You know those horror stories people tell about psycho exes?

  Yeah—except mine’s not my ex.

  And she doesn’t think she is either.

  Her name is Kija—and whenever she says “I can’t move”, I know it’s either one of two things:

  A prank.Or a prelude to an event that’ll make me question my existence.

  This time? I prayed it was just a prank.

  ?

  The st time I didn’t respond fast enough to that text from her, she actually got abducted. Thrown out of a car by one of the kidnappers who had a guilt complex so severe, he saved her out of moral panic. That event? Led to a whole criminal ring being exposed.

  So yeah, even if she texts something like “I can’t move” while eating a snack, I check anyway.

  Tonight, I found her swinging casually on the swings at the south park near the shrine. Legs dangling like a toddler, looking like nothing happened.

  I scowled. “Kija, you’ve gotta stop with that. One day, it might be real, and I’ll ignore it—and then what?”

  She shrugged. “Then it’ll be your fault when something happens to me.”

  Charming. Real sweet.

  I told her to head home. I was done for the night—wanted to be in bed, under my ceiling fan, enjoying the one true love I had left: silence.

  “Are you even listening to me?” Kija asked.

  “I’m trying not to,” I said.

  She stomped over and stared at me like I owed her rent.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You forgot why I was mad at you?”

  Ah, right. She was still holding onto that.

  “No clue,” I admitted.

  Wrong answer.

  Her cheeks puffed up like a balloon. And then—pinch!

  She grabbed my nose.

  “What are you—” I choked out in a funny, nasal tone.

  “You didn’t show up to the school hangout!”

  “Because I had to do errands for my mom! Who else is gonna grocery shop, clean the school halls, or work with Mr. Bde the shrine electrician?! You think money grows on-?!”

  She didn’t care. My voice sounded like a rubber chicken being squeezed.

  I couldn’t even breathe through my mouth. Panic was setting in. My inner monologue was screaming, Bro, she’s still pinching your nose—YOU CAN’T BREATHE!

  Then came the real horror.

  Her lips.

  Pressed to mine.

  I didn’t even have time to scream. She wrapped her arms around my neck like a WWE wrestler going in for the kill.

  Next thing I knew, I was ft on the ground. Seeing stars. Probably hallucinating the afterlife. CPR? More like Critical Pulmonary Robbery.

  When I opened my eyes, she was straddling me with a smug look. “You’re still terrible at kissing.”

  “That—wasn’t kissing. That was some kind of punishment ritual.”

  I tried to stand. She pced two fingers to my lips.

  “No,” I muttered.

  She lunged again. I shoved her back using my forearm like a human barricade.

  “I just wanted to try that thing from the drama I binged,” she said dreamily, eyes swirling like she had thirty TV episodes pying in her mind at once.

  This girl was possessed by Netflix.

  Seizing my chance, I slipped out and ran.

  “Slow down!” she yelled behind me. “I could get hurt and roll down the slope!”

  I didn’t slow. But I did check over my shoulder—like some kind of running babysitter—to make sure she wasn’t dying. She couldn’t catch me, but I had to keep her in sight, or she’d guilt-trip me for years.

  I darted toward her family’s ramen restaurant. Mr. Sakamoto was out front washing his truck.

  “Kija, get inside and stop harassing Hisaya,” he called without looking up.

  Bless you, Sakamoto. You, sir, are a hero.

  I ducked behind him for protection. Kija pouted, throwing words like “coward” and “traitor” as she disappeared into the restaurant.

  ?

  I finally made it home.

  The shrine was quiet. Peaceful. Almost too quiet.

  Everyone was knocked out cold. Mom. Baja. Even my weird, emotionally votile brother.

  But Mogi?

  She was still awake.

  As I dragged myself through the creaky hallway, I heard it.

  Snoring.

  Soft, sputtering, and slightly wheezy—coming from the dim living room.

  I peered in and found the two culprits.

  Baja, passed out in her favorite armchair, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting dangerously on her p. Her neck was tilted at an unnatural angle, mouth agape like she was dreaming of attacking someone mid-curse. Truly peaceful.

  And beside her, Mogi.

  She was seated cross-legged on the floor, completely still, staring at the small tank in front of her. Inside, the turtle—her turtle—slept like it had achieved ultimate spiritual enlightenment.

  Of all the chaos swirling through my life tely, this image—Mogi, the turtle, the warm orange glow of the mp—was strangely soothing.

  I crouched down beside her.

  “Mogi…” I whispered. “Why are you still up?”

  She turned her head slightly, her wide, pale eyes meeting mine. No change in expression. No words. She blinked once, then turned her gaze right back to the turtle.

  Right.

  She was still mute.

  Still mysterious.

  Still floating into the room of my life uninvited and barefoot.

  I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck as the scent of burnt popcorn lingered faintly in the air.

  I couldn’t bme her for being curious. Baja said she’d be with us for a year. A year. That was longer than any vacation I’d ever had. Longer than most of my retionships, not that I’ve had many.

  “A year, huh…” I muttered, gncing toward the snoring Baja.

  She had been oddly vague about Mogi’s situation, simply stating it was our job—our duty, even—to “show her what family feels like.” As if we were some sort of rehab center for lost souls and levitating orphans.

  “How am I supposed to show you what a family is,” I said quietly, “when I barely know what that means myself?”

  My words hung in the air like steam. Heavy. Quiet.

  I thought about my sister.

  My twin.

  Gone.

  A memory blurred out by time and dreams. The emptiness she left behind still echoed through my chest when I wasn’t too distracted by daily disasters.

  Mogi’s quiet presence brought that emptiness to the surface. And yet… it felt less hollow when she was around.

  I looked at her again.

  Still no shoes. Still in that same poofy coat.

  Still staring at that turtle like it was whispering the secrets of the universe.

  And then, there was the levitation thing.

  I hadn’t forgotten. Oh, no.

  The way she floated? Effortless. Not a jump. Not a trick.

  Just—lifted.

  When I had asked Baja about it earlier, she had waved me off with one of her infamous smirks and muttered something like, “Kids are light these days, aren’t they?”

  What kind of cryptic nonsense?

  I was going to get real answers from that woman. Eventually.

  But until then, I had to deal with another threat: Arina Cherrylin.

  She was sleeping two rooms away now. President of the student council. Queen of Tarot. Devourer of secrets.

  And currently determined to learn to fly from the mute girl living in my house.

  What the hell was my life?

  I groaned and leaned back, letting my head rest against the sliding door frame.

  Mogi hadn’t moved.

  Her gaze, still locked on the turtle, now had the faintest glimmer of something—wonder? Affection? Was that… a smile?

  It was tiny. Barely noticeable.

  But I saw it.

  And weirdly, it made my chest feel lighter.

  Just a flicker of warmth. Like the soft click of a space heater coming on during a snowstorm.

  Maybe I could survive this chaos after all.

  Maybe.

  ?

  But that peace only sted a moment.

  Because the next morning…

  I’d find out who the third tenant was.

  And trust me…

  Things were about to get a whole lot worse.

  She sat silently by the window, staring at the moon as its silver light washed across the tatami. Her face glowed pale and solemn, like something ancient.

  Then… her eyes shifted. To me.

  They shimmered faintly, reflecting that moonlight in a way no ordinary eyes ever had.

  I followed her gaze—down to the turtle. Still asleep, curled like a forgotten relic from an old story.

  I stood there.

  Quiet.

  Still.

  And in my head, one single thought repeated like a whisper in a dream:

  Just who… or what… is Mogi?

  ?

  I wasn’t sure if I’d find that answer tomorrow.

  But I was sure of one thing:

  This was only the calm before the chaos.

  Because the third tenant… was coming.

  And something told me—nothing was ever going to be normal again.