The robes were a little big on him.
Kaito stood in front of the mirror in his room and tugged the collar straight.
The fabric was stiff and formal, deep navy with the Reizen clan mark stitched at the chest in white.
It was his first real set.
Not training clothes, not the plain uniform he wore during morning drills.
Actual exorcist robes.
His mother had set them out the night before, folded neatly on the chair by his desk.
He was ten years old and today was the day.
The clan had caught a ghost.
A strong one.
It was being held in the containment hall on the eastern side of the estate, sealed inside a reinforced barrier while the elders prepared the teaching session.
Every child of age had been called.
They were going to watch a real exorcism.
More than watch — they were going to participate.
Kaito had barely slept.
It wasn't only excitement.
He knew that about himself even at ten.
Ghosts in their astral form were frightening enough — pale and hollow, limbs bending at angles that made his stomach turn.
But a possessed human was worse.
He had seen it once, briefly, through a door he wasn't supposed to be near.
A man's face with the eyes rolled back and the jaw dropped too far and something moving behind the skin that didn't belong there.
He had run. He had not told anyone.
He had not forgotten it.
But this was what they did.
The Reizen clan worked in the dark so others didn't have to.
No recognition. No audience.
Half the world called exorcists a hoax and the clan didn't argue.
It wasn't a show. It was work.
And one day he was going to be good at it.
He was sure of that. He just needed the chance to learn.
He straightened his collar again and tried a pose.
Right hand extended, two fingers forward, chin level. Serious. Focused.
He had seen his father stand like that.
He tried another one. Both hands raised, wider stance. More dynamic. Better for combat, probably.
He tried a third, twisting slightly at the waist, one arm back.
His face was very red.
He was glad nobody could see him.
He thought about doing them in the field someday.
A real ghost, a real fight, and him standing exactly like that at the end of it.
The clan would see.
His father would see.
He pressed his lips together and tried not to smile too hard at his own reflection.
He went to find his mother.
She was in the kitchen, standing at the stove, the smell of miso already filling the room.
She turned when he came in.
Her eyes went soft and her shoulders dropped slightly and she smiled — the full one, the one she kept for him.
"It suits you," she said.
She looked him over properly, top to bottom. "You look like a real exorcist, Kaito."
He went red immediately. "It's a bit big."
"You'll grow into it." She turned back to the stove. "Rice, grilled fish, miso soup. It will be ready by the time you are done with your training."
"Okay." He was already smiling. He tried to stop.
He went back to his room.
He stood in front of the mirror again. Right arm extended fully, weight shifted forward.
A good one.
He held it.
Shhhhhhhhk.
The sliding door opened behind him.
The chill came before he turned around.
The temperature in the room didn't change.
Nothing moved.
But something in the back of his neck pulled tight and his stomach dropped.
He turned around slowly. Turning fast felt worse.
Kazane stood in the doorway.
She was twelve.
Two years older than him.
Taller, shoulders back, chin level, completely still.
Her exorcist robes fit properly, the collar sharp, the sash at her waist tied with clean precision.
Her black hair was pulled back tight.
Her eyes settled on him and didn't move.
A few seconds passed in utter silence.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
"What—" His voice came out wrong. He steadied it. "What do you want?"
She didn't answer.
Her eyes moved to the mirror, to the position he'd been holding, to his face. Her expression didn't change.
He took a step back without meaning to.
"Are you going to today's session?" she asked.
He swallowed. "...Yes."
"Don't."
He blinked. "What?"
"Don't come." Her voice was flat. Final. "The session isn't a joke. If you come, you'll make it one."
"I want to learn too." His voice held better this time. "I've been practicing. I was up all night—"
"You're weak."
"I'm getting stronger." He raised both hands and pushed spiritual energy into his palms.
They lit up, pale and unsteady, flickering at the edges. Not nothing. He had worked for that. "See? I can—"
Kazane raised one hand. Her palm lit up white.
Steady and dense and several times brighter than both of his together.
She held it there without looking at it.
Then she lowered it.
He didn't lower his hands.
He stood there with them still raised, looking at them. The glow sat between them, small and pale, and he looked at it and then at her and back at it.
It faded.
"But..." The sentence didn't finish., "I want..."
He looked up.
She was already walking toward him, steps even and unhurried. He couldn't breathe right. His feet wouldn't move.
"Stop. What are you— stop—" He backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. "What are you doing?"
She didn't stop.
"I want to learn." His voice was cracking now. "I'm not going to ruin anything I just want to be there I just—"
He broke left, sprinting for the door.
Her hand snapped out and caught his collar.
She yanked him back hard, his feet left the floor for a split second before he slammed onto the tatami.
The air blasted out of his lungs.
He twisted onto his back and kicked aiming for her core.
She caught his leg, pivoted, and flipped him onto his stomach in one smooth motion.
A knee drove into the center of his back, pinning him there, crushing any attempt to rise.
He screamed
She grabbed both his wrists and pulled them up behind his back.
He bucked and twisted his whole body trying to throw her off.
She shifted her knee harder into his back and loosened the sash from his waist with one hand while pinning his wrists with the other.
She tied his wrists together in three motions, clean and tight.
"MOM!!!—"
Her hand came down flat over his mouth.
He bit down. She didn't pull away.
She pressed harder and waited until his jaw gave up.
He was crying.
He hadn't decided to but he was.
She moved to his ankles.
He kicked and caught her once on the arm.
She pinned his legs with her own weight and pulled the sash from her own robes.
Her robes came loose at the shoulder.
She didn't look at them.
She tied his ankles.
He kept screaming.
She stood, crossed to his desk, pulled the hand towel from the rack, folded it once and pressed it into his mouth.
He shook his head violently.
She held it in place and tied it behind his head with a strip of cloth from his desk drawer.
He thrashed on the floor. Wrists bound. Ankles bound. Face wet.
Sounds going nowhere.
She picked him up under one arm.
He was small and she carried him without adjusting her balance.
He kicked uselessly.
She crossed the room to the sliding wardrobe door, pulled it open with her free hand, and put him inside against the back wall.
"Mmh — mMH — mMHH—"
She looked down at him.
Her robes hung loose and disheveled from the struggle.
Her hair had come slightly undone at one side.
Her face was composed.
The corner of her mouth moved.
Barely. Just enough.
A smile?
The door slid shut.
Shk.
Darkness.
The sound of the latch clicking into place.
Then nothing.