Chapter 1

The morning of the cultural festival arrived with the kind of brightness that made everything feel slightly unreal, as though the school had been lifted out of its usual routine and set gently into a day made just for it. Banners in careful brushstrokes fluttered above the gates, paper lanterns bobbed along the courtyard paths, and the steady hum of students arriving early carried a light, buoyant energy that was difficult to resist. Even the teachers, who usually moved with a sense of purpose that discouraged interruption, seemed to soften at the edges, offering small smiles as they passed by clusters of students already laughing over last-minute preparations.

Inside the main building, every classroom had been transformed. One hosted a café with mismatched teacups and earnest menus written in looping handwriting, another displayed an art exhibition where students hovered nearby, trying not to look too eager for praise. The air was thick with a mix of sweet batter, instant coffee, and the faint, comforting scent of cleaning spray that lingered beneath it all. Somewhere down the corridor, a group practised a dance routine, their music spilling out in bursts whenever the door opened, blending oddly but pleasantly with the chatter that filled the hallways.

Class 3-B’s contribution was a haunted house, an idea that had been met first with groans and then, inevitably, enthusiasm. By the time the doors opened, it had become one of the most anticipated attractions of the day. Black plastic sheets lined the walls, masking tape held up layers of fabric meant to suggest decay, and careful lighting cast everything in shades of shadow that made even familiar faces look unfamiliar. The students had worked on it for weeks, arguing over details, laughing through mistakes, and slowly building something that felt, to them, impressive in a way that mattered.

Ayaka stood near the entrance in the morning, clipboard in hand, trying to maintain an air of authority that her friends did not take particularly seriously. As the student in charge of operations and, more importantly, cleanup, she had spent most of the week organising shifts, checking supplies, and reminding people that things needed to be returned in one piece by the end of the day. Still, even she could not quite suppress her smile as the first group of visitors stepped inside, their laughter turning quickly into startled shrieks as the lights flickered and someone jumped out from behind a curtain with theatrical enthusiasm.

Throughout the day, the haunted house ran almost without pause. Lines formed in the hallway, students from other classes whispering about how convincing it was, how someone inside had nearly made them scream. Inside, the actors rotated in and out, their makeup growing smudged as the hours passed, their energy dipping and then rising again with each new group. The props held up well under the attention, the fake blood drying into convincing patterns, the carefully arranged scenes remaining just chaotic enough to feel believable.

Among those scenes was the final room, the one that had required the most discussion. They had wanted something memorable, something that would linger in the minds of those who walked through. In the end, they settled on a simple image: a hanging corpse at the centre of the room, lit from below so that the shadows stretched upward, elongating the shape into something unsettling. It had taken time to construct safely, with ropes tested and knots checked more than once under the watchful eye of a teacher who had insisted on precautions. The student assigned to the role had practised remaining still, had laughed about how difficult it was not to react when people came close, had promised to switch out regularly so no one grew too tired.

By late afternoon, the sunlight had begun to soften, filtering through the windows in a way that turned the corridors golden. The festival’s energy shifted then, from the sharp excitement of the morning to something warmer, more content. Students wandered with drinks in hand, pausing at stalls they had not yet visited, taking photos against backdrops they had helped create. There was a sense, unspoken but shared, that the day was nearing its end, that this carefully constructed world would soon be taken apart and returned to its ordinary state.

When the final announcement came over the speakers, thanking everyone for their participation and reminding them to begin cleanup, there was a collective groan followed by laughter. Chairs were stacked, decorations were carefully removed, and the transformation began in reverse. Ayaka moved through it all with quiet efficiency, ticking items off her list, reminding people to sort materials properly, pausing occasionally to join in the light-hearted complaints that accompanied every task.

The haunted house was among the last to be dismantled. Its darkness lingered even as the rest of the building grew brighter, the curtains drawn back elsewhere, the lights switched fully on. Ayaka gathered a small group to help, though one by one they were called away or drifted off, leaving her to finish the final checks. She did not mind. There was something satisfying about being the last to leave, about ensuring that everything was returned to how it had been before.

Inside, the air felt cooler now, the absence of constant movement making the space seem larger than it had during the day. Without the noise of visitors, the details stood out more clearly, the tape at the edges of fabric, the slight unevenness of props that had seemed seamless in dim light. Ayaka moved from room to room, collecting items, folding what could be reused, making small notes where things needed to be replaced.

The final room waited at the end of the path, just as it had all day. The light beneath the suspended figure still cast its upward glow, though it seemed less dramatic now, more artificial in the quiet. Ayaka stepped inside, glancing up with the same casual familiarity she had developed after seeing it countless times.

“Hey,” she called lightly, assuming someone had stayed behind longer than planned. “You can come down now. We’re packing up.”

The figure did not respond.