"Why?"

A question Kize posed upon Yukari as the door to the Residential Compartmentalization Committee closed before them. The door's slam echoed like a shutter click, one more club with nothing to show but a name crossed off a list. They had only visited to several clubs, and all come up with the same conclusion.

Her friend was there. Then no longer. Then in another club. Then not anymore.

Kize didn't ask questions. He only listened. Naturally, there were eyes his way at every club they approached, but Kize was stared at as if he never existed.

He preferred it that way.

Yukari, crestfallen from her effort, slowly picked herself back up with a small smile that seemed manufactured from years of self training. Her eyes lingered on his slumped shoulders, like she'd seen that posture in a mirror, before focusing back on Kize's face.

"Why go through this effort? Because the Hyakkaryouran Conflict Resolution Council--"

Kize tuned out immediately, knowing where this was going as Arona and Plana pinged him in his earbuds.

"Sensei! The Hyakkaryouran Conflict Resolution Council is a club meant to mediate anything conflicting with the other clubs, kinda like you with Trinity and Arius," Arona chirped.

"Simplify: Mediator. More effort given due to permission by Yin-Yang Club," Plana mentioned soon after. Kize's expression barely changed, as he looked at Yukari, seemingly finished with her own little story.

"That's why I'm looking for my seniors! With the President and Vice-President absent, the club is effectively dysfunctional," Yukari finished, her arms crossed on her stomach. Kize blinked only once before he felt himself exhaling. Wordlessly, he sat down onto a nearby bench, as the bustle of Hyakkiyako in preparation of a festival he won't be there to observe.

He's had enough of regurgitative colors. The festival lanterns bled red in his periphery, too much like Arius's graffiti.

A distant crash. Kize's head lifted, not fast enough to care, but enough to register the crowd's sudden silence before the screaming started.

And then, a shattering of glass and the shred of paper lanterns tingled his ears like an unwanted sensation.

His eyes dart forward as a clearing was formed, followed by a group of students wearing masks of tengu and oni, who clearly seem ill intent in their efforts. One oni mask seem fractured, its supposedly long nose twisting downwards instead of forwards. Shredded posters littered the floor, followed by some shattered glassware resembling a mix of flowers and mugs, clearly intended as festival wares. All of which were stomped under their boots with ear grating crunches.

"Come on, the Street Mouryo will disrupt this festival once more!" Shouted, who Kize assumed, to be the leader.

"Understood, leader Arata!"

"No more masks!"

Kize felt a slight twitch aching in his bandaged forearm. Not from wounds, but from the familiarity of it all. Arius's scars, Trinity's pageantry, now this: another institution playing dress-up with its own history. He merely responded by sliding the Shittim Chest into his hands and looked down to it, before he noticed movement from Yukari at the corner of his eye. Immediately, he tuned out again. Her fingers twitched toward her haori's frayed edge, a tell he'd seen in Shun. His head slowly tilted back down.

"Street Mouryo's no good, Sensei! But, they did help out when Kivotos was under attack," Arona pointed out, before Plana interjected with her own input.

"Theory: Their modus operandi is intended to disrupt festivals as status quo. Solution: Provide purpose."

".... A generic reason as that? That's why they do this?" Arona questioned, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Theory: It's their tradition."

Tradition. Of destruction and chaos.

A status quo that was closer in resemblance to Gehenna than it is to Hyakkiyako. Then again, festivities breed chaos.

Gunshots rang out. The Street Mouryo's assault rifles meet with rifle shots. Gas-operated loadouts against bolt action. Stalls were overturned and people were cleared in quick succession.

Whatever Yukari did to mediate the chaos, clearly it didn't work.

Her rifle kicked like a relic, each shot precise, each found its target. One Street Mouryo member was slammed in the forehead by her bullet, fracturing the mask before it was followed by a war cry. Soon enough, the stall she took cover in was beginning to get ripped to shreds, with her halo mitigating the typical damage done by bullets into mere scratches.

But the halos have a limit, and soon, Arius's Ghost stood to his feet, a plan formed already.

As she fired one more, a bullet casing latched onto the bolt. A gasp left her lips before she ducked back to cover, wooden shrapnel flying overhead as she attempted to pull it out. Yukari glanced desperately at where Kize once sat, but like a ghost, he disappeared. For one second, her grip on her rifle faltered, nearly dropping it, only to grip onto it harder than before.

"Where did he--"

The gunshots abruptly stopped.

"Hah?! Who the hell do you think you are?!" Arata's voice chided out. Kize's voice could be heard soon after.

"Uh... Boss, that's Arius's Ghost," one of the Street Mouryo voiced out. Yukari quickly went to peek from the remnants of her cover.

Kize stood before the group of students, staring down at the leader as she glared back at him.

"Yeah, well I'm the leader of Street Mouryo, so if you're tryna--"

"Keep this going, and RABBIT Platoon will be one of two reasons as to why your club disbanded. So leave this festival."

She sneered. "Rabbit cops? We've crushed worse!"

Silence. Kize's expression barely changed, even as their guns were aimed at him. Slowly, but with absolute certainty, a cold shiver ran down their spine, and soon, Arata let that information sink in.

Somehow, Arius's Ghost was entirely capable of reinstating SRT's RABBIT Platoon in all but name. That also meant he had the power to call them in. And the thought of a squad dedicated to quash chaos effectively destroying their club was earth shattering.

SO WHAT IS THE OTHER REASON???

However, with the way they noticed Kize's bandage on the right arm unraveling, only for him to raise it up and fasten it back without missing a beat, they didn't stick long to find out. The members already fled the scene. One tripped over a lantern stand, before quickly picking themselves back up, leaving Arata as the sole remainder.

"You... You're not serious! There's no way you dare deploy them!"

He didn't give her fuel for an answer. That was the last straw. Her face paled, before she too scampered away, the mere power of intimidation and SRT's intervention trembling her very core.

The crowd held its breath. Even the wind stilled. For once, the ghost was seen.

Whispers questioned where he came from. Whether he teleported, phased through the crowd, any and all rumors as if to emphasize the 'ghost' in Arius's Ghost. One student concluded that perhaps he really was a ghost after all.

None wondered why his title of Arius's Ghost stuck.

Footsteps rushed in soon after, and Yukari slipped out of her cover to stare at Kize. A mix of awe and a kind of inspired hope placed into her while Kize glanced at the approaching footsteps.

"Oh, it's been resolved," stated a girl with pink hair and a gentle smile that, frankly, quickly reminded Kize of Shun to an extremely uncomfortable degree, his unseen flinch only noticed by the AIs due to a slight spike in his cortisol levels.

They gave him the dignity of not pointing it out.

"Mimori-senpai!" Yukari cheerfully called out, recognizing her. Kize did not, as he tried to retain an expression of neutrality.

As if threatening to call in the equivalent of a UN Peacekeeping Squad was anything of an ordinary kind.

"Ah, hello, Yukari. It's odd to see you be here while your friend is... Well, she is coming soon." Mimori then noticed the ghost standing still, adjusting his bandages in a more proper manner.

It reminded Mimori of someone. "Hello, Sensei."

He didn't greet back, just hands in his pockets trying to grapple at something that was there no longer.

"Renge?! She's coming here?" Yukari questioned with a kind of ecstasy that Kize couldn't fathom, relegating him to slowly disappear into the crowd.

This was their business now.

-

He wasn't there to hear how Yukari challenged her friend in a battle of strength, a tradition in the council to secede power.

He wasn't there to cheer her up when she was soundly defeated.

And he wasn't there when she was brought home.

In the end, he was a ghost after all.

A ghost that was commercialized in record time.

When he returned to the teahouse, evening had set, and yet, there was a ridiculously long line that seemed like it could stretch for ages to no end. The banner had changed from how it once was, to:

The Ghost's Teahouse (Free Wi-Fi!)

He had a feeling the students would capitalize it.

Somehow able to slip in, effectively ignoring the sheer number of people now present in the teahouse with their chatter drowning every other noise that could have been mustered, he soon encountered one of the students. The one who fawned on his facial features. Darkish gray hair and bright blue eyes that screamed admiration.

"Ghost Sensei, you're back!"

He didn't reply. He just blinked once, and then moved up the stairs.

Out of sight for at least a second, his shoulders slumped immediately. With his earbuds still latched to his ears, Arona and Plana spoke.

"Sensei! The teahouse has seen a surge of customers ever since your action back there."

"Analysis: Arius's Ghost has a spectral appeal to Hyakkiyako. However, Plana senses your cortisol level is steadily rising."

Kize didn't give them an answer, as he moved one more story up, ignoring the eyes that looked at him as he moved one more floor up. A door blocked his path, one that simply stated 'no entry'.

He pushed the door open anyway.

It was a room intended solely for rest, with a tatami mat laid out, seemingly freshly cleaned. A few sockets were stuck close by, with Kize in particular simply deciding that it was better not to touch any of it.

A single glance to a corner, and he noticed a coffee table with an electric teapot, several large bottles of water, some jars filled with what he could assume to be various tea leaves scrounged into powder, and a cup close to the balcony of the room, perhaps intended to maximize spectacle and comfort for whoever would be its tenant.

Kize didn't consider himself one.

And yet, as if compulsion overtook him, he took hold of the water and poured it into the teapot. Not by a whole lot, but just a rough estimate of the amount he needed for his cup.

"Sensei? I don't think that's--"

He plucked his earbuds out of his ears before he could allow Arona or even Plana to speak further. A vacuum of space occupied his ears as he decided not to hear what the world could offer, digital, or life. Grabbing hold of the cup, he let out a grumble under his breath. His other hand reached out for something, only to realize he gripped at nothing.

No thermos. No pen. Just him, an empty cup and a boiling teapot.

Picking up a jar labeled 'oolong', he blinked, then stared for one whole second before setting it on the table.

His eyes noticed the 'Shanhaijing import' right at the bottom of the jar.

The thought of the thermos and Shun's constancy of refilling it with oolong t--

Why was he like this?

Forcing those thoughts away from him, he took a nearby teaspoon and had one such quantity from the oolong, before the teapot whistled.

One more demand he couldn't silence.

Switching off the teapot, he poured water into the cup, letting it simmer for a bit before deciding to touch it.

It was hot.

He soon let go, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he focused his eyes forward to the dark night sky, still decorated by the decadent colors and wide eyed wishes of the wistful. The sounds of people downstairs sounded more like mumbles to him; an incomprehensible sound that sounded too insignificant to matter, but still annoying to hear.

A knock came to the door. Then another. Kize forced himself to stand up and open the door.

"Ghost Sensei, we'll be closing soon," the student stated. Kize said nothing.

Unnerving.

The student however, gripped onto her sleeves, as if there was something else she wanted to say.

He waited, as if silence could ferment into words.

And then, a soft whisper.

"Thank you for allowing us to work with you today. We hope to continue to work for you tomorrow and so on. So please take care of yourself."

He watched as she fled down the stairs, before slowly closing the door. His eyes caught a glance of a customer's eyes staring up at him. A sight that had to be seen.

He exhaled. The Shittim Chest suddenly hummed.

"Finally!! Those earbuds ran out of battery!" Arona exclaimed. Kize flinched at the sudden noise. "Sensei! That is not how you do a tea ritual!"

"I don't care." Kize's blunt response silenced Arona immediately.

And then Plana dropped a bomb onto him.

"Question: Why detach?"

Kize pursed his lips. Plana continued.

"Analysis: Statistical probability of isolation leading to institutional collapse: 97%. Conclusion: unsusta--"

Kize forced the screen to shut down.

He shouldn't care. And he never should.

But why did he?

Hyakkiyako turned its ghosts into profit. But Kize's silence isn't for sale.