Last night, at the school:
The hallways were dead silent, save for the soft creak of a lone girl's leather shoes gliding across the worn floor tiles. She wore the standard school uniform, her black, curly hair shimmered under the flickering lights, catching every strobe like strands of ink laced with silver. She had a bandage at her forehead, like she'd been freshly injured.
She was Jiselle, the infamous giselle's older sister.
The building groaned with age and cold. The occasional buzz and flicker of the overhead lights cast jagged shadows that danced across the lockers, twisting and vanishing as if the darkness itself was breathing and watching.
She stepped out of the principal's office with an irritated huff, muttering to herself, "I can't believe that man…"
Her voice rose into a frustrated whisper. "He gave me detention, then didn't even show up! Now look at the time…"
The hallway was cloaked in deepening shadows, the sky outside already a dull blue-gray. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Ugh, if I don't get home soon, Mom's going to kill me…"
Then she stopped.
A flicker, A shadow crossed her path, someone was approaching her but it was too dark to see who?
"—Eehh!"
Her breath caught. She froze mid-step, pressing a hand to her chest.
"Oh my god, you scared me!" Her voice shook with the tail-end of her nerves. Then it hardened.
The silhouette didn't move, only stared.
She squinted into the dark, heart pacing again. She could make out the tall, lean figure. The clothes… that same familiar, black coat and the golden buttons were covering their body. And then the glint. The glint of steel.
It was a dagger. A sharp, polished blade that reflected even the faintest glimmers of light in his hands.
It spooked her, she was trembling back with sweat and her eyes never left that ominous dagger they were holding.
And then, they spoke.
"I have always loved you."
Jiselle's breath hitched. Her legs rooted to the floor. The words didn't just echo in the hallway, they cut through her like broken glass.
The figure stepped forward. Their hand rose gently, disturbingly so and cupped her cheek.
Their faces came close. Too close. Close enough to steal the warmth from her skin with a single breath. He kissed her against the wall.
"Wh–what are you doing?!" she whispered, her voice cracking, "I'm like a daughter to you!" Her voice trembled, filled with horror and disbelief.
She slapped their hands away with all the force her panic could summon, her nails scraping skin.
"Get away from me!"
But he didn't listen.
Like a violent wolf awakened by bloodlust, they gripped her arms, fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise.
"I want you, I'll make you mine." their breathing was hard as he forced himself on her.
Jiselle gasped as she was shoved backward, her spine smacking into the cold wall. The blade glimmered again near her waist, never touching, but always threatening.
Her heart was thunder in her chest. Her knees buckled slightly, trembling under fear and the realization that no help was coming.
She ran. "No, I'm telling you to stay away from me, didn't you hear me?!"
Barely able to breathe, Jiselle's feet stumbled over themselves as she sprinted through the cold, dark hallway. Her bruised wrist throbbed where he had grabbed her. The taste of him still lingered on her lips, unwanted and invasive.
"N-no… jiselle! my dear jiselle, please, don't leave me!"
His voice cracked with obsession. He was chasing her.
She turned the corner and screamed.
"Help! Somebody, please!"
But the halls swallowed her voice. Only silence responded.
She spotted her classroom door.
"Come on, open up!" she whimpered, jiggling the handle with desperation.
But it was locked.
She turned.
He was already there.
Dagger in hand. Eyes unhinged.
"Don't leave me, Jiselle, please stay here with me. I want you, I need you!" He tried to corner her, touch her but she pushed him away.
"Stay away from me!" she screamed, her voice hoarse, heart shattering with terror.
She turned and ran again, blindly, tripping down the steps. Her voice tried to rise again.
"Help!"
"Help!!"
"Hel—!"
With a sharp thunk the dagger was lodged deep in her back.
She collapsed, shaking, blood trickling from her nose, her lips, her eyes. Her body wouldn't move. She could barely breathe. The lights above flickered weakly, but her vision was already going dark.
She crawled. Somehow. Somehow she made it to the basement leaving the trail of blood as she moved. Inside the basement her hands smeared the floor red. Her limbs refused her. Her voice, lost.
Tears slid down her face. Alone. In pain. In silence.
She heard him.
His footsteps were getting closer and louder.
She was trembling and hiding at the corner of the basement, hoping soon she'll wake up from this nightmare.
But he was now right above her, lips stretched apart like a demon. But she couldn't scream, couldn't move, her body was getting numb.
"Good girl…you're finally obeying."
She felt him all over her, hovering like a shadow of death, she cried in silence helplessly. His trembling hands were desperate and forceful, he clutched her legs and forced them apart. The pain from his grip etched into her skin, each bruise was a permanent scar of terror. She couldn't scream. She couldn't fight. Her body had become a prison.
She knew what he was about to do.
But her body… wasn't hers anymore. She was weak, helpless and cold.
His hands moved with urgent precision, tearing through the fabric like it was nothing. In moments, every secret, every curve, every vulnerable inch of her was laid bare beneath his touch.
He flipped her bloodied, bare body onto her stomach like she was nothing more than a doll. The dagger was still lodged deep in her spine, unmoving. Blood smeared across her skin, pooling beneath her, and slowly, inevitably, the floor began to turn red too.
Her murderer had his way with her and left.
There, in the cold dark basement.
Jiselle died.
Later today at the funeral:
Far above the Mourning
Far above the weeping crowd, Selphonie sat at the edge of the school rooftop, her legs dangling into the wind. The sky was a pale gray, soaked in grief and silence as the funeral commenced below. The entire school stood in silence at the edge of the cliff where the grave had been dug, where the roaring ocean crashed violently below, as if the sea itself mourned her loss. The air was thick with salt, grief, and grey clouds that cloaked the sun, letting only a faint, sorrowful light fall over the gathered mourners.
She was humming softly to herself, an eerie tune that seemed out of place during such sorrow. The rooftop offered her a perfect view of the procession. Among the mourners, she spotted him, the man responsible for the girl's death. He stood there with a blank expression, blending into the crowd as if he had no blood on his hands.
Her gaze narrowed.
From behind her, her shadow on the rooftop floor twisted unnaturally, curling and stretching until it rose up into a vaguely human shape, coming to life like a boogie man from a forgotten nightmare. It was the other boss player The Shadow.
Selphonie's voice was low, almost playful.
"Player No. 9 is acting out own his own again. Should I go kill him for going against the system?"
She didn't turn to face Shadow. Her focus remained on the funeral below, on the killer. Her legs swayed gently in rhythm with her song.
The Shadow behind her pulsed like a heartbeat, then responded in a deep, hollow voice.
"No. That's not the Creator's will. He's to be used against Null, against player no 1. And... to eliminate Light. She's a threat our master cannot afford to overlook."
Selphonie stopped humming and shadow asked her.
"She's returned, hasn't she? I heard you saw her."
A pause.
"Yeah, I saw her," She muttered. "But she's not what she once was. She was nothing like the force our Creator battled... she's fading and getting weaker every time she reincarnates into a human. She's dying slowly with each rebirth."
"It's fascinating how she can't exist unless she inherits a human body but if her presence alone is enough to cause concern, shouldn't I be allowed to deal with her?"
Shadow's form shifted, edges flickering like smoke against firelight.
"No. That's why I came. You are no longer permitted to leave your space. The Creator's control over the others is slipping. Light's influence is bleeding into the players. She has a troublesome ability of taking away creator's control over others, You are too valuable as a boss player. We can't risk losing you to her touch."
Selphonie raised a brow, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk.
"And what about you, dear shadow? What is your grand task? Are you looking for ways to exploit Light's abilities against the creator? You know we don't trust you."
"I've been ordered to monitor Player No. 9 and anyone he comes into contact with. I will make sure he carries out what is needed of him."
Selphonie chuckled softly, but her laughter lacked joy. Her eyes drifted to Randa, eying her for a moment, and right beside her, in the crowd, stood Kowa. He was talking to her, casually, maybe even teasing. The way he moved so confident and at ease, it caught her off guard.
"I haven't seen him since he was a little boy…
I didn't think he'd grow taller and this strong. It was hard not to notice since was too timid and weak, but now he's got quite a handsome face."
Shadow's voice slithered into her thoughts, laced with mockery.
"You obsess over every man who breathes or manages to walk. It's unfitting for a boss player. The behaviour you mimic resembles an animal in heat during a mating season."
Her face flushed.
"What?! That's not-" she snapped, flustered. "That's not what this is! He's… he's a different case."
Without warning, the rooftop around her darkened. Shadows spiraled and bent, curling around her legs like vines. In an instant, she was gone, teleported by shadow, no doubt, back to her domain, her dungeon. Her thoughts, as usual, revolved around some man, never strategy, never anything useful. Just distractions wrapped in hormones.
And then Shadow disappeared too, unraveling like black mist into the air.
But he didn't go far.
Shadow melted into the ground like water down a drain, slipping unseen into the outline of a tired, uninterested man. His silhouette stretched in the dim late morning light, and within it, two faint red eyes gleamed like coals beneath ash, watching… always watching.
The man walked with sluggish steps, as if every stride was heavier than the last. His name was Lanjo, and though his expression suggested apathy, his body betrayed discomfort. He tugged at his collar, fingers fidgeting with the perfectly aligned tie that felt more like a noose than formal wear. The brand-new suit clung stiffly to his frame, well-pressed, crisply tailored but foreign to him, like a costume borrowed for someone else's play.
He was getting late.
The funeral was already in motion, the crowd was gathering around the memorial like moths drawn to a flame of grief. Lanjo had hoped to slip in quietly, say the words he was obligated to say, and leave without a fuss. But reality, as always, had other plans.
Before he could reach the steps, they swarmed him, parents, neighbors. Ordinary people with grief in their throats and rage in their hearts. Their voices came all at once, a storm of accusations and pleas.
"What kind of school is this?!"
A woman screamed, her arms wrapped around a sickly, trembling child whose eyes were sunken with fear. The child didn't cry, he had forgotten how.
"How do we trust you with our children now?"
Another voice rang out like thunder, shoving through the fog of sorrow.
"We were promised a safe environment! A place where our kids could grow, not get murdered!"
Lanjo tried to speak, but the questions came faster, piling on like bricks in a collapsing house.
"What do you bastards have to say in your favor, huh?"
"What excuse will ever be enough for a parent to find peace?"
"A young girl was lost here!"
The crowd didn't know how to stop. They were no longer looking for answers. They wanted someone to bleed. They needed to scream at something that still breathed.
Lanjo didn't flinch. His face remained calm, even as his fingers twitched at his sides. His tie felt tighter now. The polished shoes on his feet were too narrow.
"Say something!"
A woman sobbed, grabbing at his sleeve.
"Please say something that makes this make sense!"
Lanjo finally lifted his head.
His voice was dry, like dust blown from forgotten stone.
"There are no words that makes this right."
"I'm disappointed in calling myself a teacher."
"A student once told me," he continued, "that a teacher's job isn't just to dish out lectures... but to make a safe environment for students. And I failed that."
Gasps of frustration rippled again. One parent muttered something under her breath, but Lanjo raised a hand, not to silence, but to confess.
"But more importantly..."
He looked down at his clenched fist, trembling slightly.
"I am enraged."
He lifted his head again, and the fire in his voice had returned.
"I promise you... whoever did this will soon discover that a punishment worse than even a god's judgment is waiting for them, at my hands."
The rage in the crowd didn't vanish but it dulled, like a flame shocked by cold air. Some looked at him, stunned by the sudden sharpness in his tone.
"I don't like announcing things to crowds."
His voice was quieter now, grim.
"But you all need to know this: I'm not just a teacher. I'm an investigator. And as of today, this case belongs to me."
He took another step forward, facing them all.
"And I swear... I will bring the one responsible in front of this town. And when I do, we will decide the punishment together!!"
A pause.
But not everyone was convinced.
Someone scoffed in the back. "Yeah, whatever. That's a speech we've heard before."
"Who do you think is the culprit?" a villager shouted at Lanjo.
"It's that devil's kin!" another shouted. "We told you the same thing five years ago when all those murders happened, but you didn't listen."
"Why don't you ask him questions? Investigate him, Mr. Investigator," one more jeered. "He only came to town for a day, and now murders are happening. Isn't that evidence?"
"Are you hiding his back? Should we be concerned you have something to do with the devil?" the crowd's accusations grew louder, pressing in on Lanjo.
Just then, a voice cracked through the noise, silencing the villagers. "Don't blame my Cydear!!"
The crowd stilled, eyes shifting toward the source. "If you believe in proof, then explain how the murder happened yesterday, and he only arrived today. I saw him enter through the forest myself this morning."
She stood tall, unwavering, her voice firm. "There were people missing long before I brought Cydear here, years ago. How do you explain all those occurrences?"
The villagers erupted in a chorus of shouts, their words blending into an unintelligible roar. She seemed ready to dive into the chaos, but Lanjo gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
"Until I'm done with the investigation," he said lazily, his voice carrying over the crowd, "I'm not obligated to say anything to anyone, you must know we are doing everything we can to make sure culprit is caught, until then we ask for your support."
A few heads nodded. Whispers spread like wildfire.
"I'm pulling my kids out of this school," said a father to another.
"Same. This place is cursed."
"They call it a school but it's just a graveyard now."
The villagers faltered, their frustration palpable. One by one, they muttered under their breath and scattered, the tension in the air still thick but fading.
Back at the grave, clusters of students huddled together. Some girls cried into each other's shoulders, shaking with grief. Others stood still, unsure of how to mourn, unsure of what they truly felt. Whispers carried in the wind, whispers of the girl jiselle had been, and the darker truths some remembered.
But the loudest cries came from her family. Her father, a tall, lean man with a wrinkled face and red-rimmed eyes, knelt at her grave. He sobbed freely, his hands trembling as he touched the stone, his voice cracking as he pleaded:
"Please, my baby…please get up. Look around you. We're all here. Your whole family… we're all waiting here for you."
His arms wrapped tightly around his wife, a warm and soft woman with a kind roundness to her frame, as if she'd spent a lifetime offering hugs and feeding hungry mouths. She clung to him like a drowning soul, her cries muffled in his chest. Beside them, their other daughter, Giselle refused to move, her face buried against the cold earth as if trying to reach her sister one last time.
Principal Kashi stepped forward. He wore a long black coat with golden buttons that caught the fading light. Though he stood tall, his posture betrayed the weight on his shoulders, the weight of responsibility, of failure, of mourning a child raised under his care.
Longs saw Kashi and immediately froze.
The buttons on the principal's coat were those same shiny buttons. The exact kind Cydal found at the crime scene. His stomach twisted.
No. No, no, no.
He shook his head, forcing a nervous laugh under his breath. It could mean anything. Anything. There could be hundreds of reasons the button was there. Maybe Kashi had been in the basement earlier. Maybe he helped when they found her body, he is a kind man. He's always cared about this school… about us. Of course he'd be there to grieve. Of course!
Longs bit his lip, anxiety bubbling in his chest.
What am I even thinking? I'm not Cydal. I'm no detective.
He rubbed his temples. I need to stop getting in my head. I'm just making myself crazy.
Then—
"Longs!"
A shout snapped him out of his spiral.
He turned toward the crowd. It was Isaac and Lal, waving him over.
Grateful for the distraction, Longs exhaled and hurried toward them, doing his best to leave the doubt behind.
Principal kashi looked over the students, the parents, the teachers… and then toward the grave. His voice trembled but held steady and began speaking a few words.
To be Continued