The relentless knock echoed through the halls, sharp and repetitive, as if the very walls were pleading for someone to open the door. Inside the room, Jetto felt a tightening in his chest. His hand reached for the doorknob, but as the pounding intensified, he instead threw his shoulder against the door with all his strength. The door gave way with a loud crash, and Jetto stumbled into the room.

What he saw froze him in place.

Emo was lying on the floor, curled up in a fetal position, her pink hair—usually so neatly styled—now a chaotic mass that veiled her face. Her body shivered violently, and from beneath the tangled strands, he could hear her muttering to herself, words he couldn’t make out, words that seemed to carry the weight of unseen horrors.

“Emo-san?” Jetto called, his voice trembling as he dropped to his knees beside her. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he shook her gently, trying to rouse her from whatever had gripped her so fiercely. “What happened? Emo-san, please talk to me!” His heart pounded in his chest as he fought back memories of the past—the paranormal deaths, the blood, the bodies. He had found her like this once before, back when those horrors were still fresh. But that was over now. The curse, the deaths, all of it was supposed to be in the past.

Then why was she like this again? Was it the guilt that haunted her? The fact that so many of her friends and teachers had died while she survived?

“Emo-san!” Jetto’s voice cracked as he shook her harder. But she was lost, her body limp under his hands, her eyes glazed over. For a moment, he thought she was going to stay like that forever, a ghost trapped in her own mind. But then, without warning, her body snapped into action.

With a force that startled him, Emo shot up from the floor, shoving Jetto away with such power that he stumbled backward and nearly fell. She rushed toward the row of desks, her movements wild and erratic, as if something was chasing her. Her hands lashed out, grabbing the nearest desk and flipping it over with a violent scream. The wooden legs screeched against the floor as the desk toppled, crashing into the others with a loud bang that echoed through the empty room.

“Leave me alone! Leave us alone!” Emo screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria. “What did we ever do to you!?”

Her hands found another desk, and she hurled it across the room with unnatural strength, the crash louder than before. She didn’t stop. One by one, the desks and chairs were tossed aside, overturned and thrown into piles of destruction. The room that had once been so neatly organized was now a battlefield of broken furniture and shattered remnants of the life they had before. Emo moved like a woman possessed, her screams filling the air, her anguish palpable.

Jetto scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with disbelief. He rushed toward her, his mind racing for a way to stop her before she hurt herself or someone else. “Emo, stop!” he yelled, but she didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Her hands grasped the podium at the front of the room, and with a scream that seemed to tear from the very depths of her soul, she ripped it from its stand and flung it across the room. The heavy wooden structure smashed into the far wall with a deafening crash, splintering into pieces.

Jetto lunged forward, grabbing her by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to hold her back. “Stop! Please!” he begged, his voice shaking with fear. But Emo didn’t stop. She fought against his grip, her body flailing wildly, her feet lifting off the ground as she kicked and thrashed. Her eyes were wild, full of terror, and her breath came in ragged gasps.

She was a whirlwind of chaos, her movements frantic and unpredictable, and for a terrifying moment, Jetto thought he might lose her completely. Then, with a sudden and violent force, something unseen yanked her from his grasp, and they both fell to the floor, Emo landing on top of him with a bone-jarring thud.

For a moment, everything went still. Emo lay sprawled across Jetto’s chest, her body trembling uncontrollably, her breath hot and ragged against his neck. But the moment of calm didn’t last. Emo scrambled off him, her fingers clawing at the floor as she crawled toward the door with desperate urgency. Jetto pushed himself up, his heart racing in his chest as he watched her struggle to her feet.

She reached the door and threw it open with a forceful grunt. The posters that lined the walls, the colorful reminders of their achievements and their past, caught her eye. Without hesitation, she tore at them, ripping the paper from the walls in large, violent chunks. The posters celebrating their success as the 9-B council’s musical band were shredded into pieces, raining down around her like confetti. She clawed at them with a crazed fury, her hands moving faster and faster as she tore each poster into smaller and smaller bits.

Jetto’s stomach twisted as he rushed toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders again. “Stop! Emo, stop this!” he yelled, shaking her with all the strength he had left. But it was as if she couldn’t hear him. Her hands continued to tear at the tiny pieces of paper, reducing them to shreds so small they were almost dust.

When she could tear no more, when her hands were shaking too much to grasp the tiny scraps, she shoved Jetto away and bolted toward the window. In a panic, Jetto leaped after her, catching her around the waist just as she threw open the window. The cold wind rushed in, ruffling her hair as she tried to climb over the sill, her body thrashing against his hold.

“Emo, stop! You’ll hurt yourself!” Jetto cried, tightening his grip on her as she kicked wildly.

It was only the first floor, but the thought of her throwing herself out, of her breaking bones or worse, was more than he could bear. He struggled to hold on to her, his arms burning from the effort, his muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Just then, the door burst open again, and Alvia and Rester rushed into the room, their faces pale with shock. They had come looking for Jetto, but the sight of him wrestling with Emo, who was half hanging out the window, stopped them dead in their tracks.

“Help me!” Jetto yelled, his voice hoarse and desperate.

Without hesitation, Alvia and Rester ran to his side, grabbing hold of Emo’s arms and legs. Together, the three of them pulled her back from the window, her body still fighting against them with every ounce of strength she had left. They dragged her to the floor, all of them collapsing in a tangled heap of limbs, panting and gasping for breath.

Even then, Jetto didn’t release his hold on her. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, afraid that the moment he let go, she would bolt again. Emo’s body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in erratic, shallow bursts.

As they lay there, exhausted and defeated, Emo’s eyes flickered open. She glanced at Alvia and Rester, her eyes wide with terror. The sight of them sent a fresh wave of panic crashing over her, and she began to scream again, her voice high and broken.

“No! No! Stay away from me!” she wailed, her voice cracking as her mind spiraled deeper into madness.

Alvia took a step back, her face etched with horror. She didn’t understand why Emo was reacting this way, why her presence was making things worse. But Emo saw something they couldn’t. In her mind, she saw Alvia dying—blood pouring from her mouth, her eyes wide and lifeless. The memory flashed before her eyes, the image of her friend’s lifeless body seared into her mind.

“I saw you die!” Emo screamed, her voice raw with anguish. “I saw you die, and I couldn’t help you!”

Alvia’s heart sank as she realized what Emo was seeing, what she was reliving. The past hadn’t let go of her. The ghosts of their shared trauma were still haunting her, suffocating her from the inside out.

Jetto’s grip tightened around Emo as she sobbed uncontrollably, her body shaking violently in his arms. He glanced at Alvia, his face pale and drawn. “It’s not over, is it?” His voice was barely a whisper, full of the dread he had been trying to deny.

Emo shook her head, her breath coming in broken sobs. Her voice, though faint, was laced with the weight of despair. “No... it’s not over. It will never be over.”