Ankhush'seyes stayed glued to the screen as he finished reading the last few lines of the chapter. His breath hitched, his fingers gripping the edges of the phone tighter.
A strange chill crawled up his spine, sending shivers through his entire body. Goosebumps rose along his arms. The unease that had been building inside him finally reached its peak.
Something about this novel—about the way it described events—felt too real. Too precise.
His heart pounded against his ribs. His mind screamed at him to stop, to put the phone down, to take a deep breath and process what he had just read. But instead, his trembling fingers scrolled forward.
Despite the gnawing fear clawing at his gut, he clicked on the next chapter.
The screen refreshed, and the story continued.
Inside the novel, the scene unfolded:
A woman walked through the familiar hallways of a school building, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
Nezumi's mother.
Her expression was tense, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had barely spoken a word since arriving, her thoughts tangled in frustration and worry.
As she neared the staff room, she slowed her pace, inhaling deeply.
Stopping just in front of the door, she hesitated for a moment, adjusting the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Then, with a final steadying breath, she raised her hand and knocked.
Nezumi's Mom: "May I come in?"
The teacher, who had been in the middle of packing up her belongings for the day, paused at the sound of the knock.
She let out a quiet sigh, her fingers tightening slightly around the stack of papers she was organizing.
Teacher (thinking): "Who is it this time?"
A tired glance flickered toward the door. She had a strong feeling she already knew the answer.
Teacher (thinking): "I bet it's Nezumi's mom again...."
Pushing aside her growing exhaustion, she straightened her posture and called out,
Teacher: "Yes, you can come in."
The door creaked open, and as expected, Nezumi's mother stepped inside.
Despite the tension in the air, she greeted the teacher with a polite smile, her expression composed yet firm.
Nezumi's Mom: "Hi."
The teacher nodded, gesturing toward the chair in front of her desk.
Teacher: "Please, have a seat."
Nezumi's mother lowered herself onto the chair across from the teacher, smoothing her hands over her lap as she settled in.
The teacher, not wasting a moment, leaned slightly forward, her expression sharp with impatience.
Teacher: "Nezumi was caught using her phone in the middle of class again."
A heavy sigh escaped Nezumi's mother as she gave a small nod.
Nezumi's Mom: "Yes, I'm aware of this. I apologize on her behalf."
The teacher's frown deepened at those words. She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her elbow.
Teacher: "Why are *you* apologizing? You don't have to. It's your daughter who should take responsibility."
Her voice took on a firmer edge.
Teacher: "You should teach her a lesson when you get home. Honestly, she's a bit too *manly*—picking fights with boys like that."
A glance at the clock made the teacher sigh. She straightened, gathering her belongings with swift, practiced motions.
Teacher: "Anyway, I should get going. My shift is over, and I don't want to be home late."
Nezumi's mother rose from her seat, offering the teacher a small, polite nod.
Nezumi's Mom: "I'm sorry for bothering you. I'll make sure she learns her lesson."
The teacher barely acknowledged the apology as she busied herself, gathering her belongings with brisk efficiency.
As she stood up, she suddenly paused, as if remembering something.
Teacher: "Oh, wait—I almost forgot."
She rummaged through her bag for a moment before pulling out a phone. Without ceremony, she held it out to Nezumi's mother.
Teacher: "Here. This belongs to Nezumi."
Nezumi's mother accepted the phone, her fingers tightening slightly around it.
Nezumi's Mom: "I'll make sure she doesn't do this again."
She walks to the door, her footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room. Gripping the handle, she pulls it open and pauses for a brief moment, glancing back.
Nezumi's Mom: "Goodbye."
Without waiting for a response, she steps out, the door clicking shut behind her.
As she makes her way across the school grounds, the evening air feels unusually heavy. She moves toward her car, her mind occupied with thoughts of how to handle Nezumi's behavior.
Then—suddenly—a figure emerges from the shadows.
Before she can react, a strong hand clamps over her mouth. A sharp, sickly scent floods her senses as a cloth is pressed against her nose.
Her eyes widen in shock. She thrashes, her body jerking violently in an attempt to break free. Her muffled screams go unheard in the deserted parking lot.
Her desperate struggles are useless. Her strength fades.
Darkness engulfs her.
—
When she regains consciousness, a dull ache pulses in her head. The cold bite of rough rope digs into her wrists and ankles.
Blinking against the dim, flickering light, she tries to make sense of her surroundings. The air is damp, thick with the scent of mildew. The cracked walls and broken windows tell her everything—she's in an abandoned building.
A presence looms nearby.
She shifts her gaze, and there he stands—the man who took her. A smirk plays on his lips as he watches her, amused by her fear.
Suddenly, Kokoro, who happened to be passing by, picks up on faint, muffled noises coming from inside the abandoned building.
She halts, her brows knitting together in confusion. Something doesn't feel right.
Slowly, she steps closer, pressing herself against the cold wall. Peering through a crack in the rusted door, her breath catches in her throat.
Her eyes widen in horror.
There, bound and helpless, is Nezumi's mother—and standing over her, a man with a twisted smirk.
Kokoro's heart pounds against her ribs, but she doesn't waste a second. Her fingers fly to her phone.
She dials the police, her voice low but urgent.
Kokoro (whispering): "There's a kidnapping happening right now. Abandoned warehouse near East Street. Send help. Now."
Without waiting for a response, she hangs up and storms inside.
Her voice rings out, sharp and furious.
Kokoro: "What the hell do you think you're doing to my friend's mom, you sick bastard?"
The kidnapper's head jerks toward her, and for a moment, he just stares. Then, slowly, his sinister grin widens.
Kidnapper: "Well, well… Who's this? I was just getting to the best part… And now, I've got a bonus—first a MILF, now a loli? How lucky am I?"
His eyes gleam with twisted amusement.
Kokoro's fists clench. Cold fury burns in her veins.
Kokoro's fists tighten, nails digging into her palms. Every fiber of her being screams at her to fight, but she keeps her voice steady.
Kokoro: "I already called the police. They'll be here any second. If you have half a brain, you'll run now… or spend the rest of your pathetic life rotting in prison."
The kidnapper's smirk falters for a moment, but then his eyes darken.
In a blink, he lunges forward, fist tangling in Kokoro's hair. She barely has time to react before he yanks her toward him, his grip tightening painfully.
Kidnapper: "You think I'm scared of the police?" His breath is hot against her ear. "You should've just stayed out of this."
Before she can shove him away, his other hand grabs at the hem of her t-shirt, tugging hard.
Panic surges through her.
She thrashes violently, swinging her fists at his chest, landing weak but desperate blows.
Kidnapper: "Tsk." His **grip tightens**. "Stop resisting, or I'll have to get rough."
Kokoro's heart pounds wildly.
Kokoro (thinking): "I can't let him overpower me. I need to distract him… just for a second…"
Meanwhile, just a few feet away, Nezumi's mother remains bound, her breathing shallow, her mind racing.
Her eyes dart around until they land on a broken glass shard near her feet.
Carefully, she maneuvers her bound hands, shifting inch by inch. The rough rope cuts into her wrists, but she grits her teeth and keeps going.
With a steady breath, she starts sawing the rope—bit by bit, strand by strand.
As the kidnapper's attention remains fixed on Kokoro, Nezumi's mother finally breaks free.
Her pulse races, but her hands are steady.
With no hesitation, she grabs the glass shard, clutching it so tightly that warm blood trickles down her fingers.
Then—
she strikes.
The shard plunges into the kidnapper's back.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
And again.
The man lets out a guttural scream, his body convulsing.
His grip on Kokoro loosens. He staggers forward, then crumples to the floor, groaning in pain. Blood pools beneath him.
Kokoro scrambles away, gasping for breath. Her whole body trembles, but she forces herself to stay on her feet.
Five minutes later, the wailing sirens cut through the night.
The police storm in.
Within seconds, they secure Nezumi's mother and Kokoro, pulling them away from the scene. The kidnapper—wounded, barely conscious— is shoved to the ground, cuffed, and dragged away.
Everything happens so fast.
Too fast.
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