Anime Crossover: Eating Evil in a Daily World — Chapter 95

Chapter 95: The Red-Clad Ghost Haunting Touma Kazusa’s Home

“Hmm… I see…”

After listening to Touma Kazusa’s detailed description, Yozora had a pretty clear picture of the situation.

This was almost certainly a genuine supernatural event. For one thing, Kazusa was entirely different from those idle, gossip-hungry students who made mountains out of molehills; she wasn’t the type to overreact to a creaking floorboard.

For another… a ghost playing the piano was a classic trope, wasn’t it?

Usually, those stories took place in an abandoned school music room at midnight. But breaking into a private residence, playing someone else’s personal piano, and essentially fighting the owner for practice time? This was a ghost with a truly die-hard passion for the arts.

Rio Futaba adjusted her glasses and offered her own clinical assessment. “Listening to Touma-chan’s timeline, the problem doesn’t seem too severe.”

If it were a malicious Evil Spirit—even a weak one—Kazusa would be experiencing physical symptoms by now. Heavy fatigue, mental fog, night terrors, or a lingering chill. She certainly wouldn’t have the energy to practice the piano every single day. This indicated the entity was likely just an ordinary ghost, or perhaps a lingering obsession left behind after someone’s passing.

“Touma-chan,” Futaba asked, her tone analytical. “Is that piano in your house a recent purchase?”

Hearing the question, Kazusa’s posture stiffened. She lowered her head, her dark hair falling to obscure her expression, but her voice carried a faint, inexplicable weight of sadness.

“My mother had someone move it over two months ago when she left.”

Futaba nodded, finding the missing piece of the puzzle. Normally, ordinary ghosts and spiritual entities bound to the living world by obsession lacked the physical density to interact with reality. But there was always an exception. If an object was something they had interacted with obsessively during their lives, or if it was the very anchor preventing them from resting in peace, they could exert a slight physical influence over it.

Even then, it was strictly limited to minor, repetitive actions—like pressing down piano keys.

This level of minor haunting wouldn’t even require a formal dispatch from the Supernatural Society. A cheap warding talisman from Oda Noto’s shop would be more than enough to clear the air. But since Kazusa had come directly to them, and she was a classmate of Yozora, Miko Yotsuya, and Yui Yuigahama, they were obligated to help.

Futaba opened her mouth to suggest a talisman, but Yozora cut her off smoothly.

“Say no more. I’ll handle this personally. I happen to know a little something about music theory myself.”

“Really?” Kazusa blinked, her curiosity momentarily overriding her usual icy demeanor. “You play an instrument too? Guitar? Bass? Or something orchestral?”

Yozora shook his head with absolute solemnity. “Neither.”

Kazusa looked even more puzzled. High school boys who picked up instruments usually did so to look cool in a band. If it wasn’t a string or orchestral instrument, what was left?

“What instrument is it, then?”

Yozora met her gaze and spoke slowly. “The Suona.”

Kazusa froze.

For a girl who typically displayed the emotional range of a beautifully sculpted ice statue, her pretty face finally cracked, revealing genuine, unfiltered bewilderment. After a long, agonizing hesitation, she gave a stiff, noncommittal nod.

“Mm… I suppose that is fine too.”

She truly hadn’t expected a high school boy to dedicate his time to the Suona. That was the absolute hooligan of the musical world!

“Since that’s settled,” Yozora said, standing up with a bright smile. “There is no time like the present. I happen to be entirely free right now, so I’ll head over to your house and exorcise this spirit immediately.”

“No problem.” Kazusa didn’t show an ounce of hesitation or shyness; getting him to her house had been her goal from the start.

“Farewell. May our paths cross again, like the mountains and rivers that endure.” Yozora cupped his fists in a dramatic, martial-arts salute toward Sakurajima Mai and Rio Futaba. Then, moving with the speed of a fleeing criminal, he and Kazusa vanished out the door.

Mai and Futaba were left staring at the empty doorway.

The air in the room settled into a suffocating silence.

Compete? Well, Yozora had just successfully evacuated to Kazusa’s house, leaving them with absolutely nothing to compete over.

“Futaba,” Mai said, breaking the silence with a dangerously sweet smile. “Yozora has already left. Why don’t you head home first?”

Futaba pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, the lenses catching the light. “What about you?”

“I have a few things I need to ask him, so I’ll just wait right here for him to come back.”

“Is that so? Then I suppose I’ll wait with you.”

“Alright then.”

The two girls sat opposite each other, both radiating absolute stubbornness. On any normal day, if Yozora went out on a job, they would just go home and see him the next morning. It wasn’t the end of the world.

But today was different. Neither Mai nor Futaba was willing to yield a single inch of ground. Leaving now meant giving the other girl a free opening, and neither was about to let that happen.

Half an hour later.

“This is my home. There is no one else around, so make yourself comfortable,” Kazusa said casually as she unlocked the door.

Her residence was a massive, ultra-luxurious flat. Sitting squarely in the center of the sprawling living room was a grand piano, its surface polished to such a mirror-like shine that it practically glowed under the ambient lights. It screamed wealth and prestige.

Yozora didn’t bother with the standard polite gasps about how big her house was. Instead, he was busy retracting his spiritual deterrent—the oppressive aura he usually passively emitted to keep low-level garbage spirits away. If he left it on, an ordinary ghost wouldn’t dare come within a kilometer of this apartment.

He usually kept his aura active for two reasons. First, he hated looking at ugly, weak spirits. Second, it acted as a strict quality-control filter for his appetite. Devouring ordinary ghosts was like eating unflavored rice cakes; it did nothing for him anymore. Only the truly powerful, arrogant Evil Spirits that dared to push through his oppressive aura were worthy of becoming his meals.

“It seems it hasn’t started yet,” Kazusa noted, glancing at the perfectly still piano. She walked over and sat on the plush sofa.

Given her obsessive personality, she usually wouldn’t waste a single second in this apartment doing anything other than playing that piano. But today was different. For the first time in her life, Kazusa had zero desire to touch the keys. She wanted to focus all her attention entirely on Yozora.

On the surface, her expression was a mask of cool indifference. Beneath that mask, her hands were trembling.

This was a first. Kazusa, a prodigy whose raw talent rivaled that of her legendary mother, Touma Youko, was actually experiencing the physical shakes. Why? She didn’t even understand it herself. She just felt an overwhelming, suffocating nervousness clawing at her chest. It was worse than her first public recital.

“Oh, then we’ll just wait,” Yozora said easily, dropping onto the adjacent sofa.

Seeing him choose the seat next to hers rather than sitting directly beside her, Kazusa felt a sudden rush of relief—like a massive weight lifting off her shoulders—followed immediately by a strange, sharp pang of disappointment.

Honestly, she had no idea what was wrong with her brain today. Spring Break was ending in a few days. If she really just wanted a ghost removed, she could have waited until school started and submitted a formal request. That way, she wouldn’t have had to awkwardly call her teacher, Shizuka Hiratsuka, to get his contact info. Her entire personality revolved around avoiding human interaction at all costs.

So why had she rushed into this? Why had she acted so entirely out of character?

Silence blanketed the luxurious living room. Minutes ticked by.

Yozora looked completely at ease, perfectly content to kill time. He genuinely enjoyed hanging out with Mai and Futaba, but only under one strict condition: it had to be Mai OR Futaba. Never Mai AND Futaba.

A romantic warzone. What a truly terrifying concept. The best way to survive a crossfire was to remove yourself from the battlefield entirely. So, he had tactically retreated.

Plus, he was genuinely curious. What kind of ghost had the audacity to hijack Touma Kazusa’s piano every single day?

After an indeterminate amount of time, a faint, solitary piano note echoed through the quiet room.

Yozora looked up. One of the pristine white keys on the grand piano had sunken down entirely on its own.

“It’s starting,” Kazusa whispered.

As she spoke, the keys began to ripple and dance like a wave crashing across the board. The mechanical clicks and springing keys produced a stunning, deeply sorrowful melody that filled the massive space.

To Kazusa’s eyes, the piano was simply playing itself. She actually leaned back, listening with a critical ear, occasionally nodding her head in silent approval of the phantom’s phrasing and tempo.

Watching her react like a judge at a music competition, Yozora finally understood. He had initially assumed she just wasn’t afraid of ghosts. The truth was far simpler: Kazusa’s absolute obsession with music completely overrode her basic human survival instincts. If this ghost hadn’t started cutting into her personal practice schedule, she probably would have just brewed some tea and enjoyed the free daily concerts forever.

Yozora leaned in and lowered his voice. “What do you think?”

Kazusa pondered the question seriously before answering. “I think this piece demands incredible speed and fluidity. The technical difficulty is extreme. It proves the performer’s fundamental skill level is exceptionally high, almost on par with my mother’s.”

Yozora stared at her.

That wasn’t what he meant at all. But whatever. This was Touma Kazusa. Expecting her to act like a normal person was his first mistake.

Because the scene Yozora was currently looking at was vastly different from the invisible concert Kazusa was enjoying.

Sitting on the piano bench was a slender woman with long, stringy hair, wearing a flowing evening gown. Her hands were frantically dancing across the keys. But the gown wasn’t originally red. Two thick, continuous streams of bloody tears were pouring from the woman’s eyes, cascading down her face and soaking the fabric of her dress until it was dyed a wet, glistening crimson.

‘Damn, it’s a vengeful Evil Spirit,’ Yozora thought, his eyes lighting up.

He hadn’t expected such a high-quality meal from a simple house call. The food had even brought its own ketchup. How incredibly thoughtful.

The moment the words “vengeful Evil Spirit” crossed his mind, the piano music stopped dead.

The female ghost slowly turned her head. Beneath the curtain of matted hair, a pair of pure, pupil-less white eyes stared at him, leaking fresh rivers of blood.

“You… can see me?” the ghost rasped, her voice echoing like grinding stones.

“Heh heh, truly a reversal of cosmic order,” Yozora chuckled.

Before Kazusa could even blink, Yozora vanished from the sofa. He crossed the living room in a fraction of a second, his hand shooting out to grip the bloody ghost by the throat. With a casual flick of his wrist, he slammed her off the bench and pinned her hard against the living room wall.

In that same instant, he dropped his concealment. The terrifying, oppressive aura of an apex predator—a presence that triggered absolute, bone-deep terror in any spiritual entity—exploded outward without restraint.

The red-clad ghost, who had just been preparing to bare her fangs, instantly went limp, shivering like a wet leaf in a hurricane.

Kazusa blinked, completely lost. One second Yozora was on the sofa, and the next he was standing by the wall, his hand raised in a loose grip, pinning absolutely nothing against the expensive wallpaper.

“Behave yourself,” Yozora commanded.

Feeling the crushing pressure around her neck, the ghost abandoned any thought of resistance. She wasn’t stupid. Compared to the monster wearing a high school uniform in front of her, she was less than an insect.

“That’s much better, isn’t it?” Yozora beamed, offering her a warm, benevolent smile. “Can you talk?”

The ghost nodded frantically, her head bobbing like a terrified chicken. “Yes, yes!”

“Excellent.” Yozora’s smile widened. “I ask, you answer. Understand?”

“Understood, understood, absolutely, please ask away!”

“Why are you playing the piano in someone else’s home?”

The ghost’s terrifying face twisted into a look of deep grievance. “But… this was originally my piano.”

“Hey, are you talking back to me?” Yozora frowned. He released his grip, letting the ghost drop to the floor, then crouched down to lecture her like a disappointed teacher. “You are a ghost now. You do not possess personal property rights. Do you understand?”

The ghost stared at him, completely stunned.

Somehow, the logic sounded flawless. “But… it really was mine.”

“Listen to yourself,” Yozora sighed, waving a hand dismissively before patting the bloody ghost on the shoulder. “You’ve heard of the law of conservation of mass, right?”

“I… think so?”

“Exactly. If you trace it back far enough, all matter in this world once belonged to someone else. Just because this piano was yours in the past doesn’t mean it belongs to you now. If everyone operated on your logic, what would the living use? We’d have nothing. Don’t you agree?”

“Ah… this…”

The vengeful spirit was completely speechless. Never in her wildest nightmares did she expect to be defeated by a human weaponizing property law and physics. And the worst part was, she couldn’t even think of a counterargument.

Yozora wasn’t just spouting nonsense for fun. As he fed her this ridiculous logic, he was carefully studying her reactions. Well, he couldn’t read her eyes since they were solid white, but her body language—the way she slumped in defeat and frowned in genuine confusion—told him everything he needed to know.

Despite the gruesome bloody tears and the horror-movie aesthetic, she didn’t harbor any actual malice toward the living. She just really wanted to play the piano.

Satisfied, Yozora pivoted smoothly. “Next question. Why did you ask if I could see you? Were you planning to curse me?”

The ghost looked like she desperately wanted to cry normal tears. “No, Big Brother! I asked if you could see me because I had something really important to tell that girl over there!”

“Oh, is that so?” Yozora crossed his arms, radiating righteous indignation. “Then why didn’t you lead with that? This whole misunderstanding is entirely your fault.”

The ghost choked on her bloody tears.

What is wrong with this guy?! I only got half a sentence out before you choke-slammed me into the drywall! How is this my fault?!

Despite her internal screaming, the crushing weight of Yozora’s aura forced her to bow her head in total submission. “I am so sorry. I was wrong.”

Knowing when to fold was the mark of a truly great ghost.

“Your sincere attitude is highly commendable,” Yozora praised, nodding sagely. “So, what do you want to tell her? She can’t see or hear you, so I will have to act as your translator.”

At the mention of her goal, the ghost’s fearful demeanor vanished. She scrambled up and pointed passionately at the piano. “It is too hard to explain with just words! Have her play the piece I was just playing, and I will explain the technique to her as she goes!”

“Alright.” Yozora turned and beckoned to Kazusa, who was still sitting frozen on the sofa. “Come here and play a tune for me.”

Kazusa’s eyes narrowed dangerously, a flash of absolute freezing intent cutting through her beautiful gaze. “Are you treating me like some cheap street performer?”

Despite the venom in her voice, she immediately stood up, walked over to the bench, and sat down. She raised her arms, gently resting her slender, porcelain-white fingers against the keys.

This was the duality of Touma Kazusa. Beneath the icy, tsundere exterior lay the obvious heart of a loyal dog. No matter how much she complained, if Yozora wanted to hear her play, she would play for him.

Her knuckles bent slightly, and a breathtakingly complex, melodious tune erupted into the living room.

Yozora just stood there, enjoying the vibe. He couldn’t actually play the piano; his expertise began and ended with the Suona. But as the old saying went: the amateur watches the spectacle, while the expert watches the technique.

The red-clad ghost, a true professional, locked her white eyes onto Kazusa’s hands. As she watched the girl’s fingering technique, a deep frown formed on her bloody face. Instinctively, she reached out to physically correct Kazusa’s wrist posture.

Her spectral hands passed harmlessly through Kazusa’s solid flesh.

The ghost pulled back, shooting Yozora a desperate, pleading look.

Yozora sighed, perfectly understanding the assignment. He stepped up behind Kazusa, reached out, and gently placed his hand directly over her slender right hand as it danced across the keys. He paused the movement, applying a slight, guiding pressure, and asked softly, “Is this okay?”

Kazusa froze instantly, the music dying under their hands.

After a long, suffocating silence, she nervously bit her bottom lip. A faint flush crept up her neck as she gave a tiny, barely perceptible nod.

“Mm… it’s okay,” she whispered, her voice as faint as a fluttering moth.

It was only after placing his hand over hers—feeling the slight, electric tremble of her slender fingers, the cool, impossibly soft glide of her skin beneath his palm—that Yozora remembered a crucial detail.

Kazusa couldn’t hear the ghost. She couldn’t see the ghost.

From her perspective, she had just been playing the piano when Yozora suddenly walked up behind her, gently grabbed her hand, and asked in a low, intimate voice if it was “okay.”

And to that incredibly suggestive action, Touma Kazusa had actually replied, “It’s okay.”

deep. Truly deep.

[Inorin’s Note: The “Suona” is a traditional Chinese double-reed horn. It is notoriously loud, piercing, and high-pitched, traditionally used in rural areas for both weddings and funerals. In modern internet slang, it’s jokingly called the “hooligan of instruments” because its overwhelming volume instantly drowns out any other instrument playing alongside it.]