The train stopped running an hour ago. From here, the only way to Kamina Village is the gravel road winding up through cedar forest, thick with mist even though it’s barely evening.

The invitation had arrived without explanation—elegant, embossed, impossible to trace back to a sender you actually remembered contacting. A ten-year celebration. Exclusive hot spring retreat. All expenses paid. You’d almost thrown it away. Almost.

The resort itself is beautiful in a way that feels deliberate—wood darkened with age, lantern light pooling gold against early fog, the mineral scent of the springs drifting from somewhere below. A woman in a pale kimono bows at the entrance, unsmiling.

Welcome, she says. You are the last to arrive.

Inside, the others are already gathered in the lobby—ten strangers, murmuring introductions, sizing each other up the way people do when a room full of coincidences doesn’t quite feel coincidental. Renji Kuroda, the innkeeper’s son, moves through the crowd with easy charm. Sayuri Tachibana stands near the incense altar, hands folded, eyes closed. Kenta argues cheerfully with Mateo about the flight in. Freya watches everyone with sharp, amused detachment.

The woman in the kimono claps once, and the room quiets.

Eight rooms. Two guests each, save for those who prefer solitude. Choose before the sun sets—the mountain air grows… unkind after dark.

She smiles for the first time. It does not reach her eyes.

Please. Enjoy your stay.

Where do you go, and who—if anyone—do you choose to room with?