There was no time to waste. The news of the sick spirit had filled the apartment with a sense of urgency. This was no longer an abstract investigation into a defeated enemy's files; it was a crisis happening right now, in their own territory.
"Get ready," Kaito said, his voice all business. "We leave in ten minutes."
The preparation was different this time. There were no guns. Kaito went to the hidden library and returned with a small, discreet leather bag. Inside, Aiko saw not weapons, but tools: a thin, black-handled blade that seemed to absorb the light; several folded ofuda talismans; a small bag of purified salt; and a strange, compass-like device whose needle spun erratically. He was preparing not as a soldier, but as a priest or an exorcist.
He also handed her a set of clothes. "Change into these," he ordered. They were simple, practical, and dark: comfortable pants, a soft, black long-sleeved shirt, and a lightweight jacket. It was a uniform for moving through shadows.
In the car, the atmosphere was tense with a new kind of energy. This was their first mission as true partners, and the rules were different.
"Listen to me, Aiko," Kaito said as he navigated the darkening streets of Tokyo. "Where we are going, the rules of the human world do not apply. You are my guest, so you will be granted a degree of respect, but you must be careful."
He laid out the rules of engagement. "Stay close to me at all times. Do not touch anything unless I say you can—many objects there have a will of their own. Do not speak to any spirit directly unless I address it first. Some are proud, some are territorial. And most importantly," he said, his dark eyes glancing at her, "trust your senses. That feeling of 'wrongness' you get. If anything feels out of place, you tell me. Immediately. Your eyes are our most important tool tonight."
As they drove, Aiko looked out the window and saw her city transformed. With her senses now permanently open, Tokyo was no longer just a marvel of concrete and light. It was a forest of spirits. She saw the flicker of a small, one-legged umbrella spirit (Kasa-obake) hopping impatiently at a crosswalk. She saw a group of tiny, glowing lights—the embers of pipe-smoking fox spirits—on a distant balcony. High above, she saw a dark shape with wide wings glide between two skyscrapers and knew it was a Tengu on its nightly patrol. The city was alive in a way she had never imagined, a secret world hiding in plain sight.
They finally arrived at Kappabashi, Tokyo's "Kitchen Town." By day, it was a bustling street packed with shoppers. By night, it was a ghost town, the shops shuttered, the sidewalks empty. But as Aiko stepped out of the car, she could feel it: a low, humming energy that resonated in her bones. This place was not asleep. It was waiting.
The street was lined with shops selling everything a restaurant could ever need. Piles of ceramic bowls, walls of gleaming knives, and the famously realistic plastic food models displayed in glass cases. But tonight, they didn't look like objects. They looked like sleeping souls.
They stopped at the entrance to the main covered arcade. Kaito stood before the closed metal shutters, his head bowed respectfully. He uncapped a small flask and poured a few drops of fine sake onto the ground.
"Ishikawa Kaito," he announced to the silent street. "I have come at the request of the Elder. I seek an audience regarding a matter of great sickness."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, a low groaning sound echoed down the arcade as one of the large metal shutters slowly, impossibly, began to roll up on its own, opening a dark path for them.
They stepped inside. The air was cool and thick with the smell of old metal and dust. The arcade was a long, dark tunnel, the shops on either side filled with dark, sleeping shapes.
They were no longer in the human world. They had left it behind on the street. They were now walking into the heart of a yokai community, a kingdom of forgotten tools and awakened spirits. And they were here to see its dying king.