Extracting the Soul's Wedge
Seriously, why was that tender green leaf so tense?
It was a Saturday afternoon. I'd already brought up the topic with Aoba and the dojo master, and now I was waiting for them at the estate's front gate. After a little over a week of training at the dojo, the master seemed to have acknowledged my attitude to some degree—he'd even accepted my out-of-the-blue request. Humans, huh. It's always a joy when someone recognizes you.
"You're out early."
"Hello, sir."
"No need to be so stiff today. This is personal business."
"Got it."
Aoba emerged in casual clothes, dressed up a bit, but her expression wasn't great. She gave me a small smile when she saw me, but she clearly hated going to the hospital. Even in the original story, she never reacted well to hospitals. There was a scene in a hospital corner much later on, but that was deep into the late game. Well, today we were heading there to fix the root cause, so let's think positive. Maybe because she was in a bad mood, or holding back in front of her father, Aoba only stuck right by my side instead of her usual clinginess. But ironically, without her training gear and in everyday clothes, her faintly sweet scent was even more tantalizing than usual.
Begone, worldly desires.
The dojo master pulled up in a classic American car. He explained it was a heirloom from his father-in-law. The old man had passed early, but it held many memories, so he hand-washed it himself. Anyway, we chatted about random happenings at the Manatsu household as we drove to the hospital.
"It's been a while since Saturday visiting hours."
"Have I been too stubborn?"
"No. Your mother will be pleased."
Maybe because they visited often, check-in at the hospital entrance was quick. The only awkward bit was the nurses smiling at Aoba glued to me and asking if I was her boyfriend.
The real problem hit once we reached her mother's floor.
Ghosts. Everywhere. Some on the verge of turning malevolent, teetering like they were jumping rope over the line. Others, haunted by accident memories, wandered with brains leaking out. Hard to look at, honestly. Normal folks without spiritual sight would just see vague will-o'-the-wisps or something. But I could make out the human shapes clearly.
"Here."
"...Hello."
It was a standard private room—not critical care yet. A woman in patient gown sat on the bed, her eyes sharp enough to mirror Aoba's if she frowned.
"Oh, a new face."
"I'm Tsukino Takuya."
"I've heard the name. Seems my daughter likes you a lot."
"Mom."
"It's no secret, the way she's clinging."
Standing around chatting felt odd, so we dragged over all the room's chairs and sat. The master was taciturn, Aoba moody, and I was awkwardly clueless on how to start. Silence stretched until I broke it to her mother, who was quietly smiling.
"Ma'am, about your illness... do you know anything?"
"In what sense?"
"Like stories from your ancestors, or something passed down the family."
"...There is, yes."
As expected. The master's the son-in-law, Aoba's still young. If anyone knew, it'd be her—and I was right.
"First off, please keep what happens here secret."
"Oh my."
Hanasaki knew about my abilities, and Ichinose probably did too, managing the school. But with future events in mind, better to keep my limits under wraps. My strengths come with clear weaknesses—if a spiritual expert decided to kill me, I'd be done. So this was like securing a surface-level promise first.
She nodded, and I focused my mind. Touching a living soul for the first time since Inuyama. Deep breath, eyes closed, concentrate.
Opening them, traces of souls who'd lingered here flooded my vision. Negative emotions made my head spin, but I zeroed in on her mother.
"Your eyes..."
"What."
"Hold on."
More chatter and I'd get swept into the hospital's spiritual haze. I signaled them quiet with a hand. Slowly, confidently, I peered into her soul—comparing to the wedge I'd spotted before in the master and Aoba. Reaching out to her slightly fearful face, I grasped the soul near her solar plexus and that wedge.
Careful not to damage the soul. Not like that cafe manager's ragged end. Gently extracting the wedge, I infused spiritual energy to fill the gap.
Finally, a clean yank on the remnant, and I released the strain. Bigger drain on spiritual and mental energy than expected—I wobbled.
"Oppa, your hand went into Mom's stomach and out."
"Huh?"
"For real."
What. Her body couldn't have turned ethereal, so mine must've edged toward the spirit side. Zashiki-warashi was iffy enough with divine speech— was this okay? Brief panic.
Pain stung my right hand—the one that pulled the wedge. A purple obsidian-like shard, like the curse fragment from before.
Small mercy: no explanation needed after the hand-in-stomach surrealism. Made belief easier.
"Now, Takuya. Care to explain?"
"Ah, yes."
I placed the wedge on a talisman Hanasaki gave me, infused spiritual energy, and sealed it. Analyze later with her. Then, briefly explained my abilities and spiritual energy to the three—skipping others like Inuyama, except Hanasaki.
She looked convinced.
"In Manatsu lore, illness was heavenly punishment. Ancestors messed up passing down Manatsu-ryu, or so the vague story went."
That'd be the incest for spiritual inheritance. Straight from the story. Too horrific to voice—I just listened.
"So it's a soul issue?"
"Yes. Body won't heal instantly, but proper treatment should improve it steadily. And Aoba..."
I'll fix yours before it takes root. I vowed that. Aoba teared up behind me, tackled, and we tumbled onto her mother's bed in a heap. Mom watched with "Oh my, oh my," the master—relieved at her recovery prospects despite shaky proof—hugged her lightly.
Aoba pinned me, lay atop, and squeezed tight.
"Oppa."
"What, just calling again."
"Marry me."
"No, we're not old enough."
Pre-2022 Japan: women 16, men 18 for minors. We were both under. Legally impossible.
Like that mattered—Aoba propped up, kissed me deep, tongue in, lingering. Felt like minutes. She pulled back flushed, licking sticky lips.
Why was this kid so skilled at kissing, post-kiss face so seductive? Eroge law. Virgin pure, but when it happens, pro like years together. Looks the insatiable playboy. Mood-killing thoughts.
"That's my girl."
"Pardon?"
"Ahem."
Parents showed no sign of stopping her—seemed to encourage, even planning to step out with Mom. No. Fan dream or not, not this way. Aoba stronger, couldn't force free. I sat up, hugged tight, rolled—now atop.
Pinned under me, she looked happy. Brain freeze. What now?
"Aoba."
"Yes, hubby?"
"Wait. Just... not yet."
Maybe later... She pouted dissatisfied, closed eyes, leaned in. Ah, damn. Lightly, brief touch-and-release. Bird kiss, right?
"Oppa."
"Yeah."
"You're a good person."
"Trying to be."
"Not just to me."
"...True."
"Still, you're my rock—always positive, saying what I need, sweet praise, pulling back when I lose control. One of a kind."
One person's small kindness buoys another's day; casual praise fuels a lifetime. So the upbeat athlete girl's hidden love for cute trinkets, worry over Mom's illness, fear it'd hit her too, self-loathing at discomfort around Mom—all lighter now.
From here, live as Manatsu Aoba: not heir, not school star, not morning-smiling gym girl, not gloomy hospital daughter—but one who loves herself more.
"Oppa. I love you."