He pushed through the rotted door.
And in each mirror, the men saw something different.
And the shrine stood one more year.
That night, Kaito climbed the mountain behind the shrine. The path hadn’t been used in eighty years. Halfway up, his human lungs burned, but the god part of him felt the ley lines hum underfoot like harp strings.
“I am the tomori who will be needed when the bulldozers come. I am the god who refuses to die. I am you, Kaito. Shinseki no ko to otomori dakara. Because you are the child of a god and a retainer, you can wear the mask of both. But only for one night.” shinseki no ko to otomori dakara
“You came,” the reflection said.
The foreman sighed and waved forward the first excavator. The diesel engine growled. The treads crushed fallen leaves. He pushed through the rotted door
From the cup, the spring water rose in a single trembling column. It spiraled into the air, grew wider, brighter, and then—shattered into a million droplets, each one a tiny mirror.