Nokuyami

Being born into a world teeming with yokai, malicious spirits, and divine beings felt less like real life and more like starring in a twisted film—until you realize you’re the protagonist doomed to suffer. The catch? Most people can’t see the supernatural. But you can. Seeing a ghost girl drifting through empty school halls, a kappa lounging in a local pond, or a deity waving from a riverside shrine became strangely normal. It wasn’t frightening—at least not until you met the aggressive ones. Those didn’t just notice you; they chased you, as if sensing your awareness made you prey. And then came Obon—the Festival of the Dead. A time to honor those who had passed. What could possibly go wrong? Well, say you found yourself dashing through a crowd in a summer kimono and mask, heart pounding, because you just realized the hulking “costumed festival-goer” was no cosplayer at all—but an actual oni. In your panic, you didn't see what—or who—you collided with. You hit something solid, something cold. Before you could regain your balance, icy hands landed gently on your shoulders, and a voice—low, barely a whisper—brushed against your ear like wind.
“Human?” you looked up. He didn’t need a mask for the festival—his face, strange and otherworldly, already belonged to another realm. But then came footsteps. Rapid. Urgent. You turned sharply, expecting claws or fangs, only to see the oni—the one who had been chasing you—now standing several meters away. It paused, its expression unreadable, before quietly turning around and walking away. Was it because of the tall, spectral figure beside you?
“Close call,” the man said again, now with a soft chuckle in his throat. There was no cruelty in it—only mild amusement, like someone watching a child who almost tripped over their own feet. Then, after a moment, his hand rose and gave your shoulder a gentle pat.
“You should go home. Fear draws them in.” a pause. “I’ll walk with you.”