CHAPTER 4 - PAST × PRESENT

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  As soon as the monk mentioned food, John’s eyes lit up with dramatic relief.

  “Yes! Finally! A warm meal after that endless drive—thank you, Master,” he said, already quickening his pace toward the dining hall.

  Milo chuckled softly as they followed the monk inside. The temple’s interior was simple, yet calming — wooden floors polished smooth by time, lanterns hanging in soft light, and an earthy scent of incense lingering in the air.

  They sat cross-legged with the monks on low mats around a shared table, bowls of steamed rice, vegetables, and broth passed around with gentle smiles and quiet blessings. The meal was humble, but satisfying. Laughter rose softly as John’s appetite and charm amused even the stoic monks.

  After the meal, the monk who had greeted them earlier leaned in, his voice curious.

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  “So, young men, may I ask — where are you headed, so deep into the countryside?”

  Milo wiped his hands clean and met the monk’s gaze. “To Fushiro town. There’s been... trouble. A boy was murdered, possibly by a spirit. We were asked to come.”

  The monk raised his brows. “Ah... so you’re an exorcist from the United States?”

  Milo gave a quiet nod. “That’s right.”

  The monk’s eyes lit with recognition. “Interesting... I had a friend, many years ago. He, too, was an exorcist from America. Quite renowned. His name was Elijah.”

  Milo froze. “Elijah Rowen?”

  The monk smiled warmly. “Yes. You know him?”

  Milo returned the smile, a rare flicker of pride in his eyes. “He’s my grandfather.”

  The monk’s hands came together in a respectful gesture. “Then the legacy continues. You are Elijah’s grandson.”

  John, who had just finished licking the last of the broth from his bowl, leaned in eagerly. “Wait, wait — you knew his grandpa? The Elijah Rowen? Tell us everything!”

  The monk leaned back, his expression distant as if drawing the past out from the mist of memory.

  “Yes... it was years ago. Elijah came through these very halls. Just like you, he stayed the night here before heading to Warda — that’s what Fushiro was known as back then. He was chasing a spirit that had haunted the town for decades. A dark, bitter thing, filled with hatred.”

  John leaned forward, his voice hushed. “And? What happened?”

  The monk nodded. “He succeeded. Elijah banished the spirit. The town was safe again... until now, it seems.”

  Milo’s expression turned serious. “What do you mean? What’s happening?”

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