On Monday, Sakurai Saki finished washing up and prepared to head out for his morning exercise.
As usual, his destination was Komazawa Olympic Park. It was only a little over a ten-minute jog from his home, and the park's jogging paths were always lively at dawn with residents walking their dogs. The place wasn't particularly large; aside from being a nice spot to enjoy the ginkgo trees in autumn, it didn't have many standout features.
If he truly wanted to admire ginkgo trees, he would rather go to Meiji Jingu Gaien between November and December. The famous ginkgo avenue stretched nearly three hundred meters, so long and golden it felt like it reached up into the sky.
On the way to the park, passing through nearby residential streets, he saw elderly neighbors watering flowers and pruning potted plants. As he turned into a narrow alley, he noticed several cats strolling lazily along the walls of fenced courtyards. They moved with that elegant, self-satisfied gait only cats possessed, casting him a few disdainful glances.
Compared to their leisurely feline freedom, Sakurai Saki felt that his life as a student was far less carefree.
Being silently mocked by cats was a bit irritating.
He stopped walking and lightly tapped his foot.
His shadow immediately shifted. The cats, unaware of the danger of offending someone with a Superpower, remained where they were. One even lifted a paw and began grooming it absent-mindedly.
Sakurai Saki's shadow slid up the wall.
A few seconds later, it reached out and grabbed the shadow of one of the cats.
"Meow—?"
The cat whose shadow had been captured suddenly lost all strength and toppled off the wall like a mosquito struck down by an electric swatter. Sakurai Saki hadn't intended to catch it, so the black cat simply fell to the ground with a soft thud.
The other cats froze. Then, as if awakened to the horror of what had happened, they all scattered at once.
Sakurai Saki glanced at his own shadow.
The cat's shadow squirmed violently in its grasp.
With a thought, he released it—but the moment it attempted to return to its body, it couldn't. It bounced off, unable to merge back into the cat.
That confirmed it: today's ability was active.
*Today's Superpower: Shadow Extraction*
Effect: Extract shadows or command one's own shadow to attack. Any creature that loses its shadow loses half of its soul. Cannot affect the user.
Side effect: One's shadow may move freely, with behavior depending on the user's actions.
"Losing half the soul, huh…"
Sakurai Saki looked down at the fallen black cat.
It shakily pushed itself upright, but its gaze had gone vacant, its movements sluggish. Some healed wounds showed it had probably suffered harsh treatment before.
"Meow…?"
The black cat wobbled forward in a crab-like sideways walk.
Sakurai Saki raised a brow.
A creature that had previously walked with elegant feline grace was now moving as if its programming had corrupted.
He picked the cat up from behind and turned it around.
"Eyes like salted fish… yeah, the impact is serious."
Since this ability only worked on living beings, it wasn't all that destructive. He couldn't extract shadows on a large scale yet, and…
His own shadow wasn't particularly strong. Extracting too many shadows would make control difficult.
He glanced down.
His shadow was being smothered by the cat's shadow clinging to its head like a facehugger. The little shadow cat radiated a ferocity that was almost admirable.
Meanwhile, his own shadow… was pathetically weak.
Shadow combat power: *1 cat.*
He doubted it could even defeat the big goose that guarded the entrance to his grandparents' village.
And honestly, he wasn't exaggerating—many high school students nowadays probably couldn't beat that goose either. The white, calf-biting terror of rural Japan had traumatized many.
"…"
After observing for a few minutes, he finally prepared to return the shadow.
Without his permission, an extracted shadow couldn't go back on its own.
His shadow peeled the cat's shadow off its head. But the instant he tried to set it near the cat's body, the shadow went berserk, struggling wildly. Within a few seconds, it actually broke free from his shadow's grip—an embarrassing defeat for someone supposedly gifted.
Then, instead of returning to its cat, the shadow sprinted away along the walls, racing through the line of connecting house shadows.
Instinct, perhaps—escape.
Sakurai Saki watched the far end of the alley.
Then he silently picked up the cat and carried it with him as he left.
Shadows couldn't stray too far from their bodies; otherwise, the host would be unable to move freely.
Sakurai Saki carried the cat to the nearby park, set it down on a bench by the path, and then began his morning jog.
Many young women were out walking their dogs. The moment they saw Sakurai Saki, they halted mid-stride. For the residents in this area, morning dog walks all shared a single purpose: to admire the legendary beauty known in their hearts as "The Beautiful Boy Seen Once in a Thousand Years."
"Lately, I heard some middle schoolers have been catching stray cats and torturing them to death. It's horrible," one woman murmured.
"Really? I can't understand that at all," her friend replied.
Sakurai Saki didn't pay much attention. Abusing animals was terrible, but it had nothing to do with him.
While he ran, the black cat's shadow sat by the bench, staring at its motionless body. After several seconds of complete stillness, it turned its head toward a Shiba Inu resting nearby. Then, without warning, it dashed over and swiped its dark claws across the dog's shadow.
Swish.
A thin streak of blood appeared on the Shiba Inu's neck.
"Woof!!!" the dog howled, erupting into panicked barking.
The cat's shadow tilted its head, confused by the reaction. A few seconds later, it scurried up a tree, raked its claws across the tree's shadow, and found that nothing happened.
With its limited intelligence, it couldn't fully comprehend why it had changed into its current state—but it understood one thing clearly:
It could harm other animals.
And for a vengeful black cat, that alone was enough to ignite its desire for revenge.
Just then, Sakurai Saki finished his first lap. Turning the corner, he saw the cat's shadow racing straight toward his own.
Did it actually think it could hurt me now?
Sorry, but I'm not that weak.
A gunman might die by the gun, and a doctor might succumb to illness—but a Superpower user is not defeated by his own ability.
He willed his shadow to intercept the small creature lunging toward him. This time, he gathered his focus, actively directing the movement. His usually pitiful shadow—the kind that couldn't even beat a large goose—now had its combat ability strengthened several times over.
Walking back to the bench, he heard the Shiba Inu still barking in fright. After forcing the cat's shadow back into its body, Sakurai Saki watched as the black cat's eyes regained clarity. Its fur stood on end, and it hissed fiercely at him before turning tail and bolting without a glance back.
Sakurai Saki stared at its retreating figure, deep in thought.
Shadows could cause harm, yes—but they couldn't drift far from the main body unless the main body died.
"So this wasn't the 'mistake' either…"
These last few days, he had never forgotten the contents of the Future Diary. What mistake would push him to return home with Chika and ensure her safety?
When the black cat first broke free, he suspected its uncontrolled state might endanger Chika. But remembering the limitation—that shadows couldn't stray far from their bodies—he dismissed that theory.
Unless the cat's body died, its shadow couldn't escape.
Did the future change simply because I had a premonition?
But that was a paradox in itself.
The Future Diary was merely a predictive ability; his future self didn't actually exist. The "him" five years from now was a separate matter—by then, he would fully master his ability, so sending messages back in time wouldn't be strange.
His thoughts churned. He glanced at the Shiba Inu next to him.
"Woof!!"
The dog was leashed to a bench, its owner nowhere in sight. Sakurai Saki noticed the small wound on the dog's neck—bleeding had stopped, but the mark remained.
If that cat runs around like this, with how spiteful cats can be, the people around me might be in danger.
The idea of a shadowy assassin striking from anywhere sent a chill down his spine.
Fortunately, he had prepared for this possibility.
He looked once more at the still-barking dog.
Could the original timeline have had this angry dog kill the cat?
But Shiba Inus weren't known for being that aggressive…
Forget it. No point overthinking something already resolved. Tomorrow, I'll just head home with Chika.
He probably wouldn't be able to use his ability again today.
Checking the time on his phone, Sakurai Saki decided not to linger.
After he left, several middle school boys wandered into the small park. They searched around, found no stray cats, and left with disappointed expressions.
Meanwhile, somewhere Sakurai Saki couldn't see—
The black cat that earlier escaped dashed across a street, was struck by a speeding vehicle, and collapsed on the asphalt, dying.
At the same moment, in the shadows of a narrow alleyway, a blonde, voluptuous woman in a red evening gown observed the scene with faint interest.
"Hanakawa's cat…" she murmured.
A cat that dies with strong resentment has a chance of reviving as a yokai—known as a Hanakawa's cat.
But a newly born yokai had nothing to do with her. The woman—Kiss-shot—yawned in boredom.
She hadn't come to this city to deal with minor yokai.
"I wonder if this could be my burial place."
Kiss-shot had lived far too long—so long that living held no meaning anymore. Now that she had lost her purpose, the only pleasure left to her was the pursuit of death. Yet as a vampire, her regenerative abilities were absurdly strong. She could ignore the sun that normally burned vampires to ash, and garlic or crosses were nothing more than seasonings and decorations in her eyes.
"If only someone could kill me…"
A faint, almost wistful hope appeared on her pale, exquisite face before she melted back into the shadows of a nearby building.
—
Shuchiin Academy held its customary Monday morning assembly. Along with the weekly address, the school song chorus was an essential part of the routine.
"Looking up at the clear blue sky~"
"At the distant peak of Mount Fuji~"
"Riding on the clear breeze~"
"Can this song be conveyed?~"
Loud, unified voices echoed throughout the auditorium.
Fujiwara Chika, as the conductor of the school song ensemble, listened with satisfaction. She glanced at several key students, all of them members of the Student Council.
Kaguya-san: seriously dedicated.
Saki-kun: singing properly, though his face didn't show it.
Ishigami-kun: blatantly slacking off.
Shirogane Miyuki…
Chika's baton paused. This was the first time she had watched him closely during the school song.
Then she realized something horrifying.
Lip-syncing? He's actually lip-syncing?
The Student Council president—Shuchiin's model student, the embodiment of honor, the wearer of the heavy pure-gold emblem symbolizing the Academy's two hundred years of history—was silently mouthing the lyrics!?
And even if he was lip-syncing, he moved like a stiff toy robot that hadn't been oiled in ten years.
Shuchiin Academy had the same school song from elementary through high school. It was nearly impossible not to know it unless one was an external admission. But even then, not remembering it after a full year was unthinkable.
Was he unwilling to sing? Did he not remember the lyrics?
Or… did he have some bizarre condition where he'd drop dead the moment he opened his mouth to sing?
Chika discarded the "forgot the lyrics" theory immediately. How could someone who ranked first in the grade forget song lyrics?
After the morning assembly, she darted toward Sakurai Saki, who was just about to leave the auditorium, and tugged his sleeve.
He followed her to the side, ignoring the glances from passing students. Seeing the pair together wasn't unusual—after all, they were Shuchiin Academy's publicly recognized couple.
"Saki-kun, did you notice? Shirogane Miyuki was totally lip-syncing the school song!" Chika whispered with a conspiratorial grin.
Sakurai Saki: "…"
What should he do? If Chika discovered Shirogane's tone-deafness, she would absolutely, unquestionably mock him.
After a brief internal struggle, Sakurai Saki made a decision.
He must protect his friend's secret.
Until he could fix Shirogane Miyuki's singing, he absolutely didn't want the Student Council to know the truth. He had to hide it.
Yesterday, Shirogane had dragged him into a full afternoon of vocal training—an experience Sakurai Saki had attempted (and failed) to escape from more times than he could count.
Sakurai Saki wasn't the type to give up. After being subjected to such torture, pulling out now would only make everything meaningless. He was like a trapped investor who'd sunk too much into a collapsing stock—it was too late to flee.
He refused to believe he couldn't teach someone to sing. For someone as prideful as Sakurai Saki, this challenge would not defeat him. He would succeed before Golden Week.
"Shirogane Miyuki might be exhausted from studying, so he didn't want to sing out loud," Sakurai said smoothly—almost as effortlessly as Hayasaka Ai lying.
"Really?" Chika blinked, not even thinking to doubt him.
"Yes." Sakurai nodded firmly.
I'm protecting you, Fujiwara Secretary. You don't even know you were dancing on the edge of an abyss.
The morning continued without further incident.
—
By noon, Chika picked up her bento and headed to the Student Council Room, only to find it empty.
Sakurai Saki usually ate there; he rarely went to the cafeteria.
She headed to his classroom and asked around.
"Huh? Sakurai-kun? He left with Shirogane Miyuki. I think they said something about the music room," a girl replied.
Instantly, the pieces clicked together in Chika's mind.
So the president isn't good at singing!
Chika, internally: Fufufu~
After thanking the girl, she headed toward the music room.
Arriving outside the first-floor music room, she heard singing—Sakurai Saki's voice.
An inexplicable chill ran down her spine.
It's probably nothing…
Right now, eating lunch with Saki-kun was far more important.
Cheerfully, Chika knocked on the door.
She didn't know she wasn't only knocking on the door—
she was knocking on her own death knell.
Knock, knock—
The singing inside stopped.
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