Tokyo Exorcism Diary

The young man who had dived into the water resurfaced, but not of his own accord—he was pulled up by the rescue team. Just an hour ago, he had been full of life, but now he was a pale, bloated corpse.

Outside Shiratake Village, the shores of Tokyo Bay were already crowded with police officers and villagers, forming an impenetrable circle.

A repaired bus carrying a group of idol girls departed from the scene. The lively atmosphere from earlier, akin to a field trip, had completely dissipated.

Inside the solemn bus, someone peeked out the window, glancing back at the commotion along the riverbank, then turned and murmured softly, “He’s really dead…”

Fear of corpses, an innate dread of death, is a primal human instinct, deeply ingrained in the soul.

That drowned corpse felt like a layer of ashen smog, veiling the blue sky, white clouds, verdant grass, and rustic cottages.

Hoshino Rin instinctively tightened her arm around Liz’s delicate shoulders. In this moment, Hoshino Rin epitomized the inverse of the phrase “ignorance is bliss.” While others were silent and frightened due to their instinctive fear of death, Hoshino Rin’s fear stemmed from a chilling realization: after death, humans might truly become ghosts.

Many members of the TKY02 group couldn’t resist sneaking glances at the riverbank, but Hoshino Rin refused to look back. She dared not, terrified that if she turned, she might see a pale, bloated corpse waving at her.

Clutching Liz’s slender shoulders tightly, her small face tense, Hoshino Rin desperately wished to be by her brother’s side as quickly as possible.

…

On the artificial beach under the dazzling sunlight, children frolicked, young couples swam in the shallows or chatted under umbrellas, and in more secluded spots, people sat in rows with fishing rods, engrossed in their pastime.

Hoshino Gen, wearing sunglasses, sported a casual look—T-shirt, a sun protection jacket, beach shorts, and flip-flops. He exuded a laid-back yet roguishly charming vibe, effortlessly catching attention as he walked.

“Hey there, handsome! Interested in fishing? Full gear available, 2,000 yen per hour!” An enthusiastic man approached him as Hoshino Gen strolled into the anglers’ area. The man, likely in his late forties judging by his face, already had a head of gray hair cropped short.

Without giving the man much scrutiny, Hoshino Gen offered a slight smile and replied with interest, “Sure, set me up with some gear.”

“Coming right up!” The man beamed, clearly delighted by the booming business today.

Hoshino Gen took a seat on a small stool the man provided and accepted a fishing rod already baited. With a flick of his wrist, the line arced gracefully before the bait landed in the water with a soft “plop.”

The salty sea breeze ruffled his hair as he held the fishing rod, a faint smile playing on his lips, waiting patiently for a bite.

The man, having brought over his own stool, plopped down beside Hoshino Gen and struck up a conversation. “Here on vacation, young man?”

Hoshino Gen nodded slightly, keeping his gaze fixed on the undulating waves, as though afraid he might miss a nibble.

“Not much of a fisherman, huh?” The man chuckled. “Fishing isn’t about having too much desire. Believe it or not, the less you care, the more you catch. I’ve fished my whole life and swear by it—sometimes, beginners get luckier than pros!”

Hoshino Gen responded with a faint smile but said nothing.

Undeterred, the man continued, sharing tips and stories about fishing: the importance of timing, location, weather, and water conditions. He insisted that night fishing yielded the best catches but required patience and skill.

The monologue only ended when Hoshino Gen’s phone buzzed. The man, realizing he’d monopolized the conversation, chuckled and got up to greet other customers.

Hoshino Gen answered the call, hearing Hoshino Rin’s voice on the other end. “Onii-chan, where are you? We’ve arrived.”

His mood, already buoyed by the lively beach atmosphere, remained light. “Hand the phone to the front desk; I’ll have them let you in.”

“Okay.”

A moment later, a male voice came through. “Hello, sir.”

“Hi, I’m a guest at Fukuen Inn, Villa No. 3. The girl in front of you is my sister. I’m currently out, so please open the door for them.”

“Understood, sir. Enjoy your vacation.”

Hoshino Gen ended the call, his faint smile unwavering as he returned to fishing.

By noon, the sun grew scorching, and it was time for lunch. Hoshino Gen reeled in his line, packing up his modest catch—a small bucket of fish, including an impressively large sea bass.

While paying for the fishing gear, he took only the sea bass with him, leaving the smaller fish behind.

Fukuen Inn was a high-end ryokan(inn) featuring independent courtyards and traditional Japanese-style accommodations. It promised guests a rustic, countryside experience paired with attentive service.

As Hoshino Gen stepped through the entrance, the staff greeted him warmly, offering refreshments and asking if they could prepare the sea bass he carried.

“Please cook it and serve it with lunch,” Hoshino Gen instructed.

“Of course. Anything else?”

“No, thanks.”

Waving them off, he walked through the meticulously arranged courtyard to Villa No. 3. The wooden gate was unlocked, and he pushed it open effortlessly.

The sound of a TV greeted him as he crossed the garden and entered the house.

Sure enough, Hoshino Rin and Liz were in the living room, seated on a tatami mat and engrossed in a TV show.

Seeing Hoshino Gen return, Hoshino Rin’s eyes lit up, and she called out excitedly, “Onii-chan!”