Haruto sat on the edge of his bed.
The letter was still in his hand.
Old. Cracked. Burned at the corners.
The paper felt too heavy for something so small.
He ran a finger over the words on the front:
> To the one who wears my skin.
He took a deep breath.
And opened it.
The paper groaned like it didn't want to wake up.
Inside, there were only a few lines.
But they were written in the same hand as the name carved on the knife he found last week.
The knife he hadn't told anyone about.
The knife that hummed when it touched blood.
> "You've taken my body. So take my curse too."
"Every time you bleed, I remember."
"Every time you lie, I see."
"Every time you kill, I grow."
"And when you finally forget who you are… I'll return."
— Yoru.
Haruto's heart thudded.
He read the letter again. And again. But the words never changed.
Then something strange happened.
The letters started to burn.
Slowly. From the edges.
But the fire didn't feel hot.
It felt… cold. Like it was eating memories, not paper.
And as the flames reached the last line, Haruto saw a flash in his head.
Not a dream.
A memory.
Not his.
Blood on snow.
A man, kneeling.
Laughing while coughing red.
A girl standing behind him with a knife, shaking.
> "You think this ends with me?" the man had said.
"I've buried myself deeper than you think."
Then—
Nothing.
Haruto blinked. The letter was gone.
Only ash remained in his hand.
His head throbbed.
> "Every time you bleed…"
He rushed to the sink, grabbed a knife from the drawer, and made a small cut on his finger.
He hissed from the sting.
Then watched the mirror.
And froze.
The reflection didn't copy his movement.
Instead, it grinned.
Wide.
Too wide.
Blood ran from its nose.
Haruto stumbled back.
The mirror cracked—just a hairline fracture—but it was enough.
He stared.
And the reflection spoke.
> "Hello again, me."
Haruto backed toward the door.
His heart raced. His breath caught.
Then the box on the table shook violently.
The lid clicked open.
And a soft ticking filled the room.
It wasn't a normal tick.
It was layered.
Like a hundred broken clocks trying to speak all at once.
Then—
A single, silver gear floated out of the box.
It hovered in the air. Turning slowly. Buzzing with tiny lights.
It moved toward him.
Stopped.
And dropped into his palm.
The ticking stopped.
The room went silent.
But inside his chest…
He felt something shift.
Something click into place.
---
End of Chapter 15.