The White Light of Day
Under the pale fluorescent lights, the ruined school building had regained its pristine appearance. All signs of decay and filth had vanished—yet paradoxically, the sterile cleanliness felt more oppressive than the darkness.
"From crimson clouds growing ever gloomier—"
"Sleet falls, damp and heavy—"
The students' chanting echoed once more.
Their voices blended into a single, monotonous drone—no individuality, no fluctuation. Just a seamless chorus of the dead.
To Takakai, there was a perverse amusement in listening to these no-longer-human entities recite lessons. For Miko and the others, who had seen what those "students" truly were, it was anything but funny.
Thud!
Takakai kicked open the art room door and stepped inside.
The stench hit him immediately—a thick, metallic reek of blood and rot so potent it made his stomach lurch.
Even for someone who had witnessed the worst of human depravity, the sight before him was viscerally jarring.
But with the school now in its "Daytime" phase—and the icy gaze he'd felt drilling into his back in the hallway—he didn't hesitate. He motioned for the girls to follow.
"Ugh—!"
Miko clamped a hand over her mouth, barely stifling a scream as she took in the room.
Shigeno Rika turned ghostly pale. Shinda Ai shrieked and nearly collapsed before Shigeno dragged her inside. Miko, shaking, pulled the petrified Ogawa Kyoko in after them.
Outside, a faint shadow flickered—a short figure, likely a student.
Miko didn't dare look. She slammed the door shut.
"Calm down. As long as you're under my orders as your teacher, they can't attack you. Stay composed."
Takakai's voice was steady. Before entering, he'd "commanded" the girls to "not participate in readings" and "not be disturbed by any students." The rules seemed to be holding.
"T-this… this can't be…"
Miko's voice trembled. Her worldview was fracturing.
"Yeah. Probably based on real events this place is recreating."
Takakai's ram mask somehow twitched into a frown—proof it was fusing with his flesh, gaining limited mobility.
"Bleh—!"
Shinda vomited violently.
No picturesque anime rainbows here. The sight worsened Ogawa and Shigeno's pallor. Miko, though nauseated, edged closer to Takakai. Right now, he was the only anchor in this nightmare.
The warmth and softness of her pressed against him was… pleasant, admittedly. But Takakai had bigger concerns.
Like the thing in front of him.
The Exhibition of the "Old Humans"
A banner hung above:
[Welcome to the "Old Humanity Art Gallery"]
A nearby desk bore elegantly calligraphed notes:
"This world belongs to the New Humans."
"All remnants of the old world are raw materials for our art."
"Now is the time to showcase the New Era. No outdated morals or laws may hinder our creativity."
The handwriting was beautiful. The content, stomach-turning.
Takakai forced himself forward.
The first exhibit: [Mother Devouring Child's Marrow]
He glanced once. Then looked away.
The crunch of bone under a grinding stone. The gurgle of viscous fluids. He couldn't unhear it—but he refused to look again.
The second exhibit activated as he passed—a glass case emitting giggles.
"Big bro~! Big bro~!"
Inside, something twitched. Meat quivered. A suspended tongue trembled.
Third. Fourth.
Takakai rubbed his temples. Dizziness crept in.
Thirty-four exhibits in total.
Twenty-four used "Bad Students" and their families as materials.
The remaining ten were the "Honor Students" who'd crafted those twenty-four—forced by some "selection process" to kill each other, then fashion the corpses into art. The last survivor, too gravely wounded, had died completing the final piece.
That one stood out.
Not just because it was the only normal-looking corpse in the room.
But because its display case was labeled: [Failure]
The Pattern of Death
First-year Class 1-1: Twelve Honor Students slaughtered each other. Zero survivors.First-floor residual memory:Bad Students once united to kill all Honor Students.Miko's vision (Turtle Teacher's memory): Eleven Honor Students wiped each other out.This art room: Another ten Honor Students with the same fate.
Honor Students—ranked top ten in their year or awarded three individual commendations—should've been the safest. Yet every batch seemed doomed.
What the hell is this school trying to cultivate?
At least Nutty Putty Cave had the pretense of research. Fujika Middle School felt like a deranged cult ritual.
Pure madness. Death. The utter annihilation of humanity.
Could anything useful emerge from this?
Could whatever they created even be controlled?
And Alice—was she the end goal?
Takakai recalled the hallucination: Alice leaving the school, becoming a worshipped celebrity. The stage had looked 80s or 90s-era.
Was she the only living graduate?
His gaze swept the room again. The "art," now supernatural entities, squirmed faintly in their cases—restrained only by his teacher authority.
Then he noticed Miko staring at the door, dazed.
"What do you sense?"
He gripped her shoulder.
"Eh? N-nothing…"
Her pupils were unfocused.
"Answer me. What do you sense?"
He activated Hilda's Blessing, jolting her awake with a surge of supernatural energy.
"S-someone's knocking… She says she's looking for her lost friend…"
Alice Arrives
The doorknob rattled.
A girl's melodic laugh drifted through.
[Teacher~ Do you know where Alice's friend went?]
The voice was sweet. The air turned glacial.
[And Teacher~ Why do you smell like Alice's things? Are you a thief? That's very naughty~]
Takakai felt it—an invasive presence crawling over his skin.
"笑尼玛笑! (Xiào ní mā xiào!)"
He snarled the Mandarin curse.
The girls didn't understand.
Alice did.
Her laughter paused.
Then, softly:
[Teacher is so mean~ Alice is hurt~]
[Alice never met her mama. Only had Papa. Papa said mama went traveling after Alice was born… but Alice knows.]
[Mama died. Alice just pretended she didn't, so Papa wouldn't cry.]
[Alice misses mama so much~ How could Teacher say such cruel things?]
The door creaked open.
Takakai shut his eyes.
Sight and hearing can deceive. Trust your instincts.
He summoned two Rescue Team Members from his badge, ordering them to bar the door. Through their psychic link, he confirmed reality—
—just as the cold spiked deeper.
[These things… are disgusting.]
Alice's voice came from behind him now.
For the first time, it dripped with undisguised hatred.