[Remaining lifespan: 6 days]
The trees on both sides blurred past in streaks of black and white.
Hoshino ran toward the Onsen District at full speed. The sooner they arrived, the higher their chances of survival.
He replayed the last two days over and over in his mind, searching for any detail that might save their lives.
The first thing that came to mind was the blade enshrined at the shrine.
I'll grab that first.
Then he remembered the night at the ryokan—when he'd sleepwalked.
"Kobeni-san," he called over his shoulder, "that night at the hot spring… after I passed out, did anything weird happen?"
"Let me think."
"Like, did anyone come into our room? Or did something happen to you that didn't happen to me?"
From behind him, Kobeni's voice was muffled by the wind. "After you fainted, I went to find the landlady. She's the only one who entered our room."
Hoshino nodded.
"The landlady being suspicious makes sense. She runs the ryokan, after all."
He thought for a moment longer. "Her daughter too. The way she looked at us—it wasn't friendly."
In front of the crimson torii gate, Hoshino pressed his palm forward.
A familiar resistance pushed back against his hand.
"We can't get in."
Just like the village border, a wall of invisible force blocked their way.
"Let's go."
He didn't like it, but that was the reality.
By the time they reached the Onsen District plaza, the opening ceremony was about to begin.
The place was packed with people.
The snow had been cleared down to ankle height, and the temperature had risen to ten degrees. Staff members guided the crowds in orderly lines.
Small side attractions—skiing, snow sculptures, ice lanterns—were all temporarily shut down.
In the center of the plaza stood a massive blue curtain, hiding the ten-story-tall snowman.
With the low buildings around it, the thirty-meter snowman looked colossal, a white giant looming over the square.
The crowd seemed to bow beneath its feet.
"Oh! I remember now!"
Kobeni's voice came from behind him. "When the landlady and I came back that night, we saw some workers in the hallway."
"Workers? You mean the one who chased us?" Hoshino's first thought was that honest-looking guy.
"The uniforms were different." Kobeni shook her head.
"Let's check it out."
Twenty minutes left until the ceremony.
The ryokan's front doors were locked.
Bang!
Hoshino kicked them open and stepped inside.
Darkness. Silence. Empty.
He quickly rifled through the front desk—nothing suspicious.
Upstairs, every sliding door was shut.
He opened the room where Go Fujiwara had stayed.
As expected, after two days, there was no trace of him left.
Hoshino turned to leave—
"This." Kobeni's voice stopped him.
He turned back.
In her hands was a bright red hardcover notebook, the kind with a flexible plastic cover.
The cover was spotless, decorated with a design embossed in gold lines.
Hoshino froze.
That symbol—he knew it.
"Tiananmen?"
Thoughts flashed through his mind—but he dismissed it immediately. No one would use something so obvious to expose themselves.
Probably an overseas Chinese. Maybe a student studying in Japan.
He flipped open the notebook. Inside, in neat Chinese characters, were the words "Diary" and "Gendun Linzhi."
He turned the page. Sure enough—it was the diary of a man from China.
Kobeni leaned closer. "That's Chinese, right?"
"Yeah. I can read it. I'll read it out loud."
The situation was urgent, so he began translating on the fly.
"This record is written in 1985, on the eve of my departure for Japan.
My name is Gendun Linzhi. I was born in 1945 into a noble family in Tibet.
Or so I thought, until my mother's deathbed confession, when I was ten. She told me I was the illegitimate child of a religious leader.
At the holy palace, I met my father. He showed me a painting—one that depicted Hell. And he revealed to me the true power of the past Buddha, Dīpaṃkara.
I was stunned. I thought it was just legend.
At thirteen, I made a Contract with the past Buddha Dīpaṃkara, at a certain cost, and gained a power entirely different from my father's—something far more mysterious and terrifying.
For months afterward, I woke up screaming in the middle of the night.
At fifteen, something terrible happened.
My father refused to give up his power. He refused to free the slaves. War was inevitable.
That was when I learned the truth—that others possessed supernatural power too. That our enemies were just as mad and powerful. That countless lives were burned away to pay their costs.
My father was gravely wounded. We fled to India.
It was paradise. Huge population, many slaves, deep faith—perfect for trading in more Devil power.
We rested and rebuilt, waiting for the day we could return.
In that time, I learned three great secrets."
Hoshino's brow furrowed as he kept reading.
"First: Devils—beings of extraordinary power.
In many countries, information about them is publicly circulated. Some even allow civilians to apply for Devil Hunter licenses.
But in my homeland, all Devil-related information is strictly prohibited. Only official Devil Hunters exist, and their power is immense.
Yet even so, it remains the land Devils most long to descend upon."
Hoshino nodded.
"Different countries, different rules. Devils feed on fear. In 1997, China had 1.3 billion people—twenty percent of the world. If panic spread, even a weak Devil could skyrocket in power. Let alone one already strong."
His expression grew serious.
"The second secret came from my half-brother.
The so-called 'Dīpaṃkara Buddha' is no longer the mythical figure of scripture. It's a vessel for multiple Devils. For example, my father's power came from—"
The page abruptly stopped—its edge singed, as if someone had touched it with a lighter. The missing line had burned away.
Hoshino frowned but kept going.
"Now, nearly every god in organized religion is like this—a mask worn by Devils to grant priests power.
And because those gods no longer have distinct forms or directions, the worship of believers doesn't weaken the Devils at all.
The third secret shocked me most. It's the reason I came to Japan—and the purpose that would define my life.
Due to historical and metaphysical reasons, the Devil I contracted with… its power is incomplete.
Even so, part of that power has already become a component of Dīpaṃkara itself.
To return to my homeland one day, I must help it recover its full strength—and form a stronger Contract, one powerful enough to change fate itself.
So I took the alias Naoto Kobayashi and departed for Japan."
Hoshino flipped through the rest quickly. It covered the past twelve years of the man's life—no mention of why the Devil's power was incomplete.
He'd joined an unnamed organization—found purpose and belonging there.
But time was short, and Hoshino skimmed until the second-to-last page.
"Spring, 1995. With my comrades in the organization, we finally located one of its descent points.
It lies in Yamagata Prefecture, in a small village.
So ordinary, no one would ever suspect—it's one of two descent points on this island.
The other lies somewhere in central Japan, but we never found it.
January, 1997. I was told I had to cancel my Contract. When it descends, remaining bound to it will be fatal.
I was also told that to form a new Contract with the same Devil, I'd have to first break the old one—and pay a new price.
I agreed. To continue my mission, I formed a Contract with the Blizzard Devil. The price was just one strand of hair. Turns out, the cost depends entirely on the Devil's mood.
After I canceled the old Contract, the Blizzard Devil accepted me—and finally revealed the true name of that Devil.
It governs loss, cessation, freezing, and the return to origin. It embodies humanity's most primal fear.
Its name is—"
A pale, ugly finger covered with human faces suddenly slid across the page, blocking out the words.
Hoshino's heart jumped.
He spun around—
Nothing was there.
When he looked back, the page was breaking apart, like ice shattering and turning to dust.
Outside, the sound of the crowd grew louder.
The Okura Snow Story had begun.