BAMMM!
I slammed the door with such force I thought it might break.
I rushed back and grabbed one of the desks. It was slightly heavy, but I waited. Then—
Creak.
I had already hidden behind a blind spot.
I waited.
And waited.
The door opened painfully slow.
TWHACK!
A pole lashed out past the door.
The bastard suspected I was there.
But—
It felt and heard nothing. It instantly knew I wasn't there.
Then, suddenly—
BAM!
The door burst open, and just as it did, I threw the fucking desk.
BASH!
It hit the figure rushing in—right on the head.
I ran out.
But—
WHOOSH!
Something came straight for my eyes.
Luckily, I allowed myself to fall back with the momentum, dodging the object—but it tore through my cheek.
Drip.
I touched it.
Blood.
Fuck.
I crawled between the desks, hiding. The bastard wasn't as hurt as I had hoped.
I reached the back of the class again and grabbed a pen, gripping it tight.
I sighed—then clenched my teeth.
I raised my head slowly.
Nothing.
No one.
What?
I ducked down again and began crawling—left, toward the door, trying to see what happened. But midway through, my eyes tilted—and locked with another figure crawling toward me from the opposite direction.
"What?" it muttered, surprised.
Its voice—why does it sound like mine?
I froze.
Then the figure pulled something from its pocket.
"A stapler?" I muttered.
TANK!
It fired!
"FUCK!" I roared, raising my hand.
Blood.
How the hell does he get all this stuff?
"FUCK YOU, BASTARD!"
It looked stunned, but I didn't care.
I grabbed a chair, stood, and hurled it at him.
BASH!
Another chair—
BASH!
And another—
BASH!
I kept throwing, but then—
"CRAP!"
Something sank into my leg.
Metal.
I looked down. An extended pole had pierced just below my knee.
But I didn't stop. I reached out, grabbed it, and pulled.
"FUCKER!" I heard him roar.
He stood, but before he could react, I swung the pole wildly—
It struck the side of his head, and he collapsed.
"FUCK!" he cried.
I climbed a desk and leapt toward him, but—
BAM!
He kicked the desk from under me.
I tumbled to the floor with a sickening thud.
"Bastard," I cursed.
Now we were face to face—on the ground.
Then we moved.
I grabbed my pen and lunged.
He pulled out…
A katana?
"FUCK, WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET A KATANA?!"
My body moved before my mind could—years of instincts took over.
I rolled and sprang into the air, barely dodging a horizontal slash.
Seriously—where the hell was he hiding that? His dick?!
After landing, I performed a reverse kick, striking the back of his head.
He slammed into a chair, but recovered quickly and pulled a small vial from his pocket.
He threw it.
I slapped it away.
It shattered.
Ammonia.
I covered my nose from the foul stench.
Then—
He was there again.
Swinging the katana for my neck—
BAM!
"Huh?" we both blurted.
The katana snapped in half.
It was fake.
Damn.
For a moment, I'd actually believed someone brought a real katana to school.
"ARGH!" he groaned in frustration.
Then he looked at me.
I looked back.
Still gripping my pen.
And yes—
I lunged again.
BAM!
He collided with a desk, tried to fight back—
But I drove the pen into his neck with everything I had.
Blood.
Lots of it.
But even then—
WHAM!
Another goddamn kick to the groin.
"Die already," I groaned in agony as I collapsed.
He clutched his neck and ran for the door.
I stood—barely.
I couldn't run.
"Bastard," I muttered through gritted teeth.
He escaped.
"Haaah... haaah… haaah…"
Wait.
I touched him.
Him.
But… why does he look like a shadow to my eyes?
"Tch."
I sat on a desk.
He wouldn't attack again—at least not for a while.
Let's regroup.
I stood and walked toward the teacher's desk.
Opened the drawer.
"First aid," I muttered.
Pulled it out.
Took off my shirt.
Didn't bother with proper treatment—just wrapped my shoulder and head in bandages.
Sigh.
Quincey.
Suddenly, memories came flooding back.
She was the one.
The one who started this cursed circle.
I… killed her.
Not directly.
But I was the reason she died.
I looked at the class roster again.
Becky.
Seeing her name—rage boiled up.
She and that bastard Liam.
I remembered.
Year three of high school.
I had a crush on Becky.
She had one on Liam.
Liam… had one on Quincey.
And Quincey—my childhood friend—had one on me.
Not a love triangle.
A fucking love square.
"Haha," I laughed bitterly.
I shouldn't have remembered.
I hate this feeling.
I feel like shit.
I looked up.
Then walked out of the class—one destination in mind.
I climbed the stairs until I reached a door.
The rooftop.
I opened it.
Stepped into the breeze.
I remember that day so clearly.
Becky manipulated me.
And I… I rejected Quincey.
She cried that day.
Cried because all of a sudden, Becky started responding to my once one-sided feelings.
Quincey felt alone. Insecure. Broken.
And I let her fall.
She died.
And so did my stupid, empty crush on Becky.
I was blind.
I didn't see it.
Quincey was the only one I actually cared about.
My only true friend.
What the fuck blinded me?
Then I snapped.
Snapped after overhearing Becky's conversation with her friend.
She laughed.
Mocked Quincey's death.
Boasted about getting together with Liam.
That didn't even break me.
What broke me—what shattered the last sane part of me—
Was realizing that I killed Quincey.
All because some random girl finally kissed me.
"Hm."
Quincey never had friends.
Not because she couldn't.
She just didn't—so we could always act like loners together.
Comrades.
Fuck.
She used to say that word.
Sigh.
I killed myself.
But not before killing that bastard Liam and that bitch Becky.
Damn.
I'm one sick bastard.
"I asked you to kill me," I said aloud, recalling the first conversation I had with the Keeper.
"I didn't ask for all these fucking trials, you smug asshole!"
He must have wiped my memories.
That's why I couldn't remember—until now.
Now…
I remember everything.