Glass shattered.
"GO, GO, GO—!" Saiko's voice cracked as she dove headfirst through the classroom window, jacket flaring like a firecracker. I followed without thinking, heart hammering, lungs burning. Genkei vaulted after us, landing with that infuriating calm that made it look like he'd just stepped off a train instead of leapt three stories to the ground.
We hit the dirt, rolling in a heap. Saiko was laughing, hysterical. I was wheezing, clutching my ribs. Genkei was brushing dust off his cyan sleeves like we hadn't just performed synchronized attempted suicide.
"WHAT was that?!" I shouted, voice breaking.
"Aka Manto," Saiko grinned, wild-eyed. "Ten out of ten bathroom monster. Would not recommend."
And then—
We rewind.
Five minutes earlier.
The school loomed like a corpse stitched together with fluorescent tubing. Its windows were dark, only a single hallway light flickering as if daring us to step inside. The silence wasn't empty—it was waiting.
"Nothing good happens in schools at night," I muttered, staring up at the building. "Ghost rule number one."
"Nothing good happens when you open your mouth either," Genkei said flatly.
I scowled. "Thanks for the support."
Saiko cracked her knuckles, grinning. "Come on, this is perfect. Spooky school, killer ghost, three idiots dumb enough to walk in. We're living the horror cliché dream."
"Correction," I shot back, "we're dying it."
Outside the gates, Arata leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching us with a smile far too entertained for someone sending kids into supernatural toilet roulette. Miu stood beside him, her presence calm, unreadable, like she was grading us silently.
"Why aren't you two coming in?" I asked, glaring at them.
"Because," Arata said, "this is your test, not ours. And because I'd rather not die in a bathroom stall tonight."
"That's exactly what a coward would say," Saiko teased.
"Correction," Arata said smoothly, "that's exactly what a survivor would say."
Miu adjusted her glasses, eyes flicking to me. "If I walked in, you wouldn't walk out."
I stared at her. "...Is that supposed to be comforting?"
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "This sucks."
Genkei had already stepped through the entrance, Saiko followed with a grin that dared the dark to bite her first. I dragged my feet behind them, every flickering bulb overhead reminding me how much I hated being right about ghost rules.
The hallways stretched too long, lined with
doors that looked like they'd rather stay shut. Every sound echoed—a floorboard creak, the faint drip of water, Saiko humming some horror movie theme.
We stopped at the bathroom. The door groaned when Saiko shoved it open. Stale air hit us like a wall.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, arms wide, "welcome to the murder stall."
I groaned. "I'm gonna die listening to your commentary."
"Better than silence," she shot back.
Genkei's hand brushed his katana. His voice was low. "It's here."
The lights buzzed. The far stall door creaked open. A shadow moved, slow, deliberate. Then—red. A cloak, draped over a figure that shouldn't be there. No footsteps. No face. Just the voice.
"Red… or blue?"
My blood froze.
And that's when the panic started.