The final days of the identity swap had arrived.
Dawn in Itomori broke gently, casting golden rays across the mist-veiled mountains.
Amid the soft calls of distant birds and the rustling of dew-kissed trees, Yukima Azuma walked silently through the still-sleeping town. By his side, Suou Yuki followed in secret, her steps soft but quick.
They moved with quiet purpose.
Their destination—
Miyamizu Shrine.
The path, steep and mossy, wound up the mountain like a sacred thread tying the past to the present.
Waiting at the base was an elder with deep-set eyes and a gentle smile—Miyamizu Hitoha, clad in traditional robes that carried the scent of old tatami and cedarwood. She was joined by Yotsuha, cheerful as always, though clearly curious about the unexpected guest.
"Grandmother," Yukima spoke softly, "I want to bring a friend along today. Is that alright?"
There was no hesitation.
Miyamizu Hitoha nodded with that same enduring kindness passed down through the generations.
"Of course. The gods will not mind."
Despite the solemnity of the shrine's ancestral rituals, there was a quiet warmth to it all. The traditions of Itomori were never oppressive—never exclusionary. The deity they honored, though mysterious and powerful, had never demanded pomp or ceremony.
Even the ritual dance of the previous festival had been open to all townspeople.
Yuki, watching the exchange, marveled at how different this shrine felt from what she expected of a "holy place." It wasn't cold or sacred in the way textbooks described—but familiar, alive.
As the four set off up the narrow path, morning mist coiled around their ankles like phantom threads, thick with the scent of pine and moist soil.
The climb was not easy.
The mountain trail was steep and narrow, inaccessible by vehicle.
Miyamizu Hitoha, despite her age, never complained. But midway through the ascent, her body clearly began to struggle.
Without a word, Yukima Azuma crouched down in front of her.
"Come on, I'll carry you," he said gently.
It was a simple act. Thoughtless in the best way. No performance. Just care.
Yuki, watching from behind, felt something stir in her chest.
The group paused often—Yotsuha bounding ahead energetically, Suou Yuki lagging slightly behind, still recovering from her long illness. Yukima, carrying the grandmother on his back, bore the quiet weight of tradition.
Eventually, they reached the mountain's summit.
There, the sky opened wide above them.
Itomori Town spread out below like a living painting, its rooftops glinting in the rising sun. And beyond it—Itomori Lake, still and reflective, cradled in the valley like a jewel.
From this peak, the world felt quiet. Eternal.
But their destination lay further still—a cave, partially hidden among the trees and rocks on the other side of the summit.
At the entrance, moss-covered ruins lay scattered—old wooden beams, long since rotted, hinted that a torii gate or shrine arch once stood here.
Nature had reclaimed the path.
Yet the spiritual presence remained.
Within the cave, a stone-carved shrine emerged from the earth like a sleeping giant.
It had not been built atop the ground—but rather, sculpted from it.
Yukima helped Hitoha down gently.
As the old woman caught her breath, her gaze drifted toward his left wrist.
There, neatly looped several times, was a reddish-orange braided cord—a kumihimo bracelet that shimmered slightly in the dim cave light.
"Mitsuha… you're wearing that cord again?"
Her voice was soft. Not suspicious. Just nostalgic.
Yukima froze for a second—but then gave a relaxed, almost teasing reply.
"Well, today's a worship day. I thought I'd dress for the occasion."
But of course—
This wasn't just any cord.
It was the one Miyamizu Mitsuha had left behind, braided during the festival, imbued with care and intent. Before the swap ended, she'd written clearly in the journal:
"Wear it on the last day. Promise me."
Even though Yukima still didn't know why… he had obeyed.
Hitoha, ever perceptive, stared at the bracelet a moment longer—then gave a quiet nod.
"I see."
They stepped deeper into the cave.
Hitoha knelt before the stone shrine, placed a simple tray of seasonal offerings—salted rice, persimmons, and sake—and began to pray in silence.
The others followed suit.
In the dim stillness, surrounded by the smell of stone and earth, Yukima bowed.
He tried—really tried—to reach out again.
To that presence. That fleeting voice he'd once heard when the swap began.
The deity of Itomori… are you still watching?
But no whisper came.
No warmth. No answer.
Only the silence of stone and time.
He opened his eyes and stared at the sealed stone door behind the shrine.
A wild thought flared—to open it. To look inside. To know.
But he held back.
The moment wasn't right.
I'll come back. When it's over.
Outside the cave, Hitoha rested on a rock bench beneath a gnarled cedar.
Yukima stretched and turned to the forest.
"I'll go take some pictures."
"Don't go too far," Hitoha called. "The mountain's tricky."
Yuki, curious, followed.
They walked until the cave was out of sight.
Only then did Yukima speak.
"See anything strange?"
Suou Yuki blinked, thoughtful. Her senses, altered since the identity swap, allowed her to occasionally see through the illusion that masked it all.
But today—
She shook her head.
"It just looked like a shrine. Kind of small, honestly. Are we sure that's the god behind all this?"
A deity powerful enough to swap lives across time—
Living in such a forgotten cave?
It didn't add up.
"It's definitely the right one," Yukima replied. "Miyamizu women have done the swap for generations. If the shrine was fake, the phenomenon wouldn't exist."
"Still… it feels so small. You'd think a god would have a palace or something."
"Heh, maybe it prefers the quiet."
Suou Yuki pouted.
"Maybe we should renovate the shrine. Make it worthy of a god."
"Don't bother," Yukima said dryly. "Doesn't seem like the kind of deity that cares about incense."
She smiled, but then tilted her head.
"So… why'd you really come here?"
Without a word, Yukima pulled a notebook and pen from his backpack.
Yuki leaned closer, curious.
He flipped to a fresh page. Took a breath.
Then closed his eyes.
Across the world, discussions of the Harry Potter novel had exploded.
It was everywhere.
The literary world had changed—and the system knew it.
Now, with global discussion and belief reaching a critical mass—
The Literary Skill triggered.
Yukima opened his eyes.
His pen moved.
And—
Light burst forth from the ink.
Not metaphorical light.
Real, twisting, gold-white ribbons of radiance poured from the notebook.
Each stroke gave birth to something wondrous.
Suou Yuki gasped, stepping back in awe.
"W-What… what is this?"
The lights twisted—
And transformed.
A sleek owl made of feathers and magic landed gently on her shoulder.
A hippogriff, proud and noble, hovered in the air.
Tiny glowing bowtruckles danced among the leaves.
Nifflers, thestrals, phoenixes… seventeen magical creatures, all described faithfully in the books, now alive before them.
Suou Yuki stood speechless.
"This is… this is real magic!"
She stared at the owl. It blinked back.
"Onii-chan… are you a god?"
Her voice trembled.
But Yukima shook his head with a soft smile.
"No. I'm just a guy with a pen."
"Then that makes you even cooler."
She giggled, wiping at her eyes.
"Can I keep the owl?"
"That one's yours."
She threw her arms around him—then suddenly pulled back, lips pursed as if—
"Nope."
Yukima pressed a finger to her forehead, stopping her.
"Wait three years. Then we'll talk."
With a wave, the magical creatures scattered.
One by one, they vanished into the mountain forest.
Their mission: protect this region from outsiders until the comet's fall.
Then, Yukima opened his hand.
From his palm, he revealed a golden metallic sphere, tiny wings folded at its sides.
Suou Yuki gasped.
"The Golden Snitch?!"
"Umu. It has a different purpose."
With a flick, Yukima launched it.
The Snitch flared—then vanished like a meteor across the sky.
It soared toward Tokyo.
"Won't that cause a butterfly effect?" Yuki asked quietly.
"Probably," Yukima admitted. "But some things… need to change."
They stood there a while longer, in silence.
The wind rustled through the trees.
And somewhere, far above the clouds, fate continued to turn.