The next morning came slower than usual.
The light outside Ren's window was pale, almost washed out.
He sat at the edge of his bed for a while before getting ready.
Same routine.
Same uniform.
But everything felt different.
When he stepped out of his room and walked toward the kitchen, his mother was already there.
Haruka Aoyama stood near the counter, holding a cup she wasn't really drinking from.
She looked at him carefully.
"…Aren't you going to stay home today, sweetie?"
Ren paused.
"…I'm fine."
Haruka's eyes softened, but there was worry in them.
"I already spoke to your school," she said gently. "They said it's okay if you stay home for a week."
Silence.
Ren's hand tightened slightly on his bag strap.
"…No," he said quietly.
Haruka blinked. "Ren—"
"I'm going."
His voice was calm, but firm.
Like if he stopped, he might never start again.
Haruka studied him for a moment.
Then she sighed softly.
"…Alright."
A pause.
"Just… be careful."
Ren gave a small nod.
"…I will."
He left the house shortly after.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
The street outside felt normal at first.
People walking. Cars passing. Morning routines continuing like nothing had changed.
But as Ren walked, something felt… off.
Whispers.
Not loud.
Not direct.
But everywhere.
Two people standing near a shop spoke quietly as he passed.
"…Did you hear?"
"Another one… same school…"
"It's always students… why only children from that school?"
Ren slowed slightly.
Another group further ahead.
"…It doesn't make sense anymore."
"They say it started after those two brothers…"
Ren's eyes sharpened slightly at that.
But he kept walking.
More voices.
More fragments.
Fear spreading through normal conversations like cracks in glass.
"…That school is cursed…"
"…Why are only students dying there?"
"…Something is happening inside it…"
Ren stopped for a moment at the crossing.
The wind passed through the street.
For a second, everything felt louder.
Even his own thoughts.
He looked ahead toward the direction of the school.
The building stood far away in his mind now.
Not just a place of learning anymore.
But something else.
Something that had started to attract death.
Ren adjusted his glasses slightly.
And kept walking.
Ren arrived at school.
The atmosphere felt different the moment he stepped through the gates.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Just heavier.
Students in the hallway slowed down as he passed.
Whispers followed him without effort.
Some looked away immediately.
Others stared too long.
"…That's him, right?"
"…His brother died…"
"…He still came back to school?"
Ren kept walking.
He didn't react.
Not to the stares.
Not to the voices.
Not anymore.
He reached his classroom.
The noise inside was normal at first—chairs moving, students talking, papers flipping.
But when Ren stepped in…
a few voices went silent.
Eyes turned.
Then slowly turned away again.
Ren sat down at his seat.
Near the window.
Same place as always.
But it felt further away now.
Like it didn't belong to him anymore.
A few minutes later, the teacher entered.
The room went quiet immediately.
She didn't look like her usual self.
Her expression was tight.
Tired.
Careful.
She stood at the front of the class.
"…Before we begin," she said slowly, "I need to inform you all about something important."
Silence deepened.
"…Last night," she continued, "we lost another student."
A wave of quiet fear passed through the room.
Students looked at each other.
No one spoke.
The teacher hesitated.
Then her eyes shifted slightly.
"…And… Ren Aoyama."
The room froze.
Ren didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't react immediately.
The teacher continued, voice softer now.
"…I'm deeply sorry for your loss."
For a moment, everything felt unreal.
The air in the classroom felt too thick.
Too slow.
Ren stared at the front of the room.
But his mind wasn't fully there.
It was somewhere else.
Far away.
Disconnected.
Like hearing his name from another world.
Students shifted uncomfortably.
Some looked at him.
Some didn't.
No one knew what to say.
Ren slowly lowered his gaze to his desk.
His expression didn't change.
But inside…
something cracked slightly deeper than before.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to shift everything.
To be continued...