Tokyo Exorcism Diary

The setting sun cast its glow over the Matsuda Department Store building. At this hour, the area would normally be bustling with life—its busiest, most vibrant time.

But today, not a single soul was in sight.

The evacuation had been carried out by the Metropolitan Police Department, clearing the surrounding blocks. And the ones tasked with breaching the underground parking garage entrance were two squads—one of fully armed soldiers, the other in black trench coats.

Both teams moved with swift precision, flooding into the underground garage. The moment they crossed the threshold, they formed a perimeter, weapons raised.

Yet the first wave to hit them wasn’t an enemy assault.

It was the stench.

The wide, dimly lit garage was strewn with corpses. Blood pooled across the concrete floor, its sickly metallic scent thick enough to make even trained men retch. It was only now that some of them realized the liquid they’d stepped in upon entering wasn’t water.

It was blood—already soaked through, spreading like a crimson tide.

Everyone—whether hardened soldiers or the Special Affairs Unit members accustomed to supernatural threats—felt a chill rise from the depths of their souls.

This… was all the work of one person?

Their eyes finally locked onto the target.

In the middle of the carnage, standing atop the mound of bodies, was a lone figure.

A boy—slender, almost fragile—gripping a bloodied blade in one hand. His white shirt was stained crimson, half-drenched from collar to hem. The katana in his hand, originally black, had turned a deep, murky red—dyed by the lives it had claimed.

His right eye was shut.

His left eye glowed—like a crimson crystal embedded in its socket.

He’d been standing there for who knows how long, head tilted slightly upward as if gazing at the ceiling. Only when the two teams entered did he slowly lower his head.

He turned toward them.

In that instant—

Every soldier’s hair stood on end.

“Subdue him!!”

The squad leader barked the order, his voice cracking under pressure. Rifles snapped into position, triggers pulled in perfect unison.

A storm of tranquilizer darts rained down.

But the boy didn’t move.

He simply tilted his head—empty, hollow—as if observing insects.

The darts struck him.

Or rather—they should have.

Every dart passed through his body, embedding harmlessly into the concrete wall behind him before clattering to the floor.

“What… Impossible!!”

A middle-aged man from the Special Affairs Unit staggered forward, eyes wide. “He’s… he’s not human anymore… He’s turned into a vengeful spirit!”

No physical attack could touch him—an attribute that only the dead could possess.

“Special Suppression Squad, fall back! Containment team, engage!” the man roared, his gloved hand flaring with a pale blue light.

With a sharp crack, he lunged forward like an arrow, aiming straight for the boy.

The other black-clad agents scattered into a pincer formation.

But the boy’s only response was a slow, mechanical raising of his hand. A crimson talisman flickered into existence, forming in the air around his fingertips.

The moment the middle-aged man reached him—

A shockwave exploded outward.

The man hurtled back at blinding speed, slamming into the distant concrete wall with bone-crunching force.

He didn’t get up.

The surrounding agents froze.

That man—their instructor, the legend who had single-handedly contained three vengeful spirits—had been taken down in a single blow.

They stared at the boy with widening eyes, horror swallowing any shred of bravado they had left.

The boy paid them no mind.

He simply turned, footsteps slow and deliberate, heading for the garage’s exit.

He brushed past one of the agents. The man felt his breath catch in his throat, every muscle locking up as if death itself had brushed against him.

By the time anyone thought to give chase, the instructor’s weak, rasping voice echoed through the garage:

“Don’t… follow him… You’ll die.”

With that, he coughed up blood and slipped into unconsciousness.

…

Hoshino Gen emerged into the amber light of dusk.

He made no attempt to conceal himself.

Blood soaked his clothes, yet not a single police officer dared fire.

He walked in silence, his pace unhurried—following the route home.

“D-Don’t come any closer!”

A female officer stood trembling in his path, gun aimed at his heart. Her face was deathly pale, her hands shaking so violently that the muzzle wavered.

Fear finally cracked through her mind—she squeezed the trigger.

The bullet passed through him, ricocheting harmlessly off the garage door behind.

When she opened her eyes again, he was already brushing past her—an indifferent specter slipping through her body.

Her legs gave out. She collapsed to the ground, staring blankly into space.

It wasn’t just her.

Every officer present—every single one—stood frozen in terror.

Not until that eerie boy—whether human or ghost—disappeared from their sight did the onlookers finally glance at each other, as if trying to confirm whether their own eyes had deceived them.

When Hoshino Gen walked out of the cordoned-off area, six black jeeps had somehow appeared around him.

The vehicles did nothing—two at the front cleared the path, two on the sides blocked the view of passersby, and the last two cut off sightlines from behind.

They resembled the most loyal of escort teams, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace. Ignoring all traffic rules, they silently escorted… or perhaps monitored… Hoshino Gen all the way back to his apartment.

Only when Hoshino Gen scanned his fingerprint at the door and vanished from every surveillance feed did the countless people behind the screens finally let out a long breath of relief.

A being immune to all physical attacks…

A being in possession of a crushing, overwhelming special ability…

Heh.

——Why?

Why did a walking apocalypse, more terrifying than any nuclear bomb and capable of detonating at any moment…

Have to appear in Japan?!