The House That Buried Her Name: The Science of Erasing Gods.

Chapter 15: The House That Buried Her Name: The Science of Erasing Gods.

The house was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that soothed, but the kind that suffocated. A thick, unmoving silence that filled the spaces where voices should be. It clung to the walls, settled into the floorboards, wrapped itself around the furniture like a presence that had always been there.

Koji sat at the dining table, fingers interlocked, his knuckles pale from the pressure. His gaze was fixed downward, but he wasn't looking at anything in particular. Just the wood grain of the table, the way the dim light caught the polished surface. He had been sitting like that for a while now, unmoving, lost in thoughts he didn't want to voice.

Across the room, Rukia stood by the window. She had been standing there just as long, arms crossed tightly over her chest, nails digging into her sleeves. The outside world continued as it always did-cars moving through the streets, neon lights flickering against the buildings, voices rising and falling in distant conversations. Life went on.

But not here.

Not in this house.

Not in a home without Nino.

"She's not dead," Rukia said.

Koji didn't look up.

"She's alive," she continued. "She's just... with him."

Still, no response.

Rukia exhaled sharply, turning to face him. "Say something."

Koji's fingers twitched slightly, but he didn't lift his head. "What is there to say?"

"That she's not dead," Rukia said again, her voice edged with something raw. "That we're not just going to sit here and act like she is."

Koji finally looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Aren't we?"

Because that's what it felt like. Like mourning. Like something had been torn from them, and no matter how much they reached for it, it would never return.

Nino Amanika wasn't dead.

But the girl who had laughed at their dinner table, who had called this house home, who had been their daughter -she was gone.

Rukia's throat tightened.

They didn't even say her name anymore. Not really. Not the way they used to. It felt like something fragile now, something that would crack under the weight of what it meant.

"I should apologize," she said suddenly.

Koji's brow furrowed. "For what?"

Rukia swallowed. "For that day. I should have apologized to him."

Him.

Tarazune.

Koji's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

They both knew what day she meant.

The day everything changed.

The day their nino changed.

The day she had to walk into another life and didn't look back.

Koji leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does," Rukia insisted. "Because maybe if I had-"

Koji's eyes snapped up to hers, sharp. "It. Doesn't. Matter."

Silence again.

Rukia looked away, her arms tightening around herself. "He's a good man," she admitted. The words felt strange coming out of her mouth.

Koji didn't deny it.

Akeshi Tarazune was respected. A leader, someone with discipline, structure, rules. He wasn't cruel. He wasn't reckless. He protected what was his.

And Nino had chosen to be his.

She had left them behind, stepped into his world, become part of it.

Koji's fists clenched.

They had spent so long thinking about why.

Had they done something wrong? Had they pushed too hard? Not hard enough?

Had Nino been waiting for an escape all along?

Or had she truly believed in him?

Or....

Maybe to feel loved? Not the love they can give her.

Rukia let out a slow breath, her gaze unfocused. "I should have apologized," she murmured again, but this time, it wasn't really to Koji. It was to herself.

To the past.

To the version of events where things could have gone differently.

But regret was worthless now.

Koji sat forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands clasped. "We're moving forward."

Rukia turned to him.

No more questions. No more wondering.

They weren't going to sit in this house and mourn like she had been buried six feet under.

They weren't going to just accept this.

"We dig," Koji said.

"We exploit," Rukia echoed.

Koji's eyes were cold, steady. "We break him apart."

There was no rage behind it. No outburst.

Just quiet, suffocating certainty.

But not directed at Akeshi.

They had seen him with her. The way he made sure she ate, how he cooked for her himself instead of letting anyone else touch the task. The way he placed himself between her and the world, a silent shield against the weight of what had been done to her. They knew what he was trying to do-what he was desperate to prevent.

He wasn't the enemy.

No, the enemy was the one who had left scars deep enough that even now, they weren't sure if Nino would ever truly be Nino again. The one who had stolen something from her that could never be returned.

Aqua.

That name burned in their throats like poison.

It wasn't about justice.

Justice was blind. Justice was slow. Justice failed.

And they weren't going to fail her.

They weren't going to accept a world where Nino Amanika lived under the shadow of his actions.

They weren't going to let him keep breathing.

Rukia looked at her husband. "We will make our own."

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The fluorescent lights in the IRL lab buzzed softly, the only sound accompanying the quiet scratching of pen on paper. The walls were lined with reinforced steel, security cameras in every corner, yet Miko worked as if she were being watched by something far beyond mortal eyes.

Aqua.

A name that carried no weight in official records, yet in whispered conversations, it was heavier than the world itself. A being untethered by law, unseen by spirits, a source user-untouchable. Indestructible.

She tapped the pen against her desk, eyes flicking to the burn bin beside her. The last seven plans she had written had already been reduced to ash. Not because they were failures-no, she had written perfect plans, flawless calculations. But each of them had one fatal flaw.

None of them ensured his death.

Miko exhaled sharply. Source users. Their very existence was a violation of natural law. Ordinary weapons wouldn't work. Poison? No. His body would metabolize it faster than she could administer a lethal dose. Firearms? Useless. The sheer density of their bodies made bullets about as effective as throwing pebbles at steel.

A nuke could do it. But she wasn't getting a nuke.

She needed a different answer.

Her fingers moved, equations forming as she thought out loud.

Step one: Neutralize his source flow.

–Source users thrived on the energy running through them. Cut it off, and they'd weaken.

–But no known method could completely block a source user's flow without highly advanced restraints.

–IRL had those restraints. But they required direct contact. Too close.

She scratched the idea out and burned it.

Step two: Force his body to break itself down.

–Source users had rapid regeneration.

–What if she tricked his body into accelerating the process until it couldn't sustain itself?

–A viral agent? No, too slow. A chemical disruptor?

Possible.

–Could she engineer something that targeted only him?

The thought held weight. She started writing formulas.

Step three: Eliminate all escape vectors.

–Aqua was not just powerful. He was smart.

–Even if she created the perfect weapon, if he knew it was coming, he'd be gone before she could use it.

–He needed to be contained.

–A space where every exit was a trap, every breath he took a countdown to death.

Miko's fingers moved faster. Synthetic atmospheres? A closed system where the air itself turns lethal to him?

Her eyes burned from staring at the page too long. The calculations were staggering-an Al couldn't process the variables fast enough, but she was cutting through them like a machine.

Not enough.

She clicked her tongue, striking through another page before setting it alight. The flames reflected in her glasses as the paper curled, turned black, vanished.

Miko wasn't discouraged.

She was getting closer.

The ghost would die.

And when he did, there wouldn't even be ashes left.