The rain had passed.
By noon, Reiko stood beneath a weather-worn arch that read:
Hachinohe Prefectural School for Girls
Est. 1883.
The main building loomed ahead like a stone guardian, its sharp spires slicing the sky, its windows like watching eyes.
It had once been a monastery. Then an orphanage. Now, a school.
But some things… remained the same.
Reiko adjusted her uniform, still stiff from being freshly unpacked, and stepped through the iron gate.
She hadn't said a word to Otaki since the incident in the basement chamber. Her aunt hadn't pushed her. But something unspoken passed between them: Keep the secret. For now.
The hallway buzzed with chatter as students filtered into homeroom. Reiko walked slowly, uncertain, until—
"Whoa! You're new, right?"
A girl stepped into her path, tilting her head.
She had lavender hair, cut in a stylish bob, with curious golden eyes. Her uniform was worn in a casual, rebellious way—tie crooked, sleeves rolled. But there was something friendly in her smile.
"I'm Kino Sagisiwara. You look like you saw a ghost. First day?"
Reiko nodded. "Takahashi Reiko."
"Transfer?"
"Kind of. I moved here with my aunt."
Kino raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess… to that old western-style house near the rice fields?"
Reiko froze. "You know it?"
"Everyone does. That place's cursed history is practically school lore."
Reiko blinked. "Lore?"
Kino smiled. "I'll walk with you. You look like you're drowning in mystery already."
---
The two sat together during lunch, beneath the gingko tree at the edge of the school yard. Wind swept yellow leaves around them.
"Don't mind the creeps," Kino said between bites of her sandwich. "This school's been weird since before my grandfather was born."
Reiko looked at her. "Your grandfather went here?"
"Well, he was the groundskeeper back in the 50s. He used to tell me stories when I was little. Scared the hell out of me."
"Like what?"
Kino leaned in, lowering her voice.
"They say in 1910, a student named Ayame Iwashita disappeared during choir practice. Just… gone. No one ever found her. The only thing left was a cracked mirror and a trail of feathers."
Reiko stiffened.
Kino didn't notice. "And then there was the 'Prayer Hall Murder' in 1955. A teacher was found hanging in the old cathedral building—eyes gouged out. The case was closed as suicide, but the rumors said… something watched him from the walls."
Reiko whispered, "The Eye."
Kino stopped mid-bite. "How'd you know that?"
Reiko looked down. "I… saw something. A mirror. Chains. A symbol—like a crow."
Kino looked pale. "You went down there, didn't you? The sealed wing?"
Reiko didn't answer.
Kino sat back. Her voice was quiet. "My grandfather used to talk about a curse. He said the school was built on top of something older. A shrine, or a prison—he wasn't sure. But he told me there were people—called Vessels—chosen to seal something in the dark. Something that feeds on memory and pain."
Reiko felt her chest tighten. "Did he say what it was?"
Kino nodded slowly.
"He called it the Watcher of the Broken Gate. The Eye That Knows. He said it can only be seen through grief. That once you see it, you're marked."
Reiko's blood ran cold.
She remembered the cracked mirror. The chains. The Eye blinking.
And her mother's face within the glass.
"I think…" Reiko whispered, "I'm already marked."
Kino reached out, placing a hand on hers.
"If that's true… then you're not alone anymore."
---
Later that day, Reiko sat quietly in the library, flipping through an old student registry. She traced her fingers across the faded ink.
And then she found it.
Miyako Sakuma – Class of 1960.
A note scrawled beside her name in red ink: Transferred. Disappeared two months later.
Reiko swallowed.
Behind her, a shadow shifted.
Then a voice.
Faint. Gentle. Like a mother's lullaby warped by time.
"Reiko…"
She turned—but no one was there.
Only a single feather… falling from the ceiling.
---
To Be Continued.