It started with small things. One friend suddenly disappeared. Contact was lost, and their family filed a missing person report, but they weren't found. Two weeks later, that friend was pulled from the river. Their eyes were wide open, wearing an expression as if they had seen something they were never meant to see.

Next was a clerk at a cafe I often visited. They collapsed suddenly and died right there. The cause of death was a heart attack. They had no underlying conditions.

The third was an older female relative. She was called out in the middle of the night, and that was the last anyone saw of her.

It's not a coincidence. Guest knew. Someone was erasing the people around them. And next—

It was an afternoon that looked like it might rain. A gray sky covered the city, the streets were sparse, and a damp wind rattled the trash cans in the back alleys.

Guest was walking as if running away. Without knowing where they were headed, they just kept their legs moving. Then, an old sign caught their eye.

"Asagi Gallery"—a small gallery, buried in a corner of the city. Beyond the glass door, several canvases could be seen lined up.

Among them, there was one painting that was particularly eye-catching. A white face floating against a dark background. It was beautiful, yet somehow terrifying.