Three days had passed since that night—a night so chilling and tense, when Arya, Dio, Nagini, and Rika faced the tree spirit that took the form of Rika's mother. The figure felt so real, so alive, as if it had truly returned from the past, even though it was nothing but a cunning illusion born from dark roots. For Rika, that encounter was more than just a trial; it was an old wound torn open again. The shadow of her long-gone mother—a victim of the chaos of revolution—had been twisted into the cruelest form of manipulation, something even Arya found hard to imagine she could endure.
Yet, despite the deep tension, lingering fear, and unspoken sorrow the experience left behind, Rika still tried to act like her usual self: cheerful, mischievous, and almost untouched by the trauma. Her playful smile still graced her face, though sometimes a subtle tension hid behind her gaze. Even as the air around them still carried a chill from that night, Rika seemed to refuse to drown in the gloom. She chose to remain noisy, meddlesome, and "alive" in her own way.
While tending to Arya's wounds, Rika became a paradox: nagging yet caring. She never stopped fussing about changing bandages, checking his injuries, and making sure there were no signs of infection. Her tone sometimes sounded like an older sister scolding a mischievous younger sibling, other times like a worried mother—all wrapped in Rika's signature half-serious, half-teasing style. Often, she'd deliberately touch Arya's wound just to see his spontaneous reaction. Arya, already in pain, would yelp, making Rika laugh in satisfaction.
"I just wanted to make sure your wound hasn't healed yet. Besides, don't even think about doing anything strenuous, okay?" she'd say in a sweet yet firm tone, pretending to be innocent while clearly enjoying Arya's minor suffering.
But beneath all that antics, something in Rika had changed since that night. A small shift, yet noticeable—especially to Arya, who had begun paying closer attention to every detail. Rika, who usually seemed like an inexhaustible machine, now slept longer than usual. Even during the day, she could be found fast asleep with steady breaths, a peaceful face, and a relaxed body—a rare sight before. Sometimes, Arya would just watch her from across the room for a long time: Rika's copper-red hair shimmering under the sunlight streaming through the window, her face so serene it was hard to believe she was the same noisy, meddlesome ghost.
Arya felt uneasy. The Rika he knew never seemed to run out of energy, yet now her body seemed to demand rest. He wanted to ask, but the words stuck in his throat. He was afraid that asking might uncover something Rika wanted to keep hidden. So, he kept his curiosity to himself, trying to guess on his own while suppressing the vague worry growing in his heart.
The days after the incident passed in a strange rhythm—somewhere between normal and not. Rika remained cheerful, playful, and talkative, but beneath it all was another layer, hard to grasp. Arya could sense it, even if he didn't know exactly what it was. The longer it went on, the more his curiosity mixed with fear: the fear that Rika's changes were tied to that terrifying night, the fear that something was slowly eating away at the cheerful ghost.
Since Arya's wounds hadn't fully healed, he spent most of his time in his boarding room. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, trying to meditate, or simply lying down to calm his often restless mind. Rika was almost always nearby—sitting at the study desk, lying down while reading something or other, or simply dozing off with her head slumped on the table. Often, in the middle of the night, Arya would wake from a nightmare or the pain of his wounds to find Rika still there. Her hair spilled over part of her face, swaying gently in the breeze from the small, endlessly spinning fan.
From his bed, Arya would gaze at Rika's back for a long time. In the silence, he clutched his blanket tightly, trying to calm the turmoil in his chest.
"Can I keep her smiling like that?" Arya wondered, his gaze blank yet filled with determination. He remembered clearly Rika's face that night—sullen, empty, almost lifeless in the grasp of the tree spirit. That face made his blood boil, his heart feel wrung tight. He felt anger, not just at the spirit, but at himself for his weakness, his helplessness, the guilt that kept haunting him.
He clenched his fist over his stomach, stared at his own palm, and whispered in his heart, "Can I protect her?"
Suddenly, a soft but slightly confused voice broke through his thoughts.
"Hey… what are you doing? Are you sleep-talking?" Rika's voice came, soft but clear enough to make Arya flinch slightly.
Arya turned and found Rika leaning close, her face curious, her gaze sharp yet innocent.
"Ah… no, I was just thinking," Arya replied quickly, trying to sound casual.
"Thinking?" Rika tilted her head, her expression growing even more adorable and irritating to Arya.
"Never mind. I'm going back to sleep," Arya deflected, then turned to face the wall, hoping Rika wouldn't pry further.
But the sound of rustling fabric behind him made him suspicious. Arya glanced back slowly, and his eyes widened—Rika was lying down right behind him. They were so close Arya could almost feel her presence.
"What are you doing, you crazy ghost?!" Arya panicked, sitting up abruptly in bed.
Rika opened her eyes halfway, rubbed them lazily, and answered in a hoarse voice, "You're… so noisy at night."
Arya pointed at his own forehead, his face red with panic and annoyance. "You're the weird one! Suddenly sleeping in my bed. What are you planning, you perverted ghost!"
Rika immediately sat up, glaring at Arya with an irritated expression. "You're the one with the dirty mind, you lazy human!" she retorted sharply.
Arya crossed his arms, trying to keep his distance, and pressed, "Then why were you sleeping in my bed?"
This time, Rika's expression shifted slightly. Her face flushed faintly, her eyes avoided his, and her voice softened even as she tried to sound firm.
"I… I just wanted to make sure a lazy human like you was still breathing, you know…"
Arya fell silent. Those words stuck in his heart.
Rika quickly stood up, as if trying to cover up the sudden awkwardness. She walked to the window, then passed through the glass effortlessly. In an instant, her body floated up to the roof of the boarding house, leaving Arya still sitting stiffly on the bed, confused by the strange mix of feelings swirling inside him.
From the rooftop, Rika gazed at the city lights twinkling in the distance. The night wind tousled her hair, and a faint smile touched her lips. A smile—whether for herself or for the human still shivering under his blanket in the room below, who could say? Meanwhile, Arya remained silent, pondering Rika's mix of mischief and care—a confusing combination, yet one that stirred an undeniable sense of admiration within him.
Noon arrived, and the scorching sun beat down sharply, baking the campus rooftops and reflecting a heat that stung the skin. The usual emptiness during the midday break felt even more oppressive, as if swallowing the bustle of students who preferred staying in air-conditioned rooms over braving the heat outside. In the wide campus yard, only the shadows of large trees offered slight protection from the blazing sun.
Under one such tree near the canteen, Arya sat relaxed on a slightly weathered wooden bench. In front of him was a plate of warm yellow rice, complete with shredded chicken, balado egg, and a sprinkle of fragrant fried shallots. Beside it, a glass of iced tea with beads of condensation dripping down the clear plastic cup provided a bit of coolness in the sweltering noon. Arya ate slowly, his spoon moving calmly, as if savoring each bite despite the unavoidable heat.
Across from him, Dio sat with a relaxed yet authoritative posture, though his face remained as stiff as ever. He held a cup of hot black coffee, thin steam rising from the dark liquid, carrying its characteristic bitter aroma. On his small plate, a few pieces of tempe mendoan were still warm—crispy on the outside, soft inside, their steam mingling with the scent of freshly fried oil from the canteen. The warmth of the fried tempe blended with the noon heat, creating an odd atmosphere—both pleasant and stifling.
"Hey… where's that crazy ghost? She's usually with you…" Dio asked in a flat voice. He glanced briefly at Arya, his expression unchanged, but his tone held a rare hint of curiosity.
Arya paused, chewing his yellow rice slowly before answering, "Not sure… this morning when I woke up, she was asleep at my study desk." His voice was calm, but there was a brief pause, as if his mind had drifted to the scene he'd witnessed earlier.
"Asleep? Does she do that often?" Dio pressed, his voice more serious this time. His sharp gaze bore into Arya, making the question feel heavier than mere curiosity.
"Yeah, Rika's been sleeping a lot lately… maybe she's catching my habits," Arya replied, trying to brush it off with a slight smile. He intended it as a joke, but his tone couldn't fully hide the subtle unease he felt whenever Rika's new behavior came up.
Dio snorted in annoyance. "Are you stupid or what? Ghosts can't sleep," he retorted curtly. He tilted his head, staring at Arya with a look that demanded deeper awareness, as if frustrated Arya wasn't seeing something obvious.
Arya set his spoon down for a moment, staring at the wooden table in front of them. "I thought so too at first, but since Rika's been like this for a few days, I've gotten used to it. Why, what's wrong?" he asked casually, though his eyes showed a worry he couldn't completely conceal.
Dio held his head with one hand, sighing heavily as if holding back irritation. Then, in a firmer voice, he emphasized each word, "Listen, you idiot… do you remember when your astral self was being pulled by that tree spirit?"
Arya froze, his body tensing slightly. Dio's voice felt like prying open a memory he'd tried to keep locked away. "Yes… I remember that clearly. I woke up because I heard Rika calling my name," he answered slowly, his tone turning serious, his eyes empty as if reliving that chilling event.
"Didn't that ghost tell you what happened back then?" Dio continued, this time looking straight into Arya's eyes. His gaze was sharp, full of emphasis, as if making sure Arya wasn't hiding the truth.
Arya shook his head slowly. "Tell me? Rika never told me anything about it." His breath hitched slightly, and he felt the noon heat pressing down even more, though part of it came from the memories crashing back into his mind.
"Ah, forget it… you two are a weird pair. Living under the same roof but refusing to understand each other," Dio muttered in frustration. He stood up, downed the last of his black coffee in one gulp, then let his gaze drift toward the quiet campus road. He paused for a moment before finally walking away with determined steps.
But before completely leaving Arya behind, Dio stopped briefly, turning back with a sharp look. "I'll give you one clue: soul energy. It seems that ghost girl is starting to understand how it works, and her memories from when she was alive are slowly returning."
Those words were like a key thrown right in front of a locked door in Arya's mind. He froze, his body unmoving, only his eyes staring blankly ahead. Dio's words echoed in his head: soul energy… memories of life. Two terms that sounded abstract, full of mystery, yet felt heavy, as if containing something very important—something that could change everything.
Arya lowered his head, staring at his now-cold yellow rice, but his mind was no longer there. He remembered Rika's face over the past few days: sleeping more often, calmer, sometimes looking almost human in her weariness. He wondered to himself—was this just a new habit? Or a sign that something much deeper was happening inside her?
The noon heat pressed down even harder, sweat dripping from his temples, but Arya didn't feel it. To him, the world had suddenly gone quiet. The students coming and going, the busy canteen sounds, even the scorching sun—everything seemed to fade. All that remained was Dio's voice echoing in his ears and the image of Rika's face, growing harder and harder to understand.
Arya took a deep breath, gazing at the empty campus road. His chest felt heavy, not just from the oppressive heat, but from the vague worry that had now grown more real. About Rika. About soul energy. About memories of life that might soon return and change everything he knew about that ghost girl—and perhaps, about himself.
That day, Arya felt trapped in a loop of recurring memories. Every second in the classroom felt slow and hollow, as if even the air refused to vibrate. He replayed all his moments with Rika in his head—from the small laughs that once broke out during lectures to her mischievous antics that always made the atmosphere feel alive. Usually, Rika would appear with her odd questions, imitating the lecturer's style, or simply whispering things only Arya could hear. And even though only Arya could see her, her presence was enough to color his otherwise dull days.
Now, the classroom felt like an empty shell. Silent, cold, and colorless. Dio's words echoed repeatedly in his head, growing deeper and sharper, as if something was trying to break through his calm facade. "Will three full moons be the end of Rika?" The question slipped from his lips almost soundlessly, heard only by himself. He slumped in his seat, eyes wide open, staring at the desk, hands clenched tightly as if afraid to let go of reality. In his mind, Rika's cheerful smile, which usually floated around, now slowly faded like mist swallowed by the wind.
Arya felt his chest tighten, restlessness creeping in like poison. He tried to convince himself it was all just his imagination, fears he'd created himself. But his own voice was drowned out by the echo of Rika's words from that night—words that stabbed and still hung heavily in his memory: "I'm already dead, Arya… and it's okay if it happens again." Those words were like a dagger that wouldn't stop piercing; he wished he could pull them out of Rika's mouth, erase them, undo them.
Arya refused to accept that reality. He couldn't bear the thought that Rika, who felt so alive in his presence, was someone who shouldn't exist in this world anymore. In his mind, Rika was too warm, too real, too alive to be called a wandering spirit. And at that point, the silence of the classroom turned into an empty space filled with longing.
Class finally ended at 3:30 in the afternoon. Arya rose from his seat half-heartedly, his movements slow and lethargic. His eyes remained downcast, as if the floor were far more interesting than the reality waiting outside. His swirling thoughts left him mentally unsteady, like a frayed rope being pulled in all directions. He walked slowly, dragging his feet one by one toward the exit, each step feeling heavy, as if something was holding him back.
Just as he reached the doorway, a voice suddenly rang out—a voice so familiar, so known, that his heartbeat skipped for a moment.
"Hey… don't leave yet… I'm talking to you."
The voice made Arya's body reflexively tense, but instead of stopping, he hurried out of the classroom, as if afraid that looking back would make him face a more painful truth.
And sure enough, in the corridor, he saw her. A pale face with long, wavy copper-red hair swaying gently in the soft afternoon breeze. Rika. As usual, she seemed to be muttering to herself, trying to talk to other people who clearly couldn't hear or see her. And as usual, all her efforts ended in disappointment.
Arya stood still for a moment, then a faint smile curved his lips—a small smile full of relief. In his heart, he whispered softly, "At least, for now… she's still with us."
He stepped closer, gazing at the figure who had become part of his daily life. In a calm voice, Arya asked, "What are you doing?"
Rika turned immediately, her face slightly pouting, her eyes glittering with annoyance. "I'm trying to find group members for you. You have a group assignment and haven't found anyone, right? So I'm helping you, you know!" Her voice rose, full of irritation that only made Arya want to laugh softly.
"Why are you doing that? They obviously can't hear or see you. You're… something else," Arya replied in a teasing tone, trying to hide the warmth suddenly surging in his chest.
Rika looked back at Arya, this time with her signature bright smile—a smile that always seemed to fill the space around her with light. Cheerfully, she said softly, "Because I made a promise, didn't I?"
Those words made Arya freeze instantly. He couldn't respond. Rika's smile was so real, so alive, yet so painful because it reminded him of something fragile: that this light was only temporary. Arya chose to remain silent, walking away slowly without a word. Deep down, he knew—the quiet, comfortable days of his solitude had been forcibly broken by the light Rika brought. A light that was beautiful and warm, but fleeting. And the longer he felt it, the more he feared it was just an illusion he could never grasp.
"Heeeyyy… why are you so quiet? Are we going home straight away?" Rika spoke up again, now walking beside Arya, her mouth never stopping its grumbling. Arya kept walking, pretending to be unaffected, even though inside, every word from Rika echoed even deeper.
Arya just looked down, letting his steps merge with the echo of Rika's voice that kept following him. His heart rustled with uncertainty—wanting to believe this was all real, or just a shadow lent to him by fate. And behind his forced slight smile, he knew one thing for sure: no matter how hard he tried to deny it, the light named Rika had seeped into his life. A light that was beautiful, fragile, and perhaps only passing through—but enough to make the loneliness he'd embraced all this time feel no longer the same.