The Curse of the Digital Miko: A Sinister Future Foretold by a Weather App
An Uneasy Feeling Lurking in Everyday Life
Kenichi, a university student, had a peculiar hobby: scouring for obscure apps. His smartphone was cluttered with strange icons—tools and utilities no ordinary person would use, including mysterious apps developed by small, unknown teams from overseas. For Kenichi, the thrill of discovering and testing these odd apps brought a spark of excitement to his otherwise mundane daily life.
One day, while browsing an anonymous forum, a post caught his eye. It mentioned an app called “Miko Weather," claiming it could predict local weather with astonishing accuracy. The app’s icon was simple—just a red torii gate—and its download count barely reached double digits. The description provided little information, but that only piqued Kenichi’s curiosity. It seemed like exactly the kind of “weird and intriguing" app he craved.
“This has to be something strange," he muttered, unable to hide his excitement as he immediately downloaded the app.
When he launched it, the screen displayed a basic weather forecast. Temperature, precipitation—nothing out of the ordinary. But then, his eyes were drawn to a small button in the lower-right corner that read, “Unlock Miko Mode."
“What’s this about?"
Without hesitation, he tapped the button. A series of permission requests popped up one after another.
“To use Miko Mode, you must allow the following permissions:"
- Access to your location (latitude and longitude)
- Access to your camera
- Voice recognition
“Isn’t this overkill?" Kenichi chuckled nervously. Still, curiosity got the better of him, and he granted all permissions. The moment he did, his phone vibrated, and an eerie, short sound—distinctly Japanese in tone—played.
The screen went black. When it lit up again, it displayed a scene resembling a shrine’s grounds, bathed in white light. In the center of the screen stood a woman dressed in a white kimono, her long black hair cascading down her back.
She was smiling quietly. Her expression had an uncanny pull, one that made it impossible for Kenichi to look away. Suddenly, she spoke in a soft voice.
“Shall I reveal your future?"
Kenichi assumed this must be some kind of AI-driven gimmick. Still, the lifelike quality of her voice caught him off guard. Intrigued, he tapped the button labeled “See My Future."
The moment the Miko moved her lips, Kenichi heard his name clearly spoken from the phone.
“Kenichi, rain will fall in your future."
At first, he was startled, but he quickly rationalized it as the app pulling his name from stored phone data. Yet the word “rain" lingered in his mind, unsettlingly so. According to the weather forecast, there was no sign of rain that day.
That evening, however, an unexpected thunderstorm swept through his town.
Shaken, Kenichi reopened the app and activated Miko Mode once more. But this time, the Miko’s expression had changed. The once gentle smile had faded, replaced by a piercing glare, as though she were scrutinizing him.
“This… might be something dangerous," he thought to himself. Yet, no matter how uneasy he felt, he couldn’t bring himself to delete the app.
The next morning, the Miko whispered a new prediction:
“Today, something precious to you will disappear."
Kenichi laughed it off as a joke. But later that day, his close friend Tanaka suddenly went silent. He wasn’t answering calls or texts, and when Kenichi asked around, his other friends acted as though Tanaka had never existed.
No traces of him could be found—neither on social media nor in university records. It was as if Tanaka had been erased entirely. Kenichi could only stand there, baffled and helpless.
A Fractured Reality and a Vanished Friend
That night, Kenichi was utterly exhausted. The mystery of Tanaka’s disappearance weighed heavily on his mind. Determined to prove Tanaka’s existence, he contacted their mutual friends, but every response was the same:
“Tanaka? Who’s that?”
A desperate search on social media turned up no trace of Tanaka. Even the university’s attendance records had no record of his name.
“This can’t be happening…”
Kenichi buried his head in his hands. He tried to convince himself that this was some elaborate prank, but the vivid memories of Tanaka’s laughter and the time they’d spent together in their club felt undeniably real. Yet, he had no evidence to prove it. The disconnect between his memories and reality gnawed at his sanity.
Back in his room, Kenichi found himself reopening the “Miko Weather" app. He activated “Miko Mode," and the Miko appeared on the screen again. Her gentle smile was gone, replaced by a blank, emotionless expression.
“Kenichi-san, something precious to you has disappeared, hasn’t it?”
Her calm voice sent a chill down Kenichi’s spine.
“What… what did you do?” he demanded, his voice trembling.
The Miko didn’t respond. She simply bowed her head in silence. Then the screen went dark, and ominous text appeared:
“Please choose:
• Restore what was lost
• See further into the future”
Kenichi stared at the screen, his breath catching. If he chose “Restore what was lost,” would Tanaka return? But an ominous feeling warned him there might be a price to pay. The alternative, “See further into the future,” was equally unnerving—its meaning shrouded in fear. After a moment of hesitation, Kenichi tapped “Restore what was lost.”
The Miko’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“In exchange, you must offer another of your ‘precious things,’” she said softly.
The chill that ran down Kenichi’s spine turned into ice. But there was no way to undo his choice. The screen went black once more, followed by the sound of a single bell. When the app reopened, Tanaka’s name had reappeared—on social media, in his contacts, and in every record.
“He’s back… thank God,” Kenichi muttered, a wave of relief washing over him.
But the reprieve was short-lived. The next morning, Kenichi noticed something odd: his mother’s contact information had vanished from his phone. In their family group chat, every message she had ever sent had disappeared as though she had never been part of their lives.
Panicking, Kenichi called his father, only to be met with an incredulous laugh.
“Your mom? What are you talking about? You don’t have a mom!”
Kenichi frantically checked the photo albums on his phone, but every image that included his mother was inexplicably gone. At that moment, the meaning of the Miko’s words hit him like a thunderclap. Tanaka had returned, but the cost was his “other precious thing”—his mother, erased from existence.
An Inescapable Choice
That night, Kenichi reopened “Miko Mode." The Miko appeared, her expression as blank and unreadable as before.
“Do you want to bring her back?” she asked. For the first time, she didn’t address him by name.
Kenichi’s hands trembled as he shouted, “Stop playing games! What do you want from me? How do I fix all of this?”
The Miko’s calm voice broke the silence.
“There is a way to restore everything. But to do so, you must erase yourself from the future.”
Two new options appeared on the screen:
• Erase yourself to restore everything
• Delay your decision
Kenichi hesitated, his fists clenching as the weight of the decision pressed down on him. He had the haunting sense that this choice would determine everything.
Suddenly, his phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. It slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor. On the screen, the Miko’s image stared back at him, her cold smile unshaken.
“There is no longer a choice, Kenichi-san,” she whispered.
The Miko on the screen began to move, and the phone’s camera turned on by itself. It felt as though she was peering straight through the lens at him, reaching toward him with her pale hand. Then, in an instant, Kenichi’s world went dark.
The Price of Choice
When Kenichi opened his eyes, he was surrounded by darkness. He had no idea where he was. The cold, solid feel of stone beneath his feet was the only thing grounding him to reality.
“Where… am I?”
In the dim light, he noticed a faint red glow in the distance. It was a torii gate, glowing softly in the gloom. Though trembling with fear, Kenichi found himself drawn toward the light. He took cautious steps until he passed through the torii.
What lay beyond was a familiar scene—the shrine grounds from “Miko Mode" in the app.
“You’ve got to be kidding me… Why am I here?”
At the center of the shrine stood the Miko. She was smiling, but her eyes were sharp and cold, radiating an eerie intensity.
“Kenichi-san, you made your choice. And as a result of that choice, you were brought here,” she said, her calm voice echoing in the still air.
“Brought here? What does that mean?” Kenichi shouted, his voice tinged with anger and desperation.
The Miko, unfazed by his outburst, clasped her hands together in quiet composure.
“You still don’t understand, do you? What I am, and what I am here to do.”
Raising one hand, the Miko gestured toward Kenichi’s feet. A mist began to spread, and within it, images appeared—scenes from his own life. He saw himself downloading the app, Tanaka vanishing, his mother disappearing as a price for his choice, and all the moments of dread that followed.
“I am not merely a messenger of predictions,” the Miko said. “I am tasked with ‘restoring balance’ to this world.”
“Restoring… balance?” Kenichi whispered, his voice barely audible as he tried to grasp the meaning of her words.
Her piercing gaze locked onto his.
“This world is teetering on collapse, built on a fragile accumulation of coincidences. The choices I offer are the ‘price’ required to stabilize it.”
Kenichi clenched his fists tightly, his breath quickening.
“So if I disappear… everything will go back to normal?”
The Miko gave a single, solemn nod.
“If you choose to erase yourself, everything will be restored. But that future will be one where you no longer exist.”
Kenichi’s mind swirled in confusion and despair. The Miko’s words echoed relentlessly in his ears.
“Make your choice, Kenichi-san.”
The Chosen Future
Kenichi glared at the Miko, his voice trembling with desperation.
“If I disappear… my mother and Tanaka will come back, right?”
The Miko nodded silently. Her expression carried a cold detachment, but beneath it was a faint, sorrowful fragility.
“In the future where you no longer exist, no one will remember you. Are you willing to accept that?”
Kenichi’s heart wavered. His mother, his friends—they were all irreplaceable to him. But the thought of erasing his own existence filled him with a terror he could barely comprehend.
“…But that’s the only way, isn’t it?”
His voice quivered as he spoke. The Miko offered a gentle smile and gestured to the ground beneath him. A glowing circle of light began to form at his feet.
“Your choice will save the world. But I must give you one final warning,” she said.
Her words paused briefly, her voice dropping to a lower tone.
“This ‘correction’ may not be perfect.”
Before Kenichi could question her cryptic statement, the light engulfed him.
When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by a warm glow. He found himself standing in his familiar room. Checking his phone, he saw that the “Miko Weather" app had vanished without a trace.
With a mix of hope and hesitation, Kenichi walked to the living room. There, his mother stood, smiling as she prepared breakfast. At university, Tanaka greeted him with his usual cheerful demeanor. Everything seemed to have returned to normal.
But as Kenichi opened his mouth to speak, a chill ran down his spine. No one responded. His voice didn’t reach them. His friends showed no sign of recognizing him, and his mother didn’t even glance his way.
It hit him then—the future the Miko had spoken of was real. In this world, Kenichi truly did not exist.
From somewhere far away, the Miko’s whisper echoed in his ears.
“This is the future you chose.”
This story is a work of fiction. Please enjoy it as entertainment.
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