"That's enough, Yukino."
Before Yukino could finish, Haruno's voice cut sharply through the room. There was no trace of her usual gentleness now—just cold, decisive anger.
"If you have a better idea, then speak up. But standing here criticizing everything helps no one."
She turned away, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "It seems Mother was right after all. She spoiled you too much growing up... and now look at you."
Yukino stared at her sister in disbelief. Haruno was always poised, composed—even manipulative when needed—but never cruel. Yet here she was, lashing out on behalf of a stranger.
Haruno turned to Shiro. "Yes. If you can save her, the reward is yours. Money is not a problem."
Shiro raised a brow, surprised by her decisiveness. Even Mr. Yukinoshita didn't object. In this moment, Haruno wasn't just the eldest daughter—she was the head of the family.
"Step back. Wear these," Shiro said, handing out folded talismans. "Things are about to get loud. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Haruno didn't hesitate. The memory of that terrifying ride on the pink scooter was still fresh. She grabbed Yukino by the wrist and pulled her out of the room.
Mr. Yukinoshita gave Shiro a long look, something between curiosity and resignation, then quietly followed his daughters.
Alone with the unconscious Mrs. Yukinoshita, Shiro let out a breath and spoke, his voice amplified by spiritual energy.
"Come out. Or do I have to drag you out?"
The response was immediate.
Mrs. Yukinoshita's eyes fluttered open—not hers, not truly—but something else peered from within, full of deep, festering resentment. Her swollen belly throbbed unnaturally, a grotesque pulse beneath her skin.
This was no natural affliction. It was a cursed birth, a parasitic spirit known as a ghost baby—formed by stillborn souls twisted by hatred and manipulated by dark arts.
Most ghost babies never made it this far. But this one had grown strong, feeding on Mrs. Yukinoshita's life force. If left alone, it would tear its way free, killing its host in the process and becoming something far worse: a red-class specter—an apex spirit of pure malice.
"Since you won't listen..."
Shiro bit his finger, letting a single drop of blood fall. With practiced ease, he drew an exorcism seal on Mrs. Yukinoshita's belly and began chanting a purification mantra. A gentle white light spread from his body, driving away the dark blue hue creeping across her skin.
The ghost baby stirred, now furious. The resentment it had gathered boiled over. Shadows thrashed around the room like a raging storm. But Shiro remained calm.
As if yanked by invisible chains, the entity was torn from her body and flung into the open. Mrs. Yukinoshita's form slumped, intact but unconscious.
Freed, the ghost baby let out an earsplitting shriek. Blood-curdling, high-pitched, and unnatural—it shattered every window in the house and knocked portraits from the walls. Servants screamed, clutching their heads in agony.
But outside the room, Haruno, Yukino, and their father stood unharmed—protected by the talismans Shiro had given them.
Inside, the ghost baby hovered in midair, eyes weeping streams of black-red tears. It knew its fate.
"I was nearly born... nearly free..."
Shiro narrowed his eyes. "You had your chance."
With a flick of his wrist, golden light crackled to life, forming a long radiant whip. It struck the ghost baby across the chest, leaving a smoking welt like a brand. The spirit screeched and flailed, scuttling along walls like a monstrous insect, launching blasts of dark energy.
But every attack fizzled against Shiro's shield.
"You're weak," he muttered. "You were forced out too early."
Realizing it couldn't win, the ghost baby turned to flee. But Shiro had no intention of letting it go.
He raised his hand. The whip morphed into a glowing net, expanding outward like a divine snare. It encased the spirit entirely, wrapping tighter and tighter.
The ghost baby writhed, screaming, as the light burned through its essence. Smoke poured from its form. And then—with one final cry—it crumbled into a pile of black ash.
Outside, Haruno and Mr. Yukinoshita exchanged looks, both wide-eyed.
Even Yukino, skeptical until the end, was left stunned. Her mother was alive. Shiro had done what no shrine maiden, no onmyoji could. Maybe—just maybe—there was something real behind all this mysticism after all.
Inside the room, Shiro brushed the ash from his sleeve.
"One less monster in the world," he said quietly.
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