Ukiekooki Nekojishi ⇒

Ukiekooki tilted his head. “The others guard your past, your passions, your pride. I guard what you forget to notice: the transience of joy.”

From that night on, Lin carried a small glass bubble on a string around his neck. Whenever he felt anxious about exams, or angry at the world, or lost in regret—he looked at it.

Lin blinked. “I thought I only had three cat spirits.”

That shared second of present-moment awareness—that collective ukie (floating world)—condensed into a single, brilliant pearl of light. It struck the Yurei-neko, and the ghost cat dissolved into harmless mist.

And inside, he saw a tiny cat made of water, sleeping peacefully, dreaming of cherry blossoms falling forever.

At the end of the alley stood a small, crumbling shrine. And sitting on the torii gate was a cat spirit he’d never seen before.

He began to purr. Each purr released a cascade of luminous bubbles. The bubbles floated not toward the enemy, but toward the passing humans—the woman hurrying to work, the man staring at his phone, the child crying over a broken toy.