The Hidden World

"Kenjiro-kun," Fugimoto's voice was sharp, her gaze piercing. "Didn't my husband tell you to forget about that book? Didn't he refuse your request to read it?"

Kenjiro sat stiffly in the chair across from her, his nerves frayed. She stood behind her desk, her imposing figure towering over him as she spoke.

"He did," Kenjiro admitted, his tone apologetic. "And I'm sorry, but he didn't warn me about anything. I still don't understand-what's the connection between my hand moving on its own, that book, and this... tattoo?" His voice wavered as he held up his trembling hand.

Fugimoto's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "T-Tattoo?" she repeated, her tone unsettled. Her expression shifted instantly to one of alarm. "What are you talking about?"

Kenjiro hesitated before responding. "It's on my hand. The one that's been moving on its own," he said, voice low and uncertain.

Her demeanor changed entirely. "Show it to me," she demanded, urgency and unease etched into her features.

Kenjiro hesitated but eventually took off the gloves, exposing the strange mark etched into his skin. Fugimoto froze, her eyes widening in horror.

She took a step back, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Her face turned pale, then red, her breathing quickened.

"This... this can't be," she muttered, her voice barely audible. Her hand trembled as she brought it to her lips. "How? But... they chose you?" she whispered, seemingly speaking to herself, though Kenjiro caught every word.

"Wait... who chose me?" he asked, panic rising in his chest.

Ignoring his question, Fugimoto grabbed her phone with shaky hands and dialed quickly. "Kian, come to my office. Now. Kenjiro-kun is here," she said, her voice trembling yet firm.

Kenjiro swallowed hard. "I'm going to be okay, right?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Fugimoto turned to him, her expression hardening. "Wait," she snapped, her tone cold and unyielding.

Kenjiro stiffened, stunned into silence. Her reaction only deepened the pit of uncertainty growing in his stomach.

As Sakamoto entered the office, he closed the door firmly behind him. His footsteps echoed against the wooden floor as he strode to his desk, dropping his bag onto it with a loud thud.

His sharp gaze pierced through Kenjiro, who stood awkwardly near the window.

"You..." Sakamoto began, his voice low and seething with anger. "I've told you countless times, haven't I? No. But you-what were you thinking? You touched my book."

Kenjiro flinched at the accusation, his face pale. "I-I didn't do anything! I just opened it, and it was... empty."

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. "Are you absolutely sure you just opened the book? You didn't do anything else?"

Kenjiro furrowed his brows, trying to remember. "Yes, I'm sure," he replied hesitantly.

Before Sakamoto could press further, his wife, placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, whispering, "Look at his hand."

Kenjiro, confused, instinctively raised his left hand.

The moment Sakamoto saw it, he stumbled back, his expression frozen in shock. Haruko gasped, her eyes widening as she exchanged a tense look with her husband.

"The mark," she whispered. "It's appeared."

Sakamoto nodded grimly. "He's been chosen."

Kenjiro, who had been silently observing their exchange, finally broke the silence. "Chosen? For what? What are you talking about?"

Haruko's voice trembled. "He broke the spell. What are we going to do?"

Sakamoto clenched his jaw. "I don't know, Haruko."

She turned to him, fear evident in her tone. "The boy is going to die."

Kenjiro's heart skipped a beat at her words. His face turned pale as he stumbled backward. "D-die? Who's going to die?!"

They both turned to him simultaneously, their voices heavy with foreboding. "You."

"What the hell?" Kenjiro shouted, standing abruptly. His breathing quickened, panic settling in his chest.

Sakamoto took a step forward, his expression now filled with frustration. "You idiot! If you weren't so damn curious, none of this would have happened!"

The word hit Kenjiro like a trigger. Idiot.

Before he could process his emotions, his left hand jerked violently, moving on its own. It shot out, grabbing Sakamoto by the collar. In one swift motion, Kenjiro slammed his teacher's face against the desk with a sickening thud.

"Stop! What are you doing?!" Haruko screamed, rushing to her husband's side and trying to pry Kenjiro's hand away.

Kenjiro, horrified, struggled to control his arm with his free hand. "I swear-I swear I didn't mean to! It's not me!"

When his hand finally released Sakamoto, the teacher staggered back, his face red and bruised. He glared at Kenjiro, still clutching his desk for support. "What the hell have you done?!"

Kenjiro raised his trembling hands, his voice cracking with panic. "It wasn't me! I swear! The hand... it moves on its own! I think-" he hesitated, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I think it has a problem with the word 'idiot.' It's hit everyone who calls me that!"

Haruko helped steady her husband, her voice cutting through the tension. "Kenjiro-kun, listen to me carefully. You'll come to our house this Friday at six in the morning. We'll explain everything then, okay?"

Kenjiro blinked in confusion. "Six in the morning?"

She forced a smile, clearly trying to calm him. "Yes, six. I'll send you the address in an email. Don't be late."

Sakamoto, still nursing his injury, added sternly, "And until then, keep yourself out of trouble. I've spoken to the principal-you're cleared to return to your studies."

Kenjiro hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Thank you, Sakamoto-senpai. I'm really sorry about... everything." He bowed quickly before hurrying out of the office.

As the door clicked shut, Sakamoto sank into his chair, rubbing his sore neck. Haruko stood silently beside him, her eyes clouded with worry.

"This is just the beginning," she murmured.

Sakamoto's gaze darkened. "And if he doesn't learn to control that power soon, it might be the end."

Kenjiro walked down the dimly lit hallway, his mind swirling with the events of the day. It had been a strange, unsettling experience-one that left him clutching his hand under the table earlier, unwilling to draw attention to himself in front of others. Something about his new reality was difficult to grasp, a mix of fear and reluctant acceptance.

The rest of his day passed in a blur. After finishing his studies, he spent the afternoon at work before heading back home. But as he approached his house, his steps faltered.

There they were again-the same men who had come before, the ones demanding money he didn't have.

He'd ignored their calls, their threats, hoping they would eventually give up. But instead, they were back, standing in front of his home, their presence a dark cloud looming over his already fragile life.

Kenjiro stopped at a safe distance, his heart sinking as he took in the state of his house. The door he had painstakingly repaired last time was now broken again, the splintered wood a stark reminder of their warning.

He could only imagine the chaos inside-furniture overturned, belongings shattered. He clenched his fists, his anger boiling just beneath the surface, but he stayed hidden, waiting for them to leave.

He crouched behind a nearby wall, watching them from afar. The minutes dragged on like hours, each second filled with tension as he prayed silently for their departure.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they left, laughing among themselves as if they hadn't just destroyed someone's life.

Kenjiro waited until their voices faded into the distance before standing. He began walking cautiously toward his home, his mind already racing with thoughts of how to repair the damage this time.

But as he approached the front door, a chilling voice pierced the air behind him.

"So, that was your plan? Hiding until we left?"

Kenjiro froze. A lump formed in his throat as he turned around slowly, his heart pounding in his chest.

Standing a few meters away were four men now, not just the usual two. The one in front, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped closer, his expression twisted with anger.

"You've got some nerve," the man sneered, raising his fist to strike.

Before Kenjiro could react, his hand moved on its own. It shot up, intercepting the blow with a speed and precision that startled even him.

The man's punch stopped midair, his fist trapped in Kenjiro's iron grip.

"How dare you!" the man roared, attempting to pull his arm free. But Kenjiro's hand, now acting entirely of its own accord, twisted the man's arm behind his back with a force that made him cry out in pain.

The sound of a bone snapping echoed in the night, followed by the man's scream.

The other three men stepped back, their faces pale with fear. They exchanged hesitant glances, unsure whether to attack or flee.

Kenjiro stood there, his expression eerily calm, though his heart was racing. He wasn't shocked this time. He was starting to get used to it-this strange, uncontrollable power coursing through his hand.

One of the men finally broke the silence, his voice trembling. "We'll tell the boss about this. You'll regret it, kid. Just wait!"

They hurriedly grabbed their injured friend and backed away, their earlier bravado completely gone.

As they disappeared into the shadows, Kenjiro exhaled shakily, the tension in his body slowly easing.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's only a matter of time," he muttered to himself. "I'll end up just like my father, won't I?"

With heavy steps, he walked toward his broken door, pushing it open to face the wreckage inside. The house was silent now, but the weight of what had just happened-and what was yet to come-hung over him like a storm cloud.

He woke up feeling exhausted, dragging himself to the sink to wash his face. As he brushed his teeth, his toned abs flexed with every movement, catching the soft morning light.

On his side, the scar stood out-a clean, precise line of stitches that had long healed. He had carried this scar since childhood, yet, even after all these years, he never knew its origin.

Kenjiro stepped out of his quiet home, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly against the cobblestone street.

The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting a gentle golden glow over the sleepy neighborhood. He tugged at his plain shirt, feeling the warmth of the day creeping in.

His face, however, betrayed no enthusiasm-his expression was as dull as the shadows under his tired eyes.

A meeting with Hirochi at the nearby café was the only thing pulling him from the solitude of his room.

The café was nestled between two small shops, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze.

As Kenjiro entered, a faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries greeted him. Hirochi was already seated by the window, a bright smile on his face, his red shirt catching the morning light.

"Hey, you okay?" Hirochi asked as Kenjiro approached.

Kenjiro shrugged and sank into the chair across from him, his movements heavy. "Yes... probably," he replied, his voice flat.

A waiter appeared swiftly, placing two tall glasses in front of them. Kenjiro's gaze immediately locked onto the drink before him.

His breath hitched.

The glass seemed to glow-an intense, fiery red hue that pulsed like it was alive. The liquid inside swirled unnaturally, almost as if it were aware of his presence.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Kenjiro asked, his voice low, a hint of alarm breaking through his monotone demeanor.

Hirochi tilted his head, puzzled. "Seeing what? It's just juice," he said casually, picking up his glass and taking a hearty sip. "It's from some exotic fruit they're trying out. I thought you'd like it."

Kenjiro's hands trembled slightly as he reached for the glass. The vibrant red seemed to radiate heat, its glow growing stronger as his fingers brushed the cool surface.

His heart began to race, a gnawing sense of unease clawing at him.

Hirochi watched him, sipping his drink with apparent delight. "Come on, it's just juice. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Kenjiro hesitated, the warning in his gut screaming at him to stop. Yet, not wanting to seem ridiculous, he lifted the glass to his lips. The liquid shimmered unnaturally as it touched his mouth.

At first, there was nothing. The juice tasted sweet, tangy, almost refreshing. But then, like a storm crashing through his body, the pain hit.

Kenjiro's head jerked back as a sharp, searing ache erupted in his temples. His vision blurred, a fiery red haze clouding his sight.

His chest constricted, his heart pounding with such force that it felt like it would burst through his ribcage.

His breathing became erratic, shallow gasps barely keeping him conscious.

"Hirochi..." he managed to whisper, his voice strained, before a sudden, unbearable itch spread across his skin. He clawed at his arms and neck, his nails leaving angry red marks in their wake.

"Kenji? Hey, what's wrong?" Hirochi's voice was filled with panic now, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood.

Kenjiro doubled over, the glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. The liquid spilled, spreading like molten fire, but no one else seemed to notice its eerie glow.

His stomach churned violently, and he retched, the sweet juice burning his throat as he vomited.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground. Waves of pain shot through every inch of his body, his muscles spasming uncontrollably.

His heart raced faster, its rhythm erratic, teetering on the edge of stopping altogether.

His vision darkened, the café fading into nothingness as he writhed in agony.

Hirochi dropped to his knees beside him, his face pale with fear. "Kenji! Kenjiro! Someone call an ambulance!" he shouted, but Kenjiro could no longer hear him.

The world around him disappeared, leaving him trapped in a void of pain.

His consciousness slipped away, the last thing he felt being the scorching heat in his veins and the unbearable pressure in his chest.

Kenjiro was laying in bed wearing the hospital clothes, hirochi was sitting next to him eating the food that the nurse gave to kenjiro.

"The doctor said they didn't find anything wrong with your body. He thinks your body just couldn't handle that weird fruit," Hirochi said lazily, chewing on a snack while lounging in the chair next to Kenjiro's bed.

Kenjiro raised an eyebrow, leaning against the pillow behind his back, his loose hair framing his face. "What's the name of that damn fruit?" he asked, his tone a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"Ah... I can't remember its name," Hirochi replied, scratching his head dramatically as if the answer were hidden somewhere in his thoughts.

Kenjiro narrowed his eyes as he noticed Hirochi devouring his food from the tray beside the bed.

Without thinking, he snatched the food from Hirochi's hand. "Stop eating my food! You didn't leave me anything!"

Hirochi laughed as he leaned back with a grin. "I'm full! Relax, I was just keeping it warm for you," he said sarcastically.

Kenjiro stuffed his mouth with the remaining food, shooting his friend a playful glare. "Keeping it warm, my ass."

Hirochi leaned forward, smirking mischievously. "So, tell me-does your hand still move on its own? Or has it finally calmed down?"

Kenjiro paused mid-bite, a small smile forming on his lips. "It's quiet now, but I wouldn't trust it to stay that way."

Hirochi burst into laughter, his voice filling the room. "Man, your life's turning into one of those supernatural dramas! Next thing, your hand will start signing autographs on its own!"

Kenjiro rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped him. As he finished his meal, his thoughts drifted.

Just one more day, and he would meet Sakamoto and his wife-the people who might hold the answers to the strange mark on his hand.

As Kenjiro trudged home, the strange behavior of his hand continued to torment him.

It had been a nuisance all day-moving uncontrollably, slapping his face at random intervals. Frustrated, he grabbed a scarf and tied his rogue hand tightly to his torso, hoping to keep it in check.

The next day, during the exam, Kenjiro's hand rebelled yet again. Despite his efforts to restrain it, it somehow freed itself and began writing answers on the exam sheet-flawlessly and at lightning speed.

His classmates stole glances, bewildered by his speed and precision. Kenjiro could only sit there, his face a mix of embarrassment and resignation, muttering under his breath, "Why me?"

But the hand wasn't done causing chaos. Later that evening, as Kenjiro tried to relax in his room, it grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk.

Before he could stop it, it snipped away at his long hair with reckless abandon. The glossy strands fell to the floor in uneven clumps.

"Are you kidding me?!" Kenjiro groaned, staring at the mess in the mirror. Left with no choice, he marched to the barber to salvage what was left.

The barber took one look at the disaster and sighed before transforming Kenjiro's hair into a stylish wolf cut.

His long locks were gone, replaced with a sharp, layered look that framed his face. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't what Kenjiro had planned for himself, either.

As the exhausting day finally came to an end, Kenjiro lay in bed, hoping for some peace.

But the pain started again.

It began as a faint throbbing in his hand, then grew into an unbearable burning sensation that spread up his arm. Clenching his teeth, he stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the sink and splashing cold water on his face to stay grounded.

Panting, he glanced at his hand, desperate for answers.

That's when he saw it-on the back of his middle finger, in the same hand, was the word '命' (Inochi), the Japanese word for 'life,' faintly glowing and much smaller than the mark on his hand.

Kenjiro's heart raced as he stared at the mysterious mark. He gripped the edge of the sink, trembling.

What was happening to him? Was his body changing? His mind swirled with fear and confusion. Whatever this transformation was, it felt like he was becoming something beyond his comprehension.

Tomorrow, he would meet Sakamoto and get to the bottom of this. Whatever this thing inside him was, he had to know the truth.

At five in the morning, Kenjiro woke abruptly, the silence of the hour heavy around him.

He dressed quickly in a black outfit, the fabric cold against his skin, not forgetting the gloves, and stepped outside into the still darkness.

The streets were eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that seemed to swallow sound. The only company he had was his own echoing footsteps and the chill of dawn brushing against his skin.

The house he approached was like nothing he had ever seen. It loomed large, shrouded in an aura of mystery.

The design was ancient, intricate carvings lining the edges of its towering façade. Moss crept up the stone walls, and the sheer size of it felt oppressive. Kenjiro hesitated at the gates, their rusted iron bars curling like the talons of some ancient beast.

Before he could touch them, they creaked open on their own, the sound slicing through the silence like a warning.

A shiver crawled up his spine as he stepped inside. The pathway to the door seemed endless, flanked by withered trees that swayed slightly, though no wind stirred.

By the time he reached the door, his breath was shallow, his pulse quickened. Raising his hand to knock, he froze as the door swung inward, revealing a man standing in its shadow.

Sakamoto.

The older man's face was stern, his eyes unreadable. Without a word of greeting, he simply said, "Follow me."

Kenjiro's unease deepened, but he obeyed, stepping into the house. The air inside was colder, carrying a faint, unplaceable scent.

The vast space was unsettlingly empty. A grand staircase spiraled upward, but the living room around them was barren, devoid of the warmth or clutter of life. There was only a long table in the center, two chairs at opposite ends, and atop the table sat it.

The Green Book.

Kenjiro's eyes widened as he saw it lying open, its pages starkly white.

"Sit," Sakamoto commanded with a gesture, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kenjiro hesitated but eventually lowered himself into the chair. His senses were on high alert, his heart racing like a trapped animal's.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him. Turning his head sharply, he saw her-Fugimoto.

Her appearance was calm yet commanding, her smile disarming but purposeful. She took the seat beside him, her eyes holding an intensity that made him nervous.

"Kenjiro-kun," she began softly, her voice steady but carrying an unspoken weight, "today, I'm going to explain everything. You must listen carefully. Open your ears, and above all... don't panic. Understand?"

Kenjiro swallowed hard and nodded, though his body betrayed him with a slight tremble.

Fugimoto's smile softened, but her eyes never lost their sharp focus. She lifted her hand and waved it over the open book.

The blank pages began to shift and shimmer. Shapes and colors emerged as though summoned by her touch. Kenjiro's breath caught in his throat.

What he saw was impossible.

A vibrant world came to life before him-lush green trees swayed against a cerulean sky, fields of flowers stretched endlessly, their colors so vivid it was as though they glowed.

The scene was alive, not just an image but a world that seemed to breathe and pulse with energy.

His hands gripped the edge of the table as his mind reeled. "How-how are you doing this?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Kenjiro-kun," Fugimoto's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, "remember what I said. Don't panic."

Sakamoto stood off to the side, his arms crossed, observing the interaction silently. There was something almost reverent in the way he watched the book.

Kenjiro's eyes flicked back to the pages, still showing the serene landscape. "What is this place?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Fugimoto leaned forward, her expression now serious. "What you see is a rare glimpse into a world concealed from most, hidden beyond the reach of ordinary sight. This is... Kageyama Village."

Kageyama Village (影山村) =>"Shadow Mountain Village"