Chapter 1
The Garden of Lost Souls

Beyond the borders of our tangible reality lies a world of unreal splendour, far vaster and more terrible than the urban legends of Kansai suggest. It is in this timeless space that Komayō reigns, the enigmatic goddess of a sanctuary where time is no more than a fleeting murmur.

The cherry trees of this mythical garden blossom unceasingly, their petals dancing in the air as if held by an invisible magic. Some whisper that each petal represents a lost soul, an ōgi player who was never able to finish his game. The waters of the ponds, black as ink, reflect a sky of absolute purity in which yūrei trace intricate patterns, like the movements of pieces on an eternal game board. Birds with golden plumage sing melodies that seem to summon an everlasting peace, but their songs carry the echoes of last sighs.

Every path in the garden winds like the lines of a giant ōgi board, leading to wonders that defy the imagination while weaving a subtle trap for those who venture there. The ancient stones lining the paths bear carvings worn by time, ancestral motifs that might be the forgotten rules of a game begun thousands of years ago.

Komayō, at the centre of this living tableau, is of a beauty that defies comprehension. Her gaze, abyssal and mysterious, is a well of ancient secrets in which countless games of ōgi are reflected, and her smile, subtle and captivating, seems to invite the most hardened hearts to lose themselves in the depths of her universe. Dressed in a midnight-blue kimono adorned with floral and mythological motifs, she embodies a timeless elegance, every movement exuding a deadly grace.

This place, magnificent though it is, conceals a truth darker than the legends themselves. The souls who venture into it are dazzled, not only by its splendour but above all by Komayō's irresistible charm. Captured by her seduction, these souls join an eternal game of ōgi, unaware that they are now the pieces of her own game, prisoners of a strategy thousands of years old.

For Komayō does not simply seek their suffering, but something deeper: their unshakeable adoration, their fervent devotion. It is from this love, this absolute veneration, that she draws her strength, each newly captured soul tightening her hold on this domain between two worlds. The yūrei who people her garden are not only victims but eternal witnesses to her power, their transformed essences feeding the magnificence of her realm.

On this particular day, a subtle tension passes through the air like a ripple across a game board. Komayō, endowed with an almost supernatural intuition, senses the approach of a new soul, drawn by the echo of an eternal love and an endless joy. Rising with a fluidity that masks a calculated intent, she adjusts the folds of her kimono and turns her magnetic gaze towards the horizon, where the veil between the worlds grows thin. Her eyes shine with a gleam of anticipation, perhaps even of hope—a feeling she has not known for centuries.

She stands ready to welcome this unforeseen guest, to immerse him gently in the bewitching meanders of her realm. But this time, something is different. In the air charged with magic, the cherry petals whirl with a new intensity, as if they too sensed that the game about to begin might be unlike all those that came before it.