"Kaji had left the Shadow Realm to report the situation to Kuzu Endo.
The Shadow Realm is built to traumatize the opponent to death by overwhelming memories and emotions
"Meanwhile, far from the Shadow Realm—
the air in Nirokao Village was thick with fear and smoke.
Yuuchi, his mother, and Koumei moved from house to house, checking the wounded and calming the terrified.
"Everyone okay?" Yuuchi asked, scanning the crowd. "He didn't hurt anyone, did he?"
An older villager squinted at him, tilting his head.
"Wait a second… you look familiar. That stare—you've got the same eyes as that fella from Amahira. What was his name? Rei… Reiz… ah, can't remember. Layla! Doesn't he remind you of someone?"
From behind a stack of supplies, a young woman looked up.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "You're the spitting image of the Hero of Amahira. You ripping him off, kid?"
Yuuchi blinked, taken aback. "What? No, no—I just look like this, alright? Must be coincidence."
He turned to the villagers, clearing his throat.
"Everyone, get inside. There are shadow demons roaming around this area. We'll keep watch until sunrise."
Layla smiled faintly. "Just like he used to say…"
Yuuchi froze, but she was already walking away.
We switch to Gaki, his body suspended in the shadowy void. The distorted whispers of the Shadow Realm crawl through his ears as the darkness beneath him twists—then opens.
A pulse of black light flashes.
"What… is this?" Gaki mutters, eyes narrowing.
"These… are someone's memories."
He's drawn into them, helplessly. The world reforms around him—soft light, a small wooden home, the laughter of a newborn.
The Memory of Kaji
Kaji was born in the quiet village of Hoshigane, a place veiled in mist and mystery—home of the Spirit-Binders, people capable of speaking with the remnants of the dead.
For generations, they had kept the balance between the living and departed, binding wandering souls and offering peace to the restless.
Nothing about Kaji seemed unusual—at least at first.
He was bright, cheerful, full of questions. He loved to run through the fields and mimic his sensei's techniques, dreaming of one day mastering the art of spirit binding.
He had two close companions:
Daiki, the calm and kind-hearted prodigy, and Hayuto, his fiery rival whose ambition often burned brighter than his reason.
One morning, the sound of birds greeted Kaji as sunlight spilled into his small room.
He jumped out of bed, eyes glimmering with excitement.
"Breakfast is ready, sweetie!" his mother called from the kitchen.
"Nuh uh, Mum! I'm gonna be late for training with Sensei Ichiro!" Kaji shouted back, strapping his wooden practice talisman to his wrist.
"At least let me pack your lunch!" she protested, chasing after him.
His father, laughing softly, rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Let the boy go. He's just like I was at his age."
Kaji grinned, grabbed the small satchel his mother tossed at him, and dashed down the dirt path.
"Bye, Mum! Bye, Dad!"
"Have fun, Kaji-kun!" they called after him, their voices warm and fading.
The training field lay on a cliff overlooking the Mistwood Forest. There, Daiki and Hayuto were already waiting.
"You're late, Kaji," Daiki sighed, folding his arms.
"We've been waiting ten minutes!" Hayuto barked, stepping forward with a glare. "No matter! Today I'll defeat you—and finally set my people's spirits free! Then everyone in Hoshigane will know my name!"
Before Hayuto could finish, Daiki smacked him on the head.
"Enough with your drama, Hayuto. You sound like you're auditioning for a play.
"Sheesh," Kaji laughed, scratching his head. "You're always so angry, Hayuto. Can't we take a breather for once?"
Just then, a firm voice echoed through the field.
"If you have time to argue," it said, "you have time to train."
Sensei Ichiro stepped into view—a tall, battle-worn man with long blond hair and piercing golden eyes. A jagged scar ran from his shoulder to his wrist, and one of his eyes was clouded white from an old injury. Rumor said it was a wound inflicted during a war between gods.
"Line up!" Ichiro commanded. "Spirit Binding isn't just power—it's resolve. To command the dead, you must first conquer yourself."
The three students stood at attention.
"Today's lesson," Ichiro continued, drawing a symbol in the dirt, "is the Echo Rite—the art of hearing the unspoken words of the departed. But heed this warning…" His voice darkened.
"If a spirit calls your name more than once… you must not answer."
Sensei Ichiro clapped his hands once. "Alright, enough chatter. Daiki, you'll partner with Hayuto today. Kaji—you're with me."
That alone made Hayuto grunt under his breath. He hated when Ichiro gave Kaji special attention.
The training ground was alive with movement again — the soft crunch of dirt, the hum of spirit energy vibrating faintly in the air. Ichiro led Kaji toward the edge of the forest, where the trees grew tall enough to blot out half the morning light.
"Kaji," Ichiro said, his voice steady but low, "your resonance is improving. You've learned to hear the world's breath. But today… I want you to listen to something else."
Kaji blinked. "Something else?"
Ichiro nodded toward the woods. "The spirits here are restless. There's one that calls for peace — but its voice is tangled in sorrow. Your task is to find it… and help it move on."
Kaji's curiosity outweighed his fear. "You mean… talk to it?"
"Talk, listen, guide. Spirit-binding isn't just about power, Kaji. It's about mercy."
Ichiro gave him a small nod, then turned back to the others. Kaji walked alone into the forest.
The deeper he went, the quieter it became. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Then he heard it — faint at first, like someone crying beneath the earth.
"…help me…"
He turned sharply. His spirit mark pulsed faintly, like it recognized something ancient. The trees shivered.
Kaji followed the voice to a small clearing where a faded shrine stood, half-swallowed by roots. A broken mask lay beside it, one side smiling, the other cracked and hollow.
The air turned cold. A pale, childlike figure materialized before him — a spirit, translucent and trembling. It looked no older than he was.
"Who are you?" Kaji whispered.
The spirit looked up, eyes clouded white. "I was… someone once. My village burned. I stayed behind to warn them. But they never listened. So I stayed here… waiting for someone who could."
Kaji took a step closer. "You're hurting. You can rest now."
The spirit shook its head violently. "Rest? I can't! They're all still here. Trapped. I tried to protect them, and now they call to me from the dark. They won't let me go!"
The wind howled. Suddenly, dozens of faint faces flickered around him — the trapped souls of Hoshigane's past. Their whispers merged into something unbearable.
Kaji fell to his knees, clutching his head. "Stop! I'm not your enemy!"
The spirit lunged, merging with him for a brief, blinding second — his resonance flaring beyond control. His veins burned, his mark seared with light.
Ichiro appeared just in time, pulling him out and grounding him with a single strike to his back, releasing the excess energy. The souls vanished like smoke, leaving only silence.
Kaji gasped, trembling. "Sensei… I felt it. It wasn't evil. It just… wanted to be heard."
Ichiro's face was pale. "You touched the veil too early, Kaji. Spirits carry pain heavier than ours. If you take that burden alone, you'll lose yourself."
Kaji looked down at his hands — they were still faintly glowing, the mark now deeper, more complex than before.
Back in the Shadow Realm, Gaki stood frozen. The images faded in and out, like memories fighting to stay alive.
He whispered under his breath, "That's where it began… the first time he carried pain that wasn't his."
He could feel it — that moment was the seed. Kaji didn't fall because he wanted power. He fell because he couldn't stand watching others suffer. And in a world that punishes compassion, that made him the easiest to break.
As we move on to the next day, we see a man claiming to be possessed by devils. He was locked in a prison cell and is waiting to be executed. He is guilty of this even though it's not his fault.
He claims that such spirits don't truly exist—that they are devils living on a faraway, secret island, indulging in every earthly pleasure without anyone to punish them legally.These devils, he says, manipulate the world into believing they are lost spirits of sorrow and sadness, then possess the hearts of men to spread their despair.
They are punished only after death by God.
The prisoner's name is Matt. He is twenty-four years old, with white hair and a weary face that once belonged to a kind man. He has a wife and children waiting for him beyond those prison walls—but no one believes his story. The guards call him mad, the priests call him cursed, and the people call him a murderer.
Yet in the dim candlelight of his cell, Matt prays that someone—anyone—will see the truth before it's too late.