Hiroki lay on his narrow bed, headphones clamped over his ears, music blaring. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling’s chipped paint, trying to lose himself in drumbeats and static. Anything to forget what had happened last night—the bullies in the alley, his sudden surge of strange power, and that mocking presence now lodged in his mind.

  “Helloooo, anyone home?” a gravelly voice cut through the music as if the volume were set to mute instead of max. Hiroki winced. “Ignoring me won’t help,” the voice continued. “I’m in your head, kid. No lock on that door.”

  “Great,” Hiroki muttered, flipping onto his stomach and pressing a pillow over his head. “Now I’ve got a sarcastic ghost roommate. Exactly what I needed.”

  A dry laugh rippled through his thoughts. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” the voice said, amused. “Name’s Arkan, remember? The Wraith you scooped up along with your anger issues.”

  “I’m not scooping up anything,” Hiroki hissed under his breath. He tugged off his headphones, glaring at the empty air. “Why are you even here?”

  Arkan’s tone turned mock-thoughtful. “Why indeed. Let’s see—maybe because your bottled-up fury drew me in like a magnet. Or maybe I got bored haunting alleys. Point is, we’re stuck with each other now.”

  Hiroki propped himself up on one elbow, suspicion knitting his brows. “You’re some kind of spirit that feeds on anger? That’s what you’re saying?”

  “Bingo!” Arkan sounded irritatingly pleased. “Look, you’ve got a reservoir of rage inside you, and I’m here to help you tap into it. Or at least not let it implode and turn you into a sad statistic. Think of me as... anger management with benefits.”

  “Benefits?” Hiroki snorted. “Like hallucinating a voice in my head that never shuts up?”

  Arkan’s glowing eyes—if you could call the faint glimmer in the room’s corner “eyes”—narrowed. “You needed someone to notice what’s going on inside you. Pretend I’m not real if you want, but we both know yesterday wasn’t normal. That surge of power wasn’t caffeine jitters.”

  Hiroki rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling again. It was too much. The rain-slick city, the bullies, the burst of energy in that alley, and now some impossible Wraith claiming he was “bonded” to him. He closed his eyes, trying to will it all away.

  Silence stretched, but Hiroki could sense Arkan lingering, a faint hum at the back of his skull.

  Eventually, he asked, barely above a whisper, “So what happens now?”

  Arkan answered softly—softer than before. “We figure it out. Or we don’t. Either way, you can’t stuff that anger back into a box, Hiroki. Trust me, I know what it’s like to live off that stuff. It wants out.”

  Hiroki pretended not to hear. He jammed his headphones back on and cranked the volume until the bass rattled his teeth.

  The following morning, Hiroki slipped into his classroom trying to keep his head down. The hallway chatter washed over him—weekend plans, club activities, the latest VR gossip. Normal stuff. Exactly what he wanted to blend into. He ignored Arkan’s low chuckle tickling the back of his mind and focused on enduring the day.

  Classes felt longer than usual. Hiroki caught himself flinching at the slightest sound, half-expecting something weird to happen again. But by afternoon, nothing had. Just math problems on holo-boards, a dull history lecture, and the usual indifference from classmates who scarcely knew he existed.

  When the final bell rang, he threw his books into his bag and made for the exit. It was Friday, and all he wanted was to vanish into Neo-Kyoto’s crowds. At least among strangers, no one cared that he was weird, angry, or haunted.

  He turned a corner into a quieter hallway, intending to slip out a side door—when he froze. A strange noise prickled at the edge of hearing: a low crackle, punctuated by muffled screams.

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  Hiroki hesitated, pulse quickening. He should walk away. Just go. But something—curiosity, or maybe guilt—urged him forward.

  Rounding another corner, he found a cluster of students pressed against the wall, eyes wide with terror. Two twisted shapes loomed over them, dark figures that refused to hold a stable form. Their red, feral eyes glowed with hungry malice. They looked like living shadows, flickering between humanoid outlines and something more bestial. Tendrils of darkness slithered from their bodies, lashing at the air.

  Hiroki’s stomach clenched. He recognized some of these kids—the type who usually sneered at him between classes. Now they were trembling, faces pale. A vicious, guilty satisfaction sparked in him, but it died quickly as one of the shadowy Wraiths hissed, edging closer.

  “Rogue Wraiths,” Arkan whispered in Hiroki’s mind, suddenly all business. “Feral. No partner to ground them, so they’re running wild.”

  One terrified student shouted at Hiroki, “Help us!” The boy’s voice cracked. That alone told Hiroki how desperate they were: they were begging him, the quiet nobody, to save them.

  He swallowed hard. “Arkan,” he thought, mind racing. “I can’t do anything about that.”

  Arkan’s voice hissed back. “You’ve got me, remember? Use that energy. Focus. Fight back before these things tear your classmates apart.”

  Hiroki clenched his fists. Yesterday’s surge had been pure instinct. He had no idea how to summon it on command. Still, as fear and anger churned in his gut—anger at these monsters, at his helplessness—a tingling heat spread through his body.

  He closed his eyes, reached for that feeling. This time, when he opened them, faint sparks danced around his knuckles. Heat flared along his arms, licking up from nowhere.

  “Not bad,” Arkan said approvingly.

  Hiroki stepped forward, heart hammering. The Wraiths swiveled their heads toward him, hissing. “Get away from them!” Hiroki shouted, voice shaky but determined.

  He lunged, throwing a punch wreathed in flickering flame. The blow grazed one Wraith’s shoulder, searing its shadow-flesh. The creature screamed, recoiling in confusion. Hiroki pressed forward—but before he could land another hit, the second Wraith lashed out. A tendril slammed into Hiroki’s chest, knocking him off his feet and into a row of lockers. He gasped in pain, sparks sputtering.

  “Great technique,” Arkan snarked, “but you might want a better plan than face-first heroics.”

  Hiroki winced, struggling upright. At least he’d drawn their attention away from the other students. But now both Wraiths advanced on him, fury rolling off them in waves.

  Before they could strike again, a window shattered at the end of the corridor. Figures in deep crimson robes vaulted inside, moving in a coordinated blur. They were silent except for the rustle of cloth and the faint hum of arcane power. Hiroki gaped as one raised a hand, summoning a shimmering chain that snaked through the air. It wrapped around the rogue Wraiths, constraining them with crackling light.

  Another figure stepped forward, a dagger of glowing crystal in hand. With a swift, elegant motion, the blade sliced through the air. The Wraiths howled, their forms collapsing into wisps of black smoke. Within seconds, the feral creatures were gone.

  Just like that.

  Hiroki stared, stunned. Where he’d struggled and failed, these strangers had handled the threat effortlessly. The hooded leader turned, meeting Hiroki’s eyes for an instant. Hiroki couldn’t see the person’s face—just the gleam of intense eyes and a sense of silent acknowledgment. Then, as swiftly as they’d come, the crimson-robed figures melted away into the school’s shadows, leaving no trace.

  The students were left blinking in disbelief. Murmurs rose, stunned and confused. Hiroki tried to steady his breathing, mind spinning. Who were they? How had they—?

  Arkan’s voice slipped into his thoughts. “You’re not the only player in this game, kid. Those were pros. They’ve been dancing with Wraiths a long time.”

  Hiroki pressed a hand to his aching chest. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he whispered.

  Arkan chuckled softly. “Then get used to surprises. The world’s bigger than your problems, Hiroki. And now that you’ve flexed your power in public, you’re on their radar.”

  Hiroki clenched his jaw. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want any part of it.”

  A few minutes later, as he slipped out of the building and into the busy streets, his mind raced. Arkan’s words clung to him like a shadow. He couldn’t just pretend this wasn’t happening. Those robed fighters, those rogue Wraiths—they’d brought chaos right into his school hallway.

  Somewhere between the neon lights outside and the lingering taste of smoke in his lungs, Hiroki realized he couldn’t run from this new world. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shoulders hunched. If these people wanted something from him, he wouldn’t wait quietly to be hunted down like some clueless bystander.

  Arkan’s laughter crackled in his mind, dark and satisfied. “That’s the spirit, kid. Let’s see where this leads.”

  Hiroki said nothing in return. He just kept walking as rain began to fall, heavier now, drenching the streets in its relentless shimmer. The decision had formed before he’d even acknowledged it: if he was stuck in this mess, he’d face it on his own terms.