"Magic?"
"What kind of sick joke is this?"
In a brightly lit high-rise building, the idea of seeing a ghost in broad daylight—or under blazing office lights—was beyond absurd. The two underlings, the executive, and even the boss himself, Sugaya Inoue, were all frozen with disbelief.
The scene before them was too bizarre. Raised in a world governed by science, none of them truly believed in ghosts or gods. The overhead lights bathed everything in harsh white, and with four of them present, panic hadn't fully taken hold—yet.
As for the young man who had been beaten senseless—Watari Tanimura—he had already been dragged out and dumped at the doorway by the two lackeys.
The women who emerged from the boss's office door ignored the crawling, bloodied Tanimura completely. They drifted forward, straight toward the remaining men.
Their long, tangled hair hung like seaweed, their tattered clothes reeked of decay, and their eerie gliding movement...
They looked exactly like the ghost from The Ring. There were already five installments of that movie—how could anyone in Japan not recognize the look?
"Boss! The ground—look!"
One of the underlings from the Zansha Syndicate stumbled backward, his voice trembling.
"They... they don't have shadows!"
What?!
Sugaya Inoue, rising to his feet behind the desk, looked down. Sure enough—no shadows beneath these apparitions.
Impossible!
Judging by everyone else's reactions, this wasn't a hallucination. Which meant... no matter what trick or tech this was—how could it explain the missing shadows?
Rather than believing in some high-tech holographic projection mysteriously appearing in his office, Sugaya found himself more willing to accept a terrifying alternative:
These really were vengeful spirits.
"Stop."
"Don't panic."
The familiar bark of command snapped the three backing yakuza to a halt. Sugaya Inoue adjusted his golden-rimmed glasses calmly.
"Do you think you're holding sticks in your jackets?"
Right!—
Shaken out of their stupor, the two underlings reached inside their coats.
Shing.
Each drew a firearm from its holster.
"Shoot them."
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Who cared if they were ghosts? Let them try a taste of American justice.
The gunfire roared, deafening in the office. Metal slugs screamed through the air—enough to shred flesh, down tigers, and make lions kneel.
But—
"It's not working?!"
The bullets passed clean through the spirits, leaving only shimmering ripples where they struck. Not even a step was slowed.
Click-click-click.
The guns were empty.
The two underlings turned pale as chalk.
Their courage—born from the weapons in their hands—vanished the moment they realized those weapons were useless.
WHAM! WHAM!
Before they could retreat again, a powerful force shoved them from behind. They stumbled forward, crashing toward the ghosts.
!?
The one who pushed them—
Was their "big brother," the executive in charge of leading them.
"Ah—!"
"Boss, you—!"
They looked back in disbelief and rage, but before they could say more, the phantoms reached for them instinctively.
Thud. Thud.
The ghostly limbs wrapped around them, dragging them down. The two yakuza collapsed stiffly to the floor.
They wanted to rise, to fight off the monsters—
But couldn't move a single muscle. It was like their bodies no longer belonged to them. They could only watch, wide-eyed, as the spirits crawled over them—those twisted limbs creeping over their faces, ears, eyes—
They couldn't even scream. Their throats refused to produce sound.
A waking nightmare.
Their pants darkened. A vile stench filled the air.
"Honjou!"
Sugaya Inoue shouted as the last remaining executive drew a short blade from his belt and charged into the spectral swarm.
There was no other exit from the office.
If he wanted to survive, he had to fight.
These ghosts were terrifying, yes—but not particularly fast. And when the bullets passed through them, he'd seen it—brief distortions, holes in their forms.
So if he could just avoid being touched...
Shing.
He darted between two spirits, raised his short blade, and struck down at the ghost blocking the door.
Hachiman, Buddha, God, Allah—please let this work!
RIP!
Whether it was divine intervention, pure adrenaline, or the quirks of the phantoms themselves, the blade cleaved the ghost clean in two!
It worked!
Joy surged through him. The exit was in reach! He pushed off with a mighty leap—
!?
In the next instant, his body seized up mid-sprint.
He stumbled and crashed into the wall beside the door with a sickening thud, blood gushing from his skull.
Only his eyes could still move. He looked back—
The two halves of the ghost he'd split were writhing, rejoining, sprouting new limbs. Where there had been one ghost—now there were two.
Ah... of course.
That's how a real ghost would behave.
It's over.
"You—stay back!"
"I'll give you money. No—offerings! You want offerings, right? I'll give you anything—!"
His voice caught in his throat.
The sleek, luxurious office was silent now, save for Sugaya's desperate pleas.
The phantoms surrounded him.
In a moment, his body was no longer his.
A chilling silence fell.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
On the floor, the three defeated yakuza and their frozen boss turned their eyes to the doorway.
Someone stepped in.
Clad in flowing traditional robes with wide sleeves, wearing a tall black court hat and wooden geta sandals. Around their waist hung a string of jade charms.
A white cloth veil draped down from the hat, obscuring the face—except for the bold black character "Three" painted on the front.
The figure tilted their head slightly, as if surveying the room.
They raised their right hand—holding a smooth, stone talisman.
!!
Without a sound, the first two fallen yakuza began to spasm.
Their faces twisted in agony, mouths gaping as if to swallow a fist, eyes wide and bloodshot.
Then—
Two ghostly silhouettes burst from their bodies.
Nothing in modern art could capture this: the semi-transparent shadows, twisted into grotesque versions of themselves, were drawn—screaming—into the stone talisman.
???
Sweat, tears, mucus, urine, and worse spilled from every orifice.
If it would save him, Sugaya Inoue would give up everything. Hell, he'd bark like a dog or eat filth if it spared his life—if only his soul wouldn't be ripped away!
But it was already too late.
The figure turned slightly. The "Three" symbol seemed to fill his vision, as if swallowing him whole.
From the darkness behind it, countless shadowy figures surged toward him.
He knew them all.
The people he had killed after becoming the Zansha Syndicate boss.
Even... Akemi.
"Spare—"
Thud.
He collapsed into filth. The light faded from his pupils.
Done.
The figure was, of course, Souta Kiryuu.
Ninjutsu—even low-level D-rank illusions—was enough to wipe out the yakuza.
D-Rank Genjutsu: Mist Phantom Clone Technique.
It created illusory copies. They couldn't deal damage—but when struck, they'd multiply.
Yes, it was the same jutsu used by the ninja Oboro during the Chūnin Exams to harass Team 7.
Though harmless, even experienced genin had trouble with the overwhelming illusions. How could ordinary humans hope to resist?
Paired with Genjutsu: Binding of Gold, it made for a convincing haunted possession scene.
And to finish them—
Genjutsu: Vision of the Abyss.
Normally, this couldn't kill. But that only applied to the spiritually aware who could disrupt illusions.
For normal people, facing their worst fear over and over—death by sheer terror wasn't far-fetched.
The Zansha Syndicate's destruction—and the emergence of a "supernatural" figure—was enough to keep Tokyo police busy for a while.
Once they caught up?
Souta would be happy to give them something else to deal with.
Hmm?
"Master..."
Watari Tanimura, bloodied but still alive from the earlier beating, prostrated himself.
"I-is that... are you collecting souls?"
"I know many wicked men! I can lead you to them!"
Even ants cling to life. So do men.
Had his sister Akemi not been deceived, Tanimura would still be in college. He had nearly set this place ablaze seeking revenge. Now that vengeance had been fulfilled, he didn't want to die.
"You'll guide me?"
The hoarse, mocking voice came from behind the white veil.
"I don't need a guide."
Tanimura's heart sank.
But then—the figure stopped in front of him.
"However... your soul is unfit to nourish my master's revival."
"So... raise your head."
The figure extended their hand, holding a small stone—barely the size of a fingernail.
?
The moment Tanimura lifted his head, the stone was slammed onto his forehead.
"AAAHHHHHHH!!!"
It sank deep into his flesh. Unbearable pain exploded in his mind.
He writhed and screamed, rolling on the ground—then stood up, howling to the sky.
"AWOOOO!"
?
"What... is this?"
He looked at his now fur-covered arms, the crescent claws at the tips of his fingers.
"You now carry demon power."
The voice of the 140 cm figure rasped:
"Go, hunt the souls of the wicked for my master. Remember—consume one sinner's soul per day, or—"
"The Killing Stone will take your soul instead."