Silence.
The first thing that Teiichi became aware of after the mirror broke was this silence — this silence so thick, it rang out like metal. The dust in the air had hung suspended halfway down, like stars in a dying universe. Yuuko stood before him, back to the mirror, arms wide like a shield between him and… it.
Something existed there.
Something which didn't belong in fairy tales.
Or nightmares.
Or anywhere light would dare to reach.
The broken glass throbbed weakly, the way an unhealed wound catches its breath when it's not bleeding yet. A weak hiss crept along it — not wind, not air, but… hunger.
Teiichi spoke in a croaky voice. "Yuuko, what is it?"
She didn't respond. Her gaze was fixed on the mirror now, muscles tense, lips clenched. The warmth she'd been holding onto — the goofiness, the sadness — it dissipated like mist.
It's not a ghost," she said at last. "It's what ghosts leave behind when they're broken too long."
The mirror shook. A small piece of glass broke off the frame, falling with a metallic ring to the floor, ringing like a warning bell.
Teiichi had inched forward involuntarily. "Let's go—"
Yuuko spun on him, furious. "No. You don't follow. You promised."
"But I didn't mean—
"You never mean to stay around places that are haunted," she snapped, and he was taken aback. Her tone had that edge — not anger, not fear, but urgency. As if someone who had to save you before you knew you were in danger.
And the lights flashed.
Not light bulbs — there were no lights in this abandoned structure. But the illumination that filled the room, the glow that poured in from outside, the soft dusk crawling through windows — it trembled. As if something breathed within the walls.
And the mirror… shifted.
Not broken, not breaking — relocated. A hand clapped over the inside of it. Long. Wrong. Fingers too thin, joints too pointed, skin taut as paper over darkness. Not the fit of any human. And it was coming through.
"Yuuko," Teiichi said, moving in close despite it all. "What is that?!"
She looked at him — not in fear, but pity.
"It's what I left behind. The pain. The fear. The part of me I tried to forget so hard… it grew teeth."
The creature in the mirror pushed again. The crack widened — a spiderweb now.
"You must go away," she said, her voice soft. "You can't battle that which will not be beheld."
"I'm not leaving you again," Teiichi declared firmly.
Her smile returned — gentle. Bitter. Like the kind you wear when someone cares for you too much to save yourself.
"Then take my hand," she said, offering it.
And he did.
Her fingers were cold — colder than the air, colder than sense — but real. Real enough.
The mirror shattered.
But nothing fell.
No shards. No powder. Only quiet.
Then—
A shadow slunk out. Not a human. More like smoke with bones. Slipping. Reaching. It did not move — it slid out of the mirror. Head low. Too many arms. And eyes. No — not eyes. Just holes.
Yuuko pulled Teiichi out into the corridor.
"Run!" she shouted.
And they did.
Down the corridors that remembered it all. Behind crepe-y posters and memories. Behind desks that once held names and hopes. Behind them, steps were not steps — scrapes. Metal on wood. Bone on floor.
The creature was behind her.
But something was off. Yuuko slowed as they reached the stairwell. Looked over her shoulder.
The creature wasn't chasing her.
It was chasing him.
"Teiichi," she whispered, her voice cracking. "It's not after me."
His breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't her history.
It was his.
And the school hadn't forgotten Yuuko by herself.
It had forgotten him, too.