Next Victim

Chika truly followed Arzan's warning not to leave the house, not even a step outside. Yet, an unusual feeling crept into her, making her cheeks flush pink throughout the evening—this was the first time Arzan had ever called her. Arzan, calling her. It felt like a dream.

Even though the call was a serious warning about a 'problem,' Chika's focus was entirely different. To her, what mattered was Arzan's attention. Even his stern, urgent tone sounded like a sweet melody to her ears.

She sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, occasionally clutching her phone with a wide smile on her face. "He cares," she whispered to herself, then rolled around on the carpet with an uncontrollable look of joy.

However, amid her happiness, a question lingered. "How did Arzan know I was home alone?" she wondered. Tonight was Saturday night, and as usual, Chika's parents were out until late. They had mentioned they'd be back around eleven, leaving Chika, the lone singleton, alone in the house.

Chika sighed softly, hugging a pillow as she gazed at the ceiling. "Maybe he heard it from friends. Or ... maybe he's secretly been watching me?" she muttered, filled with hope.

Out of the corner of her eye, the phone on the living room table lit up, indicating a new message from Arzan.

'Turn on your live location, Chika.'

Chika beamed, her heart warming. Even after hours had passed, Arzan kept checking on her, making sure she was okay. His concern felt so real, so genuine. Chika felt deeply cared for, and it made her more than happy—perhaps overly so.

But the peaceful atmosphere was abruptly shattered.

The doorbell rang from the front entrance. Chika jumped, her heart pounding hard. She turned to the door, confused. No one had informed her they'd be visiting, and she hadn't ordered anything.

"Who could that be at this hour?" she murmured, her brows furrowed. She tried to recall, but no reason came to mind.

"Delivery," a voice called out from outside. Chika immediately turned her head toward the door. She had ordered some items online—maybe it was the latest skincare products she'd been waiting for. With excitement, she walked briskly to the door. Packages were a vital part of her life, and the thought of receiving one thrilled her.

The person outside repeatedly pressed the doorbell, the persistent sound cutting through the once-quiet night. The urgency in their actions felt odd. Finally, hesitating slightly, Chika opened the door.

As the door swung open, the first thing she saw was someone's hand—strong and steady, holding a piece of worn white cloth. There was no package, no sign of a delivery worker.

Chika's gaze slowly rose, her mind racing to process what was unfolding. When her eyes finally met the face of the person standing there, her breath hitched.

"Mr. Ali?" she stammered, her tone a mix of shock and confusion. Her brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of the bizarre situation. "Are you working as a delivery driver now?"

Mr. Ali didn't respond. A faint smile crept onto his face, but it wasn't warm. There was something cold, something threatening in his calm demeanor.

Before Chika could react or think further, Mr. Ali swiftly pressed the cloth against her mouth. A sharp, overpowering smell filled her nostrils. She struggled, but her body weakened quickly her vision dimming. Within seconds, everything turned silent and dark for Chika.

Arzan continued trying to call Chika, but there was no answer. He grew uneasy when her quick replies suddenly stopped. Just as he was about to check her live location, her phone's status disappeared. It was as if her phone had vanished from existence. When he tried calling again, the status changed to calling.

Had it already been too late for Karin and Arzan?

***

Chika slowly opened her eyes. Her head felt heavy, and her body stiff. She squirmed, trying to move her arms and legs. Her vision was blurry, but over time, she began to realize where she was.

The room was strange—dim and enclosed with clear plastic sheets covering the walls. A hanging lamp on the ceiling emitted a faint glow, casting faint shadows that danced across the room. An odd smell lingered in the air—like a mix of cleaning fluid and moisture.

Chika's heart began to race, fear engulfing her. "Where am I?" she whispered to herself. She tried to stand, but her body was too weak.

Footsteps echoed in the distance. The rhythm was steady, slowly but surely coming closer. Chika held her breath, her eyes fixed on the door that was starting to open.

Mr. Ali entered calmly, his face illuminated by the dim light. However, there was something different about him. Normally, Mr. Ali was a calm and patient teacher, but now his face looked cold, and his expression was unreadable.

"Mr ... Mr. Ali?" Chika's voice trembled, her body shaking. "Please, get me out of here."

Mr. Ali did not answer. He simply walked toward Chika with measured steps, his gaze locked on her.

"Mr. Ali, please ... I'm scared ..." Chika's voice nearly broke as she sobbed. Tears began to stream down her face. "I don't understand what's happening. I promise I won't tell anyone, Mr. Ali. Please ... let me go."

Mr. Ali stopped a few steps away, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was sharp, piercing like a knife. "Do you know, Chika? Troublemakers need to be punished."

Chika quickly shook her head, her eyes wide. "I'm not naughty, Mr. Ali! I don't understand what you mean." Chika slowly backed away until her back hit the wall. She was terrified of her teacher now.

Mr. Ali sighed deeply, as if speaking to someone who knew nothing. "Your name has appeared on my blacklist three times, Chika. Three times. That means you've broken the rules more than once. And now, you must face the consequences."

Chika's body trembled violently. "You're misunderstanding, Mr. Ali. I've never done anything. I don't want to be punished, please ... " Chika tried to negotiate. "What do you want? I can ask my parents to give you something. Money? Name the amount, Mr. Ali, but please ... let me go."

Mr. Ali lowered his head, looking at her with a small, cold smile. "You'll understand, Chika. This punishment isn't for me. It's for you, so you can learn." Mr. Ali approached and patted Chika's disheveled hair, making her feel even more trapped.

The room, filled with plastic, felt even more suffocating. It ensnared Chika, not allowing her to escape. Her tears had already started, but there was no sign of sympathy from Mr. Ali.

The young teacher then pulled out a small knife. He gently ran the blade over Chika's smooth cheek, using it to wipe away her tears.

"You know what a knife is for, don't you?"

"Mr. Ali, please …"