002. The Notebook and “Margaret”

Anrito pulled the cord hanging by the wall. The chandelier above cast a soft, white glow. As the darkness receded, it revealed the true form of the eerie apparition— a mysterious black cat standing on the back of a chair, with two tails extending behind it like a ghost. Its eyes shone bright like blue diamonds as it stared at Anrito.

The neatly folded bedding on the small bed sat next to a desk, which held a book by Owen Jones titled *The Powerful: How They Escape Justice*. Alongside a wardrobe and a floor-to-ceiling window, these pieces formed the entire layout of the attic... If one ignored the black cat licking its paw on the chair back, this was undoubtedly the typical living space of a Tokyo office worker.

Yet the presence of this cat cast a contradictory feeling of reality and illusion over everything Anrito saw.

As a member of the S.T.F., he should have been filled with hostility and vigilance toward this supernatural being known among the public as a "yokai," and immediately think of contacting his colleagues who hadn't gone far yet.

But in truth, he simply approached it naturally and habitually, then studied the black cat on the chair with curiosity.

The moment he realized the contradiction within himself, Anrito wavered briefly.

The black cat, with its two tails raised, looked at him with an insightful gaze, then, in a mature and gentle female voice that belied its appearance, exclaimed, "I see now—you have succeeded."

"Anrito, congratulations on completing the first-ever 'memory editing surgery' in human history. Now... let me reintroduce myself. My name is Margaret, but according to folk tales, you can also call me 'Nekomata.'"

The cat swayed its two tails behind it. "I'm pleased you still trust me even after erasing your memories."

Seeing Anrito hesitate repeatedly as if about to speak, it nodded more joyfully. "It's such a relief not to see your worried expression every night! Mm... and no need to worry about you losing control anymore."

With that, it lightly jumped down from the chair and fetched a dusty notebook from under the bed.

Anrito bent down and took it from Margaret’s mouth.

No matter how you looked at it, it was just an ordinary notebook, nothing special, like one you'd find at any stationery store.

But the cover read: *The Reaper’s Work Report*.

"Do you mean... I am the 'Reaper'...?" Anrito instinctively reached for a cigarette but found his pocket empty.

"Exactly. We were once of the same kind... only you chose to erase your recognition and memories of your 'self' and fully returned to being human," Margaret said casually, revealing an incredible truth.

First, let’s clarify: various demons and spirits do exist in this world. Modern science has discovered that beyond the material world lies another realm composed of spirit, overlaying reality.

Because these two layers—material and spiritual—interact, the field called 'Cognitive Occult Studies' emerged to explain the nature of this influence.

This discipline divides the universe into two parallel layers: the "material" and the "spiritual," defining the former as the "real world" and the latter as the "impression world."

Researchers define the "impression world" as the collective unconscious of all living beings, with the human portion comprising nearly the entire "impression world."

Since it’s proven that human cognition can indeed influence reality to a certain extent, this means that when enough people collectively perceive a concept, it becomes a "fact."

Thus, the gods, ghosts, and monsters recorded in legends truly once walked alongside humans in fleeting moments of history.

Although over time, with technological progress and fading memories, such extraordinary deities ceased to manifest, their traces still linger.

From the modern era, international cognitive occult research institutions have categorized supernatural entities—such as ghost stories and yokai—as a special group of "collective unconscious cognitive beings," and countries have established organizations to handle their impact on reality.

The S.T.F., located in Tokyo, is a department within the Metropolitan Police established a century ago for this purpose.

...

The rain intensified, drumming on the windowsills in a steady rhythm, blending into Anrito’s suddenly accelerated but gradually calming breaths.

The attic was quiet, with distant sounds of cars splashing through puddles.

Anrito finished reading *The Reaper’s Work Report*. He had basically accepted Margaret’s account.

The handwriting was his own, the record of the target whose soul had been taken was of a notorious criminal he had known about, and even the date of the “execution” matched perfectly with the victims’ deaths... Most importantly, the familiarity and repulsion he felt deep inside forced him to believe it all.

...

"The 'Reaper' is the latest urban legend registered by the S.T.F. as 'extremely high risk' and 'prohibited from public disclosure.'"

"Appearance unknown, abilities unknown, currently exhibiting 'damage to targets beyond logic and physical laws.'"

"The 'Reaper murder case' is confirmed as the most heinous killing spree in world history, but to effectively contain its influence on reality, all must keep this secret at the cost of their lives."

This was the information Anrito had read over ten times at his desk.

Yet he could never have imagined that such a murderous legend, one that required the S.T.F. to enlist spiritually powerful clergy to combat, would somehow be linked to him.

You demon cat, are you trying to ruin my life?

Anrito glared at Margaret, knowing that if any related clues leaked, he would be immediately dismissed, charged with countless crimes, and put on trial... As an S.T.F. member, he understood they didn’t need a dangerous, uncontrollable superpowered killer’s aid—they would do everything to erase him.

Margaret seemed startled by his gaze; her once mature and gentle voice turned childlike and sharp as she hurriedly explained.

"Anrito, don’t worry! You’re now completely human, with no relation to the 'Reaper'! Even if I revealed everything, no one could trace anything back to you!"

"So you mean I’ve been acting as a 'half-legend, half-human' for the past month?"

"Exactly! You voluntarily deleted your cognition and memories of the legend part, so the power troubling you vanished... Please don’t look at me like that anymore! I only met you last week and can’t explain what happened before then."

Anrito regained some patience and, showcasing his professionalism as an S.T.F. special officer, pieced together some truths from her words and interrogated Margaret with equal intensity.

...

Compared to the famed "Nekomata," Margaret now seemed more like a little girl pretending to be mature, timidly answering every question.

Yet her innocent, cute voice matched her small, delicate appearance.

After repeated questioning confirmed Margaret was merely a moderately powerful yokai who happened to be sheltered by him during an S.T.F. pursuit, and that her obedience was driven by fear of the "Reaper," Anrito finally let her go.

He was certain that since this power was something he risked memory loss to remove, its danger far outweighed its benefits.

Margaret’s mention of "losing control" confirmed this.

Because human will could not override the overwhelming cognitive concept of the "Reaper" legend, he was forced daily to carry out the "Reaper’s soul harvesting."

Perhaps the greatest effort Anrito had made was limiting soul reaping to death row inmates reported in the news.

But there were only so many death row prisoners, then came the criminals recorded in various files, then criminal suspects...

Within a month, countless evildoers died in Tokyo, making police work quieter than ever.

However, even the most notorious villains eventually ran out.

Afterwards, the "Reaper" with his scythe would inevitably turn to civilians—

Anrito was well past his teenage fantasies.

He wouldn’t foolishly try to overturn the world or remake society, nor pursue goals so vast they would shatter human minds.

...

Having finally found a respectable job and a just cause worth his dedication, bringing him a sense of achievement and satisfaction... he only wished to protect those who trusted him as part of the S.T.F.

Perhaps Anrito realized the danger radiating from himself to the world, which is why he chose to delete his memory.

Closing *The Reaper’s Work Report*, he carefully placed it in a drawer.

He picked up his phone, which was charging, the timestamp reading 11:27 a.m.

Under Margaret’s nervous gaze, Anrito lay down on the bed without turning off the light or showering, forcing himself to sleep to the sound of rain.

After all... he had to work at eight the next morning.

He seemed to have completely set aside his worries and troubles.

Though his eyes were shut tight, the occasional twitch of his face betrayed his inner turmoil.

Anrito was uncertain to what extent the "memory deletion" had reached.

Regardless, "living well as an ordinary human" was the reality he wished for.

Yet within just a month as the "Reaper," traces of that cognition had been imprinted deep in his soul, subtly beginning to transform his body...

Drawing ever closer to the deity that symbolized death itself.

...

At the desk, Margaret gazed at the man on the bed with her deep blue eyes.

As always, he refused to express emotion or engage in genuine communication.

Their time together was brief, but as a yokai, Margaret could easily discern human emotions and thoughts.

She had never sensed that Anrito truly trusted anyone—not even a fellow "Nekomata"—his indifferent attitude was simply born from the vast power gap.

This had not changed before or after the memory deletion.

But, Anrito, do you know? ...Loneliness is far scarier than guilt.

Loneliness dries the soul, turning it into a dead well, where just one "terrible day" is enough to awaken the arrogant and furious demon lurking at the bottom.

Margaret watched as the light stretched Anrito’s shadow and the bedding’s outline across the wall.

Together, they twisted and contorted, resembling a white skeleton clad in a black robe, wielding a massive scythe.

As if in the next moment, it would swing the scythe, erasing the being named "Margaret" from the spiritual world.

A chill ran down Margaret’s spine for no reason.

Suddenly, a pale light flooded the attic from outside the window, bathing everything in a silvery glow and shattering the black shadows on the wall.

Then, a deafening thunder slowly rumbled in her ears...

The world was left with only the steady patter of rain washing over the city.

Perhaps it could so easily cleanse every bloodstained corner, and after the storm, proudly welcome clear skies and rainbows.