The sterile white corridors of Kyoto University Hospital buzzed with an undercurrent of disbelief, a stark contrast to the usual professional calm.
Inside the chief physician's office, the air crackled with anomaly.
Spread across the polished desk were the medical reports of one Kamihate Shiori, and they were causing a collective cognitive dissonance among the gathered medical staff.
"Impossible… utterly impossible!" Doctor Tanaka Kenji, a man whose silvering hair attested to decades spent battling illness, slammed a hand flat on the desk, rattling a pen holder.
His gaze darted between the latest scans and the previous day's charts, his brow furrowed in profound confusion.
"Look at this! Complete tissue regeneration in the affected organs. Blood work… pristine. Vital signs… optimal. She's not just stable; she's… perfect."
An younger intern, Dr. Sato, adjusted his glasses nervously.
"Sir, I've run the diagnostics three times. Each result is consistent. According to every metric we have, Kamihate-san is in peak physical condition."
"Better, even, than most people her age who haven't just spent months battling a terminal illness."
"Just yesterday," Tanaka muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his voice raspy with incredulity,
"her condition was critical. We were discussing palliative care options, preparing the family… or rather, the boy… for the inevitable. And now… this?"
He held up a brain scan that showed zero indication of the previously diagnosed aggressive tumor.
It was as if it had simply vanished, evaporated into thin air.
Another senior physician, Dr. Ito, leaned forward, tracing a line on a blood report with her finger.
"The cellular rejuvenation is… unprecedented. There's no scarring, no lingering inflammation. It's not remission; it's reversal. Complete biological reset. It's as if…"
she trailed off, searching for words that didn't sound utterly unscientific.
"As if a god has blessed her," Sato finished the thought in a hushed whisper, echoing the sentiment that hung unspoken in the room.
In the sterile, logic-driven world of modern medicine, such phrases were taboo, yet faced with the inexplicable, they surfaced like flotsam on a turbulent sea.
Tanaka sighed, rubbing his temples. He'd seen strange things in his long career, particularly in Kyoto, a city steeped in history, myth, and an undeniable undercurrent of the uncanny.
Whispers of spirits, unexplained healings near ancient shrines, phenomena that defied easy explanation – they were part of the city's fabric, usually dismissed as folklore or coincidence.
But this… this was a verifiable, documented medical impossibility staring him in the face.
'Ahh!' he screamed internally, frustration warring with awe.
'I swear, this city… it attracts the abnormal like moths to a flame.
First that business with the sudden blooming cherry blossoms out of season near Kinkaku-ji last year,
then the reports of 'fox spirits' leading lost tourists out of the Arashiyama bamboo forest…
and now a spontaneous, complete recovery from a stage-four glioblastoma? I need a transfer.
Somewhere mundane. Like Osaka.'
"Dr. Tanaka, what should we do?" Sato's voice pulled him back to the present.
The question was practical, yet tinged with the shared sense of bewilderment. What was the protocol for a miracle?
Tanaka took a deep breath, forcing professionalism back into his voice.
"What can we do? The patient is healthy. Perfectly, inexplicably healthy."
"We run one final check, ensure she's oriented and feels well, and then… we discharge her."
"There's no medical reason to keep her here any longer."
He pushed the reports aside.
"Prepare the discharge papers, Sato-kun. And… perhaps don't mention the word 'miracle' in the official documentation.
Let's just state… 'remarkable and unforeseen recovery resulting in complete restoration of health'."
He knew it was inadequate, a flimsy papering-over of a chasm in their understanding, but it was all they could do.
***
Meanwhile, in Room 307, Shiori Kamihate sat propped up against her pillows, bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
The pallor that had clung to her like a shroud was gone, replaced by a healthy, rosy glow. Her blonde hair seemed brighter, her blue eyes clearer and full of life.
Mahiru-san sat beside the bed, holding the very reports that had confounded the doctors downstairs.
"So… I'm really healthy now?" Shiori tilted her head, a gentle confusion softening her features.
It felt surreal, like waking from a long, dark dream into brilliant daylight.
The constant pain, the suffocating weakness – they were simply… gone.
Mahiru beamed, her own relief palpable.
"Yes, Shiori-san! I already confirmed it multiple times with the nurse and read through this myself."
She tapped the report decisively.
"It says here you're completely clear. No signs of illness whatsoever. The doctors are amazed, truly."
Shiori's eyes widened slowly as the reality sank in.
A slow smile spread across her face, tentative at first, then blossoming into pure, unadulterated joy.
She clapped her hands together, a light, happy sound in the quiet room.
"Then… that's wonderful! It's truly wonderful!" Tears welled up, not tears of sorrow this time, but of overwhelming relief and happiness.
"I can finally… finally live together with Uryuu again!"
The thought of her son, the image of his small, serious face, filled her heart.
The fear that she would leave him alone, the guilt that had gnawed at her during her illness – it lifted, replaced by a buoyant hope. They could be a family again, properly.
Just then, Dr. Tanaka entered, followed by a nurse. He offered Shiori a warm, albeit slightly dazed, smile.
"Kamihate-san, I've reviewed your final tests myself. Everything looks exceptional. We see no reason to keep you here any longer. You're officially discharged."
"Thank you, Doctor," Shiori replied, her voice thick with emotion.
"Thank you for everything."
He nodded, still looking faintly perplexed.
"Just… take care of yourself, Kamihate-san. We wish you all the best."
With a final nod, he and the nurse departed, leaving Shiori and Mahiru alone once more.
The initial euphoria began to temper slightly as the practicalities of the situation surfaced.
Mahiru, ever thoughtful, voiced the concern that was forming in Shiori's own mind.
"But Shiori-san," Mahiru began gently, her brow furrowing slightly with worry,
"that's fantastic news, truly, but… where will you be living? And even though you're healthy now, finding work immediately after…"
"well, after being out for so long, might be difficult. Do you have savings?"
Shiori's joyful expression flickered. Mahiru was right. Her illness had depleted what little savings she had.
Her previous apartment was long gone.
Uryuu was at the orphanage precisely because she couldn't care for him and had no stable home.
The sudden recovery was a miracle, but miracles didn't pay rent or put food on the table.
"That's true..." Shiori murmured, tapping a thoughtful finger against her chin.
Her gaze drifted towards the window, looking out at the distant silhouette of the Kyoto hills, green and ancient.
Where could they go? Who could they turn to?...
Then, an idea sparked in her eyes, chasing away the momentary shadow of worry. It was unconventional, perhaps even strange, but it felt… right. A path opening where none seemed to exist.
"How about," she said, turning back to Mahiru with renewed brightness, "living in a shrine?"
Mahiru blinked, utterly bewildered. Her expression morphed into a visible question mark.
"A shrine? Shiori-san, what do you mean? Like… camping out in the grounds?"
She pictured drafty wooden halls and stern-faced priests, not exactly a cozy home environment for a mother and her young son.
"Do you know someone at a shrine who could help?"
"Something like that," Shiori replied cryptically, a soft, knowing smile playing on her lips.
"Don't worry, Mahiru-san. I think… I think everything will be alright."
"???" Mahiru remained thoroughly confused, but Shiori's sudden confidence was infectious, quieting her immediate concerns.
***
Back at the 'Kiseki-En Childcare Facility', Uryuu felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in months. Mahiru had just delivered the incredible news: his mother was completely healthy. Discharged. Coming home.
'*Phew…*' He let out a silent, internal sigh of profound relief.
The heavy weight that had seemed permanently lodged in his chest dissolved.
'It seems like… That actually worked.'
The memory of the blinding white light, the immense drain on his very being, the terrifying proximity to the dissolution of 'Uryuu Kamihate' – it flashed through his mind.
'I almost felt it wouldn't work, especially because… I hadn't paid the price yet.'
That thought lingered, a small, cold counterpoint to his relief.
The chant, the power he'd called upon – the 'Self of Sacrifice' – implied a cost.
He had braced himself for it, for a piece of his current self to fracture or fade, for an Echo of a past life to surge forward uncontrollably.
Yet, waking up later in the hospital room beside his sleeping, peacefully breathing mother, he had felt… drained, yes,
profoundly exhausted, but still fundamentally himself. Uryuu Kamihate, the Fool, was intact.
Had the price been deferred? Or was the act of willingness to sacrifice enough?
Or perhaps the power judged the cause – saving his mother – worthy, demanding less than it might have otherwise?
The uncertainty was unsettling, a reminder of the dangerous forces he carried within him, the legacy of Samsara's relentless wheel.
But for now, relief overshadowed the unease. His mother was safe.
"So, Mahiru-san," he asked, looking up at the kind caregiver, his blue eyes bright with anticipation,
"when will Mom come here? Can she stay in my room? We can share the bed!"
Mahiru's warm smile faltered slightly. She knelt down to his level, her expression gentle but troubled. "About that, Uryuu-kun…"
Before she could continue, a stern, mature female voice cut through the air like a crisp autumn wind.
"You and your mother can't live here, unfortunately."
Uryuu turned. Standing in the doorway of the common room was a woman with short, practical hair, sharp eyes behind rectangular glasses, and an air of efficient authority.
It was Hana, Mahiru's mother and the Director of the orphanage.
Her expression was firm, not unkind, but clear.
"Mom!" Mahiru exclaimed, standing up quickly.
"You could have said it more nicely!"
Hana waved a dismissive hand, her gaze fixed on Uryuu.
"There's no need to sugarcoat reality, Mahiru.
This facility, 'Kiseki-En Childcare Facility.' operates under specific guidelines.
It's a temporary home for children whose parents are currently hospitalized and unable to care for them, or for those who have tragically lost their parents entirely."
She looked directly at Uryuu, her tone softening fractionally but remaining resolute.
"Your mother is healthy now, Uryuu-kun. That's wonderful news, truly. But it means neither of those conditions applies anymore.
Therefore, unfortunately, brat," – the word wasn't meant cruelly, more like a rough, impersonal address –
"you can't continue to live here."
Having delivered the verdict, Hana gave a curt nod and turned, her footsteps echoing decisively down the hallway as she left.
Mahiru sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"Sigh… That mother of mine. She means well, Uryuu-kun, but she's always so… direct."
She turned back to Uryuu, her expression full of sympathy.
"But you don't need to worry! Really! It seems like your mother already found a place for you two to stay."
Uryuu absorbed the news calmly. He'd known, logically, that the orphanage was temporary. Still, a pang of sadness hit him. He'd grown accustomed to the quiet routine, the other children with their shared anxieties, and especially Mahiru's gentle presence.
"It's okay, Mahiru-san," he replied, his voice quiet but steady. He managed a small smile.
"I knew I couldn't stay forever. I'll just be a bit sad I can't see you every day anymore."
He looked up at her earnestly. "But I'll visit! I promise. Often!"
"I'd like that very much, Uryuu-kun," Mahiru said, smiling warmly, genuinely touched by his words.
Then, a detail from her earlier reassurance clicked in his mind.
"Mahiru-san," he said, a flicker of unease crossing his face,
"You said Mom found a place?" His mind instantly leaped to a half-forgotten shadow – his father.
The man who had left Shiori years ago, the reason her own family had cut ties. Surely, his mother wouldn't go back to him? The thought sent a chill down his spine, a primal fear rooted in hazy,
incomplete memories or perhaps instinct inherited from past lives that valued stability above all.
'It won't be that bastard who left her, right?'
Mahiru seemed to sense his sudden anxiety, though she likely misinterpreted its specific source.
"Ah, yes! Your mother mentioned it when I spoke to her just after the doctor left.
It's… well, it's a shrine," she replied, still sounding a little puzzled herself.
Uryuu stared at her, processing the word.
"Huh? A shrine?"
Like the small neighbourhood ones with the stone komainu statues,
or one of the grand, sprawling complexes Kyoto was famous for?
How could they live in a place like that? His confusion mirrored Mahiru's from earlier, a shared sense of stepping off the map of the ordinary.
***
A few hours later, Uryuu found himself in the now strangely vibrant hospital room,
helping his mother pack the few belongings she possessed.
It was a meager collection – a couple of changes of clothes, a worn photo album, a few paperback novels, a small collection of hairpins.
Everything fit easily into a single medium-sized travel bag resting on the end of the bed.
The sparseness spoke volumes about the life they had lived before her illness, and the life they were potentially returning to.
"Mom," Uryuu began, carefully folding a soft cardigan,
"you still haven't really said anything about this friend of yours. The one Mahiru-san mentioned?"
Mahiru, before leaving Uryuu at the hospital entrance to meet his mother, had filled him in a little more.
"Your mother said an old friend, who happens to be the Head Miko of a shrine here in Kyoto, heard about her situation and offered to take you both in.
She said this friend is even willing to formally 'adopt' you both into the shrine's care, whatever that means. Sounds very generous, but..."
Mahiru had trailed off, clearly having reservations or simply lacking details.
"Your mother was a bit vague". She just told him, "Just ask her yourself when you see her, she won't say anything to me about it more"'
Shiori, who was carefully placing the photo album into the bag, paused and looked at her son with a playful glint in her eyes.
"Ahh, Uryuu, being too curious is not always a good trait, you know."
She gently poked his nose.
"You won't get a girlfriend like that, always asking so many questions!"
She finished packing the album and straightened up, giving a mock pout.
Uryuu looked up from the cardigan, his expression unwavering.
The weight of eleven lifetimes, even with fragmented personalities, had instilled a certain gravity in him, a need for understanding, for grounding.
Girlfriend concerns seemed utterly trivial compared to the fundamental question of where and how they would live.
"I don't need anyone else if I have Mom," he stated simply, the words carrying an earnestness that went beyond mere childish affection.
It was the declaration of a soul that had known countless losses and now clung fiercely to the one precious connection remaining in this current life.
Shiori's playful expression softened instantly. A light blush touched her cheeks, and she reached out.
her hand resting gently on Uryuu's soft blonde hair, ruffling it affectionately.
"Oh, Uryuu…" she murmured, her heart swelling with love.
"My sweet boy." She smiled, a genuine, tender smile this time.
"Okay, maybe I take that back. With a heart like that, and that serious face… Uryuu, you will definitely become a man who breaks many girls' hearts someday."
A fleeting, almost wistful shadow crossed her face as she added silently, inwardly,
'Just like a certain someone I used to know…'
"Umu, I can certainly agree with that assessment."
A third voice, gentle as rustling silk yet carrying a hint of mischievous amusement, suddenly joined the conversation.
Neither Uryuu nor Shiori had heard the door open.
Uryuu startled, turning towards the sound. Standing framed in the doorway was a woman he didn't recognize.
She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, with long, glossy black hair tied back loosely, framing a face that was both serene and strikingly beautiful.
Her eyes, mischievous and intelligent, held a sparkle of mirth.
She wore not the stark white of hospital staff, but simple, elegant Miko clothes – there was an indefinable aura about her, a sense of calm poise that felt… different.
"From his cute face and that earnest declaration,"
the woman continued, her smiling gaze resting on Uryuu,
"I can guarantee Uryuu-san will become quite the lady-killer in the future."
Before Uryuu could even form the question
'Who are you?'
His mother let out a small gasp of delighted recognition.
"Chiharu-chan!" Shiori exclaimed, her face lighting up.
She quickly moved around the bed and enveloped the newcomer in a warm hug.
"It's been so long! Too long!"
The woman returned the hug warmly, her smile deepening. "
Yes, far too long, Shiori-san. But seeing you looking so vibrant and well… it makes the waiting worthwhile."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes scanning Shiori with genuine happiness.
"Truly, it's like a weight has been lifted from the world."
Uryuu watched the exchange, his initial surprise giving way to focused curiosity.
This must be the 'friend,' the Head Miko.
She didn't look like the stern, elderly priestesses he sometimes saw on TV documentaries. She seemed… warm, but also sharp, like she saw more than she let on.
"Mother," he asked, his voice polite but direct, "who is she?"
Shiori turned, realizing she hadn't made the introductions.
Her hand still linked with Chiharu's, she smiled brightly at Uryuu.
"Ah, forgive me, dear. I got carried away."
She gestured towards the woman beside her.
"Uryuu, this is the very important person I was telling you about, my dear friend. This is Amagami Chiharu-san."
Shiori paused, a devilish twinkle appearing in her eyes, the same one she'd had when teasing him earlier.
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice conspiratorially, ensuring Chiharu could hear.
"And," she added, her smile widening mischievously,
"she's also your future mother-in-law, hehe."
Chiharu chuckled softly, a musical sound, and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow but didn't contradict Shiori.
Uryuu just stared.
His mind, which could grapple with the metaphysics of reincarnation and the manipulation of life force drawn from past selves,
stumbled completely at this unexpected, nonsensical pronouncement.
Mother-in-law? What did that even mean in this context? He barely knew this woman.
He was a child. The concept was so absurd, so out of left field, that his brain simply short-circuited.
"????"