Chapter 4: Itō Takuma
Junko practically vibrated with excitement. “Alright! Finally, some real action!”
“If the stories started with the soccer club, that’s our first stop,” Takada suggested, ever practical.
Yomikawa had a strong hunch that Ōgami Yōsuke, with his bloodhound-like curiosity, already possessed a few pieces of this particular puzzle. But after his recent public humiliation, he was clearly opting for a strategy of self-preservation: lie low, say nothing.
Fine by me, she thought. No need to force him. Aloud, she nodded. “To the soccer club it is. Let’s see what intel we can dig up.”
The school poured resources into its sports clubs. Soccer, tennis, basketball, baseball – they all boasted prime facilities and preferential treatment, a stark contrast to the humble, almost forgotten, Folklore Research Club.
The final bell had only recently rung, and the soccer field was already a hive of activity. Players warmed up in scattered groups, a blur of stretching limbs and focused expressions.
Takada spotted his target from across the field, a tall figure, and waved. “Takuma!”
The boy turned. A wan smile flickered across his unusually pale face. “Shōji, you old dog. Cutting class for some more of your weird club stuff?”
“Hey, this is official club business, I’ll have you know!” Takada retorted, landing a playful punch on his friend’s shoulder before turning to the group. “This is Itō Takuma, Class 1-E. We go way back.”
Itō Takuma was built like an athlete, tall and solid with close-cropped hair. But his complexion was off, a sickly pallor that spoke of sleepless nights or something worse. He looked utterly drained.
“And these are my fellow club members,” Takada continued, gesturing to them. “Our president, Yomikawa-senpai.”
Ordinarily, a boy meeting Yomikawa Tsuko, with her striking beauty, would show at least a flicker of interest, a hint of friendliness. But when Itō Takuma heard who they were, the already faint smile vanished from his face, replaced by something else entirely.
He actually recoiled, taking a small step back. His eyes, wide and wary, fixed on Yomikawa Tsuko as if she were a harbinger of doom. He either recognized her reputation, or Takada had filled him in. “Yomikawa-senpai… and the Folklore Club,” he said, his voice tight. “You’re here about the… the sleepwalking incident, aren’t you?”
Yomikawa Tsuko inclined her head, her expression serene. “Forgive the intrusion. Yes, that’s precisely why we’ve come. Might we borrow a few moments of your time?”
“Takuma, Kimura-san’s your good friend, right? The one it happened to?” Takada pressed, noticing the unhealthy sheen on his friend’s face. “You must know the real story. You’re not swamped right now, are you? Just tell us.”
“Look…” A raw, naked fear flashed in Itō Takuma’s eyes. His face seemed to cycle through a range of emotions before settling into a mask of weary resignation. “This… this whole thing is seriously twisted. It’s not like those silly urban legends people make up. This is real. You guys really, really shouldn’t poke your noses into it. If something goes wrong… you’ll regret it. And by then, it’ll be far too late.”
Junko and Kana exchanged an amused glance. They’d dissected countless folk tales, urban legends, ghost stories – dozens, if not a hundred. They all shared a common trait: they sounded terrifying in the telling, but under scrutiny, the spooky bits usually dissolved into mundane explanations. To see someone in the flesh treating such a story with this level of grave seriousness was, frankly, a bit comical to them.
“Is it really that bad? Itō-san, you’re not just pulling our leg, are you?”
“No way. It’s probably just some weird coincidence. There’s no such thing as actual ghosts or curses.”
Takada put on a mock-offended look. “Hey, Takuma! We’re buddies, aren’t we? I’m asking you, man to man. Are you seriously going to shut me down?”
Ōgami Yōsuke, who had been a silent observer until now, finally spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “Whatever happens, if there are consequences, we’ll face them ourselves.”
The words seemed to land. Itō Takuma hesitated, a visible struggle playing out on his face. Finally, with a grit of his teeth, he conceded. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But after that, you’re on your own. I wash my hands of it.”
He quickly excused himself from the soccer captain, then, to their surprise, adamantly refused to go to their clubroom. He insisted on telling his story right there, at the sun-drenched edge of the bustling field.
“Eh? But it’s scorching out here. Our clubroom has air-conditioner, you know.”
Itō Takuma glanced up at the blazing afternoon sun as if it were a protective talisman, then took a shuddering breath. “No. Here is better. I… I feel safer in the daylight. And I’m warning you one last time: people who learn the full story, the real story… bad things happen to them. Take me, for instance.”
Before their astonished eyes, Itō Takuma turned his back to them and lifted the hem of his practice jersey. A thick gauze bandage was wrapped around his torso. Dark stains of blood had seeped through in several places. “See that? You can still see the blood. The cut’s about six centimeters long. Luckily, it wasn’t too deep, didn’t hit the spine. Just a flesh wound, mostly. If it had been worse, I wouldn’t even be standing here, let alone playing soccer.”
Takada Shōji let out a sharp, involuntary hiss of breath. “When did that happen? And how can you be so sure it’s connected to this sleepwalking thing?”
“Saturday morning. Day before yesterday,” Itō said, his voice hollow as he pulled his shirt down. The fear was still there, clinging to him like a shroud. “When Kimura first took off school, I didn’t think much of it. Figured he was just freaked out, or stressed. A few days’ rest, he’d be fine. That’s what I told myself.”
“Honestly, before this happened to me, I didn’t take any of it seriously. Of course, back then, the rumor about ‘knowing the story brings misfortune’ hadn’t started yet. That particular gem began circulating after I became the second victim.”
“But looking back… I think it all started brewing on Friday night. Listen to what happened to me. Then you can decide if you still want to stick your noses in.”
He was clearly making one last attempt to scare them off.
This time, however, his words had the opposite effect. Ōgami Yōsuke’s eyes narrowed with focused intensity. Even Junko and Kana’s earlier amusement had vanished, replaced by a sober, rapt attention.
“Friday,” Itō began, his voice low and strained, “it was my turn for cleanup duty. In my Soccer club… there’s always a mountain of gear to deal with. So I got home late. Really late. I don’t remember the exact time, but the sky was that deep, bruised purple, darker than dusk, but not quite full night.”
“Maybe it was an omen. On the way home, this huge flock of crows… they just appeared, started circling over my head, cawing like crazy. Non-stop. I walked, they followed. All the way to my front door.”
“I swear, I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. Even after I got inside, they didn’t leave, just hung around the house, outside my window. I could hear them, that awful, grating caw, caw, caw. It set my teeth on edge. Thinking back now, that should have been my first warning sign. A big, flapping, black-feathered warning sign.”
He let out a shaky sigh. “After dinner, Mom roped me into helping with some chores. I didn’t get back to my room until around eight-thirty. I took a shower, called Kimura’s place to see how he was doing – no answer. Then I just read manga and lost track of time. It was almost midnight.”
“Mom came in twice, told me to get to bed. Finally, I turned off the light. And that’s when it started. The room was pitch black. I was just feeling my way towards the bed when I heard it – this loud ‘THUMP!’ right at my window.”
“It was exactly twelve. I knew because Mom had just been in. My mind instantly went to a dozen bad places.”
“The sound… it was like something heavy hitting the glass. I froze, didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. I waited. Ages, it felt like. Just when I started to think maybe I’d imagined it… ‘THUMP!’ Again.”
“I didn’t even think. Just dove for my bed, yanked the covers over my head, burrowed down like a mole. Left just a tiny slit for my eyes. Within minutes, I was drenched in cold sweat.”
“I was too scared to even make a sound, just stared at the window. Part of me was praying for the noise to stop, the other, terrified part, desperately wanted to see what was out there, what was making that godawful sound. After a minute, maybe two, a dark shape flashed past the glass. And then – ‘THUMP!’ – louder this time.”
“And that’s when I saw it. Clear as day, even in the dark.”
“What?” Takada Shōji breathed, his voice barely a whisper.
Itō Takuma swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing convulsively. The raw terror of that night was still imprinted on his face, a ghostly afterimage. “Crows,” he choked out. “A whole swarm of them. They were throwing themselves against my window, trying to break in. They wanted… they wanted to get in.”
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