The silence after Tenmyō's words stretched like a shadow. None of us dared to joke this time. Even Saiko's usual snappy grin faltered.
Finally, Arata clapped his hands together. "Well then, test time."
"Test?" I echoed, still reeling from everything that had been said.
Tenmyō's hand moved, slow and deliberate. Paper rustled. No—not paper. Something heavier. A sound like hundreds of old pages pressed together. From the folds of his cloak, he drew out a thick book, its cover lacquered black, clasped shut by bone-white cords. Strange kanji slithered faintly across its surface, refusing to stay still long enough for me to read.
Miu's squinted slightly, her tone reverent. "The Catalogue of Chains."
Saiko leaned forward. "That sounds metal as hell."
"It is," Arata said, grinning. "Every ghost worth naming is in there."
Tenmyō set the book down on the nearest desk, and when it opened, it didn't just flip pages—it breathed. Air seemed to rush out as parchment spread, turning on its own. Each sheet carried a face, a name, a short story written in sharp strokes of ink that looked fresh despite their age.
"Ghosts are not endless," Tenmyō said calmly. "They are stories. And stories have beginnings. We keep their records so they may be tracked, measured, if not controlled."
He ran his hand along the page, then stopped. His fingers pressed down on one of the names, and the ink shimmered faintly, as if pleased to be chosen.
"This one," he said simply, and the description rose faintly off the paper like mist.
The voice that spoke wasn't his. It was the story itself.
"A woman draped in white, her face hidden by a veil. She waits at crossroads late at night, asking travelers if they wish to be guided home. If they answer yes, she leads them into the woods. They are never seen again."
Saiko's face paled. "…That's—okay, that's creepier than Aka Manto."
Genkei frowned. "Another named ghost."
Tenmyō nodded. "If Ririku can bind her as he bound Aka Manto, then his ability may not be anomaly, but precedent. We must know."
"Whoa, wait. You want me to just—just go up to another ghost and… what? Absorb it? Do I look like a vacuum cleaner?"
Arata laughed, slinging an arm around my shoulders. "Relax, drool-boy. Think of it like dating. You just… see if the chemistry's there."
I shoved him off. "That's the worst metaphor anyone has ever said to me."
"Not the worst you'll hear," he said, unbothered.
Tenmyō ignored us both. "Arata will not accompany you this time."
The three of us froze.
"Wait, what?!" Saiko yelped.
"You can't just abandon us to ghost Tinder," I blurted.
Arata held his hands up, grinning. "Don't pout. Training wheels have to come off eventually. Besides, if I came, the ghost would just notice me first. You three need to learn how to deal with it yourselves."
His grin softened—just a little. "But get back in one piece, okay? Don't make me regret lending you to the world."
Somehow, that made my stomach twist worse than the ghost description.
Tenmyō gestured toward the heavy doors at the far end of the hall. "You know the path. To leave the Benikaen, you will use the Onmyōji art to open the threshold. Arata—show them."
"Gladly."
He strode to the doors, tapped his fan against the frame, and spoke with lazy cheer:
"Open the door that was never closed."
The wood didn't creak, didn't bend. It simply wasn't there anymore. Beyond it stretched the pale outline of another doorway, painted faintly over reality like chalk. The hall bled into air, and the school vanished, replaced with the faint shimmer of the world outside.
Saiko's eyes widened. "That's—wait, so you can get out through any door, i'm right, aren't I?!"
Genkei frowned. "Are we… even allowed to learn this? We aren't descendants of Onmyōji clans."
The Head shook his head slowly. "This spell is the barest threshold. It is not high art. Even without blood, one may learn it. It opens and closes the Benikaen to those who carry its mark. Nothing more."
Genkei didn't look convinced, but he kept silent.
Arata clapped his hands. "Okay, who's first? Door's not gonna open itself."
Saiko grinned, stepping forward like she'd been waiting for the chance. "I call it! Watch and learn.
She pressed her palms together, mimicking Arata's gesture. Her voice rang out, too loud but brimming with excitement:
"Open the door that was never closed!"
Light pulsed. The doorway flared white—and then we were no longer in the Benikaen.
Wind hit my face. The smell of city concrete and distant rain rolled over us. Neon signs blinked somewhere far below.
We were standing on the rooftop of an abandoned building. The world had returned.
Saiko whooped, throwing her arms up. "Ha! Did you see that? Perfect execution!"
I staggered, gripping the railing. "You almost dropped us through the sky!"
"Details, details."
Genkei tugged his hood tighter again, scanning the city below. "Where is this?"
I swallowed, staring at the lit streets.
"Let's go down and find out."