The world had returned to normal — or at least that's what it wanted everyone to believe.
Kaito Yukimura wasn't convinced.
It had been exactly 33 days since the night the shadows died. Thirty-three mornings since he'd woken up in the hospital, surrounded by his friends, by Airi's tearful smile. They said he was lucky. That it was a miracle he'd survived the "collapse" of the school's forbidden wing. That he'd rescued seven students, though nobody could explain how.
The teachers said it was a structural failure.
The media barely reported it.
And the students… they forgot.
Almost instantly.
Only Kaito and his six friends remembered the truth — the ghost that hunted them, the twisted illusions, the paths of trial and pain, and the final stand in a space between reality and nightmare.
But lately… Kaito felt like something had come back with him.
It started with dreams.
Black skies filled with eyes. A door that bled light. A whisper calling his name in reverse.
And then came the writing.
Scrawled across the inside of his bedroom mirror in a foggy, childlike hand:
"You never left."
He scrubbed it off, of course.
But it came back.
Always came back.
It was a Saturday afternoon when he received the envelope.
No sender. Just his name, written in perfect cursive.
Kaito Yukimura.
He tore it open, heart thudding.
Inside: a single black feather, cold to the touch, and a note:
"We are still watching.
One of you never truly escaped.
Find them… or lose everything again."
His stomach dropped.
That night, he called everyone to meet at their old hangout spot — the abandoned train tunnel behind the hill, just outside town. The place where they used to go before exams, before things turned upside down.
One by one, they came.
Sota, with his guitar slung over his back. Sora, already flipping through a thick, leather journal. Megumi, clutching her sketchbook. Takashi, hands in pockets, scowling like always. Haru, with a flashlight even though it was still daylight.
And finally Airi, her hair tied back, her eyes scanning every shadow as she approached.
"Is this about the dreams?" she asked quietly, not needing to be told.
"They're back," Kaito said. "And I got this."
He showed them the feather.
Sora's face paled.
"I've seen this symbol," she said, flipping rapidly through her book. "Not in the realm we were trapped in before. Something older. Deeper. It predates Seika High's curse."
"You think this is a new ghost?" Haru asked.
"No," Kaito said. "I think it's the same one."
They all froze.
"I destroyed it," he continued. "I felt it die. I felt its scream."
"Ghosts don't die like people," Airi said softly. "Sometimes… they just move."
"Or they wait," Takashi added, voice low.
"Wait for what?" Megumi whispered.
Sora found the answer two days later.
She stayed up all night researching ancient urban legends tied to Seika town. At 3:33 a.m., she stumbled on a forum buried under layers of dead links and encrypted symbols. It was called The Mirror's Echo — a site filled with first-person accounts of people who claimed to have lived through "multi-layer hauntings."
They described strange symptoms: reversed memories, people flickering in and out of existence, shadows moving independently of their sources, and most terrifying of all…
The Returned.
According to the stories, those who escaped a spirit's grasp were sometimes unknowingly marked. Cursed to become vessels — ticking time bombs for the spirit's return.
One of them, Sora realized with growing horror, could already be infected.
Could already be… changing.
Kaito was the first to notice something wrong with Takashi.
He was quieter than usual — not his typical annoyed silence, but the kind that came with watching things that weren't there. His eyes flicked to corners. His knuckles were bruised more days than not. He said he was fine.
He wasn't.
One afternoon, Kaito followed him. Through the school, past the abandoned gym, all the way to the very edge of campus — where the woods began.
There, Takashi just stood.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
Facing something in the trees Kaito couldn't see.
"Takashi?" Kaito called.
No answer.
He took a step closer. The air grew colder.
He grabbed Takashi's shoulder.
And in that instant, Takashi turned.
But it wasn't his face.
Not fully.
His eyes were black, his mouth stretched into a smile too wide, and the voice that came out wasn't human.
"You let me in."
Kaito stumbled back, heart slamming into his ribs.
Then Takashi blinked — and it was himself again.
Breathing hard. Sweating.
"What… what just happened?" Takashi gasped.
Kaito didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure any of them were safe anymore.
They regrouped at Sora's house that night.
The journal was open on the table, lit by candlelight and shaking hands.
Sora pointed to a drawing she had made: a figure cloaked in feathers, with seven faces swirling behind it.
"This is what's hunting us now," she said. "Not a ghost. Not exactly. A manifestation of regret. It feeds off unfinished trauma. Off survivors."
She looked around at them. "It picked one of us as an anchor."
Haru stood. "Then we find out who, and we break the connection. Like last time."
"It's not that simple," Sota said.
"What if it's one of us?" Megumi asked, voice cracking.
Everyone turned.
And slowly… every pair of eyes landed on Takashi.
He didn't speak.
Didn't protest.
He just stood there, trembling, a tear sliding down his cheek.
"I don't want to be the reason we all die," he whispered.
"You're not," Kaito said firmly.
"Not yet," Airi added.
That night, Kaito had the worst dream yet.
He was back in the mirror room.
Only this time, he was inside the glass — watching a reflection of himself walk free, laughing with his friends, holding Airi's hand.
And then the reflection turned, looked directly at him, and whispered:
"You chose the wrong one."