Sora’s eyes widened with sudden realization, and she clutched Elicy’s arm tightly, her voice shaking with urgency. “Wait... I think I get what Rena-san meant,” she whispered, the chill in her voice slicing through the confusion in Elicy’s eyes as she slowly stood up and brushed the dirt from her skirt.

“What do you mean?” Elicy asked, still catching her breath as she wiped the grit from her scraped palms.

Sora’s gaze shifted past Elicy, toward the dorm building they had just left, the puzzle pieces in her mind snapping into place with a sickening finality. “The students. These people. There is something wrong with them,” she said, a sudden rush of adrenaline propelling her forward. Without waiting for Elicy’s response, she spun around and sprinted back toward the dorms, her heartbeat thundering like war drums in her chest.

“Hey, wait!” Elicy shouted, her voice swallowed by the distance Sora had already created between them. She forced her legs to move, pushing past the ache in her knees and the throbbing in her hands as she ran to catch up.

Sora didn’t slow down as she reached the building; she flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time, ignoring the stabbing pain in her calves. The hallways blurred around her, a rush of worn floorboards and pale, peeling walls. The fourth floor loomed ahead, and with a final, gasping breath, she reached Erano’s door and flung it open, nearly tearing it off its hinges. Elicy stumbled in right behind her, chest heaving and eyes wild.

The sudden intrusion caught the attention of everyone in the room. Harumi, who was holding a glass of water, raised an eyebrow before handing it to Sora without a second thought. “Whoa. You could have taken your time, you know,” he said dryly, the sarcasm in his voice barely masking the concern that flickered in his eyes.

Sora snatched the glass, water sloshing over the rim as she took a desperate gulp, feeling the cold liquid scorch down her throat. She handed the half-empty glass to Elicy, who drank greedily, still catching her breath.

“What was the rush?” Min’s voice cut through the room, sharp with curiosity as she approached them. Her gaze darted between Sora and Elicy, searching for an explanation.

Katsuki, arms crossed over his chest, narrowed his eyes. “Well then, what’s going on?” The tone of his voice was low, dangerous with the hint of annoyance creeping in.

Sora sucked in a deep breath, wiping the sweat from her brow as she met Katsuki’s eyes. “The thing that Rena told Alvia. About us not belonging here. I think I get it now,” she said, her voice steadier now but tinged with something dark, something cold.

Iwaisimi, sitting by Emo’s motionless form, leaned forward, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and intrigue. “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper as though speaking louder would shatter the fragile realization taking shape in the room.

Sora glanced at Elicy, who nodded and shut the door behind them, sealing the space in an uneasy silence. “The students,” Sora began, her voice growing stronger with every word. “They only mind their own business. What I mean is, they act and do things like any normal student would, following a strict routine as if they’re programmed. There are no flaws, no fluctuations.”

The room fell silent, the air thickening with each passing second. Sora’s words hung there, sinking into their minds like barbs. “When the rumors about the spirit began circulating, did you see anyone who seemed scared? Or worried? Or even slightly concerned?” Sora’s voice trembled, the memory of blank, apathetic faces searing in her mind. “The only time they show happiness is exactly on club days before the festival, like clockwork.”

Harumi shifted, his face tightening as impatience coiled within him. “What are you saying?” he pressed, his voice biting as he tried to piece together what Sora was implying.

Sora swallowed, her throat dry despite the water she’d just downed. “These students. This school. It feels like everyone is programmed to behave normally. Even when our dean...died...” Her voice dropped, cracking like brittle glass. The room seemed to shrink around them, the silence suffocating.

Alvia’s eyes flashed with sudden understanding, and she spoke, the words coming out slow and deliberate. “When Mister Ouran, our dean, died...no one reacted as frantically as they should have.”

A shiver ran down Erano’s spine, cold and sharp. She turned her gaze to Sora, eyes wide. “...Are you saying it’s as if they’re robots? That they don’t react to unlisted incidents because they weren’t programmed for it?” Her voice was strained, disbelief mingling with the deep-rooted fear that twisted in her gut.

Sora shook her head slowly, the motion almost haunted. “Not robots,” she whispered. “They’re definitely not robots. But they’re not human either.”

The room seemed to freeze as soon as Sora’s final words left her lips. An unnatural gust of wind howled past the single window at the far side of the room, its sudden, icy touch brushing against their skin and sending a collective shiver down their spines. Those facing Sora and Elicy turned instinctively toward the source of the disturbance, eyes wide with an unspoken question. The eerie wind whipped through their hair, lifting it with an unseen hand that felt malevolent and cold.

Rester, determined to stop the unsettling draft, walked to the window, his steps firm at first but faltering as a stronger gust surged through the glass. Before he could reach the latch, the wind roared again with a force so powerful it knocked him back, sending him stumbling backward.

Jetto’s eyes caught a glint on the tatami mat where Rester’s foot was about to land — a thin, needle-like pin, poised like a waiting predator. Without thinking, Jetto lunged forward and shoved Rester to the side, the sudden movement propelling Rester against the adjacent wall. His body collided with a dull thud, and he crumpled to the floor, a low groan of pain escaping his lips as he clutched his left arm with a wince.

Elicy’s instincts took over, and she rushed to Rester’s side, kneeling next to him and helping him sit upright. His face twisted in pain and confusion as he glared up at Jetto. “Nakamura Jetto! What was that for?” His voice was strained, a snarl edged with pain as he pressed a trembling hand to his sore arm.

Jetto didn’t answer with words. Instead, he jerked his chin toward the floor, directing everyone’s attention to the pin. Silence fell over the room as all eyes followed his gaze. The pin, small and sharp, gleamed maliciously in the pale light. A cold realization washed over them like a suffocating wave. Rester’s scowl softened, replaced by wide eyes and a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. He would have stepped on it, the metal spike piercing the flesh of his foot if Jetto hadn’t noticed.

A thin gasp escaped Iwaisimi’s lips as she clutched Emo tighter, pressing the small, silent figure against her chest. Erano’s body stiffened beside them, fingers digging into his thighs as he watched the window, now rattling violently. The curtains snapped and thrashed like wounded birds, caught in a dance of chaos. The overhead lights flickered wildly, casting the room in sporadic flashes of harsh white and deep, suffocating darkness.

The mattress beneath Emo lurched suddenly, pulled as if by invisible hands. Iwaisimi’s grip tightened, her knuckles turning white as she yanked Emo closer, shielding her from whatever force threatened to take her away. A brief look of relief crossed Erano’s face, his heartbeat slowing a fraction. At least Emo was safe, for now.

“Wh-what, what is going on?” Harumi’s voice broke the tension, trembling as he pressed himself against the wall, eyes darting between the erratic lights and the violently moving window. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, panic clawing at his throat.

Without warning, the door to the room swung open, the wood creaking ominously on its hinges. A flood of students poured in, their faces expressionless, eyes glazed over as if in a trance. They moved like a river, weaving past each other in an eerie dance of precision. Each one, without fail, turned their head as they passed the threshold of the room, their eyes locking with those inside for just a heartbeat before shifting away, as if acknowledging their presence but uninterested in the chaos unfolding within.

The steady flow of students moved in silence, the only sound the occasional scuff of their shoes against the floor and the relentless, rhythmic creaking of the window slamming open and shut. The room felt colder, the temperature dropping with each wave of bodies that passed. It was as if each student carried with them an aura of icy indifference, amplifying the cold that had settled into their bones.

The lights continued their relentless strobe, casting elongated, distorted shadows of the students that flickered across the walls like grotesque specters. The window groaned as the wind whipped harder, the room itself seeming to shudder under the onslaught.