“IT WAS ME! I BURNED THE BUILDING YEARS AGO!”

The words hung in the air. Silence. Fear. Confusion. Everyone froze, mouths opening and closing, but no sound came. It was as if their tongues had forgotten how to speak.

“Excuse me? Are you dreaming?” Kenji finally broke the quiet. His voice trembled, brittle as glass.

Risa stared at them, unblinking. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, abruptly, she laughed. Loud. Sharp. Unpredictable.

“Got you. You were all screaming and talking over each other,” she said, standing from her seat. “If we want to solve this laboratory mystery, we’ll have to remain calm. Composed.”

A collective exhale swept through the room. Relief, slow and shaky. Reiji even muttered something about whether arson suspects could still be jailed after all these years. Risa spotted him and screamed, laughing, “Snitch!”

The tension broke. They decided to call it a night, wrap up their investigation, and go make dinner.

Kenji lingered behind. He gathered the papers Haruto had printed, stacking them carefully back in the folder. One last skim. He wanted to be sure they hadn’t missed anything—anything that might point to the missing kids.

He ran a hand through his hair, pressed his face into his palms, and remembered Risa’s expression when she had screamed at them. There had been something in it. Something he couldn’t place. Something that made his stomach twist.

And for the first time, he didn’t even smile when she revealed it was a joke.

》》》》》》》》》》

It had been a wild week. Not just for Risa and her friends, but for everyone in Tsuyukusa.

More hikers had gone missing on the trails, only to turn up near the old burned building. The municipality issued a temporary hiking ban—for tourists and locals alike. Police patrol cars took turns cruising the area, watching for anyone breaking the law.

Deer, once shy and elusive, now wandered close to the mountain’s foot. Barn sparrows, long gone by winter, were migrating early—though it was only September. Something was off.

News of compasses going haywire near the old building spread online. The hikers from Osaka shared a blog about their experience; it went viral. Other content creators dared to test it, and everyone came to the same unsettling conclusion: no matter where you started on the mountain, you always ended up at the building.

Four minor earthquakes shook the town that week. Nothing catastrophic, but enough to make people jittery. Locals whispered that someone might be mining underground and had hit the wrong spot.

Tsuyukusa, once quiet, became infamous. National news programs ran segments. Former residents living in other cities shared their own eerie experiences. Nothing connected to what was happening now—but still, the town felt exposed, vulnerable.

Risa and her friends carried a tension that had no name, ever since her “joke” about burning the building. Lunches were quiet. Weekend plans weren’t discussed. Laughter, once easy, had vanished.

“Hey, gotta go. I have my part-time shift in two hours,” Kenji said.

“You have a part-time?” Riku asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yep. Got accepted last night. I’ll be working for Mr. Mori’s car repair shop. Text me when you’re home. Make sure Risa gets home safe,” Kenji said, and walked off without another glance at her.

“What does he need a part-time for? His family’s loaded,” Karu said.

“Maybe he broke his phone again during a rage gaming session,” Haruto laughed.

“Risa, come on. Let’s go,” Santo said, slinging her bag over his shoulder.

The boys joked and laughed on the way home, pretending that Kenji’s absence had lifted some invisible weight. Karu faked crying, said he’d miss Kenji, and bet ten bucks that he wouldn’t last a week at the job. He’d probably get fired for picking a fight with a customer—or worse, the owner.

Risa remained quiet. She said she was tired and wanted to be alone. But the truth gnawed at her. Kenji hadn’t looked at her all day. His eyes hadn’t even flicked her way when he told the others to make sure she got home. And she knew, somehow, that he’d lied about where he was going.

She reached home and smelled soup simmering. Her mother had cooked extra, just in case she was hungry from school. They ate at the table. Risa cried quietly, and her mother asked why. There were two reasons: she was worried about Kenji, and it was the first time in four years her mother had asked her to eat when she got home. Usually, her mother pretended not to hear. Risa said nothing, just told her that school had been extra hard. Her mother told her to rest after finishing her meal.

The moment Risa entered her room, she collapsed onto her bed. The weight of the week pressed down, heavy on her chest. She cried herself to sleep.

When she woke, her mother was at the door, knocking softly. Dinner.

》》》》》》》》》》

It was Friday, the third day Kenji had made an excuse to leave early for “work.” His friends had perfected the art of poker faces when he was around, then loud, exaggerated laughs once he was gone. He had noticed the way Risa looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. He couldn’t stand to see her sad, but he needed to find what he was looking for. Peace of mind demanded it.

“Miss Takahashi, I wonder if I could borrow the microfilm reel for June 2008?” Kenji asked, forcing a small, awkward smile at the librarian.

“You again? Third day in a row. What exactly are you looking for in 2008?” she asked, standing from her seat.

“I’m working on a school project about the laboratory fire… and life here after it,” he smiled again. The librarian rolled her eyes.

She disappeared into the room behind her. A few people waited behind Kenji, carrying stacks of books. Five minutes later, she returned.

“Here. And remember to unplug it when you’re done,” she said, handing him the microfilm and the keys to the room where it was kept. Kenji nodded politely and walked away.

He unlocked the room, turned on his phone’s flashlight, and loaded the microfilm reel. He heard the familiar click, the small mechanical sigh of history being revealed. He straightened, exhaling slowly.

Haruto had missed details in his research on the Aokigahara Institute. It wasn’t making chemicals, or medicines. It was researching children.

The news clips Haruto showed them had been made a week after the fire. Kenji searched the web, wondering if Haruto had left something out on purpose. Not everything was online.

The fire had started on April 8, 2008. What had begun as a small, secret lab caught on fire soon became a town-wide horror. By early May, lab reports surfaced. They were fragmentary, terrifying glimpses: Dr. Kurosaki had kept sixteen children in his lab, ages four to sixteen. Fourteen bodies were recovered. Kenji deduced the remaining two must be the missing ones. Posters appeared on every corner of the town.

On May 15, 2008, the headlines claimed one missing child had been found: a boy, five years old, in the woods. He wore a hospital gown, ashes smudging his face and clothes. He had no memory of who he was or where he came from. He called himself Number Four. He mentioned a sister—Number One—who had been taken by “the bad guys.” The newspapers stopped reporting on the missing children after that boy was found.

Kenji scrolled through June’s reel, hoping for any mention of Number One. Almost ready to give up, he found it.

June 23, 2008. A tiny corner of the newspaper: another missing child. Brown hair, brown eyes, a mole under her left eye, a heart-shaped scar on her right knee. A reward of fifteen thousand dollars for information. A telephone number was printed in small type beneath it.

Kenji’s hands shook. He pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of the report, zooming in on the number. He hoped it would still be active after eleven years. He retrieved the reel, unplugged the microfilm, and returned it to Miss Takahashi, along with the keys.

“I’m done with my research. I won’t be back,” he said, without looking at her.

He drove his father’s car home. His hands gripped the wheel tightly. His phone buzzed in his pocket, silent for now. He wanted to call that number, to ask questions, to pierce the veil of time. Even if the truth was waiting, unspoken, right in front of him.