The precinct's digital forensics lab was a mess of cables, glowing screens, and half-empty coffee cups. Lead tech specialist Rena Yamamoto—sharp-eyed, ponytail, perpetual energy drink in hand—sat hunched over a sterile workbench, the shattered remnants of Aiko Tanaka's phone laid out like a puzzle under bright lights.
Tanaka and Miyazaki watched from behind the glass, arms crossed.
"It's toast," Rena said through the intercom, not looking up. "Screen spiderwebbed, battery swollen, circuits fried. But the SD card and NAND chip are intact—mostly. I pulled what I could."
She plugged a custom reader into her laptop. Files began popping up on the big screen: photos, videos, encrypted notes.
First: blurry shots from the old subway ruins—glowing ward shimmers in the dark, a partial silhouette of something massive and clawed dissolving into shadow.
Then: a video clip, shaky handheld. Aiko's whispered voiceover: "This can't be real… some kind of barrier? Like the old stories about hidden villages guarding—"
The clip cut to static as the phone "exploded" in her hand.
Rena whistled low. "Whatever hit this phone did it from the inside. No external impact damage consistent with a drop. Almost like… energy surge."
Tanaka's jaw tightened. "Notes?"
Rena opened the recovered text files.
Forum DMs: Contacts offering "proof" for cash—anonymous accounts referencing "the 11 villages," "artifacts," "wardens who hunt in silence."
One encrypted note, partially recovered: "They'll kill to keep it secret. If I disappear, upload everything."
Miyazaki adjusted his glasses, skepticism cracking. "This is conspiracy nonsense… but the wounds, the residue, the witness accounts…"
Tanaka stared at the screen, cigarette unlit between his fingers.
"She got too close to something real. And they sent someone to silence her. Not a Chōjin. Something older."
Rena leaned back, spinning in her chair. "Boss, if we're chasing fairy tales… what next? Stake out every old tunnel in Hokkaido?"
Tanaka finally lit the cigarette, exhaling slow.
"We follow the money trail on her freelancer gigs. Find who she was talking to. And we pull every cold case with demon corpses and perforated bodies."
He glanced at the blurred photo of the cloaked figure again.
"Whoever—or whatever—did this… they're not done. Not if we keep digging."
The screen flickered once, as if something unseen watched back.
Up above, snow fell thicker, hiding footprints that were never there.
Down below, Kanashimi turned in his sleep, a small, secret smile on his lips—dreaming of a certain princess and the taste of crystal-fruit glaze.
Back in the forensics lab, Rena Yamamoto kept digging through the fragmented phone data like a woman possessed. Hours bled into the night, screens glowing blue on her tired face.
Then—ping.
A recovered note app entry, timestamped minutes before the attack: a frantic voice-to-text log, clearly dictated while running, breath ragged in the audio remnants.
The text was garbled from the panic and the phone's damage, words smashed together:
"blackcloak guy blinking everywhere invisible weapon punching holes like orafang orafang help its the aura fng aura fng run"
Rena froze. Read it aloud.
"'Ora fang'? 'Aura fng'?"
Tanaka, who'd been dozing in a chair, snapped awake. He leaned over her shoulder, eyes narrowing at the screen.
"Aura fang," he muttered. "Like the kid joked earlier. Some video game thing—teleporting bone spear that pierces multiple times."
Rena pulled up a quick search on her phone: images of a popular fighting game character wielding a glowing bone relic, striking enemies with rapid, invisible thrusts.
Tanaka's cigarette trembled between his fingers.
"She wrote it while running. Saw the weapon—or thought she did. Misspelled in panic, but clear enough."
Miyazaki, called back in, stared at the note. "Coincidence? Gamer girl hallucinating under stress?"
Tanaka crushed the cigarette out, voice low and tired.
"Or the killer used something that looks exactly like a myth. And she recognized it from legends… or games based on legends."
He paced, rubbing his temples—sleep now impossible.
"Pull every reference to 'aura fang' in folklore databases, games, old texts. If this is a calling card… we're not chasing a person. We're chasing a ghost from stories we thought were fake."
The lab lights buzzed overhead.
Tanaka stared at the board, the misspelled words burning into his brain.
Aura fng.
He wasn't sleeping tonight.
Or any night soon.
Down below, Kanashimi murmured Yōsei's name in his sleep, smiling softly.
The worlds were inches apart… and drifting closer.
The next morning, the precinct briefing room was packed—reporters crammed outside the windows, flashing cameras through the blinds. Tanaka stood at the front, dark circles under his eyes, files stacked like a fortress.
Before he could start, the door swung open.
A man in a sharp black suit entered—mid-fifties, pin on his lapel marking him from the National Public Safety Commission, flanked by two stone-faced aides. The room went dead silent.
"Detective Tanaka," the official said, voice smooth but edged with steel. "Commissioner Sato. I'll be brief. The people want to know what happened in Odori Park. Social media is exploding—'wolf monster,' 'teleporting assassin,' conspiracy theories linking it to old demon sightings. The Prime Minister's office is fielding calls. We need answers. Now."
Tanaka straightened, exhaustion masked behind professional calm. "Sir, we're pursuing multiple leads—forensic anomalies, witness accounts of a cloaked figure using an invisible piercing weapon, possible ties to underground folklore groups—"
Sato cut him off with a raised hand. "Folklore? The public isn't buying 'gas leak' anymore. Videos are circulating—blurry, but enough to fuel panic. Stock market dipped this morning over 'supernatural threat' rumors. We can't have mass hysteria."
He leaned in closer, voice lower. "Classify what you can. If this ties to... sensitive vigilante activity or those rumored 'hidden protectors,' route it through my office. No leaks. Give the press something—animal attack gone wrong, escaped experiment, anything believable. But find the truth quietly."
Tanaka's jaw tightened. "And if the truth isn't believable?"
Sato's smile was thin. "Then we make it believable. The people want safety, not nightmares."
He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Update me daily. Personally."
The door clicked shut.
Tanaka exhaled slowly, turning back to his team.
"Alright. Double efforts on the phone data, the 'aura fang' references, and any links to those old demon clean-up cases. If the government's this nervous..."
Kato finished the thought quietly. "...we're closer to something big than we thought."
Outside, reporters shouted questions into the wind.
Inside, the investigation spiraled deeper—straight toward secrets buried far below the snow.
While in Lumora, our sweet Kanashimi finally stirred in his sleep, dreaming of a certain princess's teasing grin.
The emergency press conference was supposed to be a calm "update" to quiet the rumors.
Instead, it became the day the world broke.
The main Sapporo TV station had cleared its prime-time slot, cameras rolling live nationwide. Detective Tanaka stood at the podium, flanked by Dr. Miyazaki, forensic tech Rena Yamamoto, and—surprisingly—the government official Sato, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Tanaka's face was haggard, eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights poring over evidence. He gripped the podium like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"We've been telling you it was an animal attack. A hallucination. A hoax." His voice was raw. "We lied."
The room erupted—reporters shouting, cameras flashing.
Tanaka raised a hand, waited for semi-quiet.
"The victim, Aiko Tanaka, was killed because she discovered proof of something we've buried for generations. The wounds on her body—perfect perforations, no weapon traces—match decades of unsolved cases involving supposed 'demons' and 'monsters' that mysteriously die without human intervention."
He clicked the remote. Blurry photos filled the screen: ward shimmers, dissolving black residue, the misspelled note—"aura fng."
"We recovered her files. Her contacts. Old records the government classified. And the truth is…"
He took a breath that sounded like surrender.
"The 11 hidden villages are real."
Gasps. Screams from reporters. Sato tried to step forward, face pale, but Tanaka kept going.
"They live alongside us—underground, in nature, even off-world. They guard forbidden artifacts. They hunt the things that go bump in the night so we don't have to. And when someone like Aiko gets too close… they silence them. Cleanly. Permanently."
Rena stepped up, voice shaking but firm. "The weapon used matches descriptions in ancient texts and modern games based on them—the Aura Fang. Teleporting bone relic. Multiple invisible strikes. We have witness sketches, residue, everything."
Miyazaki added quietly, "The 'monsters' she photographed weren't attacking the public. They were breaches… and the villages cleaned them up. Always have."
The feed cut to split-screen: old classified files flashing on screen—redacted until now—maps with suspected village locations, photos of strange lights in remote areas.
Tanaka looked straight into the camera.
"They're real. They protect us. And they kill to keep it secret."
The broadcast cut to static as government censors finally killed the signal—but not before millions saw it. Phones exploded with shares, clips, screams.
Within minutes, social media collapsed under the weight of #HiddenVillages trending worldwide.
Stock markets plummeted.
Riots started in some cities.
Religious leaders called it the apocalypse.
Conspiracy theorists screamed "We told you so!"
And far below, in the glowing crystal halls of Lumora…
A quiet alarm began to toll—soft at first, then urgent.
The secrecy was shattered.
The world now knew.
And our sweet Kanashimi was still asleep, oblivious, with the faintest smile on his lips from dreams of tarts and a certain princess.