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ArabicAnime Crossover: Eating Evil in a Daily World — Chapter 20
Chapter 20: Light an Incense Stick
“You’re a very polite young man.”
Miko’s father smiled warmly, extending a hand to shake Yozora’s.
He caught the faint flicker of surprise in his daughter’s eyes. A beat of silence passed before the gears finally turned in his spectral head. He jumped back with a startled yelp.
“Wait a minute—you can see me?”
“Not just me.” Yozora hooked a thumb toward Miko, who stood rigidly beside him. “She’s got front-row seats too.”
Miko’s father blinked, his expression mirroring that of a perfectly ordinary, baffled middle-aged man.
This cemented Yozora’s working theory. The spirit standing before them wasn’t a mindless, grotesque aberration born of malice. He was a distinct, conscious entity capable of rational thought and communication. The proof was obvious: the man knew they possessed the Sight, yet his aura remained completely devoid of hostility.
“Well, this is…” Miko’s father scratched the back of his head, visibly struggling to string a coherent sentence together. After a long, agonizing pause, he shot Miko a sheepish, teasing grin. “Uh, is this your boyfriend? He’s pretty good. Not bad at all.”
Miko buried her face in her hands, releasing a long, exhausted sigh. “You’re literally a ghost now. How is your skin still this thick? Honestly…”
She had always been able to see him lingering around the house. The only reason she had never spoken to him, never acknowledged his presence, was the constant, suffocating swarm of grotesque entities that usually infested their home. A single word directed at a spirit could invite a gruesome death.
But now, that suffocating dread was gone. The house was blissfully, miraculously clean.
A strange analogy drifted into her mind. Evil spirits were like bloodthirsty mosquitoes, and she was the unfortunate soul with type-O blood, constantly swarmed and harassed.
Yozora’s aura, on the other hand, was industrial-grade mosquito repellent.
‘If only I could just keep him here,’ she thought, a fleeting, desperate wish crossing her mind.
“Alright, you two. Have your touching family reunion.” Yozora waved a hand dismissively, catching the hesitant, unspoken words hovering between the father and daughter. He turned on his heel and sauntered toward the living room, leaving the human and the ghost to their private closure.
Once Yozora was out of earshot, Miko’s father rubbed his neck, an awkward, guilty smile tugging at his lips.
“Uh… I’m sorry for eating your pudding.”
Miko pressed her lips into a thin line. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She shook her head violently, her voice dropping to a trembling whisper.
“No. That’s all in the past. You don’t need to apologize for that. I was the one being a brat.”
The anchor tying her father’s soul to the mortal plane was absurdly simple. Before his sudden passing, he had eaten a pudding Miko had saved in the fridge, sparking a massive, petty argument between them.
It sounded like a trivial, insignificant spat. But before the dust could settle and apologies could be exchanged, illness had claimed his life.
That unresolved fight became the heavy chain of his obsession.
And it wasn’t just him. Miko had carried the crushing weight of that regret every single day since his funeral.
Now, by some miracle, she had the chance to make it right. For the very first time, the cursed eyes that brought her nothing but terror felt like a blessing.
Her father gave a gentle nod, a serene smile washing over his translucent features.
“Since we’ve cleared the air… I suppose it’s time for me to go.”
Though reluctance pooled in Miko’s golden eyes, she gave a small, obedient nod. The dead belonged to the afterlife; lingering in the living world would only corrupt a soul. The anchor was lifted. He was free.
However, reality refused to follow the script.
Ten seconds ticked by. Then twenty.
Miko’s father remained standing in the hallway, completely solid, without a single trace of fading into the ethereal light.
“This…?” Miko stared at him, utterly bewildered.
By all occult logic, a spirit freed of its earthly tethers should immediately pass on. Why was he still standing there like a stubborn statue?
“Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Her father tapped his chin, a sudden spark of realization hitting him. “I have another obsession.”
“Another one?”
The playful warmth vanished from his face, replaced by the stern, unyielding gravity of a patriarch. “I need to have a little chat with that Yozora kid.”
“A chat?!” Miko panicked, her hands waving frantically in front of her. “Wait, you’re misunderstanding! He really isn’t my boyfriend!”
“Even if he isn’t, he’s the first boy you’ve ever brought under our roof. As your father, it is my duty to interrogate—I mean, converse with him.” He paused, letting out a heavy, solemn sigh. “Besides… both of you share a burden that ordinary people couldn’t possibly understand.”
Miko bit her lower lip, torn between anxiety and the obvious truth in his words. Finally, she nodded in defeat.
As her father marched toward the living room with renewed purpose, she called out a cautious warning.
“Um, Dad… you might want to prepare yourself mentally.”
“Prepare myself?” He waved her off with a hearty, booming laugh. “How old do you think I am, Miko? I’m going to talk to a teenager. Why would I be nervous? Leave it to me.”
He was brimming with absolute confidence.
It was just a high school boy. As a mature, seasoned adult who had weathered the brutal storms of corporate society, commanding the flow of conversation would be child’s play. He needed to probe this Yozora character, dig into his intentions, and make absolutely sure the boy didn’t harbor any impure thoughts about his precious daughter.
This fierce, protective instinct was his final, burning obsession.
He had even drafted a commanding, authoritative opening line in his head. But the very second he crossed the threshold into the living room, his brain short-circuited.
“Oh, you’re here? Have a seat.”
Yozora was sitting cross-legged on the tatami mat, positioned directly in front of the family altar. Right in front of the memorial tablet bearing the deceased man’s name.
But the sheer absurdity of the scene didn’t stop there.
Yozora was holding a small plastic cup in his hand, a plastic spoon halfway to his mouth.
Miko’s father froze, his jaw practically hitting the floor.
“You… that thing in your hand… don’t tell me…”
“Yep.” Yozora replied, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s the pudding they offered to you.”
Hearing the boy admit it with zero shame, the spectral father was completely paralyzed.
Stealing offerings meant for the dead? That was already a massive taboo.
But eating the offering while sitting directly in front of the dead guy it belonged to? That was a level of audacity that defied human comprehension.
He finally understood what Miko meant by preparing himself.
Watching the ghost stare at him in sheer, unadulterated shock, Yozora swallowed a mouthful of custard and offered a perfectly logical defense.
“I figured you couldn’t eat it anyway. Leaving it here to rot is just a waste of good food, so I took the liberty of disposing of it.”
The older man’s face twisted into a knot of conflicting emotions. He stared at the half-empty pudding cup, smacked his lips phantomly, and finally let out a long, defeated sigh.
“Fine, fine. You’re a guest in this house. Eat it if you want.”
Desperately trying to salvage his dignity, Miko’s father straightened his posture. He composed his features into a mask of stern authority, walked over with measured steps, and sat cross-legged across from the boy.
He opened his mouth, ready to deliver the devastatingly cool opening line he had practiced.
But before a single syllable could leave his throat, Yozora shattered his composure into a million pieces.
The boy casually picked up an unlit incense stick, handed it over to the ghost, and offered a bright, entirely natural smile.
“Since you’re not doing anything, why don’t you light an incense stick for yourself?”