The sky above the old port was dim and overcast, like a heavy curtain weighing down on Bix's shoulders.
His clothes clung to him, drenched. But it wasn't just the seawater—it was sweat too. Cold, nervous sweat.
He looked around, dazed.
The same old port.
Same concrete ground.
Same rusted chains, same broken crates.
The same exact spot he remembered standing in earlier that afternoon.
"Was it a daydream... or did I just… die?"
The thought wouldn't leave his head.
His breath was unsteady, his lips dry even as water dripped from his jaw.
His eyes trembled—not just wide, but trembling—fear settling like fog over his vision.
Hiroshima stood beside him. He had noticed.
Unlike before, he didn't joke or prod. Instead, he placed a hand gently on Bix's shoulder.
"Hey," he said calmly, "You're burning up. Let's get to the hotel."
His voice, for once, was soft. Not playful. Not loud. Just... kind.
They walked in silence through the gravel path of the deserted dockside.
A lone hotel loomed ahead, almost like a shadow glued to the edge of the sea—a decrepit building, half-painted and barely lit.
Bix suddenly stopped. "Hey, wait… can we not go there?"
Hiroshima looked confused. "Why not? It's the only one in the old port. And it's the cheapest."
"I'll pay," Bix said quickly. Too quickly.
He looked back nervously, as if something—or someone—was watching.
"We came here for the reunion, right? It's not like I'm broke or anything."
That last part was a lie. Hiroshima knew it. But he didn't push. He just sighed and nodded.
"Alright then," Hiroshima said, hands in his pockets. "Let's go to the new port. Long walk though."
They turned away from the lonely hotel, walking through empty streets that slowly grew livelier.
The path to the new port region was longer, winding past dried-up canals, vending stalls, and empty houses.
Eventually, the air grew less salty, more filled with life. Lights flickered from the distant curve of the street.
Here, at the new port, the roads were cleaner.
There was one tall luxury hotel—meant for the rare tourist who stumbled into Kobashi—and several scattered motels and cheap inns with plastic banners and flickering neon.
As they walked further in, the smell of grilled fish and miso soup crept in.
Bix stopped in his tracks.
There, under a cracked wooden sign, was a small restaurant with a glass window and a faded name:
Goto's Diner.
Before Bix could take a step, the door slammed open.
An old man in an apron pointed right at him.
"You little brat!!" he shouted, eyes wide. "BIX??"
People turned. Heads peered from behind food stalls.
Bix's spine stiffened. But before he could react, the man burst out laughing and rushed forward, grabbing his shoulders.
"You're alive! I thought you left for good after… that mess."
"That's Goto-san," Bix whispered to Hiroshima. "I used to bunk classes and work for him… we were kinda unofficial partners. Helped him get stuff from container ships that were abandoned here."
Goto wiped his hands and stared at Bix's face. "You've changed, kid. I was expecting a louder greeting, but okay."
Then he lowered his voice. "Listen… I never believed that nonsense. The others talked a lot… but I know you. I know your heart."
Before anyone noticed, a single tear slipped from Bix's eye.
He swiped it away quickly, turning toward Hiroshima.
"You're the same," he mumbled. "Somehow still the same."
"Of course I am," Hiroshima said with a grin. "Can't say the same about you."
Just then, a young girl appeared from inside the restaurant.
She carried a tray of bowls and bowed slightly. "Hello."
Neither Bix nor Hiroshima recognized her.
Goto grinned. "My daughter. She helps out now."
Hiroshima blinked. "Wait… that's your daughter? She used to be a tomboy, right? When she was like, seven?"
"Yup. She's fourteen now," Goto said proudly. "Smarter than me, runs half the kitchen."
Bix smiled. But something was off.
He looked at the girl and asked casually, "What about your twin? Where's your sister?"
There was a long pause.
Goto's face stiffened.
The girl tilted her head. "Twin?"
Hiroshima laughed awkwardly. "He's joking. You never had twins."
"No," Goto said, a little puzzled. "I have only one daughter."
The air suddenly grew cold around Bix.
His breath halted.
His skin crawled.
His hands clenched behind his back.
He knew Goto had twins.
He remembered their names—Satsu and Mitsubishi.
He remembered both of them. Their faces. Their laughter.
Not just one. Never just one.
But now… everyone only remembered one daughter.
He stood still.
Eyes wide.
Sweat dripping down his neck again.
Something was wrong.
And it had already
Goto's Diner wasn't the cramped noodle shack Bix remembered.
It had grown into a two-story building with hanging lanterns, polished wood floors, and the warm aroma of simmering broth escaping through open windows.
He stood at the entrance, stunned.
"Whoa," Hiroshima whistled. "Guess container-ship supplies paid off."
Goto welcomed them in like family.
He didn't ask questions about the past.
He didn't bring up the incident.
Instead, he served food—a lot of food.
Bix and Hiroshima ate until their stomachs hurt and their vision blurred. Bowls of udon, fried tofu, sashimi, pickled vegetables—plates kept coming, like time itself had paused inside the diner.
When they finally leaned back in their chairs, unable to move, Goto laughed and placed a toothpick between his lips.
"That's enough for the year," he said.
Bix pulled out his wallet, already half-empty from the earlier detour.
"Don't be stupid," Goto said, waving his hand. "This one's on me."
Bix looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. A warm feeling bloomed in his chest.
But Hiroshima stood up, placing folded yen bills on the counter.
"Come on," he said. "At least take half. We aren't deadbeats."
Goto accepted after a small argument. They split the cost, walking out under a glowing streetlamp.
It was already 7:00 p.m.
Before parting ways, Goto leaned close and lowered his voice.
"There's something I should tell you both," he said, eyes scanning the street.
"There's been… a killer. Wandering around since last month. Eight people dead so far."
Bix straightened, his stomach knotting again.
Goto continued, "We haven't told tourists. Town council doesn't want panic. Only locals know. So don't go into lonely places. Especially at night."
Bix nodded slowly. But his mind was already racing.
Pete.
It had to be Pete.
No one else could kill with that kind of anger.
They left Goto's and walked to a nearby hotel in the new port. It wasn't fancy, but it had clean sheets and working locks.
Bix paid with the last of his coins, his wallet now completely dry.
Hiroshima offered to split, but Bix refused. He didn't want to seem like a burden again.
Inside the hotel lobby, a group of people laughed and chatted in a circle near the vending machines.
Familiar voices.
Hiroshima lit up. "Classmates!"
There were six of them:
Sakura, with her quiet smile and art-student hoodie
Kiara, once the loudest girl in class, now calm and composed
Tom, still chewing gum and making weird jokes
Ayan, now wearing glasses and a soft beard
Maturity, a sharp-tongued girl who always read horror novels
And Tento… muscular, serious, with the same burning glare Bix remembered
The moment they noticed Hiroshima and Bix, the group went quiet.
Ayan offered a small wave. Kiara smiled awkwardly.
Then, out of nowhere—WHAM.
Tento walked up and punched Bix straight in the face.
Bix staggered backward, hitting the wall.
A stunned silence followed.
Tento turned to Hiroshima. "What the hell are you doing still hanging around this murderer?"
"Come on. You're better than this. Join us. We'll stay on the clean side."
Hiroshima stared at him blankly, then chuckled.
"Oh please," he said, brushing off his shoulder. "You still talk like we're in high school. Grow up, musclehead."
Tento's face darkened. "He doesn't belong here."
Bix, clutching his cheek, bowed his head.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I… I didn't come to hurt anyone."
He couldn't even look at them.
All their eyes—silent, judging, distant.
Tento stepped closer, voice low and bitter.
"You're pathetic."
Bix didn't respond.
Because somewhere inside, he believed it too.
The hallway was narrow, damp with a faint smell of sea salt.
Bix and Hiroshima climbed to the third and final floor of the hotel, their footsteps echoing in the silence.
Bix unlocked Room 37, and Hiroshima kept walking toward Room 40.
They didn't speak. They were both tired. Or pretending to be.
The room was dim. A single fan creaked above, pushing stale air around.
Bix dropped onto the bed, but sleep refused to come.
His mind spiraled.
The old man's curse, the missing twin, the punch from Tento, the killer on the island, and worst of all—his past.
That class 11 camp night, the scream, the confusion, the blood…
It all returned like a tide, swelling against his chest.
---
Then came the scream.
A sharp, chilling sound that cut through the hotel walls like broken glass.
Bix shot up.
Lights flickered on outside his room. Footsteps thundered in the hallway. He opened the door to see others gathering near the second floor stairway.
He followed the noise down the creaking steps—and then he saw her.
Miyuri.
Lying cold in the corridor.
Eyes wide open.
Face pale.
Her chest torn open, heart missing.
Bix stumbled forward, his mouth dry, feet dragging closer in disbelief—when something grabbed his leg.
He screamed and fell—right into the corpse.
Gasps echoed around him.
He quickly rolled away and stammered, "I-I'm sorry—!"
But Tento was already stepping forward, jaw clenched, fists trembling.
One punch away from exploding.
The hotel manager appeared, pale and sweating.
"Someone call the police!" he shouted.
---
The authorities arrived fast—two uniformed cops in rain-soaked jackets. They sealed off the floor. Everyone in the hotel was rounded up and questioned one by one.
Tento pointed straight at Bix.
"This guy's cursed. He was there. Touching the body."
Some classmates muttered.
Some said nothing.
Most just stared at him coldly.
---
Soon, the manager's office became an interrogation room.
One of the cops waved Bix in and closed the door behind him.
The officer, older and tired-looking, leaned forward under the yellow bulb.
"When did you last see her?" he asked, voice flat.
"7... 7:00 PM," Bix stuttered. "In the lobby."
"Did you do it?"
Bix's lips parted, but no words came out.
The cop didn't look interested in answers.
He looked like someone doing paperwork.
Or worse—someone helping close a case before it started.
"You're just what they say," he muttered. "Always trouble."
The interrogation dragged for thirty minutes.
By the end, Bix's hands were trembling in his lap.
The officer stood. "Come with me."
Outside, everyone was gathered again in the lobby.
The cop marched Bix out in front of them all.
Classmates stiffened.
Someone whispered.
He reached into his belt, pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and raised Bix's wrist.
But instead of locking them, he set them gently on the reception desk… and held out his hand.
With a smile.
"It's been a long time, Bix. How are you doing?"
Bix blinked, frozen.
The officer was grinning like an old friend.
"We were juniors once, right? I'm Jake. Your senior."
Hiroshima chuckled from the corner.
"Oh my god. Jake-senpai?"
The room, moments ago tense and brittle, shifted into an awkward party.
Jake pulled out drinks from a cooler.
Some classmates hesitated… then joined in.
Laughter returned. Bottles clinked. People loosened up.
Bix stood alone, still rattled. But Jake and Hiroshima pulled him in.
Jake put an arm around his shoulder.
"Sorry for the drama. I got in late and figured I'd say hi to my juniors. Didn't mean to wake everyone."
He smiled again.
But Bix couldn't smile back.
His eyes wandered to where Miyuri had died.
He leaned close to Hiroshima.
"Hey," he whispered. "What the hell just happened? What about Miyuri's body?"
Hiroshima sipped his drink and blinked.
"Murder?" he asked, confused.
Bix's chest tightened. "Yes. She was… you saw it…"
Hiroshima frowned. "Who's Miyuri?"
Bix stepped back.
The room spun.
His fingers were ice cold.
No one remembered her.
Not even Hiroshima.