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// / Списки по вопросам судебной практики в области охраны интеллектуальной собственности

The rain had stopped, but the streets of Shinjuku still glistened like oil-slicked glass. Kaito Yamada was late—again. His sneakers slapped against the wet pavement as he ducked under the faded awning of a ramen shop, narrowly avoiding a delivery bike.

“You just did. You closed the chakku . The curse needs an open path. You’re lucky, Kaito. Tsuiteru. But luck runs out. Want to see what happens when it doesn’t?”

“Chakku… tsuiteru…”

Kaito—meet me at the old Fuji TV building. Midnight. Come alone. It’s about the 1997 tape. —S.

He turned. A woman in a neon-yellow vest was pointing at his backpack. He looked down. The zipper— chakku in that weird borrowed-English way—was wide open. His wallet, a crumpled manga volume, and a half-eaten onigiri were all visible to the world.

The rabbit’s foot twitched.

“You found it,” Sachi whispered. “The talisman. It only attaches to someone who’s tsuiteru —lucky enough to survive the curse once already. That’s why I called out to you this morning. I needed to see if you’d hear me.”