Searching For the Truth 8

As the mist dispersed, the town slowly revealed itself—streets lined with old eastern-style houses, the kind seen in martial arts films.

Most were made of dark wood and stone, their curved rooftops layered with intricate tiles.

Sliding shoji doors glowed faintly from the lanterns inside, casting long, flickering shadows onto the dirt paths.

The Yokai strolled through the streets, relaxed and unbothered, as if they had all the time in the world. 

Meanwhile, the humans toiled away, their faces hollow with exhaustion, their movements slow and mechanical—like puppets on frayed strings.

One glance was all it took to see the truth—they weren't working by choice. Every movement, every task, was done out of obligation, not willingness.

And the worst part? They were used to it.

There was no resistance, no hesitation. Just silent acceptance. This was their daily life.