[Dormitory Bathroom Rules]
1. Do not look directly into the mirror.
2. Once inside a stall, no matter what happens—do not look up.
3. No one in the bathroom will ever ask you for toilet paper, nor will anyone reach under the stall to grab your ankle. Ignore it.
4. Never enter the last stall.
5. Water dripping from the ceiling is normal.
But if it turns red—leave immediately.
There were only five rules.
Yet the moment Iris finished reading them, a chill crept up her spine.
Every line screamed wrongness—the kind that crawled beneath your skin and whispered that you shouldn't be here at all.
She took a step back from the wall.
What kind of place writes something like this?
The tall, short-haired girl hesitated.
Even though she'd been trying hard to stay calm, fear was something that clawed its way out on its own.
"Maybe… we shouldn't," she whispered. "This place feels wrong."
Iris didn't argue. Her voice stayed steady.
"Go back, then. I'll take a look around."
"Okay… be careful."
The girl turned to leave, muttering under her breath as she walked away—
"Guess I'll stop drinking water at night…"
Iris took a breath, steadied her thoughts, and stepped into the bathroom.
The air changed the moment she crossed the threshold—thick, damp, and far too quiet.
It wasn't that Iris wanted to take risks—
but in the Rulebound world, the only way to survive was to understand.
Without information, there was no strategy.
And without strategy, ten days was a fantasy.
Besides, if every bathroom in this place followed the same rules…
was she supposed to hold it in for ten days?
She stepped farther inside.
To the left, a row of sinks.
Above them—mirrors.
To the right, a door leading to a line of closed stalls.
From where she stood, she could only see the side of the mirrors.
It didn't count as direct eye contact. Not yet.
Something faint caught her attention—
There were words on the glass.
But from this angle… she couldn't read them.
You've got to be kidding me.
To read the words, she'd have to look into the mirror—
the very thing every rule had warned her not to do.
In the dorm rules, mirrors were forbidden.
In the "Eidolon Rules," mirrors couldn't be looked at.
And here, in the bathroom, the same restriction appeared again.
That made one thing clear: the mirrors weren't just dangerous—they terrified even the horrors themselves.
Which only made Iris more curious.
If even the Rulebound fear their reflections… what exactly is hiding there?
Her mind raced.
If she could use her Rule-Tier ability, Eidolon Shift, on the entity behind the glass… what kind of power would it grant her?
But there was a catch.
Without seeing the entity, the system wouldn't register it as "encountered."
The words on that mirror might hold vital information.
And for that reason alone—
she had to find a way to look.
Iris frowned, then her expression eased.
If she couldn't look directly—then she just wouldn't.
She turned her back to the mirror, raised her phone, and switched to the front camera.
The screen flickered—
showing her reflection standing in the bathroom behind her.
Except… her reflection wasn't turned away.
It was facing the camera.
Smiling.
A slow, wrong kind of smile that stretched just a little too wide.
Behind the reflection, on the mirror's surface, letters began to bleed into view—
[IT'S SAFE HERE.]
The words pulsed crimson.
Iris snapped her phone shut and stepped back, heart hammering, her spine slick with cold sweat.
Ten seconds.
She'd only looked for ten seconds, yet every nerve screamed that something was about to crawl out from behind her.
"Safe, my ass," she muttered under her breath.
Still—she'd seen it.
That counted for something.
Iris put her phone away and stepped toward the door leading to the row of stalls on the right.
Her eyes scanned the floor first, then rose slowly—careful not to give any mirror the chance for a "face-to-face attack."
Fortunately, there were no mirrors inside.
She reached the farthest stall. The door was wrapped with several chains, a large rusted padlock hanging heavy.
She tugged at it. Solid. Immovable. The rusted metal didn't budge an inch.
Clearly, even if she wanted to enter, brute force wouldn't work.
This last stall was forbidden by the rules—and physically sealed beyond her reach.
Iris tried the adjacent stall, hoping to peek through the gap underneath.
No luck.
The farthest stall had no gap beneath the door; it was locked down tight, completely isolating whatever lay inside from view.
A hollow, ethereal voice echoed from above:
"Want to know what's in there? I can tell you~"
Iris ignored it and stepped into the stall.
At this point… just take care of business first.
The voice continued, teasing, coaxing:
"You really don't want to know? Look up! It's right here! Just take a peek! Look up!"
The tone grew louder, more insistent, dripping with a temptation that could crack weaker minds.
But Iris didn't flinch.
A cheap trick to lure me into breaking the rules? Not today.
Soon, the voice vanished. She finished, pressed the flush, and was about to step out—
when a single drop of water fell from above, splashing onto her shoulder.
She looked down. Transparent. Harmless… for now.
Stepping out of the stall, Iris froze.
The bathroom walls were suddenly covered in droplets—entirely unseen a moment ago.
Like the damp air of a southern monsoon, water traced slow, meandering paths down the tiles, merging into tiny rivulets. The floor was slick, shiny with moisture.
She didn't linger.
If this water turns red… it's not going to be fun.
Back in the dorm, the short-haired girl exhaled quietly, relief hidden behind her forced composure.
The timid girl—still the Dorm Eidolon—remained curled up, eyes wide with fear, playing her part to perfection.
The fiery girl on Bed Four had already collapsed onto her mattress, seemingly asleep—or pretending to be.
Everyone was still.
Except for Iris, who stood alert, scanning the room.
Iris glanced at the clock—9:45 p.m.
She locked the door, double-checked the windows, and returned to her bed, waiting silently for lights-out.
When the phone ticked over to 10:00 p.m., the dorm lights automatically cut out. The time on the phone was reliable.
Not long after the darkness settled, footsteps echoed down the corridor—high heels clicking against the linoleum.
Click. Click. Click.
In the blackness, the sound carried a suffocating weight.
It was impossible to judge distance or direction; the rhythm suggested someone pacing back and forth, the presence seemingly everywhere at once.
Suddenly, a knock rattled the dorm door, followed by a female voice:
"Inspection! Open up!"
No one spoke. All eyes were fixed on the door.
The timid girl—the Dorm Eidolon—shivered violently, trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Apparently getting no response, the RA's knocks grew harder, sharper, angrier.
Bang! Bang!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Iris watched the little wooden door with a flicker of concern, imagining it splintering under the blows.
Fear seemed to manifest itself—
Click.
The door made a sudden, ominous sound.