“Lady Ibaraki…
are you sure this is the right direction?”
Tokyo, late at night.
Shinjuku, Kabukicho.
Mizuki Mirei stood at the entrance of Ichiban-gai in the plainest casual clothes she had managed to dig out of her closet, shoulders tense and eyes uneasy as she looked around.
It was her first time setting foot in this place.
Neon signs in every color lit the night until it almost resembled day.
Music poured from storefronts on both sides of the street, colliding with the laughter, shouting, and drunken chatter of pedestrians until the air itself seemed to vibrate.
Young men and women in revealing clothes walked past with their arms around one another.
The smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, sweat, and late-night food drifted together in a heavy, suffocating haze.
To Mizuki Mirei, who had grown up within the quiet boundaries of an old shrine, the entire district felt like another world.
No.
Worse than that.
It felt like she had wandered into a den of wolves.
Every passing glance made her skin prickle.
Every burst of laughter sounded too loud.
Every alley looked as if it might swallow someone whole.
“A demon’s nose is quite keen, you know.”
Ibaraki-Douji’s voice sounded abruptly beside her ear.
Mizuki jumped and instinctively turned her head.
There was no one there.
Only a few fashionably dressed women smoking by the roadside.
They glanced at Mizuki strangely, probably wondering why this nervous-looking girl had just turned toward empty air.
“I told you already, did I not?”
This time, Ibaraki-Douji’s voice sounded directly inside Mizuki’s mind.
“I am currently spiritualized.
As long as I do not reveal myself, no one in this world can detect me.”
Mizuki pressed her lips together and quickly looked away from the women by the roadside, her cheeks faintly red.
Through the link of the Command Spell, the two of them could communicate without speaking aloud.
No matter their distance or state, the connection allowed clear transmission of thought.
A miracle.
Or perhaps, given who had bestowed it, a curse shaped like one.
“Even so…”
Mizuki answered carefully in her mind.
“I still can’t imagine the base of a religious organization like the Meiyuan Church being in a place like this.”
She looked at the garish signs, the narrow alleys, the men calling out to women on the street, the host clubs, bars, and entertainment venues crammed together under layers of neon light.
“Aren’t they at least a public religious organization?
Have they become too lazy to maintain even the most basic pretense?”
In Mizuki’s mind, a religious site should have been solemn and quiet, like Shihou Shrine.
A place of clean stone paths, trees, incense, purification basins, old wood, and prayer.
How could such a thing be connected to a place so gaudy, vulgar, and swollen with desire?
“Hmph.
A religious organization?”
Ibaraki-Douji’s laugh carried open contempt.
“In my eyes, they are nothing more than swindlers hiding behind gods and buddhas while satisfying their own greed.
A den of filth like this suits them perfectly.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Enough chatter.
Follow the scent.
The foul stench of the scum who visited your shrine earlier comes from this direction.”
Guided by Ibaraki-Douji, Mizuki forced herself to move.
She stepped into Kabukicho’s bustling night, into a street that felt to her like a maze from another world.
Hosts with carefully styled hair and bright smiles called out to passersby.
Women in glamorous dresses gathered in small groups, laughing behind their hands.
Men with unfriendly faces and tattoos visible beneath their collars leaned against walls, watching the flow of people with sharp, appraising eyes.
Mizuki lowered her head, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.
Following Ibaraki-Douji’s guidance, she slipped through the labyrinth of side streets and narrow alleys.
Before long, they stopped in front of an unremarkable building deep within Kabukicho.
It looked almost the same as the love hotels, izakayas, and private clubs around it.
The only strange thing was that there was no sign at the entrance.
No name.
No advertisement.
Nothing that revealed what the building was supposed to be.
That lack of identity made it feel more suspicious than any vulgar signboard could have.
“This is the place.”
Ibaraki-Douji’s voice echoed in Mizuki’s mind.
“That nauseating stench is coming from this building.
Come, let us go in.”
“Wait.”
Mizuki stiffened.
“We’re just going to walk in?”
Her gaze moved toward the entrance.
“There are surveillance cameras.
And there might be security guards.”
“Security guards?
Surveillance?”
Ibaraki-Douji scoffed.
“What difference do such things make to me?
They may as well not exist.
Walk in boldly.
I will handle it.”
Before Mizuki could object again, an invisible force wrapped around her body.
It did not feel rough, but it left no room for refusal.
She moved forward and pushed open the heavy glass door.
Sure enough, two security guards sat dozing at the reception desk inside.
Mizuki’s heart nearly stopped.
But when she walked past them, neither guard reacted.
Their heads remained lowered, their breathing steady, as if she did not exist at all.
The surveillance camera near the elevator flickered with static the moment she passed beneath it.
Its lens turned useless.
With Ibaraki-Douji’s impossible power covering her, Mizuki entered the building without effort, undetected from beginning to end.
The elevator rose smoothly.
The numbers above the door changed one by one.
Finally, it stopped on the seventh floor.
Ding.
The doors opened.
The scene beyond them made Mizuki frown at once.
Unlike the quiet, lifeless atmosphere below, the entire seventh floor had been remodeled into a vast, luxurious space like a high-end private club.
Crystal chandeliers poured warm light over the corridor.
Expensive Persian carpets covered the floor.
Modern art pieces Mizuki could not understand hung on the walls.
The air was thick with cigar smoke, alcohol, women’s laughter, and crude male voices.
Men in sharp suits, each looking like a successful businessman in public, moved in and out of private rooms with young women in revealing clothes clinging to their arms.
This did not resemble the office of a religious organization at all.
It looked more like an underground club built for illicit entertainment.
“It seems we came to the right place.”
Ibaraki-Douji’s voice carried undisguised disgust.
“These wretches are even more rotten than I imagined.”
“Where do we go?”
Mizuki suppressed the discomfort rising in her chest and asked silently.
“The private room at the very end.”
Ibaraki-Douji answered at once.
“The foul odor is strongest there.
That man named Saito Shigeru from this afternoon should be inside.”
Mizuki nodded.
She took a deep breath and walked down the corridor.
Under Ibaraki-Douji’s spiritual concealment, she moved like a transparent ghost among the men and women drowning themselves in debauchery.
No one noticed her.
No one looked her way.
The deeper she went, the more unbearable the sounds became.
Behind half-open doors and thin walls, the so-called elites who wore proper masks during the day had cast away every trace of restraint.
They discussed bankrupting competitors through despicable means.
They boasted about how many naive young girls they had played with and discarded.
They laughed about people driven into ruin through predatory loans.
They spoke of threats, bribes, forged documents, favors, women, money, and lives with the same casual tone one might use to discuss a restaurant menu.
Every word struck Mizuki like a poisoned needle.
The education she had received since childhood had taught her the difference between good and evil.
But this place showed her something else.
Human malice could be this pure.
This shameless.
This ordinary.
At last, she reached the most luxurious private room at the end of the corridor.
The door was not fully closed.
A narrow gap remained.
Through it, Mizuki could see inside.
Sitting within the room was Saito Shigeru, Deputy Leader of the Meiyuan Church, the man who had visited Shihou Shrine earlier that very day.
He leaned back on a soft leather sofa, arms around two young and beautiful girls.
A glass of expensive red wine rested in his hand, and his face wore an expression of lazy enjoyment.
Across from him sat several men who looked like underlings, each carrying the unmistakable air of the underworld.
“Mr.
Saito.”
A crew-cut subordinate with a tattoo on his neck spoke with confusion.
“Is that piece of land at Shihou Shrine really so important?
Important enough to rush things like this?”
He scratched his head.
“I heard the Great Leader gave strict orders to acquire that land at all costs, and as quickly as possible.”
Saito Shigeru chuckled and took a slow sip of wine.
“What do you know?”
His tone was full of superiority.
“That shrine is far more than a piece of land.
It is a Shinto lineage with more than a century of history.
In the past, perhaps such a thing would not have mattered much.”
His eyes narrowed.
“But now, times are changing.”
The room quieted slightly.
A fanatical light flashed in Saito’s eyes.
“You have all heard about the Bunkyo Ward incident, haven’t you?
The one that caused such a commotion?”
He leaned forward.
“That was a real Oni God.”
Mizuki’s fingers tightened against the doorframe.
Saito’s voice grew lower, hotter.
“The Great Leader says this world is about to enter an unprecedented transformation.
Whoever finds and controls these Mysteries first will become the master of the new era.”
He spread his hands.
“What the Meiyuan Church must do is seize every similar shrine and spiritual site across Japan before the government, those old families, and the other stubborn fossils can react.”
A smile appeared on his lips.
“Shihou Shrine is only one of our targets.”
Outside the door, Mizuki Mirei felt her heart jolt violently.
She had never imagined that the Meiyuan Church’s desire for Shihou Shrine concealed this kind of ambition.
They were not merely after land.
They were not merely after money.
Their true goal was to control supernatural existences.
Existences like Ibaraki-Douji.