Koyoi came to a halt in the alleyway just past the shrine.
Familiar brushwork caught her eye. Even the luster of the ink, not yet fully dry, matched her memory exactly.
It was Shiori’s handwriting.
Don’t rush. Come straight to me.
A single, brief sentence. Yet, it tugged sharply at the depths of her chest.
Asahi moved first. He reached out to the wall, rubbing the ink with his fingertip.
"It’s fresh. But... there’s no scent."
Kuon inspected it as well, shaking his head.
"The brushwork is nearly identical. But it lacks the 'moment' of its creation. This is merely a trace—a record transplanted onto the surface."
Koyoi asked, her eyes still fixed on the wall, "Is it possible Shiori passed through here?"
"Not impossible. But this alone isn't proof."
As they moved further down the alley, the same handwriting appeared again. This time, the message was longer.
Choose the path where the lights are dim. The path on the right is steeped in deception.
There was even an arrow. It was almost too polite.
Asahi grimaced. "Guides that are too helpful are usually traps."
Koyoi nodded, but her feet didn't slow. Every time she saw those characters, she could almost recall the rhythm of Shiori’s breathing.
Kuon opened his Catalog, casting a light that illuminated the strata of the wall. Beneath the blue glow, another sentence emerged from under the ink.
Don’t look back here.
Deeper still was a faded line—the mark of someone who had rewritten the text.
"Three layers of overwriting. Only the first sentence has a different brush pressure."
Kuon stepped back from the wall, surveying the entire alley.
"The first sentence might really be Shiori’s. The rest is a lure."
A breeze blew through. The ink on the wall blurred slightly, the edges of the characters unraveling.
Koyoi touched her drawstring pouch. The beat of the "Droplet" remained steady. It wasn't reacting to a lie.
"I’ll trust only the first sentence. Don’t rush. Come straight to me."
As Koyoi spoke, Asahi tapped the hilt of his sword.
"Understood. We'll ignore the right. We’ll take the middle path."
Kuon closed his Catalog.
"Words are tools. They are not the path itself. The path is decided by your own feet."
The three of them walked down the center of the alley. On the walls to their left and right, Shiori’s handwriting appeared and vanished. It felt like a beckoning, yet also like a test.
Koyoi did not look back even once. She knew that if she did, she would be pulled back into the gravity of those words.
When they reached the exit of the alley, a final message remained on the last wall.
Thank you for coming.
Koyoi read it, but she did not touch it. Whether it was real or fake, her priority was to move forward. She tucked Shiori’s handwriting away in her heart—not as a signpost, but as a vow.
Beyond the alley, there was a small basin. Koyoi washed her hands, rinsing away the ink that had stained her fingertips. Her reflection in the water looked weary, but her eyes were clear.
Asahi leaned against a wall. "How can you really tell whether handwriting is genuine?"
Koyoi answered while drying her fingers. "It’s not the shape of the characters; it’s the way they hesitate. Shiori’s writing always has a certain... reluctance, even when she's in a hurry."
Kuon closed his Catalog. "Forms can be replicated. Hesitation can’t be faked without the life behind it. A keen observation."
Koyoi left a small message of her own at the edge of the basin.
Don’t let the words decide for you.
She didn't know if it would reach Shiori. Even so, it might reach the next person to pass this way.