The next day felt almost peaceful.
The sky was clear, the air warm — the kind of morning that made the world look normal again.
But peace, Akira had learned, never lasted.
---
He arrived at school earlier than usual, hoping to erase yesterday's memory.
The hallway lights flickered slightly as he walked — one bulb buzzing faintly above his head.
When he reached his locker, he noticed something strange.
A small red streak near the keyhole.
He froze.
His fingers hesitated on the lock.
Then, slowly, he opened it.
For a second, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him.
Inside, hanging from the hook where he kept his bag, was a small plastic bag… dripping red.
It burst open the moment he touched it.
Something soft hit the floor — a lump of raw meat, still fresh, still bleeding.
And inside it… was a folded paper.
Akira's breath caught.
He unfolded it carefully, the paper wet with crimson stains.
> "You can't wash away blood, Akira. It follows you."
"It always will."
---
The bell rang, echoing through the hall.
A few students nearby noticed the mess, and once again, whispers began to spread like wildfire.
He saw their expressions twist from disgust to horror.
"Again?"
"Why does it always happen around him?"
"Maybe he really likes blood."
He clenched his jaw, walked away silently, and didn't look back.
---
At lunch, the entire school buzzed with rumors.
But Akira wasn't listening to any of it.
He was staring at his phone — at the text that had arrived an hour ago.
> "Did you like the surprise?"
He typed back instantly:
> "What do you want from me?"
No reply.
Only the sound of rain starting to fall outside, tapping softly against the windows.
---
Meanwhile, in another classroom on the upper floor, a girl was standing by the window — the same prodigy girl from before.
Her hand trembled as she read something on her phone.
A message.
> "You told him not to reveal you. But what if I do?"
Her pupils shrank. She typed furiously.
> "Who are you?!"
No response.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. For the first time, her calm, perfect mask cracked — fear flashed in her eyes.
---
After school, Akira stayed behind again. The halls were empty, the rain heavier now.
He walked past the classrooms, his footsteps echoing, when he heard it —
a faint, rhythmic tapping from somewhere nearby.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He followed the sound to the old storage room behind the gym — a place students rarely entered.
The door was slightly open.
Akira hesitated… then pushed it.
Inside, it was dark. Dust floated in the air.
He took a slow step forward — and that's when he saw it.
A single candle burned on a desk in the center of the room.
And around it…
Photos.
Dozens of photos of him.
Walking. Eating. Sitting in class. Looking out the window.
Every angle, every moment, secretly taken.
And in the middle — a large photo of his face, slashed across with red ink.
Below it, a message scrawled in shaky letters:
> "YOU TOOK A LIFE. NOW WATCH YOURS DISAPPEAR."
---
The candle flickered suddenly, as if something moved behind him.
He spun around.
But the doorway was empty.
Only silence.
Only his pounding heartbeat.
---
By the time the teachers arrived — alerted by the smell of burning — the room was empty.
The candle was out.
The photos were gone.
Only one thing remained on the desk:
a single torn piece of paper with a new message.
> "You can't save her this time."
---
Akira stared at it, his hands cold.
He didn't know who "her" meant.
But deep down, something in his chest told him the truth —
and the thought made his blood run cold.The rain had started again.
It fell against Akira's window like a thousand tiny nails, steady and cold.
The city outside blurred into streaks of gray light, every drop reflecting pieces of a world he no longer trusted.
He sat on the floor of his apartment, knees drawn close, staring at his phone screen.
The message was still there.
> You can't save her this time.
The words felt heavier each time he read them.
He didn't know who sent it — or what it meant. But one part chilled him to the bone.
Her.
Who were they talking about?
He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled shakily. He hadn't told anyone about the messages. Who would listen, anyway?
To them, he was already a monster. The kind of boy they warned others to stay away from.
Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone — something — was closing in.
---
It started small.
A sound outside his window, faint but rhythmic.
Footsteps. Then silence.
Again. Then gone.
He stood up slowly, heart hammering. Pulled the curtain aside.
Empty street. Only the rain.
He was about to turn away when a sudden glint caught his eye — a small, metallic reflection from the ground below his window.
He went outside, the cold rain biting against his skin.
When he crouched down, he found it — a camera lens cap, half-buried in the wet dirt.
His fingers tightened around it.
The rain fell harder, as if the sky itself wanted to bury the evidence.
---
At School — The Next Day
No one talked to him anymore.
But today, the silence was different. Thicker. He could feel it like a fog pressing on his chest.
As he walked through the hallway, whispers followed him like shadows.
> "Did you see the post?"
"They said he brought real blood."
"Crazy murderer freak."
He kept his head down — until he saw the screen of someone's phone flash near his locker.
His photo.
The blackboard.
The blood.
All over social media.
Caption:
> "The killer student — still free."
For a second, his chest burned. Then… nothing. He just stared blankly, numb.
This was normal now. Hate was a language he no longer needed translated.
---
But that day, during break, something unusual happened.
A voice spoke quietly beside him.
"You don't react like someone who's guilty."
He turned.
A tall boy stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes calm and unreadable.
He wore the same uniform but with the tie loosened — sharp features, a small scar near his jaw.
Akira frowned. "Who are you?"
"Hayato," the boy said. "Transfer student. Heard some interesting stories about you."
Akira stared. "And?"
Hayato smiled faintly — a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"And I think they're all lies."
Before Akira could respond, the bell rang.
Hayato walked off casually, but his last glance lingered.
It wasn't pity. It wasn't fear.
It was curiosity — cold, precise, dangerous.
---
That Night
The apartment felt smaller than usual. Every creak, every hum of the fridge made Akira's heart skip.
He sat at his desk, pretending to study, when his phone buzzed again.
A new message.
> "You were right to do it that night."
"But she wasn't."
He froze. His fingers went cold.
He hadn't told anyone what really happened that night.
Not the police. Not even the court.
Only two people knew the truth — his mother… and someone else.
> "Who are you?" he typed quickly.
"What do you want?"
No reply.
Seconds turned into minutes.
Then — another buzz.
> "Turn around."
His breath caught.
He turned slowly — the room was dark except for the glow of his phone screen.
No one there. Just the rain tapping against the window.
But something felt off.
The reflection in the window… didn't move when he did.
His pulse spiked. He stepped closer.
That's when he saw it — a small red light, faint, flickering near the corner of his TV.
He walked over.
The light blinked once more — then went dead.
He crouched down and looked behind the TV.
A tiny camera, wired into the power socket.
Akira's throat went dry. His hands trembled as he followed the thin cable — behind the shelf, through a small hole in the wall.
It led to the ventilation vent.
He grabbed a screwdriver, unscrewed it with shaking hands.
Inside, taped against the metal frame, was a small black USB stick.
---
The File
He plugged it into his laptop.
The folder opened automatically.
Inside — hundreds of video files, all named with dates and times.
He clicked one.
The screen showed his own room — his room — from the corner of the ceiling.
He was in it. Sleeping. Breathing softly.
The camera had been recording him for weeks.
He scrolled further. More clips.
Him eating. Sitting by the window. Staring at nothing.
His stomach twisted.
Then, he opened the most recent file.
The video began just an hour ago — before the rain started.
He was sitting on the floor, staring at his phone.
And behind him…
a dark figure stood by the window.
Tall. Still.
Face blurred by static.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He leaned closer to the screen.
The figure didn't move — didn't breathe — just stood there.
Then, in the last two seconds of the clip, a distorted voice whispered from the speakers:
> "You're not alone, Akira."
The screen went black.
Thunder cracked outside, shaking the windows.
Akira sat frozen, breathing hard, his pulse roaring in his ears.
Whoever this was — they weren't just watching him.
They were inside his home.
---
He looked toward the window again.
Rain fell in sheets, blurring everything — but in one brief flash of lightning, he saw it.
A figure on the opposite rooftop.
Standing under an umbrella.
Watching.
And though the distance was too far to see clearly…
Akira could swear they were smiling.
---
End of Chapter 3