Shinrabansho: Myriad Souls

Baku drifted unseen along the corridor, his form thinning to translucence as he watched Aoi from the ceiling’s edge.

She stood just outside the classroom door.

Her hand hovered near the frame, her fingers trembling. It wasn’t from fear, but from terrible restraint. Her breathing was steady. Strangely so. The kind of control that came from forcing something down instead of letting it out.

She peeked into the classroom.

Baku frowned, his long trunk curling inward.

Why do you hesitate?

If you wish to live… if you wish to choose… why deny yourself this?

He considered it, just for a moment.

She needed a harder push.

A sharper nudge in the dream’s weave.

Something to force her forward.

He gestured but stopped when footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall.

Riko and Yuna emerged from the direction of the nurse’s office, both slowing when they saw Aoi half-hidden by the doorway, her posture taut.

Riko narrowed her eyes immediately. “Aoi.”

She flicked her eyes to them, but said nothing.

“What are you doing?” Riko asked, frowning. “You’re weirdly tense.”

Yuna’s gaze flicked past Aoi, toward the classroom door. “Is something wrong?”

Aoi still didn’t answer.

Her jaw clenched.

Baku exhaled, letting out a long, weary sound that only he could hear.

“Ah… good,” he murmured. “Mortal intervention.”

He slipped through the wall, drifting into the classroom itself.

Two boys and Sumire were there.

Sumire stood frozen between desks, Pon-chan stood rigid on her shoulder, Iwabe’s hand tightened around her wrist as Koji held his phone aloft, smirking.

Baku’s unease sharpened.

“…Has it become a nightmare?” he whispered. “Or is this merely human cruelty?”

The line blurred.

What can I do?

Should I act?

He withdrew again, hovering in the hall just as—

Riko shoved past Aoi.

Her eyes took in the scene instantly through the door’s window.

She saw the boys, and the latest picture on Koji’s phone.

She took note of Sumire’s having frozen.

Iwabe’s hand tightly held her arm and he was pulling her towards him.

Riko’s face went white-hot with fury.

She rounded on Aoi for half a heartbeat.

“How can you just watch her getting hurt?” she snapped. “You idiot!”

Then she yanked the classroom door fully open.

The moment his fingers tightened around my wrist, my body reacted before my thoughts could catch up. I restrained myself, anger simmering inside me.

I didn’t panic, although it might have looked like that. Nor was I afraid.

Aoi-chan’s voice surfaced in my mind, calm and absolute, as if she were standing right behind me.

Don’t pull straight back. That gives them leverage. Turn into the grip. Find the weak point. Then move.

I exhaled and rotated my wrist inward, rolling my arm toward his thumb while stepping diagonally into his space. The motion was smooth, far too smooth to be instinct alone, muscle memory carved into me through repetition, correction, and a lot of pain. Iwabe’s grip faltered, his fingers slipping as his balance shifted.

“What—”

I didn’t give him time to finish.

My heel came down hard on the top of his foot, exactly where Aoi-chan had taught me to aim. He sucked in a sharp breath, shock cutting through his smugness, and his grip loosened just enough.

I slipped free.

Koji barked out a laugh, sharp and ugly. “What do you think you’re doing? If you keep this up, we’ll spread it.”

“I don’t care,” I said, my voice trembling only at the edges.

My heart was hammering, but my feet were properly planted. That mattered most.

I stepped back and deliberately nudged a desk into the space between us, not out of panic but with strategic intent. Distance and angles mattered. Pon-chan clung to my shoulder, his small body rigid with tension, his claws biting into my uniform as he hissed low in his throat.

Iwabe lunged at me, whatever restraint he’d had evaporated into raw anger.

He telegraphed his next move.

Instead of retreating, I shifted to the side, lowering my center of gravity as he came at me around the desk and sweeping my leg behind his, just as Aoi-chan had drilled into me again and again until my muscles learned the motion even when my mind lagged a little behind.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t elegant.

Only Aoi-chan made violence look that way.

But my movements were controlled.

His balance was lost. He crashed sideways into a chair, the impact rattling the desk beside him and sending a hollow clang through the room.

Koji came at me from the right.

I raised my arms too high, too fast.

Pain flared as his elbow clipped my shoulder with all his strength. I stumbled a single step, air having been knocked from my lungs.

Don’t freeze, Sumire.

That rule burned brighter than the pain.

I pivoted with the momentum instead of fighting it, driving my knee upward in a short, efficient motion. It connected solidly. Koji folded with a strangled curse, staggering backward as the air was torn from his chest.

The classroom door slammed open.

“SUMIRE—!”

Riko’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

I didn’t look, knowing that she couldn’t do anything.

Iwabe charged again, reckless now, his movements clumsy and sloppy. I stepped into his reach instead of away from it, feeling the rush of air as his arm swung past where my head had been a heartbeat earlier.

Too wide. Too slow.

I turned and seized a textbook from the nearest desk and drove it forward, angling my wrist the way Aoi-chan had drilled into me. The corner cracked against the bridge of his nose with a wet, ugly sound.

He howled and staggered back, his hands flying to his face.

I didn’t give him time to recover.

I pivoted low, my weight dropping smoothly, and swept my leg into his knee. I felt the joint give under the strike. Although it hadn’t shattered, it was compromised. He went down hard, his body slamming into the floor with a hollow thud that echoed through the room.

Silence fell on the classroom, thick and sudden, like a breath held too long.

My chest rose and fell rapidly, my lungs burning, but my hands remained steady at my sides. My knuckles ached. One hip stung where I’d clipped a desk’s edge on the way down, but I stayed upright.

Pon-chan stood tall on my shoulder, his fur puffed, his eyes sharp, tracking the room for movement.

No one moved.

Riko stared at me, stunned.

Yuna’s hand was pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide.

And Aoi-chan was there too.

She was frozen in the doorway.

I didn’t feel especially powerful. At least my thoughts were clear.

All the noise inside me, the panic, the second-guessing, the waiting for someone else to step in to save me… that all fell away all at once. My body had moved before fear could get in the way. 

Position, timing, follow-through.

It had all just happened quickly and too smoothly.

Only after it was over did the strain catch up with me. My legs finally weakened, and I dropped to my knees, my hands braced on my thighs, my breathing hard and uneven, but my posture stayed upright.

I hadn’t completely collapsed.

And only then did it fully register what hadn’t happened.

I unsteadily rose, snatching Koji’s phone on the way up from the floor, my fingers stiff as I stared at the screen.

The image made my stomach drop.

It was that doctored photo, crude in intent, too deliberate in execution. The karaoke room I’d shared with Aoi-chan was unmistakable, and so was me. That part was untouched. They didn’t have to change anything. My body, my face… I was in the same position beneath ‘him’.

But Aoi-chan was gone.

In her place was that bloated, middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit, his arm slung around me like I belonged to him. The edit was seamless, convincing enough to make my stomach turn.

My gaze lifted on instinct.

I saw her standing in the doorway.

Aoi.

I crossed the room in quick strides and angrily shoved the phone against her chest, the motion sharp, almost violent.

I slowed only long enough to lift Pon-chan carefully from my shoulder, my hands gentler than I felt, and placed him into Yuna’s hands. I didn’t trust myself to say much, so I kept it direct and simple, “How long were you standing there, watching, Aoi?” I demanded, my voice breaking despite my effort to hold it steady. “If you really hate me that much, you could’ve just made the picture yourself.”

After shoving Koji’s phone at her, saying all that needed to be, I turned and ran down the hallway.

I couldn’t stop myself from looking back once.

Tears spilled despite me blinking hard against them, burning and deeply humiliating as they streaked down my face. I swallowed and ran faster, stumbling downstairs.

She really would have let me suffer.

…If I hadn’t been strong enough this time…

She would have watched them do whatever they wanted to me.

Baku hovered near the ceiling beam, his form thin as smoke, the taste of the moment bitter even to him.

This was the hinge. He recognized it the way one sensed a pressure change before a storm broke. Sumire’s love, once soft and luminous, now ground against something sharp enough to scar. It wasn’t hatred… not yet. Her resentment was quieter than that. It did not burn… but it eroded.

It told you that the person you trusted had chosen to remain motionless when the right thing to do was to move.

She ran.

Her footsteps vanished down the staircase, frantic and uneven, carrying her fragile love. He wondered whether it had yet shattered. Baku drifted after her for half a breath, then stopped. His place was not with the fleeing girl as much as his heart went out to her. His place was with what remained.

She is my chief concern for the moment… the aberration. I wonder how she will choose to live after this.

Aoi stood frozen in the doorway.

Her face had gone bloodless, her eyes fixed on the space Sumire had occupied seconds before, as if the air itself had struck her. Baku had seen that expression before, on those who realized too late that restraint could wound as deeply as action. She had not chased after Sumire. She had not spoken for her. She had only watched, even though her instincts had led her here.

Riko moved first. She always seemed to. Her voice cut cleanly through the room, sharp with disbelief.

“Aren’t you her protector?”

Yuna did not raise her voice. She did not need to. She stepped closer to Aoi, her posture straight, her eyes steady, holding the silence like a blade laid flat against Aoi’s throat.

“You saw her,” Yuna said. “You knew what they were trying to do to her.”

Aoi flinched, the smallest recoiling, and finally looked down.

Koji’s phone was still in her hand.

Her thumb moved without conscious thought, swiping the screen awake. The first image struck her like a physical blow. Baku watched it ripple through her body, her shoulders tightening, her breath locking in her chest.

Sumire.

It was the karaoke room they had shared. The angle was unmistakable.

And on top of her…

It wasn’t Aoi.

A bloated, middle-aged man, his arm draped around Sumire, holding her with obscene intentions, his face smug in the way only someone who believed he owned what he touched could manage. The edit was cruel in its competence. There was nothing sloppy about the work, nothing exaggerated. The picture seemed real enough to make the lie a dire threat.

Aoi’s fingers trembled. Her jaw tightened until it looked as though her teeth might crack.

She swiped again.

The unedited photo appeared. Herself this time, her body where it should be, her arm around Sumire, their intimate moment unaltered.

Yuna and Riko leaned in and flushed, staring.

Riko’s glare snapped back to Aoi as she grabbed the front of her uniform, her knuckles white. Yuna shook her head, her lips tightening, her cheeks pink.

She swiped again, ignoring Riko. A picture of them kissing in the ramen shop. They were close. There was no ambiguity about what was going on.

This was clear evidence of their stalking.

The realization landed fully now. Baku watched it spread behind Aoi’s eyes, cold and absolute. This was not teasing, nor stupidity. This was practically murder premeditation.

From behind a desk inside the classroom came a gurgling, pained groan.

Iwabe pushed himself upright first. Blood streamed freely from his nose now, splattering onto his uniform as he wiped at it clumsily. His lip was split, one eye already swelling shut. Koji followed more slowly, coughing as he clutched his ribs.

“Where did that bitch go?” Iwabe spat, blood flecking the floor. “That freak—”

They noticed the doorway then.

And who stood framed within it.

Silence fell. No one looked afraid… except them.

Aoi turned.

The phone shattered in her hand.

She didn’t throw it on the floor. Nor did she drop it. She pulverized it barehanded. Plastic and glass screamed briefly before collapsing, fragments raining to the floor and smoke rose from the wreckage. She did not look at it as it happened. Her eyes were already on the boys.

Baku felt it then… her restraint snapping. What she had been using to hold back did not merely relax.

It evaporated entirely.

Iwabe scrambled, smearing blood across the desk as he tried to wedge it between himself and her. Koji followed, tripping over a chair, panic stripping him of all coordination.

They were too slow.

They always were.

Aoi threw off Riko’s grip with contemptuous ease and crossed the distance between her and them without haste. There was no wasted motion, no hesitation. Her first strike drove Iwabe back into the desk hard enough to splinter wood. Blood sprayed anew as his face rebounded off the edge. She did not pause to see if he stayed upright.

A kick followed. precise and merciless, folding him to the floor with the sound of his breath being torn from his body.

Koji screamed.

She silenced him with her elbow.

No one looked away. Riko and Yuna stared in shock as Aoi snapped completely, unleashing violence that was neither frantic nor wild.

This was not a loss of control.

This was a moment of total clarity.

She made sure they remained conscious, which was important. Each blow was measured, not to kill, but to imprint. Inflicting pain as a form of language, fear used as letters. She wanted them to remember every second of this for the rest of their lives.

When she finally hauled them up by their collars, her face was calm in the way only an apex predator could be.

“If you have copies of those pictures on a computer at home,” she said evenly, “you had best delete them immediately. And if you distribute them anywhere—”

Her grip tightened. Bones protested.

“I will hunt you down. And I will kill you. I am not joking.”

The words were not shouted. They did not need to be.

Baku felt a chill.

Aoi was completely sincere. There was not even a hint of bluffing.

This was her choice.

“Don’t ever go near Sumire again,” she continued. “Don’t let me ever see you again. Or something unfortunate will happen.”

She let them fall.

They nodded frantically, gasping, clutching at themselves as if their bodies might fall apart without permission. When they fled, it was crawling, undignified and desperate.

Only then did Aoi’s shoulders sag.

Only then did the weight of what she had not done, what she had allowed to happen by standing still, sink in. Tears rose in her eyes despite her willpower, spilling down her cheeks as she stood trembling, her fists clenched white at her sides.

Baku drifted lower, worry coiling tightly within him, enough to unsettle even one as old as he was.

This was the price of hesitation.

This was the moment love began to bruise.

And somewhere down the hall, Sumire was alone with the thought that the person meant to protect and love her had watched her break…

…and done nothing at all.