When Miyamizu Toshiki heard the words spoken by the boy inside his daughter's body, he let out a long sigh of relief. The tension that had gripped his body finally eased.
As he relaxed, the chaotic memories swirling in his mind seemed to fall into place. One memory rose to the top—his very first meeting, and farewell, with Futaba.
Back then, he had come to the Miyamizu Shrine as a folklorist.
His future mother-in-law clearly had no patience for him and passed the task of welcoming him to Futaba, who wasn't yet his wife at the time.
Even after all these years, Toshiki could vividly remember how captivated he was by her charm.
Unlike her stern mother, Futaba was gentle and easy to talk to, her every word and action naturally comforting.
Even before they parted ways, he was already looking forward to their next meeting.
And during that farewell, he had asked the question that had been on his mind since they met.
"When I arrived at the shrine earlier, you looked surprised when you saw my face, but then you smiled right after. What was that about?"
Futaba had smiled as beautifully as ever, though a bit shyly this time. What she said next had completely caught him off guard:
"I'm not sure why, but the moment I saw you, I felt like you were going to be my husband. I don't know why… it's just a strange feeling."
She spoke as if it were nothing special, but when she saw the shock on his face, she looked away, cupping her cheek and muttering with an embarrassed little gasp:
"Oh my… I'm being so weird, aren't I? That's weird, right?"
Was it really that strange?
Toshiki couldn't recall how he answered at the time.
But now, he clearly knew what his heart had wanted to say:
'No, it's not strange. I felt the same—a familiarity, like I had known you forever.'
They had spoken so politely and formally when they first met.
Even now, that memory made Toshiki smile with warmth and a touch of longing.
"So... you and Aunt Futaba really swapped bodies before, too?"
A sudden voice snapped Toshiki out of his memory.
His vision refocused, and he realized he'd been speaking those thoughts aloud without even noticing.
'Seriously? Was I really that caught up in it?' He silently scolded himself.
But—if he had also switched bodies with Futaba, then everything would make more sense.
Still... why couldn't he remember her?
"And whenever I return to my body," Kyousuke continued thoughtfully, "my memories of the swap get blurry."
"Maybe when it's all over, we'll be left with just vague impressions of each other. That could explain why neither of you remembered clearly."
Toshiki's eyes widened.
Suddenly, everything seemed to click.
Just like Mitsuha is now called the Divine Priestess, maybe Futaba seemed so wise and all-knowing because she'd seen the world through someone else's eyes, experiences she never actually lived herself.
Even if the details of a body swap faded, maybe core memories and instincts remained?
'That's why she felt such an instant connection to me when we met. And that's why she fought her mother so fiercely to marry me.'
And maybe I wasn't driven by love at first sight either.
Maybe… we already shared a bond back then—one we couldn't even remember.
"So that's what it was... That's what it was all along…" Toshiki murmured.
He raised his teacup to take a sip, only to find it completely empty.
Kyousuke, now fully aware that Mitsuha's father had once mistaken him for a divine spirit, quickly shifted into "helpful mode."
He grabbed the teapot from the tray and poured Toshiki a fresh cup.
"Please, enjoy," he said, slipping into the role of dutiful host with ease.
"This might be the first time in four years that my daughter's poured me tea… though I didn't expect it to happen like this." Toshiki looked at the warm amber liquid and gave a rueful smile.
The weight on his heart had finally lifted, and in its place came a surprising sense of peace—and even room for new thoughts.
"Um, if you don't mind me asking," Kyousuke ventured, seizing the opportunity, "even if you wanted to enter politics… did you really have to leave the Miyamizu Shrine?"
That question had been eating at him since yesterday, ever since Yotsuba casually dropped the bombshell, "Dad ran away from home."
If Toshiki had stayed, Kyousuke was sure Yotsuba wouldn't have gotten so thrilled over something as simple as a bicycle.
Maybe she could've even had a fancy chauffeured ride to school, courtesy of her mayor dad.
At first, Kyousuke had assumed Yotsuba wore shorts and t-shirts every day because it was just the countryside way.
But after walking her to school and seeing all the other kids in cute little dresses, he'd realized her life had been... different.
It made him quietly sad. At least there was still time to make things right.
Besides, Kyousuke knew Miyamizu Toshiki wasn't even his real name, he was born Mizoguchi Toshiki.
Yet even after leaving the family, he never reclaimed his original surname.
It was likely he'd kept Miyamizu to benefit from the influence that name carried in Itomori.
In a small, closed-off town like this, becoming mayor as an outsider would have been nearly impossible otherwise.
So if Toshiki wanted to enter politics, why not stay at the shrine?
Heck, he could even keep being the Kannushi (head priest) if he wanted.
Kyousuke knew Miyamizu Shrine didn't answer to the Jinja Honcho (Association of Shinto Shrines), so its rules were far more flexible.
In Itomori, the shrine's authority arguably exceeded that of any national organization.
If Toshiki were still the shrine's head, he probably wouldn't even need to campaign to get elected.
In fact, if Mitsuha suddenly declared she wanted to be mayor, the townspeople might start a petition demanding "14-year-old girls be allowed to govern municipalities."
"It's not what you think," Toshiki said quietly.
"Yes, I used the Miyamizu name for influence. But if I'd stayed, my wish would never have come true. The tragedy… would've happened again."
Facing the boy who wore his daughter's face, Toshiki found himself opening up more than expected. But just as quickly, a surge of anger bubbled up.
That's right, it was because of this boy that Mitsuha became the Divine Priestess!
It was because of him that the townspeople saw her as a living god, even greater than Futaba.
Mitsuha had never shown the brilliance that her mother once did, and yet now, under his influence, she had transformed into someone amazing.
"Tragedy?" Kyousuke asked, puzzled.
The only tragedy he could think of in Itomori… was the comet.
"It's all your fault!" Toshiki snapped. "Mitsuha's become just like Futaba!"
His voice was full of fury. "You're not a god and you're just some nobody running wild in my daughter's body!"
Maybe he had done similar things back when he swapped with Futaba… but that was different.
He was a father now.
"…I know you're angry, but please, don't rush to conclusions. At least tell me why you're angry."
"I mean, look—this whole body-swapping thing, it wasn't my fault. Maybe there's some greater force at play here. You never know."
"What kind of nonsense is that? Are you seriously spouting that Miyamizu family drivel already? Have they brainwashed you too?"
What Kyousuke didn't expect was that his words seemed to make the man in front of him even more furious.
"That's exactly what Futaba used to say. And now you're saying it too. It's because of this, this blind belief that I wanted to destroy this foolish town once and for all!"
Whoa, destroy the whole town?
Okay, dial it back, old man.
What are you, the protagonist of some hot-blooded shounen manga?
Kyousuke mentally ranted, holding up his hands in the air like he was trying to calm down an NPC mid-cutscene.
"Let's just talk this through calmly, yeah? Maybe this is all one big misunderstanding. Let's start from the beginning."
"What tragedy were you talking about earlier? What exactly did Aunt Futaba say? And what do you mean something bad will happen if Mitsuha ends up like her?"
"I'm not a riddle-master here—you're gonna get exiled for vague storytelling."
Miyamizu Toshiki picked up his now-cold tea and drank it in one gulp.
Then, turning away, he stared out the window, inhaling deeply—twice.
Kyousuke followed his gaze—and realized the window looked out over the peak of the mountain where the Miyamizu Shrine stood.
The amber glow of lights illuminated what he remembered was the Kagura Hall, where Mitsuha and her little sister used to practice sacred dances under their grandmother's guidance.
"My wife, Miyamizu Futaba… she was driven to her death."
'What?!'
Kyousuke's head snapped toward him in shock, eyes wide.
He immediately studied the man's expression, but Toshiki didn't turn—he kept staring at the shrine.
And in his eyes… was a kind of hatred that chilled Kyousuke to the bone.
The question—who did it—was right on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. No way, right? There's no way it was Grandma… or Yotsuba?
So the famed swordmaster of Tokyo, Kyousuke, laid down his metaphorical blade and decided to listen properly.
Justice could wait.
Once the floodgates opened, he knew Toshiki wouldn't stop.
Sure enough, though annoyed by the silence, Toshiki shot Kyousuke a glare before continuing:
"Not long after Yotsuba was born, Futaba fell ill. I don't know if it was my own subconscious rejection, but I can never remember what the exact illness was."
"All I remember is that her immune system was attacking itself. Still, even after things got bad, she refused to go to the hospital. Do you know why?"
Kyousuke said nothing.
He could tell this question wasn't directed at him—but at a memory of himself.
"She was the shrine's miko, the spiritual pillar of the town, the vessel of the gods. How could someone like that go seek treatment in a modern hospital?"
Every word felt like it was ground through clenched teeth.
Kyousuke didn't need to ask to feel Toshiki's overwhelming resentment towards the townspeople, the shrine, everything.
He finally understood why Toshiki had said the same tragedy would repeat itself with Mitsuha.
"Even when she finally collapsed and was taken to a hospital, she still refused to be transferred to a major hospital in the city."
"She insisted on staying here in this tiny, local clinic where I could only watch helplessly as my wife suffered through her illness alone. And she just kept getting worse."
Kyousuke watched as the man's body began trembling.
He was holding himself so tightly his knuckles looked like they might burst through his skin.
He was reliving something he could never forget.
Kyousuke's thoughts drifted to Sakura.
If she ever refused treatment like that, he'd force her to go—no matter what. But… if it were too painful… maybe he'd hesitate.
Maybe he'd waver. And in that moment, he knew—when it came to the people he loved, he'd always been weak like that.
"My wife… she gave up on living. Even when I got down on my knees and begged her, she just smiled and said, 'Everyone has their own destiny.'"
"Is that really a good enough reason to leave me? To abandon our daughters?"
Now Kyousuke understood why Toshiki had flown into a rage at his earlier words—about fate and destiny.
They were almost exactly what Futaba had said to him.
"I couldn't accept it. I refused to. I'm an educated man. I believe in modern medicine. We've come this far so tragedies like this don't have to happen anymore!"
'Yes! Exactly!' Kyousuke inwardly cheered.
If modern medicine fails, well he still had a system that sometimes will help him.
"I finally found a hospital in Tokyo, a specialist facility that treats autoimmune diseases. I was just about to make the arrangements when the clinic here called."
"Futaba… she was gone."
Kyousuke blinked.
After all the build-up, all the mystique surrounding her, her death sounded… almost anticlimactic.
Ordinary. Tragic in its simplicity.
"She left behind one final, cryptic message: 'This is not goodbye forever.' But what else is death if not a permanent farewell?!"
And then, Miyamizu Toshiki broke down in tears.
He looked up, locking eyes with Kyousuke, and the twisted pain in his expression shocked him.
No time to joke about "dramatic facial acting" or anything—Kyousuke was completely floored by what came next.
"And the townspeople, those same people who revered her, who praised her for years—they didn't shed a single tear. Not one. All they said was, 'Futaba-sama was too kind. Too perfect. That's why the gods took her early.' That's it. Every last one of them."
Toshiki's face contorted in a strange way—he was smiling, but tears streamed freely down his cheeks.
The corners of his mouth were twisted downward.
It took Kyousuke a while to place the expression: it was like one of those clowns in depression therapy who's told to go cheer up by watching other clowns.
"Even her mother, the high priestess of the Miyamizu Shrine, she said, 'If Futaba said this was her destiny, then we should respect her decision.' What utter garbage! My wife was a living, breathing person."
"The reason she refused treatment, the reason she rejected going to a city hospital, it was all because of them!"
Toshiki's words painted a horrifying picture. Kyousuke felt a chill run down his spine.
Even if a neighbor you barely know passes away, people would at least murmur a prayer or offer condolences.
But here in Itomori, when Futaba died… they were cold. Detached. Like it was nothing.
How could a divine messenger fall ill? If she got sick, then surely it was because she had been "called back" by the gods?
Finally, Kyousuke understood the true source of Miyamizu Toshiki's rage.
This was why he said Futaba had been killed driven to death by the blind beliefs of the people around her.
No one knew if her illness could have been cured but it was clear. Their influence had made her give up on living.
Kyousuke could feel his pain now. He understood the fury.
He couldn't forgive the townspeople… or Miyamizu Hitoha.
Someone had to be held responsible for his wife's death.
Otherwise, the fire in his heart would never burn out.
As expected, Miyamizu Toshiki's next words confirmed his suspicions.
"Beneath this town of Itomori lies an invisible web. Everyone is caught within its threads—and at the very center of it all is the Miyamizu Shrine."
"That web is what trapped my wife. The strange way she behaved before she died was because of the looks the people in this web cast upon her."
Toshiki's voice trembled with emotion.
"The Miyamizu Shrine defines the connections between people, between things, and between people and things as kami—gods."
"In other words, Futaba was betrayed by the kami. This ignorant belief, this damned network of ties—that's what killed her!"
He clenched his teeth, spitting out his conclusion with hatred.
"So that's why you went into politics?" Kyousuke asked cautiously. "To change this town?"
"Not to change it," Toshiki growled. "To destroy it. I despise the foolish people brainwashed by the gods. I despise the gods themselves—illusory, meaningless."
"I want to annihilate this place, this town ruled by Miyamizu Shrine's blind faith. Because of that belief, Futaba couldn't even die like a normal person."
"A town like this has no place in the modern world—it deserves to be wiped out."
Wow, Kyousuke thought. This went from a passionate speech to full-blown supervillain mode real fast.
"But couldn't you have just… left?" he asked, trying to sound reasonable. "Taken your mother-in-law, Mitsuha, and Yotsuba somewhere far from here?"
"With your skills, you could have done something greater somewhere else."
Wouldn't a normal person just move on from the painful memories?
Uncle, you sound way too much like a final boss right now.
Still, Kyousuke knew it wasn't his place to judge.
No one could truly understand the depth of Toshiki's grief and rage—he just had no desire to experience it himself.
"...Like I said," Toshiki murmured, his voice heavy, "unless someone pays the price, I can't calm the fury in my heart."
"And besides… Mitsuha and Yotsuba, they chose to stay at the shrine when I left."
'Click.'
The sudden sound of a camera shutter snapped Toshiki out of his thoughts.
"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped. "Why are you taking pictures of me now, of all times? Are you insane?"
Kyousuke calmly raised his phone. "Take a look at yourself. Honestly, even now, I think Mitsuha and Yotsuba would still be too scared to leave with you."
Toshiki stared at the photo, stunned.
That... was him?
The man on the screen looked like a monster twisted by grief and fury. He almost didn't recognize himself.
That's right.
After Futaba died, the ones who needed comfort the most were young Mitsuha and Yotsuba.
But instead of being there for them, he collapsed into his own despair.
The girls were left to be raised by their grandmother, while he spent his days drowning in tears.
Every time they tiptoed over to check on him, they were met with a terrifying figure—not their father, but a ghost of one.
Even when he left the shrine, he'd gotten into a fierce argument with his mother-in-law, right in front of the girls, never once thinking of how scared they must have been, clinging to each other.
Yes... it was no surprise they chose to stay behind.
Compared to a father broken by grief, it was their grandmother the one who managed their mother's funeral while soothing two children who had lost both parents, who became their rock.
It was the shrine, still filled with traces of their mother's presence, that made them feel safe.
Toshiki stood frozen, not knowing what kind of expression to wear.
Deep down, he had resented his daughters for not wanting to come with him.
But now, for the first time, he realized it was all his fault.
"I… I've been wrong all along, haven't I?" he whispered. His tears dripped into his teacup, sending soft ripples through the amber liquid.
Kyousuke didn't say anything.
He just turned his head to the window, gazing silently outside.
He usually didn't meddle in other people's family business... okay, maybe he had meddled this time, but still—the man clearly already had his answer.
"Mother… Mitsuha… Yotsuba…" Toshiki murmured, his voice thick with longing.
He followed Kyousuke's gaze out the window, his expression softening into deep, aching nostalgia.
In Japanese, they refer to the mother-in-law as giri no haha—but here, Mother felt right.
Now that the emotional barrier between him and his daughters had been lifted, a flood of warm memories surged through him—memories of a time when they were still together.
And with it came an overwhelming yearning.
"So… Uncle Toshiki," Kyousuke said with a small smile. "Want to come home with me? Your daughter's been missing her runaway dad, you know."