Smoke lingered in the shop.
Not real smoke—not from fire. But something heavier. Thinner. Like the echo of something that tried to burn through, and failed.
Glass crunched underfoot as I shifted to stand. Every tick of the surviving clocks sounded unnatural now. Too loud. Too slow. Like time itself was catching its breath.
Tatsuya still hadn't moved.
His sword was sheathed, but his eyes hadn't changed. He stood near the doorway, staring down at his hands like he didn't recognize them. Rin sat on the floor beside the workbench, clothing that same old charm, her face pale but composed.
I felt like I was underwater—floating, breathless, stunned.
Then Shuji's voice cut through the haze.
"Sit."
We did.
He moved through the room like it was just another day's mess—stepping over splintered wood, brushing dust from an old chair, wiping glass from the counter with the same cloth he used to polish timepieces.
"You're too calm," I said quietly.
He shrugged. "I've lived long enough to know when fear's useful, and when it just wastes time."
He glanced at Tatsuya. "And you?"
"I don't know what that was," Tatsuya muttered.
Shuji tilted his head. "But you felt it."
"…Yes."
"Good."
I leaned forward. "What were they?"
Shuji looked at me for a long time.
Then he said, "They're not ghosts. They're not spirits. And they're not alive, not the way we are."
"They're shikigami," Rin whispered, still holding her charm. "Servants of something else. Something older."
Shuji raised an eyebrow. "You've seen them before."
She didn't answer.
He looked between the three of us. "Whatever they are, they were drawn to you. All of you. That means this isn't random."
Tatsuya looked up. "And you? How did you fight them?"
Shuji rested his hand on the short blade. "This isn't the first time I've seen things like this. But it's the first time they've come this close."
I felt the silence deepen.
"What now?" I asked.
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he reached below the counter and pulled out a stack of papers. Old, faded. Blueprints of clock mechanisms… and something else.
One of the drawings showed a circle—not a mechanical one. A seal. Inked carefully, surrounded by handwritten notes.
"This," he said, "was left behind by a man I once met. Said he'd seen time twist around people. Said it had a pattern. I thought he was mad."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"He disappeared."
He folded the papers and tucked them away.
"Something's happening," he said. "Something bigger than you, or me, or this little shop."
Rin looked up. "What do we do?"
Shuji looked at me, then out the broken window.
"We find someone who's seen it too."
***
That night, Shuji handed me a name.
A man who lived beyond the village, near the foot of the hills. A former samurai, long retired. Said to be skilled. Said to be difficult. Said to see things no one else wanted to see.
Shimada Genzo.
"Tell him I sent you," Shuji said. "And don't let him scare you off."
"Why would he?"
Shuji gave me a tired smile.
"Because he thinks time already killed him once."