The veiled woman remained by the window long after Elias spoke.
She did not move. She did not smile, or laugh, or tilt her head in that knowing, unsettling way she usually did.
She stood there as if she had been painted directly onto the morning light, her silhouette motionless, almost reverent, as though this moment required stillness.
For once, she did not seem amused.
Elias could feel her gaze even with his back deliberately turned. He focused instead on the mundane tasks before him—rinsing a cup beneath running water, wiping the counter until it sparkle, aligning objects with excessive precision until everything sat exactly where it should.
Normality, was the only thing keeping his thoughts from spiraling out of control.
Order meant containment.Containment meant survival.
"You are wondering," she said at last.
Her voice was quieter than usual, stripped of its teasing edge, softened into something almost fragile. "Why I did not tell you earlier."
Elias paused, the cloth still in his hand. His fingers tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced them to relax. His face remained flat, emotionless—a practiced mask that betrayed nothing, even as an uncomfortable tightness pressed against his chest.
"You knew," he said.
It was not an accusation. Not a question. Just a statement, delivered as calmly as if the conclusion had already been reached long ago.
"Yes," the veiled woman admitted, lowering her gaze. The long sleeves of her wedding dress brushed lightly against the glass. "I knew she was part of it. From the beginning."
Elias exhaled slowly through his nose, the sound barely audible.
He set the cloth aside and picked up the umbrella, placing it carefully by the door as though it were nothing more than an ordinary object.
"Then why," he asked, his voice calm to the point of indifference, "didn't you say anything?"
She did not answer immediately.
When she finally spoke, hesitation was woven into her words—the kind that came from someone who understood exactly how unreasonable their request truly was.
"Because I had already asked too much of you," she said softly. "You gave my son a proper funeral. You cleaned his body, buried him with respect, and let him leave without resentment clinging to his soul."
Her voice trembled, just slightly.
"That alone," she continued, "was more mercy than this world ever offered him."
Elias said nothing, though his grip on the umbrella tightened almost imperceptibly.
"But, I cannot leave yet," she went on, composure barely holding. "The other children are still trapped. Their souls are bound inside the thing the cult worships—the monster that feeds on them, slowly, relentlessly. Until it is destroyed, none of them can move on."
Elias closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
"So you want me to interfere," he said quietly as he opened them again. His expression did not change, though his thoughts churned violently beneath the surface. "You know I don't want to be involved."
She bowed her head. "I know."
Interfering meant being noticed.Being noticed meant losing the fragile balance he had only just begun to build.
And once that balance broke, there would be no going back—no quiet life, no pretending he was merely a funeral director minding his own business.
"You think I'm strong," Elias said after a moment, his tone steady. "But strength isn't safety. Strength only draws attention."
He did not wait for her reply.
He turned, picked up his umbrella, and stepped outside, telling himself the conversation was over—that he had already drawn his line, that whatever followed was no longer his responsibility.
The alley was narrow and dim. Damp walls pressed in on either side, moisture lingering in the cracks.
Trash bags were stacked haphazardly along one wall, and the faint smell of rot mixed unpleasantly with the distant scent of breakfast drifting from nearby homes.
Elias walked at an even pace, eyes lowered, mind deliberately unfocused.
Then the air changed.
At first it was subtle—just a pressure, faint but unmistakably wrong, as if the space itself had grown heavier. His steps slowed despite himself.
The shadows began to move.
Dark, curling miasma seeped from the cracks between bricks, coiling upward like living smoke. It thickened, twisted, gathered—responding to something unseen—until it formed a single pulsing mass that shuddered as if breathing.
Elias stopped.
"...You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
Flesh knitted itself together with wet, nauseating sounds. Bones snapped into place beneath skin that looked half-melted, half-forced. A mouth tore open as if ripped from the inside, black fluid dripping between jagged teeth.
Eyes blinked into existence—unfocused, furious—and every single one of them locked onto Elias at once.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
His face did not move.
Inside, he was praying.
Not for victory.Not for strength.
Just one simple thing.
Please don't let me lose my mind.
He opened the umbrella.
The deep red canopy unfurled above him, strange markings pulsing faintly as though alive. The air vibrated—not with sound, but with a sensation that crawled directly along his nerves.
Crimson butterflies burst outward in a sudden storm.
Their wings gleamed sharp and merciless as they sliced through the miasma, feeding greedily on the curse binding the creature together.
The monster shrieked as its body unraveled, flesh collapsing inward, devoured from the inside out until nothing remained but silence—and the soft echo of wings returning obediently to the umbrella.
Elias closed it slowly.
He leaned against the wall, shoulders rigid, stomach twisting as nausea crept up his throat.
"...Great," he muttered.
The veiled bride stood at the entrance of the alley, watching him. Her expression was unreadable.
"That thing," she said carefully, "was attached to the cafeteria woman. When she died, it sought the nearest living host."
Her gaze settled on him.
"You."
Elias sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. "So now I'm bait."
She hesitated, then asked, "Are you… a hidden master?"
"No," Elias replied immediately.
Honestly.
With his blank face and emotionless tone, the denial sounded unconvincing—almost mocking.
The bride studied him in silence.
Elias exhaled again.
"…Aligning with fate is really not in my job description," he muttered.
That was all he did when the handcuffs clicked shut around his wrists the next morning.
The sound was sharp, metallic, far too loud in the quiet funeral parlor. Two officers stood stiffly at the entrance, hands resting on their belts, eyes fixed on him with a mixture of caution and something closer to unease.
The same inspector from before was there—the one who had asked polite questions, who had looked at Elias as if trying to peel him apart layer by layer.
"Elias Graves," the inspector said, voice firm. "You are being detained for questioning in relation to a possible homicide."
Elias blinked once.
"Okay," he said calmly.
That seemed to unsettle them more than shouting would have.
The victim's name was Silvia Haley.
The cafeteria lady.
According to witnesses, Elias had been the last person seen entering her home that morning. According to neighbors, she had screamed. According to the report, her body had been found twisted in a way no ordinary human could explain, bones bent at impossible angles, eyes frozen in terror.
According to Elias, he hadn't killed her.
That part was true.
The police station smelled like disinfectant and old coffee. Elias was seated in a small interrogation room, hands resting loosely on the table, posture straight, expression blank. The overhead light buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows across his face.
The bride ghost floated beside him.
She leaned close, veil brushing his shoulder, lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile.
"She deserved it," she whispered.
Elias did not react.
The inspector sat across from him, fingers tapping against a thick file. Another officer stood behind, arms crossed, watching Elias like one would watch a dangerous animal that hadn't yet decided to bare its teeth.
"Let's go over this again," the inspector said. "You visited Silvia Haley at approximately nine in the morning."
"Yes," Elias replied.
"You were alone."
"Yes."
"You entered her home."
"Yes."
"You stayed for nearly an hour."
Elias paused briefly. "I was offered tea."
The inspector's jaw tightened.
"And then you left," he continued. "Less than twenty minutes later, neighbors reported her corpse."
"I heard nothing," Elias said softly.
The inspector slammed his hand against the table.
"Do you think this is funny?" he snapped.
Elias flinched—just slightly. Not outwardly. Inside.
"No."
"You show no emotion. No fear. No shock. A woman died brutally, and you sit there like you're discussing the weather."
Elias looked at him. "I didn't kill her."
The inspector leaned forward, eyes sharp. "People like you always say that."
Behind him, the bride ghost laughed quietly.
The questioning dragged on.
They threatened him with charges, with indefinite detention, with psychological evaluation.
They spoke of his past—his disownment, his reputation, the rumors surrounding him. They painted him as a cold, inhuman sociopath who hid behind politeness and a calm voice.
Elias listened.
He could not cry. He could not shout. This body refused to cooperate. Facial paralysis locked him into a neutral mask that only made everything worse.
Then—something change.
The air grew heavier.
Elias felt it before he saw it. A pressure, subtle but unmistakable, pressing against his chest, making his skin prickle.
The bride ghost stiffened.
The door opened.
A woman stepped inside.
She wore a black and gold uniform, tailored perfectly, insignia gleaming under the harsh light. Her long hair cascaded down her back, dark as night, and her eyes—
Crimson.
They gleamed unnaturally, sharp and alive, like a predator's gaze locking onto prey.
"Wow," she said cheerfully. "This place still smells like fear and bad coffee."
The officers froze.
"Y-you can't just—" the inspector started.
She walked past him and casually shoved him aside with one hand. He stumbled back into the wall, stunned.
"Relax," she said lazily. "Hunter Association business."
Her gaze swept the room before landing on the bride ghost.
She burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is rich," she said, pointing. "You've got a full-blown vengeful spirit sitting right next to you and you're interrogating the human?"
She turned to Elias then.
"What kind of monster are you, huh?" she asked brightly. "Keeping one of these around like an accessory."
Elias stared at her.
His fingers unconsciously brushed against the faint tattoo hidden beneath his sleeve—the mark of the umbrella.
This is bad, he thought.
Very bad.
Celestia Athlwein look at him, eyes blink in recognition.
And for the first time since transmigrating—
Elias realized running might no longer be an option.