Namin Kyotosawa had stopped looking people in the eye months ago.
He figured it made things easier. When they stared, when they whispered, when they crossed the street without realizing they'd sped up — it helped not to see their faces. Pretending they didn't exist made the silence feel less like a wall closing in.
But the man in the blindfold wouldn't stop looking at him.
Well, not looking — technically, he couldn't see his eyes — but the way he tilted his head, the lazy half-smile on his lips, it felt like he was reading Namin down to the marrow.
"So, let me guess," Gyuto Satomu said, casually tapping a finger on the railing beside him. "You're hearing her voice again, aren't you?"
Namin said nothing.
The rooftop was quiet except for the humming neon from a flickering sign below. The rest of the city buzzed in the distance, indifferent. They were standing on top of an abandoned dormitory — condemned last year after three students disappeared in one night. Locals said it was cursed.
Gyuto thought it was the perfect place for a heart-to-heart.
Namin just wanted to leave.
But of course, she wouldn't let him.
From the corner of his vision, the shadow twitched. It pulsed, like a living heartbeat in the cracks of the wall behind him. Her voice — soft and sweet like it used to be — whispered directly into his mind.
"Don't trust him."
"He wants to take me away."
"I love you. You promised, remember?"
Namin clenched his jaw.
He hadn't answered that promise in years.
Gyuto stretched his arms over his head like he'd just finished a nap, then crouched on the rooftop edge with a bored sigh.
"You're cursed, obviously. Strong one, too. Cursed spirits that shouldn't exist in this world are sticking to you like mold on bread. It's honestly impressive."
He looked over his shoulder and grinned.
"Problem is, you're attracting weaker spirits like a bonfire attracts moths. And when they get too close—"
He mimed an explosion with his hands.
BOOM. Someone else dies.
That part wasn't a joke.
Namin's fingers twitched.
He remembered the supermarket incident. The way the lights exploded. The screams. The way the clerk's arm had twisted like paper. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. He was just... angry. Afraid.
Claria had lashed out before he could say a word.
He'd woken up in a pool of glass and blood, and she had been singing to him like they were kids again.
"Don't worry," she had said, floating above the broken aisle. "No one will ever hurt you again."
"So here's the deal," Gyuto said, standing now. "You have two choices."
He held up a finger.
"One: the higher-ups classify you as a Special-Grade Threat. You're too unstable, too dangerous. So they either seal you permanently... or kill you outright. Depends on how generous they're feeling that day."
Another finger.
"Two: You come with me. Train at Metro Curse High. Learn to control her — or at least stop killing people by accident."
Namin didn't move.
Then Gyuto shrugged.
"Or three: you try to run, she loses it, and I get to use a bunch of high-level techniques to clean up the mess. Honestly, that one's kind of fun for me. But not for you."
He smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his voice.
"Tick-tock, kid."
A gust of wind blew through the rooftop. Cold. Sharp.
Namin closed his eyes.
He remembered her face. Her real face — not the twisted thing she became when she was angry. He remembered her laugh. Her hand in his. The way she promised to stay with him forever.
He swallowed hard.
"...If I go with you," he asked, voice hoarse, "can I bring her with me?"
Gyuto raised an eyebrow. "You don't really have a choice. She's already inside you. Like gum stuck to the bottom of your soul."
He turned and started walking toward the stairwell door.
"But yeah. We've got room for two."
Claria whispered something again. A sigh. A hum. The shape of her ghost brushing against his spine.
But for the first time in months, Namin didn't feel paralyzed by her.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
And by the time they disappeared down the stairs, the cursed shadow on the rooftop had gone still.