Chapter 56: My Daughter's Friend

Recently, Ariko Asano had been feeling a bit down. It wasn’t because of the upcoming school festival. As a third-year student, her involvement in the festival had diminished considerably. She was still responsible for a few tasks, being a member of the student council, but things had quieted down now.

What troubled Ariko was that Qiaoqiao hadn’t taken her along on any exorcism commissions lately.

[Ariko☆Kira]: Sensei, I have some free time these days~
[Ariko☆Kira]: If you have any exorcism commissions, you can call me to observe~
[Ariko☆Kira]: I’ll be good and just watch from the side.
[Ariko☆Kira]: Oh, by the way, Saya has started warming up to people lately. If you have the chance, you should come visit the shrine and see her~

Two nights ago, having finally wrapped up the school festival matters, Ariko was able to message Qiaoqiao. She sent four Line messages in a row.

Five minutes later, Qiaoqiao replied.

[Qiaoqiao]: There haven’t been any exorcism commissions lately. If something comes up, I’ll let Miko Asano know.

Saturday afternoon.

“Sigh.”

After finishing her training, Ariko rolled back and forth on her bed, frustrated that she couldn’t study. She had heard bits before, but hadn’t realized just how tough it was for lower-level exorcists.

In Japan, shrines handled happy affairs like weddings, temples took care of funerals, and the Onmyo Bureau, a government department, employed onmyoji as civil servants. These organized exorcists had their own primary jobs; exorcism was just a side duty. Even if they didn’t receive commissions, it wasn’t a problem.

But independent exorcists like Qiaoqiao—if commissions dried up, there truly was nothing to do.

Since returning from the Maldives, Ariko had heard all sorts of things. For example, her teacher had dealt with a troublesome child spirit on the first day of Golden Week, and had been involved in a yokai incident on May 1st. Last weekend, there had even been news of Meiji Shrine destroying a criminal yokai hideout, with her teacher playing an active role.

This meant her teacher hadn’t been idle lately. Unfortunately, Ariko hadn’t been around during that time; otherwise, she could have learned more exorcism techniques.

With this thought, Ariko, as if sensing something, picked up her phone.

Buzz—

Her phone vibrated.

Ariko nearly dropped it, juggling it midair before it landed on her bed. It was a message from Qiaoqiao, brief and to the point.

[Qiaoqiao]: Miko Asano, I’ve received an exorcism commission. Are you available?

“Yes, yes, yes!” Ariko replied instantly. After getting the address, she changed clothes at lightning speed, grabbed her bag, and dashed out the door.

“Hm?”

Shōji Asano, the chief priest of the Tokyo branch of Atsuta Shrine, frowned slightly as he watched his daughter rush out. “Something’s up.”

...

Two hours earlier.

On the Yamanote Line.

Qiaoqiao held a bunkobon, quietly studying. In Japan, bunkobon weren’t just for entertainment novels; they were a compact paperback format, popular among commuters for their portability. The fact that so many popular literary works were published in this format was another story.

The volume in Qiaoqiao’s hands was about yokai legends. Since meeting Suzuka, his interest in yokai had grown.

As he read, Qiaoqiao discovered that Japan classified yokai in two ways. The first kind included animals, plants, and vegetation that, after being infused with spiritual energy, gained consciousness and took on human form. The second kind was formless entities of nature—wind, frost, and so on—that, through legends and tales, had gathered faith and become yokai.

Suzuka belonged to the first category. Kamaitachi, the sickle weasel, fell into the second.

Research on the first type of yokai was more advanced, since they could be paralleled with biology. The second type, however, was much trickier—more “monstrous” than other monsters, often defying measurement or classification through ordinary means. They were rarer, with far fewer samples, and the Exorcists’ Association had even less jurisdiction over them, leaving them shrouded in mystery and danger.

This made the kamaitachi involved in the recent case a rare research subject for the major organizations. Qiaoqiao hadn’t asked about what ultimately happened to the kamaitachi, but according to Seiji Ii, at least part of it was kept at Meiji Shrine. As for the yokai at the three hideouts, their bodies had decayed and the remains were sent to the Onmyo Bureau for study. There were still no answers as to why they had mutated.

The Yamanote Line looped around Tokyo, and even on holidays, it was crowded. Qiaoqiao had given up his seat to an elderly passenger and was now standing steadily in the center of the carriage.

That morning, he had gone to the library to look up more information on yokai, and two borrowed books now sat in his bag.

In Japan, the supernatural was not exactly a secret. Beyond exorcists with spiritual power, many scholars and aristocrats also took an interest in the uncanny.

For example, the legendary Zashiki-warashi, said to bring luck, was sought after by many prominent families. In modern times, stories of the supernatural had only proliferated—yokai manga, novels, games. Qiaoqiao even learned that some works in these genres were actually produced by yokai themselves. Making money was secondary; their true aim was to change public opinion about certain yokai.

Take the Inugami for instance. In old tales, it was simply the vengeful spirit of a dead dog—nothing more. After absorbing spiritual power and faith, it became something akin to a minor deity associated with misfortune. From a spirit, it evolved into a yokai.

But once written into novels and drawn in manga, the Inugami gradually turned into a friendly, approachable figure. In some areas, it even became a symbol of local culture.

Just as humans gradually influenced yokai, yokai, in turn, subtly shaped human society.

At this thought, Qiaoqiao suddenly felt a premonition and looked up.

The train was just arriving at a station. People poured out. Among the departing passengers, Qiaoqiao sensed a strong presence of yin energy.

As mentioned before, Qiaoqiao’s spirit vision was always active. In crowded places, he often saw faint traces of yin energy around people’s necks. It wasn’t that they were necessarily haunted. Living in a place with poor feng shui, suffering from low spirits, or physical weakness—all these could lead to the accumulation of yin energy. Most times, it would dissipate on its own, like a cold that gets better with rest.

But this particular man had a heavy, dense aura—far beyond normal. If left alone, it could affect his health or even cause accidents due to mental distress brought on by the yin energy.

Glancing at the platform, Qiaoqiao saw they were at Shibuya, not far from Shinjuku. He got off the train and followed the man out of the station, catching up at a street corner.

“Excuse me, sir,” Qiaoqiao greeted him, causing the man to frown in confusion.

“Can I help you?”

People in Japan were usually polite—or at least, they maintained a courteous facade. Even when stopped by a stranger, the man was merely puzzled, not annoyed.

Qiaoqiao continued, “I noticed you’re carrying a lot of yin energy, and it seems to be spreading. If it’s not dealt with soon, it could cause some serious problems.”

The man was stunned into silence.