Ooka was so frightened that he scrambled up the stairs on all fours, his knees slamming against the edge of the steps, but fear was the best anesthetic; he didn’t care if the pain was severe enough to make him scream in agony on any normal day.
At this moment, all his senses were dominated by one thing: the dark shadow closing in behind him.
In the fourth-floor hallway, the door to room 403 was left open for convenience, and the light inside was on.
The illumination near the door lock — that was the safe direction.
Ooka burst out of the stairwell and sprinted toward his apartment.
His slippers fell off one by one as he ran, and his bare soles thudded heavily against the cold terrazzo floor.
The hallway wasn’t long; from the stairs to room 403 was barely ten meters, but at this moment, it felt like it would stretch on forever.
Ooka heard footsteps behind him — not running, but walking.
Each step was unhurried, the rhythm so steady it was maddening.
This thing was chasing him, but it didn’t need to run, because it knew it would catch him.
As for being a rugby club member who competed in matches, Ooka had probably only thought about that when he first left his room.
But now, with a wave of fear — especially from Tobe’s crying — he had almost completely lost his will to resist.
As for Tobe’s crying, it had been specially recorded and edited by Renji using an action camera.
Ooka crashed into room 403, then suddenly slammed the door shut with a desperate hand, twisting the lock knob with his fingers.
The sound of the tongue clicking into the latch momentarily calmed his racing heart.
He leaned against the door, gasping for breath, his entire body trembling.
The T-shirt on his back was soaked with cold sweat, sticking to his skin.
This near-death experience was incredibly thrilling for him.
Suddenly, Ooka heard a sound — the lock cylinder was turning.
It wasn’t the sound of a key being inserted and turned, but something more delicate, like a thin metal wire probing the keyhole, as one pin after another was lifted and set into the correct position.
Each faint “click” sounded like a needle piercing his eardrum; his eyes widened as he stared at the slightly trembling doorknob.
He could pick locks — this thought immediately came to Ooka’s mind.
Similarly, Ooka instantly understood why the circuit breaker in his apartment had suddenly tripped.
The meter box had been tightly closed at first, but Ghostface had forced it open.
And now Ghostface was opening the door the same way.
Ooka pressed his hand against the door, scanning the entire room.
An old-fashioned one-room apartment with a simple bed, a computer desk, and a closet.
The windows had security bars; unless he could bend the steel rods by hand, there was no way out by jumping through the window.
Besides, he lived on the fourth floor — jumping down would be almost certain death.
The only thing he could do now was block the door and call for help.
Ooka put all his strength into pressing against the door panel, his feet braced on the floor, and freed his left hand to pull out his phone.
He needed to call the police immediately, but then a terrifying fact made him feel like he had fallen into an ice cave.
His phone had been thrown away just now, and in his desperate escape, he hadn’t even retrieved it.
As the saying goes, “misfortune never comes alone” — and at this moment, the door lock was completely picked.
A narrow gap formed between the door panel and the door frame, and the dim yellow light from the hallway seeped inside, casting a gloomy glow across the floor.
Ooka desperately pressed his shoulder against the door panel, throwing his entire weight into it.
He was a rugby forward, weighing over eighty kilograms, with muscles built through explosive strength training.
But the force on the other side of the door was stronger than his — and far more unreasonable.
No matter how much Ooka trained, he couldn’t surpass a superhuman.
The strength behind the door was unnatural — that was Ooka’s first impression as he pressed against it.
As a rugby club member, he had already competed in matches, but he had never experienced such terrifying force.
It was as if the person behind the door wasn’t fighting him, but a forklift.
This was the crushing power of superhuman physicality.
The door was forcefully yanked open by Renji’s Ghostface, the gap growing wider and wider.
Ooka frantically tried to find something to block the door, but the computer desk was too low, the closet too heavy to move, and the moment he freed his hands, Ghostface outside immediately wrenched the door wide open.
As for the bed, the space underneath was empty, so he could hide there, but that would be no different from courting death.
Suddenly, the door panel was slammed open with a gap wide enough, and a hand in black gloves grabbed Ooka’s shoulder.
The force was shockingly strong, as if his bone was being crushed by iron pincers.
Ooka felt the gloves tighten, five fingers digging deep into the muscles of his shoulder, his shoulder blades grinding in pain.
He was about to throw a punch in response, but with one light pull of the hand, Ooka’s body was uncontrollably dragged through the gap in the door.
Ooka’s hands clawed wildly at the door frame, his nails leaving white marks on the wood, but he couldn’t grab onto anything.
His body was forcibly pulled out of the door, like a weightless sack, his back slamming heavily against the cold terrazzo floor of the hallway.
All the air was forced out of his lungs, and his vision went dark.
When he opened his eyes, Ghostface was already standing in front of him.
The white screaming mask looked down at him from above.
In its hollow eye sockets, nothing could be seen, but Ooka could feel those eyes staring at him.
Not with anger or hatred, but with a calm gaze, like a butcher looking at lambs about to be slaughtered — as if this were a routine matter.
Ooka tried to get up, but in the end, he wasn’t a steel beast like Leon; his back ached as if it were broken.
His hands were only halfway raised when Ghostface lifted a foot and stepped on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
The force was perfect — enough to immobilize him, but not enough to break his ribs.
Ghostface didn’t need an unconscious target, but a victim who could feel fear while awake.
Ghostface leaned down, the screaming mask tilting slightly toward Ooka’s face.
Ghostface tilted his head, as if carefully studying his expression.
Those wide-open eyes reflected the white mask, his lips trembling uncontrollably, and a sob escaped from his throat, like an animal being strangled.
Renji observed all of this, and Ooka’s reaction was entirely expected.
Although Ooka had excellent physical attributes, he was useless in the face of fear.
Renji thought this was an interesting observational sample.
Before, he had only read descriptions in materials about intense fear causing motor nerve paralysis, but seeing it with his own eyes was quite revealing.
Ooka’s mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something — maybe to beg for mercy, or maybe to ask why he wanted to kill him.
But before Ooka could make a sound, Ghostface pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak.
The blade gleamed coldly under the dim hallway light.
When Ooka saw the knife, his pupils suddenly dilated.
His survival instinct finally broke through the abyss of numbness caused by fear.
He began to struggle violently, grabbing Ghostface’s foot pressed against his chest and desperately pushing it outward, kicking wildly at the ground.
Renji released the foot pressing on his chest — not because Ooka had pushed it off, but voluntarily.
Then he kicked Ooka in the mouth, preventing him from screaming later.
Then he kicked Ooka in the stomach, causing him to curl up like a fried shrimp, instinctively clutching his stomach with both hands — all his resistance collapsed under that single blow.
Renji crouched down, pressing Ooka’s raised head back to the ground from the intense pain, then raised the dagger and aimed it at the left side of his chest — between the fourth and fifth ribs, straight into the heart.
The moment the blade pierced through, Ooka’s entire body suddenly froze.
His back arched, his toes straightened, and his hands twitched convulsively as he grabbed Ghostface’s wrists.
His nails scratched uselessly at the black gloves, then his hands slowly lowered and fell to his sides.
Renji pulled out the dagger and struck twice more, plunging the knife into the chest and waist.
Then he straightened up and looked down at the body on the ground, which was rapidly losing heat.
“You’re the second.”
The hoarse voice, processed by the voice changer, echoed down the hallway.
It wasn’t directed at Ooka, since he could no longer hear it.
This phrase was spoken to this apartment building, to this city, and to those who would be afraid when they found another classmate missing tomorrow morning.