The chamber was vast, timeless.

  Towering pilrs stretched toward the endless void above, the architecture ancient yet untouched by age. The air hummed with a weight that only centuries of tradition could hold.

  Koharu stood alone in the center, her expression unreadable, her posture unwavering.

  Around her, ten figures sat in perfect formation—each positioned within an engraved circle on the polished stone floor.

  The elders of the ten great households.

  Ancient’s ancestors.

  The guardians of the Chūkan’s will.

  The arbiters of its fate.

  Their faces were hidden beneath veils of mist, their forms shrouded in the flowing robes of their respective lineages.

  But their voices—their voices carried the weight of history.

  Koharu spoke.

  We do not hear her words.

  But we see the response.

  One by one, the elders raised their hands.

  One by one, the verdict was made.

  A voice—resonant, ancient, absolute.

  “Permission is granted.”

  Koharu lowered her head in quiet acknowledgment.

  “Thank you.”

  The doors before her—massive, adorned with the sigils of the Chūkan—seamlessly shifted shut behind her as she stepped forward, sealing the decision away within the annals of time.

  Waiting for her outside was Ayase, arms folded, standing beneath the eternal sky of the Chūkan Yūrei.

  His gaze flicked to her the moment she emerged.

  “How did it go?”

  Koharu met his eyes.

  “I’ve gotten permission.”

  A pause.

  “Now, all that remains is to see if he can truly resonate with intent.”

  Ayase exhaled slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Then I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

  And with that—

  The Chūkan Yūrei had cast its judgment.

  CUT TO BLACK.