The Woman Who Was Never Meant to Exist

A cold breeze whispered through the abandoned shrine, carrying the scent of damp earth and rotting wood. Renjiro stood still, his grip on the yellowed newspaper tightening as the weight of the revelation settled in his chest.

Akane Takeda.

A name he should have known. A name that shouldn’t exist.

Yet, she did.

Renjiro wasn’t a man who let emotions dictate his actions. But tonight—tonight, something wasn’t right.

And for the first time in years, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something he didn’t understand.

A Name That Opens Old Wounds

Hiroshi let out a slow breath, watching Renjiro with sharp, knowing eyes.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” the broker muttered.

Renjiro exhaled through his nose. “Maybe I have.”

Hiroshi scoffed, lighting another cigarette. The glow of the ember illuminated the deep lines on his face, shadows flickering like ghosts of their own.

“You think I’m messing with you?” Renjiro asked.

“No.” Hiroshi took a drag, then exhaled. “I think you’re in trouble.”

Renjiro remained silent.

His mind was a storm, pieces clicking together in ways he didn’t like.

Akane had appeared twenty years after her death, whispering words that felt too personal, too familiar.

She wasn’t just some illusion or coincidence.

She was connected to him.

To his past.

To something bigger than he could yet understand.

Hiroshi flicked the cigarette into the dirt. “You need to let this go, Takeda.”

“You know I won’t.”

Hiroshi sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. “Then I’ll tell you one last thing.” His voice dropped lower.

“There’s a place you should go. An old house in Aoyama. It belonged to your family—before the fire.”

Renjiro narrowed his eyes.

“And what exactly am I supposed to find there?”

Hiroshi’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“The past.”

A House That Remembers

Renjiro arrived at the old Takeda estate just past midnight.

The house stood at the end of a forgotten road, surrounded by towering trees that had long since begun to reclaim the land. The once-grand estate was now nothing but ruins—charred wood, crumbling stone, and a past left to decay.

But as he stepped forward, something felt wrong.

The air was heavy. Thick with something unseen.

A presence.

Renjiro wasn’t a man who believed in ghosts. But he had also never stood in a place where the past refused to die.

He moved through the ruins, his footsteps echoing against the silence.

Then—

A flicker of red.

Barely visible through the collapsed beams and broken walls.

His pulse kicked up.

“Akane.”

No answer.

Only the wind stirring the leaves.

Then he saw it—an old stone lantern, half-buried under moss. The carvings on it were familiar, etched with symbols he had seen before in his family’s old documents.

Renjiro crouched down, brushing away the dirt.

And beneath the grime, a name was engraved into the stone.

His own.

His breath caught in his throat.

Why would his name be here?

His fingers traced the carving, and as he did, a voice whispered behind him.

"You shouldn't be here."

The same words.

The same voice.

Renjiro turned sharply, hand instinctively moving to his knife—

But she was already gone.

Only the wind remained, whispering secrets only the dead could hear.