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Okarun sighed, slumping against the scorched metal wall of what remained of the incredibly high-tech alien spaceship he was currently dying in.
It felt like an odd time to reflect on his mortality. Then again, everything about today had been odd.
He had just watched his father die.
And, well… it had actually been kind of cool?
His dad had gone out in a full blaze of glory—charging into a horde of evil aliens with nothing but sheer determination, a busted pipe, and some surprisingly effective improvised martial arts. All while shouting things like, “Live on, son!”, “I’m proud of you!”, and “I told you aliens were real!”
All excellent choices for last words.
It was dramatic. It was heroic. It was—unfortunately—also kind of stupid.
Because his dad had apparently forgotten they were still on a spaceship.
And said spaceship, thanks to his impromptu “one-man last stand,” now had no functioning controls, and was currently plummeting through Earth’s atmosphere in a spectacular nosedive. Bits of alien tech and very dead aliens littered the floor, and the ship had officially transitioned from “futuristic transport” to “very fancy metal coffin.”
He briefly considered going for a third all-out—he’d already burned through two just getting here and trying (and failing) to save his dad. Maybe, if he timed it just right, he could bust out before impact.
But after some very panicked, very rough mental math, he was pretty sure the best-case scenario was “smoking crater.” Worst-case? “Smeared across half a prefecture.”
Sorry, Turbo Granny, he thought. Turns out 100 kilometers per hour isn’t all that impressive when compared to… whatever ungodly speed they were falling at now.
He glanced at one of the alien instrument panels. It was glowing red and covered in symbols he couldn’t read—but there were a lot of digits. That didn’t seem promising.
The temperature was climbing fast. His skin was starting to sting where it touched the floor.
He looked over at his father’s body, draped heroically across a ruined console. His coat was riddled with blaster holes, and he was surrounded by the corpses of the aliens he’d taken with him. His face was relaxed and peaceful.
He had imagined lately that if he died (not that he planned to) it’d be doing something meaningful. Maybe saving Ayase-san. Maybe confessing something big. Maybe saying something cool right before it all went dark.
Instead, he was going to either vaporize or end up as an unrecognizable lump of spaceship-chunked goo.
This is probably what Laika felt like, he thought.
...Man, if he came back as a yokai, he really hoped it wasn’t as a dog.
The heat was unbearable now. The metal seared his palms as he dragged himself closer to his father. He ignored the pain, curled up beside the body, and shut his eyes.
At least they wouldn’t be going out alone.
Okarun woke up.
Somehow, that didn’t surprise him as much as it probably should have.
Even before he managed to pry open his heavy eyelids, he could feel something was different. The air buzzed around him, thick with spiritual energy—dense and powerful—but none of the usual miasma of hatred or gloom that came with curses. In fact, it was… oddly comfortable.
Yokai, huh? Yeah. Not shocking.
With effort, he forced one eye open—only to find himself staring at a massive white paw, looming directly in front of his face.
Oh no. If he’d come back as a dog, he was never going to live it down.
Except… the paw didn’t look very dog-like. Black stripes ran up the leg in jagged patterns, tufts of fur curling outward like flame. Wisps of spectral light flickered along its edge. Blue fire traced through the fur like ink suspended in water—soft, rhythmic, and pulsing.
Weird. He’d been so sure he’d end up with a red-and-white color scheme, thanks to that hag’s lingering influence. He’d felt weirdly confident about it, actually.
Curious, he tried to move his paw—or hand?
The huge paw in front of him didn’t budge. And yet, something had moved.
Before he could figure it out, something massive shifted beside him, releasing a cold puff of air that made his skin prickle. He let out an involuntary screech and whipped his head to the side—
And came face-to-face with an open mouth full of sharp, gleaming teeth. The kind that could swallow him whole without chewing.
The mouth snapped shut.
Behind it loomed a tiger—black and white striped, eyes glowing blue, fur trailing into curling plumes of ghostly fire. It was massive—and if the size didn’t give it away, the spectral shimmer sealed it: this was no ordinary tiger.
He flinched again as the jaws opened once more. Not wide this time. Just enough for a low, familiar voice to rumble out.
“...Mornin’ already? Whut time is it…”
The voice was unmistakable—same gruff tone, same sleepy delivery. Almost word for word what his dad said every single morning.
So. His dead father was a tiger. A tiger yokai.
Cool.
What did that make him?
He shifted slightly, and his body responded with a light, static-like tingle, like the pins-and-needles feeling he got when his yokai form’s ruff used to puff up on its own. His skin—or whatever he had now—prickled with every movement.
Alright. He was probably covered in fur. That much he could accept. Still didn’t make him a dog.
Lots of things had fur.
Maybe he was a tiger too. He glanced up—way up—at the mountain of fur that was his father. Yeah… probably a tiger. Just a very, very small one.
Don’t think about it, Okarun. There were more pressing matters.
“…Dad?” he called up, cautiously.
His father’s ears perked up immediately. He scrambled upright, paws thudding against the ground in a rush of movement.
“Ken?” his father’s voice boomed, rumbling deep from his chest like a living drum. “Ken, where are you?!”
“Dad, I’m down here!” he called out.
He did not appreciate how much his dad towered over him… or how weirdly small and squeaky his own voice sounded in comparison to that earth-shaking rumble.
And it took way too long for his dad to spot him. The massive tiger’s ears twitched as his glowing eyes scanned the area in slow, confused sweeps. When they finally landed on him, his entire expression changed.
The tiger made a sound—half-gasp, half-strangled squawk.
“Son?!” his father rumbled, bewildered. “What did the aliens do to you?! Why are you a kitten?!”
His glowing eyes darted downward—first to his enormous paws, then to his striped legs, then to the swishing tail behind him. His jaw dropped slowly, like it was being pulled open by the sheer weight of disbelief.
“Wait… why am I a cat?!”
His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, as if even his vocal cords were trying to process the situation.
…What did he mean by kitten?
Okarun groaned internally. Maybe he’d been too quick to complain about the idea of coming back as a dog. He shook his head and winced as he felt it—the unmistakable twitch of what he now, with bone-deep horror, recognized as a pair of adorable little triangle ears.
“It wasn’t the aliens, Dad,” he said flatly. “We’re… dead.”
His father blinked, completely unconvinced. “But you can’t be dead. I saved you. It was very dramatic.”
A beat of silence passed between them.
Okarun stared up into those glowing, slitted eyes—still swirling with flickers of blue fire and brimming with misplaced confidence.
“…You did your best,” he offered, with a weary shrug.
“We can’t be dead,” his dad said, pacing in a slow circle. “We’re talking. That means we’re alive. The aliens must’ve experimented on us. Swapped our minds with animals or something.”
“We’re dead, Dad. Spirits. Yokai.” His tone was calm—the kind you used with small children. Or Evil Eye.
The massive tiger blinked down at him.
Then his face split into a wide, unabashed grin—rows of sharp teeth glinting as he lifted one massive paw in front of his mouth, not to hide his laughter, but to frame it. The other paw came down (and oh god, it was so big), landing gently on Okarun’s head in what must’ve been his dad’s best attempt at ruffling his hair.
A deep, gleeful snicker rumbled out of him.
“Spirits aren’t real, son,” he said, absolutely beaming with smugness.
…No wonder Ayase-san had sent him into a murder tunnel when they first met.
A quick self-check confirmed it—he was, in fact, a tiger. Or at least something tiger-adjacent. He had stripes, for one. And he’d been right about the color scheme: spectral flames curled lazily off his paws and the tip of his tail (ugh), shifting from white to a vivid, ember-red. It clashed dramatically with the cool blue of his dad’s flames.
So that was… something.
Convincing his dad they were yokai took some time. And even then, “convincing” might have been generous. Okarun wasn’t entirely sure he’d succeeded.
It helped a little when his father bounded off toward a group of unsuspecting passersby, yelling that he and his son had been abducted by aliens and urgently needed help—only to be completely, utterly ignored.
He returned several minutes later, muttering something about “alien perception filters,” though the uncertainty in his voice had noticeably increased.
“Okay, say that we are ‘ghosts,’” his father said at last, trying to mime air quotes. Paws, as it turned out, weren’t built for nuance.
“Yokai,” Okarun corrected, dragging the word out like it physically hurt him.
“Yokai, whatever,” his father huffed, clearly unimpressed. Apparently, a tiger could roll its eyes. “What do we do now?”
Okarun blinked up at him. “…I would’ve thought you’d be more bothered by the fact we’re both dead, you know.”
“Well, there’s no use crying over spilt milk, is there?” his father replied breezily, like they were discussing actual milk instead of their post-mortem existence.
Okarun squinted at him. He couldn’t tell if his dad hadn’t realized why he was dead too… or was just deliberately ignoring it.
Well, either way. They needed to make a plan. Confused, lost, and entirely out of his depth, Okarun defaulted to the only strategy that ever seemed to work in situations like this:
Go beg the Ayase women for help.
And so, they found themselves plodding along a familiar dirt path just outside of town, having conveniently woken up right on the outskirts.
Okarun had tried walking at first, but with legs that short, it felt like crossing a baseball field one awkward hop at a time. Eventually, after some gentle nudging from his dad, he gave up, clawed his way up one massive, fuzzy leg, and let himself be swallowed into the thick white fur around his father’s neck.
It wasn’t dignified. But it was surprisingly comfortable, and most importantly, way faster.
“So… you’re sure these people can help us?” his father rumbled, ears twitching forward as he padded along.
“I don’t know if we can be ‘helped’ really,” Okarun sighed, his voice muffled slightly as he nestled into the thick fur. “But they’ll know what to do next. And they can probably explain everything better than I can.”
That was the hope, anyway.
He hadn’t exactly had time to check in with Ayase-san before running off to “save” his dad. And now… well. He was dead.
Ayase-san was going to ki—be very upset with him. Extremely upset. She’d specifically told him not to die. Multiple times. Had been weirdly insistent about it, too, which had confused him at the time.
Now it made a lot more sense.
His father let out a thoughtful, chuffing hum. “Didn’t you say most people can’t see ghosts?”
He didn’t even have the energy to groan this time. Honestly, he felt like he should be panicking more, but somehow, explaining the basics of the supernatural to his newly dead, tiger-shaped father was stealing all his bandwidth.
“We’re yokai, Dad,” he corrected. “And yeah, most people can’t. But Ayase-san and her grandma can. Ayase-san has psychic powers. Her grandmother’s a medium.”
“A medium, huh,” his father mused, still plodding forward with unbothered, heavy steps. “Won’t she try to… exorcise us or something?”
“No!” Okarun said quickly. Then paused. “…Probably not?”
Seiko-san only exorcised actual evil spirits. The dangerous, malicious kind. He was… reasonably confident that neither he nor his dad qualified as evil.
And surely Ayase-san wouldn’t be that mad at him.
…Right?
His new ears twitched. His tail gave a small, awkward flick as anxiety crept steadily upward. But it wasn’t like they had a better plan.
“You seem pretty confident in these people,” his father remarked. His tone was light. Too light.
“I respect Ayase-san and her grandmother a great deal,” Okarun replied stiffly, not quite liking the way his dad’s voice dipped at the end.
“So,” his father said, clearly warming to the topic, “is this Ayase-san the one you’ve been spending all your time with?”
His voice was far too casual for someone who had recently died and turned into a giant ghost-tiger.
Okarun let out a helpless groan, still clinging to the thick ruff of fur at his father’s neck. “Dad, is this really the time? We’re dead.”
His father gave a thoughtful hum, tail swaying behind them. “Well, it’s just that this is the first I’m hearing about you spending so much time with a new lady friend…”
“Dad.”
“I just thought you’d at least bring your girlfriend home to meet your old man at some point,” his father said, glancing back at him with exaggerated disappointment. His tufted ears twitched dramatically.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” Okarun sputtered, furiously trying to bury his face in the fluff. “I haven’t even confessed yet! And—and I was trying to protect you! That’s why I kept all this supernatural stuff away from you!”
There was a beat of silence.
His father blinked. Then his grin widened.
“Wait. Confess? So you do like her!”
Okarun let out a pained wheeze and tried to disappear deeper into the fur. “This is not a conversation I want to be having right now.”
In response, his father let out a deep, steady purr—low and rumbling like distant thunder. It vibrated through his chest and up through the thick fur, a warm pulse that Okarun could feel humming beneath him like a living engine.
Annoyingly… it was kind of soothing.
“Is she going to be okay with you being a cat now?” his dad added, still purring. “Can you even date someone if you’re a ghost?”
“We’re yokai,” Okarun muttered, utterly defeated.
“Yokai, ghost, whatever,” his father said, waving one massive paw wreathed in faint spectral flames, like he was brushing the details aside. “I’m just asking—are grandkids still on the table, or...?”
Okarun let out a pitiful, mewling whine and burrowed deeper into the fur, doing his best to vanish.
Finally, his father reached the torii gate that marked the entrance to the Ayase household, one enormous paw lifted mid-step over the threshold.
Okarun suddenly had a vivid, terrifying mental image of the both of them bursting into flames.
“Wait!” he yelped, tugging frantically on a tuft of fur near his dad’s jaw—with his teeth, after failing to grip anything with tiny paws.
He… wasn’t entirely sure they could pass through the barrier. Maybe the wards would still recognize him. But his dad?
Yeah, no. That felt like a gamble he really didn’t want to take.
Now what? They couldn’t just loiter here forever like confused delivery guys. Someone from the house was bound to notice them eventually. Or maybe they could just shout—
He didn’t have to do anything.
The front door slammed open, and Ayase-san came stomping out, radiating righteous fury.
“Okarun! What the hell!” she snapped, jabbing a finger straight at—well, more his dad than him. “I specifically told you not to die!”
His father froze mid-step, clearly startled by the sheer force of her energy.
Okarun, still half-buried in the thick tangle of fur clinging to his dad’s neck, flailed and tried to poke his head out.
“Ayase-san, plea—” he started, voice muffled and slightly frantic.
But she wasn’t done.
“You vanish from school,” she continued, storming forward, “I hear nothing for over a day, and then your aura suddenly pops up all warped and yokai-fied?!”
“I can explai—” he tried again, now half hanging off his dad’s shoulder like a confused backpack.
“Well, I guess it was inevitable,” she groaned, flinging her hands in the air like she was blaming the sky itself. “But couldn’t you have waited a week? I would’ve won the betting pool!” She jabbed a thumb toward the house in frustration. “Now that skank wins and she’s going to be unbearable.”
Okarun stared at her, stunned. “A betting pool???”
“At least you turned into a cool yokai,” Ayase-san said breezily, waving off his confusion. “I lost that bet too, but honestly? Looking at you now, I don’t even mind. You look awesome! A Byakko! So cool!”
She leaned in casually, reaching a hand toward his dad. From where he was still tangled in fur, Okarun could just make out her fingers extending—heading straight for one of his dad’s oversized, twitching ears.
His father let out a startled noise. Half growl, half confused whine. “Uhhhhhhhh…”
A moment later, Okarun lurched as his dad took an uncertain step back. Ayase-san blinked, a little surprised, but didn’t lower her hand.
Finally, Okarun managed to squirm free from the curtain of fur. He poked his head out with a sharp, slightly panicked huff.
“Actually, Ayase-san, I’m uh… here,” he said, breathless and thoroughly disheveled. His fur sticking out in every possible direction. “Also, uh—this is my dad. I’d like you to meet him?”
“Hi?” his father offered weakly, raising one massive, clawed paw in a very uncertain wave.
Ayase-san blinked once. Then exhaled slowly through her nose, stepped forward, and gave a polite bow.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ta—”
She cut herself off mid-syllable, her expression flickering through a rapid slideshow of panic, awkward realization, and graceful recovery before settling on:
“—Okarun’s dad!”
She straightened quickly, clearly satisfied with her save, and cleared her throat as his father gave a slightly confused but polite nod.
“Same to you, Ayase-san,” he rumbled, still sounding entirely unsure of what was happening.
Without another word, Ayase-san stepped in again, this time holding out her palm—steady, open, and unmistakably inviting. He clambered onto her palm with a mix of relief and mild embarrassment, trying not to think too hard about how natural she made it look. Her fingers curled gently around him, warm and sure.
But then it hit him. He’d been kind of hoping his dad was just absurdly huge—you know, some sort of scale trick. The size of the torii gate, the house… it all distorted perspective, right?
But no. He was actually small enough to fit in her palm. Like, comfortably.
“Well,” Ayase-san muttered, voice dry, “at least I won one of the bets.”
One finger idly traced down his spine and down his tail, and he shivered slightly despite himself.
“C’mon,” she said. “Gran’s already cooking dinner. I think she knows something’s up—she’s making, like, a ridiculous amount of meat.”
Without breaking stride, she peeled the protective talisman off the gate.
“Pardon the intrusion…” his dad mumbled behind them, offering a small bow before hurrying after her, head low.
As they crossed into the yard, Ayase-san lifted him to eye level, her expression sharp with curiosity.
“So,” she said, one brow raised, “did you at least go out in a blaze of glory, or what?”
“Uhhhh…” Okarun stalled, face twitching. The truth wasn’t exactly cinematic.
“I did!” his dad chimed in brightly. “It was awesome!”
“H-hey!” Okarun said quickly, latching onto the nearest topic like a lifeline. “What was that you said about dinner?”
Ayase-san’s eyes narrowed. She brought him closer to her face, cheeks puffing out in a suspicious little hmm as she opened the front door. Without looking back, she tossed a casual, “Make yourself at home,” over her shoulder toward his dad.
The moment they stepped inside, Seiko-san’s head appeared around the corner.
She didn’t react at all to the giant spectral tiger or the tiny, flaming kitten in her granddaughter’s hands.
“Nice to finally meet you, Takakura—” she began.
Ayase-san let out a high pitched noise and gave Okarun a quick, slightly too-tight squeeze.
“—san,” Seiko continued, not missing a beat. “Sorry I never called. Four-Eyes refused to give me your number. Dinner’s almost ready. Hope you like steak.”
“That sounds lovely,” his father replied, somehow managing to close the door with his tail before carefully wiping his paws on the mat. He strolled past them with ease. “And it’s no trouble at all, Ayase-san. I’m just glad to know Ken-kun was in such good hands while he was sneaking out—”
“Mm. Just Seiko is fine,” she interrupted, already turning back toward the kitchen. “Guest rooms are made up for you two.”
“Seiko-san,” he corrected smoothly, bowing his head with respect. “Much appreciated. And might I say—what a lovely home you have here…”
He groaned as Ayase-san snorted and followed them toward the dining table, already set for six. Somehow.
Vamola was already seated, grinning from ear to ear and waving enthusiastically at his dad, who took the spot beside her without hesitation—apparently entirely unfazed by the enormous tiger yokai joining her for dinner.
Ayase-san placed him gently on the table in front of what would, under normal circumstances, have been a comically tiny plate, generously stacked with neatly sliced cuts of meat.
…How had Seiko-san known?
He put the thought out of his mind and folded his paws together with a small, quiet sigh and bowed his head. Here’s to the rest of my “life,” he thought, giving thanks for the meal before digging in.
As always, it was delicious.