world behind.
And yet, Kaelthorn had saved her.
Because of that, no one in the school could question his skill anymore.
Whatever suspicions his appearance created, whatever doubts they had about his name, his records, or his reason for coming to Yomiyama, all of them had been crushed by one undeniable fact.
He had performed a miracle in front of them.
After confirming that her condition was fully stable, Kaelthorn pulled the curtain partway around the bed and walked to his desk. He sat down, took the report sheet, and began writing her condition in precise detail.
Then his hand paused.
Kaelthorn: Her mother died?
The principal wiped the cold sweat from his forehead before answering.
Principal: Yes… Yukari's mother and her aunt died today in a car accident.
Kaelthorn: …I see.
His visor tilted slightly toward the bed.
The curtain had not been closed completely, so the girl's face could still be seen from where he sat. She was light-skinned, slightly plump, and somewhat short in stature. Her short, curly brown hair was tied in a half-up, half-down style with a small bun at the back. Her brown eyes were closed behind circular lenses with light green frames, making her sleeping face look strangely peaceful despite the bandages and tube at her throat.
Her name was Yukari Sakuragi.
A student of ninth grade, Class 3.
Which meant she was not merely injured.
She was part of the calamity.
Kaelthorn lowered his gaze back to the report and continued writing.
Kaelthorn: What about her father?
At that question, the room fell silent.
The principal lowered his head. The teachers behind him did the same. No one answered immediately. Their gratitude from moments earlier was replaced by guilt so heavy that even the air seemed to sink beneath it. The principal looked as though he had aged several years in a single afternoon.
Kaelthorn raised his head and looked at them.
Still, no one spoke.
After several long seconds, one person finally stepped forward.
It was the librarian.
Tatsuji Chibiki.
Tatsuji Chibiki: We apologize, Doctor. It is just that, after seeing Yukari's condition and not knowing the full extent of your ability, we all assumed she would not survive. Because of that, her father was informed that she had most likely passed away. But…
His voice weakened.
A tired, guilty expression appeared on his face, and he was not alone. Every teacher carried the same look. They had not intended harm, but intention did not undo consequences.
The principal eventually gathered himself enough to continue.
Principal: After learning that both his wife and daughter had died tragically, he could not bear it. So… he took poison and ended his life.
The clinic became quiet.
Only the soft rhythm of Yukari's supported breathing remained.
Kaelthorn was silent for a moment.
Then he continued writing.
Kaelthorn: I see. Does she have any other relatives?
Principal: Only one… her aunt. But she also…
The principal could not finish the sentence.
He did not need to.
Yukari Sakuragi was alone now.
Her mother was dead. Her aunt was dead. Her father had followed them into death before learning that his daughter had survived. When Yukari woke, she would open her eyes into a world where everyone closest to her was gone.
And no one in the room knew what she would do after learning that.
That was another reason the teachers looked so frightened.
Saving her body did not guarantee that her life would continue.
Principal: Doctor, we will make sure you do not suffer any financial loss. The school will cover her medical treatment. Please, do whatever is necessary.
Kaelthorn lowered his head and wrote a few more lines before passing the report to the principal.
Kaelthorn: She will not wake for a day or two. Until then, I will not come to school. I will remain here and monitor her condition.
Principal: That is completely fine, Doctor. As long as she can wake safely, please take however long you need.
The principal bowed again, followed by the teachers. Their gratitude had become deeper now, mixed with guilt, fear, and hope. After offering their final thanks, they slowly left the clinic one by one, their footsteps heavy against the floor.
Kaelthorn watched them depart without speaking.
When the door finally closed and the clinic grew quiet again, he turned his head toward Yukari Sakuragi. She lay motionless on the bed, breathing steadily through the tube, unaware of the deaths surrounding her and the role her survival had just played.
Kaelthorn's hidden gaze remained on her.
'Kaelthorn: If only you knew that by saving this girl, I have brought doom not only to your school, but to this entire city.'
.
.
.
Time passed.
Before long, it was almost midnight, far beyond the proper closing time of the clinic. The rooms were quiet, the lights were low, and the street outside had already emptied into the kind of silence that belonged only to small towns after dark. Kaelthorn rose from his chair and walked toward the entrance, intending to close everything for the night.
Before he could reach the door, it opened.
Someone entered.
The person wore jeans and a blue hoodie, the hood pulled low enough to hide most of the face. Their head remained lowered as they stepped inside, and their posture looked fragile, almost hesitant, like someone who had come seeking help but lacked the strength to ask for it properly.
Kaelthorn stopped with both hands still in the pockets of his coat and looked at the person calmly.
???: D-Doctor… please help me.
The voice was light.
Weak.
The figure stepped forward.
One step.
Then another.
When only a small distance remained between them, the hesitation vanished.
The figure lunged.
???: Please die.
A sharp glint flashed beneath the clinic lights as a knife was pulled from the hoodie pocket. The distance was too close, and Kaelthorn's current body was still only at an ordinary human level. He did not have the time to move away completely. The attacker slammed into him, forcing him back until his body struck the desk behind him.
For one brief moment, the attacker seemed to believe the strike had succeeded.
Then they looked down.
Before the knife could enter Kaelthorn's body, his left hand had already come out of his coat pocket and closed around their wrist. The blade had stopped less than a centimeter from touching him, frozen in place by a grip that looked almost casual.
Kaelthorn: With behavior that suspicious, even an ordinary person would be wary. Let alone someone like me, who knows you better than you know yourself… Reiko Mikami.
The attacker shivered.
Slowly, she raised her head.
The hood shifted back enough for Kaelthorn to see her face clearly. Long, straight brown hair was tied into a ponytail, held with a pink clip. Square spectacles sat in front of dull brown eyes, and her face, though familiar, no longer carried the composed mask of the assistant teacher known as Ms. Mikami.
This was her original appearance.
Reiko Mikami.
The Extra who had spent the last month hiding from the school, hiding from the students, hiding from the teachers, and most of all, hiding from the truth Kaelthorn had forced into her mind.
Yet she looked far worse than before. Her eyes were empty and exhausted, with dark circles beneath them. Her face had grown thinner, and even beneath her clothes, Kaelthorn could tell her body had weakened from poor rest, irregular eating, and prolonged mental strain. She had deteriorated so much that he did not even bother using telekinesis to stop her.
His current body was enough.
Reiko gritted her teeth and suddenly tried to kick him between the legs.
Kaelthorn moved first.
His right hand left his coat pocket and clamped around her neck. At the same time, he placed his right leg behind her left leg and pushed her backward with precise, minimal force. Her balance collapsed immediately. Before she could recover, Kaelthorn increased the pressure of his grip and drove her down hard against the floor.
THUD!
A painful cry tore from her throat as her back and head struck the ground. The impact sent pain through her body, and her fingers loosened around the knife.
CLING!!
The blade slipped from her hand and struck the floor.
Kaelthorn released her and stood upright. He did not pick up the knife. He did not kick it away. He did not even look at it as a possible threat. His hidden gaze remained lowered toward Reiko, who lay on the floor, gritting her teeth and trying to breathe through the pain.
After a few seconds, he simply stepped over her and walked toward the clinic door.
That indifference cut deeper than fear.
To Reiko, it was not just that he had defeated her. It was that he had treated her attempt to kill him as something barely worth acknowledging. She had come here carrying the hatred of a month's worth of nightmares, isolation, terror, and denial, yet to him, she was still nothing more than an inconvenience on the floor.
Her face twisted with rage.
Forcing her trembling body to move, she reached for the knife, grabbed it again, and pushed herself to her feet. Pain shot through her back, but hatred carried her forward. She ran toward him from behind, unsteady but desperate, raising the knife toward his back.
Kaelthorn's back remained turned.
He opened the clinic door slowly.
By the time Reiko reached him and thrust the knife forward, Kaelthorn turned.
His hand moved with calm precision.
He caught her wrist again, this time applying more force. Her bones strained beneath his grip as he twisted her arm and redirected her momentum. Before she could even understand what had happened, her body lifted off the ground and flipped over him.
For a moment, she saw his back upside down.
Then she was thrown out of the clinic.
THUD!
She landed hard on the concrete road outside, the impact far worse than before. Pain spread through her limbs and back, and for several seconds she could barely move. The knife skidded away across the ground, useless once more.
Even from the ground, she glared at him.
Her eyes were full of hatred.
Reiko Mikami: You… destroyed my life. I won't stop… until I kill you with my own hands.
She was not entirely wrong.
Kaelthorn had destroyed her life.
Not by inventing a lie, not by framing her, not by cursing her himself, but by revealing the truth she had been protected from. Before him, Reiko Mikami had been able to live as though she were ordinary. She had gone to school, taught classes, advised the art club, lived with her nephew, and moved through Yomiyama without knowing that her own existence had become the center of the calamity.
But now she knew.
Or worse, she almost knew.
She still tried to deny it. She still clung to the thought that Kaelthorn had lied, that the records were wrong, that she could not possibly be the Extra. Yet the clues he had given her had taken root. A part of her had already begun to believe him, and that part terrified her more than death.
Because if she was the Extra, then she was alone.
Everyone in ninth grade, Class 3, feared the Extra. The students, the teachers, and even those who only knew fragments of the old stories hated that existence from the depths of their bones. If they learned the truth, Reiko could already imagine their faces changing. The students she had once taught would stop seeing her as a teacher. They would see her as the thing responsible for their deaths. The thing that needed to be removed.
Even Kōichi Sakakibara, her own nephew, might not hesitate.
That thought had haunted her for an entire month.
Every day inside her locked room had become a form of torture. Every time someone placed food outside the door, she imagined them waiting with knives. Every time she slept, she dreamed of being killed in different ways by the very people who once trusted her. Bit by bit, the world had shrunk around her until only one conclusion remained.
The Doctor had to die.
He was the one who had revealed the truth.
He was the one who had turned her own existence into a prison.
As long as he lived, the truth lived with him.
So she had convinced herself that killing him would solve everything. She did not think about the calamity continuing. She did not think about the students dying. She did not think about what her survival meant for Class 3. For now, all that mattered was escaping the hell he had opened beneath her feet.
Kaelthorn looked directly into her hatred-filled eyes and remained unmoved.
Kaelthorn: You really are pathetic, Extra.
Reiko Mikami: DON'T CALL ME THAT!
Her scream split the night, but Kaelthorn had already turned his attention elsewhere.
He looked back inside the clinic, toward the clock on the wall.
Midnight.
Kaelthorn pulled his phone from his coat pocket and typed something. A moment later, the same black screen with a single text box and send button appeared. He entered the phrase without hesitation.
"The oldest keeper eventually forgets to ask who built the door."
Then he pressed send and closed the phone.
Reiko, still struggling to stand properly, watched him with shaking breath and burning eyes. She seemed ready to charge again, but before she could take another step, Kaelthorn turned his head toward the side and looked into the distance.
His attention had shifted.
Reiko noticed it.
Even when she managed to get back on her feet and staggered closer, even when only a step and a half remained between them, Kaelthorn continued looking sideways instead of at her. The complete disregard made her anger sharpen again.
She followed his gaze.
At first, she saw nothing unusual.
Only the quiet town street, the sleeping buildings, and the heavy darkness of midnight.
Then an intense orange light bloomed in the distance.
A heartbeat later, the sound arrived.
BOOM!!!!
The explosion tore through the night.
Reiko flinched violently and turned toward it, her eyes widening as fire rose somewhere far away. A burning glow spread across the distant buildings, and dark smoke began climbing into the sky.
Kaelthorn's gaze moved away from the explosion.
He looked upward.
What he saw was not something mortal eyes could perceive. Around Yomiyama City, the invisible laws that held the place together had begun to twist. Not break. Not yet. But bend, slightly and unmistakably, as though the city itself had felt the first movement of something far larger than a single curse.
Only then did Kaelthorn look back at Reiko Mikami.
She was staring at the smoke in shock, her mouth slightly open, her hatred temporarily buried beneath confusion and fear. She did not notice that Kaelthorn was watching her.
Behind the visor, his expression remained unreadable.
'Kaelthorn: This time, it has truly begun. Not the way the curse intended… but the way I wanted.'
The distant fire continued to burn.
'Kaelthorn: The countdown of Yomiyama City has started.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*To be continued…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------