The Zashiki-Warashi
“Aoba. It might be a bit late to the party, but can I ask you a favor?”
“Huh? Sure, anything!”
“You can decide after hearing what it is.”
She was looking at me with an expression full of anticipation, like she secretly hoped I'd ask for something. Is it because this world's an eroge? I shook off the fluster creeping onto my face and got to the point.
“Can I join your family's dojo?”
“You're welcome anytime!”
“No questions about the reason or anything?”
“I just don't think you're up to anything shady, big bro.”
“You should be a little more suspicious.”
Late April. With the days growing longer, our early-morning workouts were starting earlier in the light. We'd both worked up a pleasant sweat and were stretching out our bodies.
Neither of us was focused on building raw muscle—instead, coordination and flexibility across the whole body mattered more. So after basic exercises, we'd sit facing each other, pulling and pushing to help stretch.
I grabbed Aoba's hands as she sat with her legs split wide and pulled her forward. She let out an ambiguous groan, bending her torso almost flat to the ground.
Anyway. I had three big reasons for wanting to join the dojo.
First, strengthening myself. If I could interfere with souls, there was a good chance they could strike back at me. I'd swung the wooden sword from Hanasaki around a bit, but waving a blade like some novice wouldn't cut it. Learning martial arts basics felt essential.
Second, restoring the Manatsu family's inherited style. As a spiritual energy user who could glimpse their souls, I might be able to reconstruct the original techniques if I trained right. And if I pulled that off, wouldn't it be like a game-changer?
The grand finale: treating Aoba's mom. Her dad adored his wife—if the “big brother Aoba knows” wanted to see her, he'd probably say no. But I wasn't just gonna fix Aoba's curse and let her mom die. Her condition was more urgent anyway, so I needed to check her soul in person.
“When were you thinking of coming?”
“Whenever it works for the dojo and your dad?”
“He's free right now, so anytime's good.”
“I'll nail down a date and time this week and let you know.”
“Yay!”
I peeled the sweat-matted hair off Aoba's grinning forehead. Happens every time we sweat like this. Just standing face-to-face, fixing her damp hair—and she closed her eyes, rising on tiptoes to tilt her face up toward mine.
I placed a hand on her crown and pressed down lightly. She opened her eyes with a pouty, dissatisfied look.
Someone's trying to speed things up. I stroked her hair smooth instead.
“Did you make me out of wood or stone, Takuya?”
“I'm just a healthy high school guy.”
“Too wholesome.”
“In a world like this, that's just right.”
Speaking of eroge stories... it hit me. So when does the protagonist Sendo pick a route? He didn't seem close to Ichinose, I hadn't heard about Shinji Tower, no Fujiwara there either, and Nogawa was a total stranger. No harem route, no bachelor end—by the game's plot, he had to get close to someone soon. Maybe I'd fish for info later.
“Time to head back.”
“Okay.”
As usual, we grabbed drinks from the vending machine after entering the residential area, then split off home. Five minutes left at our parting wave—and something weird caught my eye.
Not even straining, and I see it anyway.
I rubbed my eyes, wondering if it was a hallucination, but there it was: a faint shadow of a kid with pitch-black holes for eyes, nose, and mouth, perched on a nearby roof. Its head jerked at a 90-degree angle, trembling.
Grudge spirit? Or a yokai like Zashiki-warashi? The vibe screamed it'd sprout legs and charge if I made eye contact. I looked away and hurried home.
Fucking terrifying. Side effect of sharper sight? Should I fear these things lurking casually in the neighborhood, or get chills that they're out in the open but harmless?
“...No more pretending I don't see them, huh.”
What the— I shouldn't hear that voice. The creepy kid from the roof was now squatting by our front gate, staring at me. Was it grinning? Its neck bent at a right angle, shaking wildly, black liquid oozing from the voids where face should be.
“Yeah. Got a problem?”
“Honest opinion: you look scary as hell. Any way to fix that?”
Its grotesque head melted, rippling in midair, reforming into a cute little girl.
“First off, what are you?”
“Nope. Not the name part.”
I nodded. A house spirit that brings luck to the family it haunts. Yokai, sure, but also like a guardian spirit—sometimes called divine.
She giggled at my nod, tugged my sleeve, pulling me down. I leaned in, and her finger pierced my ear straight to my brain, scrambling it. Vision flipped, then righted—blood trickled from my nose. I wiped it with my handkerchief.
“Now you hear me clear?”
“...Didn't wanna learn this language.”
“You'd have figured it out eventually. Anyone who sees with eyes can't ignore the ears.”
True—if just anyone could do this, shrine gods would mass-produce spiritual users by jamming fingers in ears and eyes. Thankful I didn't get brain-modded by some psycho yokai. No guarantee this one wasn't, though.
“Boy. From now on, listen with your ears when you look. Some things you hear even if you can't see.”
“Two questions.”
“Ask away.”
“Why seek me out for advice like that?”
“I bring luck to homes. No reason not to tip off an unlucky kid.”
“Unlucky?”
“Boy. Face a god in human flesh, and it ends two ways: sacrifice or hero. Both usually short-lived.”
Creepy shit. I didn't crave 100+ years, but after dying young last life, I wanted at least average. Made sense, though—I nodded and asked the second.
“You followed me just for fun?”
“Half.”
“Other half?”
“Moving in. To bring luck to your home.”
She wanted to squat here. True form like a mummy from the underworld—wanted to refuse, but she wouldn't leave easy.
“Don't think bad of me. I'm a pure spirit—never harmed a human.”
“That first look was too shocking for 'pure.'”
“Can't help it with souls tied to that side.”
“Parents and sister have zero spiritual power.”
“Doesn't matter. Chat with me sometimes, boy. I'll help with spiritual troubles.”
“Hmm...”
“Help vent your urges too?”
“Hard pass on that.”
I drew a firm line with her giggling, offered my hand. She eyed me oddly.
“If I see and hear you, no reason not to touch.”
“Heehee. Right answer, boy. The urge thing was the hint?”
“Kinda.”
Light handshake. Felt human-like, but the soul pressure hitting instantly? Strong spirit. She shifted back to creepy form, perched on our roof.
My room was second floor—her right overhead felt awkward.
“Ugh. Still gotta go inside.”
No free favors, but yokai guard their nature fiercely—her luck promise rang true. Good advice too: don't just look, listen.
I headed in, feeling the Zashiki-warashi's gaze—head trembling vertically again.
Knowing she was on my ceiling? No real rest tonight.