Kim's head felt like it was being crushed between iron hands. A sharp ringing swallowed every other sound, stabbing through his skull until he couldn't even breathe. Roger tried to call his name, but her voice twisted into something broken, like a radio losing signal. Then the pain hit her too — a burning, splitting crack deep inside her ears.
Warmth slid down her cheeks.
She touched it.
Blood.
Her ears were bleeding.
Kim staggered back, grabbing the wall with one hand. "Roger… don't– don't faint—"
But she was already falling, knees crashing into the cold ground. The entire memory around them warped like melting wax — the music room, the shining instruments, the teacher singing — all of it bending, stretching, collapsing inward.
Kim reached for Roger, but his own body gave up. His vision turned white, and the world went silent except for the ringing.
Then everything broke.
Inside the classroom, the air was still — too still.
Tin blinked hard, expecting his head to hurt, expecting to feel something — but no. His memory had already disappeared long ago. Now he was standing in the center of an abandoned classroom, old desks thrown everywhere, scraped blackboard half erased, floor stained with dry bloody streaks.
Samy clutched her arms tight.
Tony looked around with his fists ready.
Jet stood by the teacher's desk, checking everything like a detective.
"Is this… really a classroom?" Samy whispered.
"No school room looks like THIS," Tony muttered. "Not unless a war happened."
Tin was the calmest among them, staring at every corner. The four of them had been through too much already — falling out of their memories, landing back in the library, opening the door, and ending up here.
But this classroom was different.
It wasn't a memory.
It wasn't someone's past.
It felt like a warning.
Jet pressed her hand against the drawer of the teacher's table. "One drawer is locked."
All three looked at her instantly.
"Locked?" Tin repeated. "Like really locked?"
She nodded. "I opened all of them except this one. It won't move even an inch."
Tony walked over. "Should I break it?"
"NO," Jet snapped. "If it's locked, then it's important."
Samy touched the drawer gently. "Maybe… the key? The one Tin found?"
Tin pulled out the key he was still holding from earlier — the one that pulled him out of his memory and threw him back into the library. He inserted it into the drawer lock carefully.
It didn't fit.
He twisted it the other way.
Still nothing.
In fact, the key didn't even slide in properly.
"No good," Tin said quietly. "This drawer… needs another key."
Tony groaned. "So we check the whole room?"
"We don't have a choice," Jet said.
The four of them spread out through the ruined classroom, searching under desks, checking behind toppled chairs, scanning the walls for markings, crawling under the teacher's table, inspecting scrap paper, broken chalk, pieces of cracked tiles. The classroom was too still — like it hadn't been touched for years, maybe decades.
But the stains were new.
Fresh.
Almost red.
And that scared all of them.
Kim gasped — air rushing back into his lungs with a painful jolt.
His vision snapped into place slowly, the world sharpening like a lens refocusing. The ground under him was not the memory room. It was the stone floor of the place full of gates.
The silhouettes.
The darkness.
The hollow cold.
And Roger, collapsed beside him, breathing hard.
He touched his ears.
No blood.
Nothing.
Just the echo of pain.
Roger sat up weakly. "Kim… what… happened to us?"
"I don't know." He wiped sweat from his face. "But it almost killed us."
She shook her head. "That wasn't our memory. It wasn't even from our time."
Kim nodded. "Yeah. I saw the instruments… the teacher… the song… but none of it belonged to us."
They both sat in silence, letting their hearts settle. The fear was still crawling under their skin.
Roger spoke first, voice trembling, "Kim… do you think someone was trying to force us to see something?"
"Maybe," he whispered. "Or maybe… someone wanted us to feel it."
A chill ran down both their spines.
"What if that room… was connected to the school?" Roger said. "Everything is leading back to school. Every gate. Every clue."
Kim swallowed hard.
He knew she was right.
The riddles.
The gates.
The memories.
Every path pointed toward one thing — something hidden in their school, something dangerous enough to bend time, twist memories, and break them from inside.
Roger hugged her knees. "Kim… my head still hurts."
He placed a gentle hand on her back. "Mine too. But we're alive."
He looked at the next gate standing in front of them. The ninth gate.
Still glowing.
Still waiting.
He wasn't ready.
Neither was she.
But time wasn't on their side.
Back in the classroom, Samy suddenly gasped.
"Hey! I found something!"
The other three rushed to her. She was kneeling in front of the blackboard. On the side of it, scratched into the wood frame, were faint words — nearly invisible unless the light hit them right.
Jet leaned closer. "It's writing…"
Tony tilted his head. "Wait… is that… someone's name?"
Tin squinted. "No. It's… instructions?"
Samy whispered the scratched words:
"Only the one who remembers nothing can open what is sealed."
Tin froze.
Jet stared at him.
Samy clapped a hand over her mouth.
Tony's eyes widened.
"…Tin," Jet said slowly. "You're the only one who… lost all your memories."
Tin swallowed hard.
His fingers trembled slightly.
He didn't want to be special like this.
He didn't want his empty past to suddenly matter.
But maybe this classroom… needed him.
He stepped toward the locked drawer.
The others watched silently.
Tin placed his hand on it.
The drawer clicked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
Then—
SNAP.
The lock broke open by itself.
Tin slowly pulled the drawer out.
Something was inside.
A piece of paper.
And a photograph.
The photograph was burnt.
But the picture… was unmistakable.
It was their school.
And standing in front of the building… was a class.
A class none of them remembered.
A class with faces blurred… except for one.
The music teacher.
Smiling.
Holding a baton.
Jet whispered, "What is this…?"
Tin looked at the paper in his hand.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
The paper was a timetable.
A timetable for a class that didn't exist anymore.
Class 9-B.
Teacher: Mr. Reed — Music Department.
Samy shivered. "Guys… what is this place really?"
Tony whispered, "And what happened to this class…?"
Tin stared at the photograph again.
He didn't want to say it.
None of them did.
But the truth crawled up his throat anyway:
"…I think this classroom is theirs."
Far away, beyond walls and time, the two shadows still fought — the white and the black, clashing, tearing the air apart.
Each hit shook the other.
Each scream cracked the world.
And somewhere between their blows, a truth waited —
a truth that was coming for all six of them.
Whether they were ready or not.