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Did you hear the news?"

"Of course. It's practically all that's been talked about since yesterday, and today is no different."

"A-Ah, yeah, that makes sense… Although, to be honest, you don't seem all that surprised.."

"Well, the last time they were here was around the beginning of last year, in late March, so it's not exactly shocking. Besides, this is the third-largest orphanage that the Church sponsors in Japan, so they send someone over from time to time." A pause. "Is there something wrong?"

"...Is it perhaps one of them?"

A brief moment of silence follows, until the senior nun finally answers.

"...It appears so." A gasp was then heard coming from the younger nun, whereupon the older woman was swift to comment. "Hey, there's nothing to be afraid of. They're most likely just coming here to investigate that issue we've been dealing with."

"But why would they even bother? It's not that big of a deal."

"Like I told you, there's nothing to be concerned about. The priests are only dropping in to ensure that there's nothing unusual happening around here—nothing more, nothing less."

Having overheard their hushed conversation from the other side of the door, Shiki scowled in mild bewilderment, idly continuing to sweep the floor.

Although they may have seemed to attempt to disguise it, he had nevertheless picked up that there seemed to be an atmosphere of anxiety amongst the nuns as of this morning. Even Alena, who could usually be found in the cafeteria at this hour, was conspicuously absent.

However, he couldn't quite grasp the reason behind their concern. Priests were apparently on their way to the orphanage, but he failed to see why that warranted such unease. Sure, they would likely come to preach about their God—something Shiki had little to no interest in and would honestly rather be excused from—but that still didn't explain the nuns' anxiety.

Well, there was at least one person who might be willing to provide him with some answers.

Shiki hurriedly finished sweeping the floor, most likely having overlooked places that were still dirty. Without a second thought, he leaned the broom and dustpan against a nearby wall and made his way toward Alena's room.

With the nuns' quarters located in the adjacent building, it didn't take him long to reach his destination. The orphanage itself consisted of three separate buildings, all positioned close to one another and connected by small courtyards. The central building housed the classrooms, the nuns' offices, and a small chapel. To the east stood the nuns' dormitory, a place strictly off-limits to the children, while the western building was designated for the orphans' living quarters.

As he slipped into the eastern building, he remained cautious, ensuring that no other children—or worse, one of the other nuns—caught him sneaking in. His movements were deliberate, tracing familiar steps he had memorized long ago. He knew exactly which paths to take to avoid unwanted attention, a skill that had been ingrained in him by his father. Those memories remain in his mind, though not without the usual discomfort that accompanied them—a dull yet persistent ache in his head.

With some patience he learned to diminish the discomfort he suffered, but it still lingered around. He had no idea how to rid himself of it, so he simply accepted its presence, growing accustomed to the feeling and carrying on with his life.

He ascended the staircase with quiet steps, making his way to the second floor where Alena's room was located.

Finally, he came to a stop in front of a familiar wooden door—the one that led to Alena's room. Standing before it, he hesitated for only a brief moment before raising his hand, ready to knock.

However, the sudden sound of footsteps echoing from his right—near the staircase—made him freeze mid-action. His instincts kicked in immediately, forcing him to abandon his plan and retreat from the door without making a sound.

Without wasting a second, Shiki darted toward the opposite staircase, ascended through them quickly and stopping midway between the second and third floors. There, pressing himself against the concrete railing and waited until whoever was the origin of those footsteps passed.

It took a few seconds before they did, and they were a couple of nuns, which was pretty obvious in retrospect. No one else was permitted inside this building, so it could only be them. The two were engaged in idle chatter about a topic he had no interest in, their voices blending into background noise as he focused on staying out of sight.

Just then, he heard the distinct sound of a door opening right next to the staircase, followed by a soft click as it shut a second later.

Shiki let out a quiet sigh of relief, then carefully descended the stairs. Peering into the hallway, he confirmed that it was clear before swiftly stepping in front of Alena's door.

Raising his hand, he knocked four times, deliberately pausing between the third and fourth knock. It was a signal—one that Alena had established to let her know it was him.

A few seconds stretched on as he stood waiting, his apprehension growing with each passing moment. The longer the door remained shut, the more his concern of being caught gnawed at him. If someone found him here, he might be able to come up with an excuse, but that wouldn't necessarily spare him from whatever punishment would follow.

He considered retreating, perhaps coming back later—it was still early, after all. But just as he was about to turn away, the door abruptly swung open.

Alena stood on the other side, gripping the handle with a sharp, unwavering gaze. Without wasting a moment, she scanned both ends of the hallway, her eyes flickering with caution, before settling back on him. Then, with a small tilt of her head, she gestured toward the inside of her room.

"Get in before you get caught." She instructed in a hushed yet firm tone.

"Sure." Shiki replied, stepping inside without hesitation.

The interior of her room was exactly what one would expect of a nun's quarters—plain and devoid of excess. There was little in the way of furniture, just the essentials: a neatly made bed, a modest wooden closet, and a small table tucked against the wall. Next to it, a modest collection of books were stacked together, ranging from various genres.

He had read several of them on his past visits, having nothing better to occupy himself with, but not one of them had managed to catch his attention long enough for him to continue reading them until he finished them.

"Did anyone else see you coming?"

"No. There were two who just happened to walk by when I was about to knock on the door, but I hid before they spotted me. They entered the room next to the staircase."

"Ah yes, I believe that those two are..." She trailed off momentarily, hesitating as if debating whether to continue. Then, with a shake of her head, she dismissed the thought. "It doesn't matter. Just remember to be careful when you come, under no circumstances should anyone see you here. If you are found, I will not back you up."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively as he plopped onto her bed without a care.

"You are truly hopeless." Alena sighed, her exasperation evident as she crossed her arms and regarded him with a disapproving look. "All right, tell me why you came."

"Can't I just come to pay you a visit?" Shiki asked, flashing her a smirk.

He was met with a flat expression.

"Sorry." He replied, though his tone was anything but apologetic. "Anyway, I overheard something interesting from one of your sisters."

"Of course you did." Alena muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It looks like nothing can be hidden from you."

Shiki simply shrugged, watching as she deliberated on what to do next.

"Alright," Alena finally said, exhaling as if she'd already resigned herself to this. "Since you already have an idea of what's going on, I won't bother hiding it from you. But you have to swear not to tell anyone else."

At the serious tone she used, Shiki nodded his head obediently, dryly thinking that there wasn't even anyone he could share it with.

After all, he was alienated from the rest of the people.

Still, despite his apparent agreement—one she should've known he'd keep even if he wasn't isolated from everyone else—Alena hesitated. She seemed torn, as if debating whether she should really tell him the full extent of what was going on.

Finally, she appeared to have reached a decision. "In two days some priests will be visiting the orphanage."

"Why?" Shiki asked.

Thinking back, in the eight months since he had been transferred here, he had never once seen a priest set foot in this place. The entire staff consisted of nuns—just nuns and more nuns.

Considering this was a Church-sponsored orphanage—though he still had no idea which branch exactly—he figured there should have been at least one priest stationed here. If nothing else, just to fulfill his duty of preaching about God.

Yet, oddly enough, there had been none.

There was a momentary pause of hesitation on Alena's side before she offered an answer. "…Apparently, there have been some unusual incidents happening around the orphanage. Several brooms and windows have been breaking apart in ways no one can explain, so the director has requested some priests to come and investigate the matter."

Shiki's expression remained indifferent, but on the inside, the boy was resisting the urge to grimace in awkwardness.

Because, well... he was the one responsible for breaking all those things into pieces.

With little to do besides studying, cleaning, and sitting through Catholic lessons—something he had, much to his frustration, been unable to get out of—he often found himself bored out of his mind. And like any other boy his age, he instinctively sought ways to keep himself entertained.

He found his amusement in slicing through the lines of the windows and brooms that were here. It wasn't because he held any particular grudge against them, they were only objects after all. Nor was it out of a strong urge to sever the crimson lines—he did it purely for sport. A simple game to see how many he could break before someone caught on.

Somewhere along the way, though, he had lost track of the number.

Even so, the boy was unable to comprehend as to why the priests were being called to investigate. What were they supposed to do, pray so that they wouldn't break anymore?

"That sounds… weird."

"You can say that again." Alena sighed, rubbing her temple in clear exasperation. "But the worst part of all this? I was the one sent into town to buy replacement brooms—over and over again."

Once again, Shiki had to restrain the urge to grimace in awkwardness.

Silently, he offered an apology in his mind. It had never been his intention to inconvenience her like that. If he had known she was the one dealing with the aftermath, he might have stopped much sooner.

That being said, there was absolutely no way he was going to confess. Admitting it would only lead to punishment, and that was something he had no desire to endure.

"Is there any other thing that I should know?" He questioned.

Alena shook her head from side to side, a weary sigh escaping her lips. "No, that's honestly all I really know. And to be frank, I highly doubt anyone else has more to add. The director perhaps might know something more, but it's best if I don't even bother to approach her."

Shiki tilted his head, frowning slightly. "Why not? If she knows something important, wouldn't it be worth asking?"

"...You don't understand, Shiki. There are some things—some matters—in which it's better to stay far away. Not out of curiosity, not out of concern. Just for your own good."

Her expression darkened ever so slightly, and though he was tempted to pry further, something about her tone made him hesitate.

He couldn't quite understand why she was acting this way—so secretive, so unwilling to share. After all the time they had spent together, Shiki had assumed that their bond was strong enough for her to confide in him, to trust him with things she wouldn't share with just anyone.

It seemed he had been mistaken.

Letting out a quiet sigh—one that masked the flicker of disappointment creeping up inside him—Shiki slumped down onto the bed. "Well, I suppose there's nothing else to do but wait and see what happens."

Alena, however, remained uncharacteristically silent.

That was unusual. Normally, she had something to say—whether it was a disapproving comment about his behavior or some snide remark to poke fun at him. But now, there was nothing.

And that silence was somehow more unsettling than anything else.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, shifting his eyes to her.

Alena was scowling, her brows furrowed in deep thought, her expression strained as she seemed to be mulling something through her head. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he wondered if she was even going to answer him.

Finally, she let out a quiet sigh and spoke, her tone devoid of its usual lightness. Instead, it carried a weight of genuine concern.

"Listen, Shiki… as much as you may not want to, you should really try to stay out of their way. Avoid them and don't—under any circumstances—cause any trouble. Drawing their attention to yourself would… only bring bad things."

Shiki could only stare at her wordlessly as he tried to process her warning.He had never heard her speak like this before, so utterly serious, so… worried. It was strange. Almost unsettling. She was warning him as if he were about to cross paths with something truly dangerous—a youkai or a vengeful spirit—rather than a bunch of priests.

Still, he was not quite sure what the concern was all about.

"What could a couple of priests even do?" He scoffed, folding his arms. There was no point in pretending to take this seriously when, to him, it sounded ridiculous.

Instead of arguing or scolding him like she usually would, Alena simply met his gaze with a firm, unreadable expression.

"Far more than you can imagine."

(=====)

The sun had risen over the skyline twice.

Shiki stretched his arms over his head, straightening his body after the stiffness of sleep, before pulling himself out of bed. His gaze flickered across the dimly lit room, where several other boys were beginning to stir. Some were his age, others slightly younger or older, all rising in the same sluggish manner, rubbing the sleep from their eyes and rolling their shoulders to work out the stiffness that came with these awful beds.

Beds that felt more like bricks than anything meant for sleeping. Every morning was the same—aching muscles and groggy complaints whispered among them. But they all knew better than to bring those complaints to the sisters. It was a pointless endeavor. The nuns would only brush them off, reminding them of how fortunate they were to even have beds to sleep in.

And they were not entirely wrong.

Even so, the grumbling persisted—especially after one of the boys made a shocking discovery. Somehow, he had learned that the beds in the girls' rooms were much lighter and softer. How he came by this information remained a mystery, as he refused to disclose the details. But he swore up and down that it was the truth. According to him, the boys had definitely been given the worst beds in the entire orphanage.

That wasn't the only thing they complained about, though. Some of them whined about the room arrangements, claiming it was unfair that the boys and girls had to be separated. Shiki had a hard time understanding their reasoning. It was only logical that they were kept in different rooms—what was there to complain about?

At one point, out of sheer curiosity, Shiki had asked one of them—a boy whose name he never bothered to remember—why they were so eager to sleep in the same room as the girls. If it was just because of the better beds, then, in a roundabout way, he could at least understand their frustration. Begrudgingly, at least.

But the boy had simply stared at him for a long moment, seemingly gathering the courage to answer, before finally blurting out, "Because the smell around the girls is surely much better than the one here."

Shiki had simply turned away without a word, his mind utterly stunned by the response.

He spent the rest of the day mulling it over, unable to shake off his bewilderment. And so, later that evening, when he visited Alena's room, he took a subtle sniff of the air.

To his surprise, the boy had been right.

He was never going to admit it, obviously, he had a little decency. But in the end, he had to concede—the boy had been right.

Just as he was shaking off the odd train of thought, the sound of the main door creaking open caught his attention. The spacious room fell silent as all heads turned toward the entrance, Shiki's included. A nun stood at the doorway, regarding them all with the same stern expression she wore every morning.

However, hidden deeply behind her eyes Shiki managed to notice the nervousness she was feeling. She was clearly not trying to show it, donning that serious mask that had tricked everyone else, yet it was there.

But Shiki, ever observant, caught something beneath the surface. There was a subtle tightness to her posture, a slight rigidity in the way she stood. And though her expression remained impassive, her eyes betrayed her. Behind that well-practiced mask of severity, there was something else—something she was trying to suppress.

Nervousness.

She was hiding it well enough that the others likely hadn't noticed. But to Shiki, it was as clear as day.

He supposed the arrival of the priests was truly unsettling for the nuns.

"All right, boys. Brush your teeth and then head out to the hallway. I'll be waiting for you there, and then I'll take you all to the cafeteria." She instructed.

That was the first odd thing.

Usuallyshe would only come to ensure they were awake before leaving without another word. Today, however, she was lingering, watching them more closely than usual.

Shiki subtly observed her as she stood near the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her in what looked like an effort to steady herself. He didn't think anyone else had noticed. The other boys simply obeyed, grabbing their toothbrushes without a second thought.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Shiki followed suit, taking his own toothbrush in hand. However, as he moved, his eyes remained discreetly trained on the nun, watching as she exited the room.

The task of brushing his teeth was a swift one, a routine chore that none of them cared to prolong. When finished, he deliberately positioned himself in the middle of the line forming in the hallway—neither first nor last. It was the perfect spot to remain inconspicuous while still keeping an eye on his surroundings.

The nun scanned them all, her gaze briefly locking onto Shiki's before shifting away. He could tell she was mentally counting their numbers, ensuring no one was missing.

Finally, after a short pause, she gave a small nod to herself, as if reassuring her own thoughts.

"Very good, follow me." The nun ordered, turning on her heel.

Like a pack of obedient puppies, the boys followed the nun as she strode purposefully down the hallways ahead of them.

It didn't take too long for them to arrive at the cafeteria, the walk lasting only a few short minutes.

The instant when Shiki set foot inside, he sensed how there was something very different in the atmosphere. The usual morning chatter, the distant clatter of utensils, and the hum of kitchen activity were absent. The air itself felt denser, heavier, almost suffocating. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath.

Shiki took another step forward, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. The sisters were all standing near the walls, their rigid postures making it clear that something was amiss. Some of them were scanning the room, their eyes shifting between the children as though they were searching for something—or someone.

There was suspicion in their gazes. A quiet, lingering distrust, as if they were trying to single out a culprit.

Strangely, Alena was nowhere to be seen. His stomach twisted uneasily at the realization.

His feet carried him forward once more, and his attention drifted toward the center of the cafeteria. Several tables had been pushed together, forming a singular, long dining arrangement. On one side of it sat the girls from the orphanage, their expressions ranging from wary curiosity to thinly veiled unease.

The other side of the table remained empty, waiting for the boys to take their seats.All right boys, please sit down."

They obeyed without question, even Shiki.

As he placed himself down on the seat, he became increasingly aware that the other boys were also beginning to sense that something was off. Some exchanged quick, uncertain glances, while others furrowed their brows in confusion. The realization was slowly creeping in on them—they were no longer blissfully unaware of the strange, stifling atmosphere pressing down on the room.

Across from them, the girls had already figured it out. Their heads remained bowed, their eyes averted, as if pretending the oppressive tension didn't exist would somehow make it go away.

It was an obvious act of avoidance, but Shiki couldn't blame them. Whatever was happening, it was unsettling enough to make even the most clueless among them uneasy.

They all were left in their seats, waiting for several minutes in utter silence, with the only sound that could be heard being the breathing of each one of them. They probably looked more like prisoners than orphans.

No one dared to stand up, or even open their mouths to speak to each other.

They could not in the face of the nuns' fixed stares.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the doors to the cafeteria slid open, causing everyone, boys and girls alike, to shift their gazes towards the four figures who had entered the room.

The knot that had been tightening in Shiki's stomach loosened—if only slightly—when he recognized one of them. Alena. There was a complex look on her face, something between resignation and unease, but apart from that, she seemed unharmed. That alone was enough to keep him from tensing further.

Walking alongside her was the headmistress, whose name was... in all fairness Shiki couldn't quite recall it. They had not interacted with each other ever since she had visited him at the hospital in order to notify him of his transfer to the orphanage, so he never considered remembering her name.

However, it was the two figures trailing behind them that truly caught his interest.

One was a tall man with sharp, no-nonsense features. His short, orange-colored hair contrasted against his striking violet-tinted eyes, which held a certain sharpness to them. His posture was rigid, his presence imposing, and he was dressed in the traditional vestments of a priest, the cross on his collar gleaming under the dull cafeteria lights.

The other man, by contrast, was his complete opposite. He was shorter, with long, flowing blueish-black hair and deep blue eyes that seemed to sparkle with amusement. Everything about his demeanor—from the casual way he walked to the relaxed expression on his face—exuded a carefree attitude. Unlike the first man, his cross was not displayed outwardly. Instead, it hung from a thin thread concealed within his robes, the faint outline of the chain just barely visible against his neck.

The presence of both of them was... odd in his eyes, and they carried a somewhat similar air to Alena's. It wasn't something obvious, nothing anyone could point out directly, but it was there.

Behind their composed expressions, they were clearly concealing something—of that, Shiki was certain. What exactly they were hiding, however, remained a mystery. Their faces and eyes were like stone walls, unreadable, betraying nothing of their thoughts or intentions.

Unlike Alena and the headmistress, who continued toward the table where the children were seated, the two priests did not follow. Instead, they veered off in a different direction, heading towards a side door that led into a hall—one that, as far as Shiki could tell, had never been used before. Or at least, not since he had arrived at this orphanage.

They slipped inside without hesitation, and within seconds, it was as if they had never been there at all. No lingering presence, no backward glances—just gone.

Strange.

At the very least, Shiki now had a better understanding of why the nuns were so unsettled by their arrival.

They were not normal in any sense of the word.

The sound of a throat being cleared prompted him to tear his gaze and attention away from the doorway where the two priests had disappeared. Shifting his attention forward, he found the headmistress now standing at the far end of the long table, her hands neatly folded in front of her as she prepared to speak.

"Good morning to everyone." The woman greeted them, her sharp gaze sweeping across the gathered children in a swift, assessing glance. "As you may have already noticed, we have the great fortune of receiving two esteemed priests at our orphanage—"

Shiki highly doubted that was the case. Judging by the tension thick in the air and the anxiety practically radiating from the nuns, it seemed more like an obligation rather than a blessing.

"—Who will be staying with us for the next three days."

A ripple of bewilderment spread through the room. Confused murmurs passed between the boys, though none dared to speak up. The only one who appeared entirely unsurprised was, predictably, Alena. She remained quiet, her expression neutral, as though she had already come to terms with whatever was happening.

"I expect everyone to be on their best behavior." The headmistress continued, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Now, you will be called in one by one to speak with them regarding an important matter. Once your discussion is finished, please proceed to the second dining hall, where you may have your breakfast. That is all. Thank you."

With that final statement, the headmistress clasped her hands in front of her and fell silent, waiting.

Alena stepped forward, holding a small stack of papers in her hands. Her gaze remained fixed on them, her face unreadable, as if she were simply going through the motions of a task she would rather not be doing.

"Isobe Mika."

She announced the name in a flat, toneless voice, devoid of any emotion. It was the first name on the list, the first soul that was to be questioned.

Shiki's gaze drifted toward the girl in question. As her name suggested, she was young—perhaps a year or two younger than him. The tension rolling off of her was palpable, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides.

In a way, he understood her apprehension. The way the entire situation was set up—the heavy silence, the wary stares, the feeling that something unseen was weighing down on them—it all felt suffocating. It was almost as though she were not simply going for an interview but stepping toward some kind of judgment, one that would determine whether she had the right to remain here at all.

The girl rose from her seat hesitantly, moving toward the door with quiet, deliberate steps. She didn't make a single sound, and yet, with each step, the atmosphere in the room only seemed to grow heavier.

When she reached the doors, she hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not a single nun stepped forward to assist her. No words of reassurance were spoken. She was left entirely on her own.

Cowards.

Taking a quiet, shuddering breath, the girl pushed the doors open.

And just like that, she disappeared inside.

The doors swung shut behind her with a resounding finality.

(=====)

Names continued to be called, one after another. Children scrambled nervously out of their seats, hesitated for a brief moment, then rushed into the adjoining room—only to emerge mere minutes later, their faces carefully blank, and disappear without a trace.

All of it unfolded under the ever-watchful eye of Shiki, who, throughout the entire hour that had passed, never once heard his name leave Alena's lips.

At this point, he wasn't sure whether to consider it a blessing or a curse. Probably the latter, if his life so far had been any indication.

Eventually, he became the last child sitting at the table. Every other boy and girl had already finished their "confessions" and had been ushered off to the secondary cafeteria. Now, he was left alone in the large, near-empty room, subjected to the silent scrutiny of the nuns who lingered nearby.

They didn't say a word, but their gazes made it clear what they thought.

They suspected him. Perhaps some of them even outright believed that he was responsible for all of this.

And to be fair, they wouldn't exactly be wrong.

That didn't mean he appreciated the suspicion being so blatantly thrown his way. If he could have avoided this entire situation, he would have. But he hadn't. And now, here they were.

"Shiki."

With his name announced, he didn't waste a single second to spring out from his seat and make his way to the room where the two priests were gathered.

Unlike the others, he had no hesitation, no second thoughts. There was only the singular desire to get this over with.

He had already prepared a lie, just in case they were suspicious of him—which, given the circumstances, was almost guaranteed.

As he approached Alena's side, he caught the faintest hint of hesitation in her posture. Her hands were clenched tightly at her sides, knuckles pale with tension. It was clear she wanted to say something—perhaps a warning, perhaps an apology—but in the end, all that escaped her was a single, long exhalation.

Shiki didn't spare her a glance. Without breaking stride, he walked right past her.

His legs automatically steered him towards the door. It truly looked as if he was heading to judgment. But at the very least, he was fortunate that there weren't too many eyes boring into his back as he crossed the room.

It made things much easier.

His arms rose up towards the doorknobs, these being that of a metallic gold plating which had lost its color through the years, leaving it a muted color. His fingers wrapped around them, and with a firm push, he swung the doors open.

The interior of the room came into view, and his eyes immediately swept across it from floor to ceiling, scrutinizing every detail. A stack of chairs were piled up on the right side, propped on top of each other, while the left side was cluttered with multiple tables. The ceiling was dimly lit, only enough to illuminate the very center of the room and a smattering of the surrounding space.And there, in the very heart of it all, sat the reason for this entire commotion. Both priests were currently sitting on two chairs, which they must have taken from the stack on the right, while there was another chair without an occupant in front of them.

Quite an interrogation, huh?

Pushing the sarcastic thought to the back side of his mind, but not completely obliterating it, Shiki walked into the room, with the only sounds that filled the space being the soft echoes of his footsteps and the quiet creak of the doors as they swung shut behind him.

One of the priests—the one with the long, flowing hair and the air of a carefree man—rested his gaze on Shiki, offering a gentle smile. It was the kind of expression that belonged to someone who would never harm a soul, or at least wanted to seem that way.

"Good morning, Shiki-kun. I hope the morning was pleasant for you. Have a seat, please." He said, his voice carrying an effortless warmth.

Shiki shrugged off the feeling that both priests were peeling back layers of his very being with their stares. Even as the long-haired one struggled to maintain direct eye contact with him, he could tell there was something far more calculated beneath that easygoing facade.

Without a word, he took the seat that had been prepared for him, positioning himself directly in front of them.

His gaze remained unwavering as he studied both men, and for a long moment, silence stretched between them. Then, at last, the black-haired priest spoke up again.

"First of all, why don't we start with introductions? That should help break the ice." He gave a small, knowing smile. "I'll go first. My name is Yaegaki Masaomi, and this boulder sitting next to me is Shidou Touji. Oh, and don't be intimidated by his appearance—he's as gentle as a feather, particularly when he talks about his dau—"

"Masaomi." The second priest, Touji, interrupted him in a tone laced with long-suffering patience. It was the voice of someone who had endured this kind of behavior more times than he cared to count. "Please leave my personal life out of this and focus on the reason we are here."

Masaomi let out a sigh, dramatically throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You're no fun at all. Honestly, how can children trust you with that ever-so-serious look on your face? You're terrifying!" He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "But I suppose you have a point. We should get started."

Then, the long-haired priest casually extended his arm, retrieving a file from the black briefcase resting at his side.

As far as Shiki could make out, that particular file wasn't the only one inside. Several more remained neatly stacked within the case, their edges peeking out ever so slightly. It didn't take much effort for him to guess to whom they belonged—undoubtedly, the other children who had been called in before him.

"Let's see…" Masaomi muttered as he flipped through the file. "Shiki—no family name, born October 15, 1987. No relatives to be found, and suffers from amnesia." His tone, which had initially carried a lighthearted edge, steadily darkened as he read through the document. "Sounds like you haven't been having a good life."

"... It could be worse." Shiki responded with a small shrug, his voice devoid of emotion.

He was alive, after all.

What more could he ask?

"... Nevertheless, you have my deepest sympathy. No child should have to suffer through this, and I will be praying that one day the Lord may grant you the privilege of being reunited with your family."

Honestly, Shiki was doubtful that his Lord—or any higher power, for that matter—would spare a single thought for him, let alone grant him such a privilege.

(His family was dead, and Shiki knew that there was no coming back from that. No amount of faith or prayer could change the unchangeable.)

Even so, the man's words carried a level of genuine sincerity that caught him off guard. It was… awkward. The kind of awkwardness that left him unsure of how to respond. It took him a few seconds longer than usual to formulate an appropriate reply.

"…Thanks."

It was the best he could manage to come up with.

Maosumi just smiled at him, so he thought it was not a bad answer.

However, it was not he who followed the conversation.

"Shiki-kun, you must be aware that we are here to investigate something." Touji pressed on, not rudely. Shiki detected a trace of sympathy in his tone, but unlike Masaomi, Touji was keen on keeping the conversation focused on the matter at hand. "Approximately seven months ago, brooms and windows at the orphanage were reported to have been breaking in some inexplicable manner. After examining them, we found that they were in perfect condition beforehand—there was no visible wear or damage that could have caused them to snap naturally. Given that, we have reason to believe that they were deliberately broken by someone."

His words hung in the air, and though Touji had yet to outright accuse him, Shiki could feel where this conversation was heading.

After a second of contemplation, he chose to divert the conversation to a different matter, one that he was genuinely puzzled about.

"And why is this important?" Shiki questioned, earning two confused glances from the priests. Noticing their lack of understanding, he pressed further. "Things break all the time, don't they? Accidents happen. So why are these particular brooms more important than anything else that's been damaged?"

The two men blinked at his response before exchanging a glance between themselves. It was subtle, but Shiki immediately caught onto the unspoken communication between them. It was as if they could speak to each other without needing to utter a single word.

Then, Touji finally answered.

"You see, Shiki-kun, there are three factors that make this… incident more significant than ordinary cases of property damage." He said. "Firstly, as I mentioned earlier, the condition of the brooms was, while not pristine, still in good shape before they inexplicably broke. The chances of them simply snapping on their own is incredibly low. Secondly, the way in which they broke was… unnatural. The pieces were cleanly snapped, with precise cuts. This isn't something that happens by accident."

At that point, the man leaned forward ever so slightly, his sharp gaze now fixated entirely on Shiki. "And lastly, before we arrived, we were informed that a similar series of incidents had occurred at a hospital. Coincidentally, it was the very same hospital where you were admitted. Even more interestingly, these events began occurring right after your arrival and, curiously enough, ceased entirely the moment you were transferred to the orphanage."

...Ah.

Now he understood.

There had never been a chance for him to escape suspicion in the first place, had there? From the very beginning, he had already been marked.

And to think that he had made sure that there was no one to catch him again after he was spotted months ago.

"So you suspect that it was me."

It was not a question, but instead a statement.

"It would be strange if we did not." Masaomi admitted, his lips curving into a wry smile. "All the evidence points to a single common factor—you. And besides that… the other children had a few things to say about you."

Shiki's expression remained unreadable. "So they talked."

"Nothing too damning, I assure you. Just that you scare them quite a bit, and that you're, in their eyes, the most likely culprit." His smile widened slightly, with a nervous edge in it. "And honestly, I can't entirely blame them. Your eyes are… rather unsettling."

His eyes?

Shiki blinked, caught off guard.

He had never really thought about it before. Were they truly frightening?

Oh, wait, that was not important.

What actually mattered was the fact that the others had ratted him out. Even if their accusations weren't exactly wrong, it still irked him. They had singled him out without hesitation, without caring what consequences that might bring upon him.

Then again, in retrospect, he didn't particularly care what happened to them either. It wasn't as if he wished them harm—he wasn't cruel enough to want them dead or suffering—but beyond that, their lives and choices were none of his concern.

His thoughts drifted back to his current predicament, and his brow furrowed slightly. So, he had been caught. Or at least, that's what they believed.

At no point had they outright declared him the culprit. Instead, they had simply laid out the evidence, all of which pointed undeniably in his direction. They weren't accusing him, they were presuming his guilt.

But if the proof was so overwhelming and their suspicions so well-founded—accurate, even—why weren't they just outright demanding a confession?

…

Ah.

So that was it.

They wanted him to confess of his own free will.

It was a matter of faith, after all.

They knew he was guilty. That much was clear. Yet, instead of pressing him for an admission, they were waiting for him to choose to say it.

And at this point… Shiki was fine with that.

There was no point in denying it. The evidence was stacked against him, and even his interrogators rightly believed that he was responsible. All that was left was for him to decide whether to admit it himself.

Perhaps, just maybe, if their good intentions were genuine, telling the truth might actually help him.

"Alright." Shiki finally said, releasing a resigned sigh as his shoulders slumped ever so slightly. "I did it."

A few moments passed, during which there was no movement of any sort.

And then, unexpectedly, Touji smiled at him. It was an expression that didn't quite fit his face—one that seemed unnatural, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.

"We are grateful for your honesty." The orange-haired man said at last, his tone calm and even. "Lying happens to be the easiest sin to fall into and never make it out of, after all. But one that, as a child, you can still learn to guard against."

Inside his head, Shiki had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, though he buried the impulse deep within himself.

Did this man truly believe lying was the worst sin in the world? When compared to things like murder, betrayal, or cruelty, deception seemed like the smallest offense in the grand scheme of things.

But, of course, priests had their own way of looking at things.

"Well, since you've already owned up to it…" Masaomi tapped his fingers against the edge of his chair, tilting his head slightly as if he were mulling something over. Then, his deep blue eyes flicked back toward him, brimming with something unreadable. "Tell me, Shiki-kun, how exactly did you break the window?"

Ha. Wasn't that the question he had already heard countless times before? From doctors, nurses, and now priests.

Yet his answer was not going to be any different. It was the truth, and to lie was a sin after all. So whether they chose to believe him or not—it wasn't his problem.

Taking in a slow breath, Shiki met their gazes without hesitation.

"I just… cut the lines."

"Lines?" Masaomi repeated, his brows lifting slightly. "What lines?"

"The lines." Shiki answered plainly, feeling nothing upon realizing that they, too, could not see them. By this point, he'd grown accustomed to others' ignorance. "They're all over the place, from the floor to the ceiling, and even on your bodies."

(They didn't just "break")

His response brought nothing more than silence.

It lasted for quite a few seconds, during which the two men just stared at him without the slightest change on their faces. More and more seconds flew by, and little by little, he gradually began to grow a little uncomfortable beneath their scrutiny.

"…I see." It was Touji who finally broke the silence, his voice as composed as ever. "And you say that by slicing through these lines… things just break?"

Shiki merely nodded in response.

It was then that Masuoumi turned his gaze away from him and onto his fellow priest, glancing at him with some uncertainty in his expression. They exchanged a long glance, conversing silently with their eyes.

Yet, the doubt in their expressions wasn't the kind born of disbelief—Shiki noted that much. They were uncertain, yes, but not dismissive. They believed him, or at the very least, they entertained the possibility that what he said was true.

Whatever it was they discussed, it concluded with Masaomi heaving a sigh in exasperation before pulling his hand towards one of the pockets of his coat and pulling out an object from it.Shiki-kun, will you please demonstrate that for us."

He stretched out the object toward him.

Shiki's eyes narrowed slightly as he took the offering. It was a knife, its blade housed within a green scabbard, with the handle wrapped in matching green leather. His fingers curled around the hilt, the weight of the weapon oddly familiar in his hand.

A couple of questions flashed through his mind as he grasped the handle of the knife.

The main one was, why would a priest be carrying a knife around with himself? Of everything he had ever imagined a priest might bring, this was not even close to being one of them.

Sliding the blade free from its sheath, Shiki examined the edge with mild surprise. It was remarkably well-maintained—far sharper and of higher quality than any of the worn-out knives he'd seen in the orphanage kitchen.

"What should I cut?" Shiki asked, unable to fully mask the hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

Touji rose from his seat without a word, lifting his wooden chair and setting it down in front of them.

Alright then.

He stepped closer to the wooden chair, surveying the innumerable lines that plagued it. There were too many for him to choose from to sever, from the feet to the backrest. In the end, he settled on cutting one that was on the saddle itself, since that way he wouldn't be accused of having cut something too easily.

Shiki didn't so much as blink once the knife sank into the seat, nor when he began to draw it across it. The result was immediate. The chair split cleanly in two, both halves crashing to the floor with a dull thud.

Then, he took a step back, lowering the knife to his side.

He turned his gaze toward the two priests, silently gauging their reactions.

There was hardly any surprise in seeing how their faces stayed fixed with their previous expressions, but that didn't necessarily mean that there weren't some minor changes in their features that he managed to notice.

Masaomi's eyes had widened slightly, though the pleasant smile never quite left his face. His blue eyes flicked between the broken pieces of the chair and the knife in Shiki's hand, as if trying to piece together what he had just witnessed.

Touji, on the other hand, remained perfectly composed—his expression as unreadable as ever. Only the faint narrowing of his violet eyes hinted that the display had made any impression on him at all.

Moments that felt like an eternity passed, during which no one moved.

That was until Touji leaned in closer to Masaomi's ear, the other priest following suit, and they began a hushed conversation—one that, presumably, Shiki wasn't supposed to be a part of.

A shame that, despite their precautions, he could still hear them perfectly.

"I have no idea what to do now." Masaomi admitted, his voice laced with uncertainty.

"Me neither." Touji responded, sounding just as lost. "It's not a Sacred Gear—I can't recall having read about one that does something like this. My best guess is that it's related to his eyes."

"Yeah, I thought the same. So, what do you propose we do? We can't just abandon Shiki-kun here."

"I know, I know. Give me a second to think." There was a brief pause before Touji exhaled. "...In all honesty, I believe the best course of action would be to arrange for him to be transferred to an Abby."

"An Abby? Those places are dreadful for children!" Masaomi whispered back sharply.

"I know, and believe me it's not something I truly wish for. But have you got any other better suggestions?"

"...Maybe we could take him back with us, Iri might like to have a big brother."

"Impossible." Touji's denial couldn't have been more immediate and blunt, leaving no room for discussion. "We don't understand what the boy's ability might be about, and bringing him into Devil-controlled territory is foolish. The ruler might report his existence to her allies if she comes to know he's staying with us, and who knows what they'd do to him. If they were merciful—which they aren't—they'd kill him, or even worse, mutate him into one of their own."

"I don't imagine she would do something like that." Masaomi's tone was dripping with skepticism, as well as mild offense.

"Masaomi, please stop being so gullible." Touji's voice hardened, sharp like a blade. He clicked his tongue in irritation before continuing. "First of all, she's a Devil. Her alliances are already in place—you should know that by now. Don't let her words sugarcoat reality for you. That's what they excel at."

If before he had been offended, then now Masaomi stood furious at his partner's offhand comment, his lips pursed and a complexion that was slowly turning bright red.

Before he could retaliate, however, Touji held up a hand, silently ordering him to stand down.

"In any case, he can't come along with us to a territory controlled by a Devil, and that's final. We must send him to an Abby."

With that declaration, the man with light brown hair finally stepped back from Masaomi, who still looked like he wanted to argue, his frustration far from dissipated.

And then, at long last, the priest turned toward Shiki, his gaze locking onto him with intensity.

Oh, so he'd finally remembered Shiki existed? That was nice. Shiki now had a lot of serious questions, given that he understood virtually nothing of what the pair of grown men had just conversed about.

However, Shiki didn't even have the opportunity to begin asking his questions.

The very instant he parted his lips to speak, Touji stepped forward, closing the distance between them with a firm stride. Without hesitation, he knelt down in front of Shiki, leveling their gazes. Then, without warning, he placed a hand on Shiki's shoulder—not squeezing hard enough to hurt, but with just enough pressure to demand his full attention.

"Shiki, do you believe in the supernatural?"

(=====)