Chapter 1 — The Invitation
Rain whispered steadily against the windows of a small editing studio on the edge of Tokyo.
The clock read 2:17 a.m.
Aiko Nakamura sat alone in the glow of her monitor — a documentary editor running on caffeine, deadlines, and curiosity. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but sleep had clearly lost the argument tonight.
On her screen, drone footage of an abandoned village drifted past — rolling fog, a shattered torii gate, and at the center of the frame, a strange red lotus-like symbol with reversed petals.
She paused the timeline.
“This symbol… again.”
It had appeared in her last three projects — different places, same mark.
She zoomed in.
At the center — a human eye.
The screen flickered.
The footage played on its own — an extra frame slipped in.
A man stood inches from the camera.
Smiling.
Eyes completely black.
She rewound instantly — the frame was gone.
“Just a glitch.”
Then — ping.
A new email appeared.
Subject: You’ve already been chosen.
No sender. Coordinates and a photo attached.
She opened it — and her throat tightened.
Two figures in white stood in a fog-covered mountain village.
They looked exactly like Aiko and Ren.
Ren — her former research partner — had been missing for a year.
Her phone vibrated. Unknown number.
A whisper came through:
“Love stories die incomplete… unless offered properly.”
The call cut.
The room felt suddenly colder.
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Morning — production office.
Director Kenji dropped a printout.
“Fake or not — if this is real, it’s gold.”
The coordinates matched an abandoned border village.
“There was a love cult there,” he said. “Couples were sacrificed for an eternal bond.”
The new field analyst entered.
Black coat. Old eyebrow scar.
Ren.
Aiko froze.
“You…?”
“He has no memory,” Kenji explained. “But he knows the terrain.”
Ren looked at her calmly.
“Have we met?”
It felt like ice in her chest.
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That evening, a courier arrived — no sender.
Inside: a red thread bracelet.
Note:
Tie it when you choose who dies first.
That night she dreamed — temple, red candles, chanting.
Ren tied to an altar. A blade in her hand.
“True love proves itself through offering.”
She refused.
Everyone turned.
All eyes black.
“Then you will be the offering.”
She woke screaming.
The red thread was tied to her wrist.
She had never worn it.
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Next morning, the van climbed into the mountains.
GPS kept failing.
“Strange,” the driver said. “No birds.”
Aiko asked softly, “You really don’t remember us?”
Ren replied without looking at her:
“Some places erase people… some people erase places.”
The van entered thick fog.
GPS flashed one last line:
WELCOME BACK — CRIMSON LOTUS
Signal gone. Engine dead.
Above the mountain, through the mist,
a giant red lotus burned —
as if it had been waiting for them.
