1.There are victims.

The twilight painted the sky with golden hues, casting a soft glow that wrapped the world in an almost magical amber light. As if time itself had slowed down, granting us one last chance to carve memories into the fading day. We, the members of the club, stood in the quiet school corridor, soaking in the view of the evening sky that seemed to understand our unwillingness to part ways.

"Soon, we will really be going our separate ways, huh?" Petra's voice drifted softly, almost like a whisper carried by the wind. Her eyes gazed far into the horizon, as if trying to grasp the light of the setting sun before it vanished completely. For the first time, I saw a different side of her, not one filled with anger, but with quiet sorrow.

I gave a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "So... does that mean you are going to miss me?"

Her distant gaze snapped back to me, sharp as ever. Before I could tease her further, her finger pressed against my lips, silencing me before I could utter another word.

"Shhh... Do not talk too much, Noir. I know exactly what you are going to say, and listen carefully, I will not miss you," she murmured, her voice quiet but firm. Yet, somehow, her eyes spoke a different truth.

Dante, who had been watching the exchange, smirked knowingly. A playful glint flashed in his eyes as he quipped, "Hey, hey, they say if you argue a lot, it means you are meant to be together in the future."

Hyday, who had approached with light steps, added in an overly dramatic tone, "Ahh... love is truly beautiful."

The evening breeze whispered through the corridor, carrying our soft laughter along with it, while the sun dipped lower behind the horizon, bathing everything in golden farewell light.

Footsteps echoed from behind us, accompanying the twilight as it faded into dusk. Feldard appeared, his expression as weary as ever, exhaling a deep sigh as if carrying an invisible burden. His tired eyes held the same exhaustion they always did, though no one knew the true reason behind it.

"Tch. Just keep flirting, you annoying bunch," he muttered flatly, turning his head away in feigned disgust at our camaraderie.

We merely chuckled at his usual antics. Dante reached out and patted Feldard's shoulder lightly, wordlessly offering reassurance.

Not long after, Alexander approached. His face remained neutral, free of unnecessary expressions, but his eyes traced the sky with a quiet thoughtfulness, as if reading the unspoken stories hidden in the drifting clouds.

"It is almost six thirty, is it not?" Alexander finally spoke, his voice as steady as the sky that was gradually losing its light. "Why has the school not dismissed us yet?"

A brief silence fell over us. We exchanged glances before looking back at the darkening sky.

"That is true... What is going on?" Vitra asked nonchalantly, still munching on her snack as if the passing time did not concern her at all.

Before anyone could respond, Dante suddenly snatched the snack from her hand and popped it into his mouth.

"Give it back!" Vitra shrieked, trying to take it back, but Dante easily dodged her attempts, savoring his small victory.

Ignoring Vitra's protests, Dante turned to us, still chewing absentmindedly. "Now that I think about it... I do not hear any music from the stage anymore," he pointed out.

Our gazes met once more, and unconsciously, we nodded in quiet agreement. The usual background noise that filled the school had vanished, leaving only the whisper of the evening wind brushing through the empty hallways.

And in that eerie silence, none of us had noticed Nathan standing just behind us. A smile curled on his lips, not the usual kind, but something darker, deeper, and ever so slightly unsettling.

The wind that once felt gentle now carried a biting chill, slipping into our skin like a whisper laced with an unshakable sense of foreboding.

Then, suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. A group of students came rushing down the stairs, their faces pale with fear, their breaths ragged as if fleeing from something unseen.

We could only exchange confused looks, uncertainty settling in our chests like a heavy weight. Alexander, always as calm as an undisturbed lake, stepped forward and grabbed one of the passing students by the arm.

"Hey, what's going on?" His voice remained steady, but his eyes gleamed with curiosity, as if trying to decipher an unspoken message.

The student turned to him, face drained of color, chest rising and falling rapidly as if he had been running for his life.

"I... I don't know... They say someone was murdered in the restroom," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of his own words.

The moment Alexander loosened his grip, the student bolted away, his shadow disappearing into the creeping darkness of the evening.

A heavy silence fell over us, suffocating and thick. Only the soft howl of the wind remained, weaving through the corridors, carrying with it the echoes of an unease that none of us could ignore.

"A murder case..." Hyday's voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with fear, as if the mere mention of those words could summon disaster. "This... is really rare, isn't it?"

The twilight dimmed further, the sky now wrapped in darkness, yet the cold wind was nothing compared to the eerie atmosphere suddenly surrounding us.

Then, in the suffocating silence, a chuckle echoed, soft at first, then gradually growing louder, splitting through the frozen air.

We all turned in unison. There, standing before us, was Nathan. His hand covered his mouth, but it couldn't hide the wide, twisted grin spreading across his face. He looked like an actor who had just heard the world's most amusing joke, one that only he could understand. His eyes sparkled in the darkness, filled with an unsettling thrill, as if a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins, igniting something deep within him.

"Khehehehe... Hahahahaa..."

His laughter resonated down the corridor, making it feel smaller, as if invisible ropes were tightening around us. A shiver ran down my spine, every instinct screaming that something was very, very wrong.

"N-Nathan... W-what's going on?" Saphta's voice wavered, every syllable laced with discomfort.

But in an instant, as if someone had pulled the strings of a puppet, Nathan's expression shifted. His laughter ceased, his face turning emotionless, like a lifeless statue.

Then, suddenly, his lips curled again, forming a chilling smile, broad, unnerving, like a crescent moon hanging in the dark sky.

"Azazelle is ready to roll his dice," he whispered, his voice barely audible yet carrying an ominous weight. "Ready to gamble with anyone."

The wind blew, carrying something unseen yet undeniably present in the air.

And in the blink of an eye, before anyone could fully process the moment, Vitra's silhouette moved like a gust of wind, swift and invisible.

SMAACK!

Her small hand landed right on Nathan's head with a solid slap, the impact almost making the air vibrate for a second.

"OWWW!!"

Nathan's cry echoed through the corridor, now feeling even tighter, more suffocating. He winced in pain, rubbing the sore spot where he had just been hit, his expression shifting once more.

The eerie grin, the unsettling gaze, all of it faded. What remained was the usual Nathan we knew, goofy, slightly childish, but still our Nathan.

"You always mumble weird things!" Vitra scolded, hands on her hips, her tone firm yet not entirely harsh. "At least read the situation first!"

Nathan continued rubbing his head, his lips forming a small pout, clearly sulking.

"I was just saying random stuff... You didn't have to hit me..." he grumbled, his voice almost resembling a child sulking after having their toy taken away.

Vitra pointed a finger at him, her expression stern yet somehow still carrying a hint of sweetness, like a junior reprimanding her senior.

"Imagination is fine, but read the room first! We're all confused right now, you know?"

Nathan didn't respond. He simply stood there, staring at Vitra for a few moments before finally offering a faint, almost unreadable smile.

"But Azazelle isn't just imagination," he whispered, this time his voice calmer, no longer carrying the madness from before.

Before the tension could settle between us again, Petra stepped forward. She positioned herself between Vitra and Nathan, her gaze sharp, piercing like a dagger laced with unspoken authority.

"Enough. Stop."

Just one sentence, but it was enough to halt the small wave that had started to form. Nathan and Vitra turned their faces away from each other, sulking in their own ways.

The evening breeze blew gently, brushing through our hair with its soft whispers. The sky slowly shifted, sinking into the creeping darkness, wrapping the school in an unfamiliar silence.

In the midst of that stillness, I stepped forward. My voice broke through the icy atmosphere surrounding us.

"Guys, how about we check out the situation?"

That sentence was like a stone thrown into the surface of a still lake, creating ripples that spread outward. Every head turned toward me, their expressions varied, confusion, disbelief, even a hint of fear.

But among them, one voice rang out, filled with an unwavering enthusiasm.

"Yes! Let's go!!!"

Dante, as always, was bursting with untamed energy. His eyes sparkled with an almost infectious excitement, as if this wasn't about a murder but an adventure he had been waiting for.

On the other hand, Feldard simply scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. His face remained the same, bored, uninterested, as if he wanted nothing to do with the commotion. But eyes don't lie. Behind those slightly drooping eyelids, I caught a glint of curiosity he was trying to suppress.

"It's probably crowded. I don't feel like pushing through people," he muttered, as if trying to affirm his reluctance.

But I knew, eventually, curiosity would always win over laziness.

And then, there was Alexander. Cold as always, standing tall with an unreadable expression, as if what was happening didn't truly intrigue him. But his gaze had shifted ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, but I saw it. The curiosity was there, no matter how much he tried to hide it behind his rigid demeanor.

As if understanding the situation, Hyday, who stood beside him, merely offered a small smile. Without hesitation, he nudged Alexander's shoulder with just enough force to make the man let out a long sigh.

Alexander finally gave in.

"Alright, I'll come along," he said briefly. His voice remained flat, but I knew it was the most sincere form of agreement he could give.

Once again, the wind blew, carrying faint sounds from the distance, shouts, whispers, perhaps even prayers unheard.

Each step we took down the staircase felt heavier, as if something in the air was slowly pressing against our chests. The growing noise became clearer, echoing through the hallway, mingling with frantic murmurs and suppressed sobs.

When we reached the ground floor, our eyes were met with a sea of people crowding the corridor near the boys' restroom. The space was packed. I stepped forward, weaving through the throng, gently pushing past a few students to get a closer look. And then, I saw it.

The scene seized my consciousness, leaving only a hollow void hanging in the air.

There, amidst a pool of red that had not yet fully dried, lay a body, its light extinguished.

Lifeless eyes staring at nothing, skin deathly pale beneath the cold fluorescent glow. Across the chest, eight gaping wounds marked the flesh, as if forming a small gateway into the abyss. And beside the body, eight bloodied knives lay neatly arranged, as if the killer had left behind a message, one only the brave would dare to decipher.

I heard a trembling gasp beside me. Revika. Her hand moved swiftly to cover her nose, her face paling from the overwhelming stench of iron filling the air. Beside her, Saphta, who had been silent all this time, wordlessly extended a handkerchief to her. A small gesture, yet enough to tell me he understood without needing to ask.

I intended to step closer, to examine the body, to grasp what had truly happened. But before I could move any further.

"Don't touch it!!"

The voice cut through the air like lightning splitting the night sky.

I froze instantly. My gaze darted around, searching for the source of that sharp command.

And there, walking forward with an eerie calmness, stood a man.

His hand gripped something black, his eyes tense yet masking the emotion behind a cold expression. Mr. Damian Marley. Horizon's art teacher.

"Mr. Damian?" My voice barely came out, stifled by the confusion swirling in my mind.

He looked at me for a moment, then shook his head slowly. A subtle signal not to step any closer.

His face was pale, even more so than usual. But there was something in his eyes, not fear, not shock, but understanding.

Mr. Damian turned away, now standing in the center of the gathered crowd. He lifted a megaphone, his voice echoing through the tense corridor.

"Everyone, please gather in the auditorium!"

His command sliced through the thick atmosphere, silencing the restless murmurs in an instant.

Outside, the rain poured heavily, drumming against the school's rooftop like delicate fingers tapping along with the tension lingering in the air. The scent of wet earth filled the atmosphere, blending with the fear that clung to the vast room like an unseen specter.

Every student, from first-years to third-years, was forced into the auditorium slowly, passing through strict inspections. The process was slow, adding to the tension that had already wrapped around the air. Confused and anxious expressions filled their faces, questions spinning endlessly in their minds.

As the auditorium finally filled, a wave of noise erupted, chaotic voices clashing into an unsettling harmony. Every pair of eyes gleamed with different shades of fear. Some pale, some silent, and some staring blankly, as if their minds refused to grasp the reality before them.

A loud bang echoed through the room, silencing everything in an instant.

At the front of the auditorium, Mr. Damian stood tall, his eyes sharp like an unsheathed blade. His hand remained firmly pressed against the table, as if trying to hold back something greater than just fear. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"Listen, everyone..."

His voice was heavy, carrying more than just concern. There was a weight behind it, something he tried to hide beneath his firm tone.

"I know you're confused. I know this is terrifying. But for now, it would be best if you all remained calm."

A heavy silence hung in the air as everyone waited for him to continue.

"One of your classmates has been murdered. Not just dead, but brutally killed."

The air instantly grew colder.

"And it's not just one."

The pause he left felt too long, too suffocating.

"As we, the teachers and security, searched for clues, we discovered another body. Not one, not two. In total, five people have lost their lives today."

Silence shattered into waves of shock. Breath caught in throats, some students trembled, while others stared blankly ahead, as if hoping that what they just heard was nothing more than a nightmare they could wake up from.

Some panicked. Some were confused. And some remained still, unmoved by the horrifying news.

But before the fear could spread any further, Mr. Damian's voice filled the room once again.

"For now, we are safe here."

His tone seemed to aim for reassurance, but the truth in his next words only made the weight in everyone's chest grow heavier.

"All exits have been locked. No one can enter or leave. All communication has been cut off. We cannot contact anyone outside."

That statement sent every student scrambling to check their phones. I did the same. No signal. No messages going through. It was as if the world outside had vanished, leaving us trapped in a maze with no way out.

"There's no use trying. We've attempted it multiple times, but it always fails. There is nothing we can do, except wait."

Silence once again swallowed the auditorium. But this time, it felt heavier, darker. And amidst that suffocating stillness, a hand was raised. Dante, with unwavering confidence, stood. His eyes held something different from the fear that plagued the other students.

"Excuse me, sir."

His voice sliced through the silence, drawing every gaze toward him.

"I understand that five people were killed in a single day, but is it really possible that there's no trace of the culprit? This school isn't that big."

His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating.

"And more than that..."

He swept his gaze across the entire auditorium.

"What makes us have to be locked in a room like this?"

Mr. Damian's breath hitched, as if Dante's words had shaken his conviction. Briefly, he glanced at his fellow teachers standing beside him, their faces filled with barely concealed anxiety.

He took a deep breath, letting the silence settle in before finally speaking, his voice calm but carrying a weight in every word he uttered.

"We suspect..."

His voice hung in the air, making every student hold their breath, waiting for the truth to be revealed.

"That the culprit is more than one."

But before he could finish his sentence, another voice interrupted.

"And what makes you think that?"

Alexander asked without hesitation, his sharp gaze cutting through the air, filled with both emphasis and an unquenchable thirst for answers. His eyes weren't just seeking a response. They were piercing through the very meaning behind the words just spoken.

Mr. Damian froze for a moment, as if hesitating to continue. The atmosphere in the hall grew heavier, the only sound being the rain pattering outside, filling the silence until, at last, with a quieter voice, almost like a whisper carrying a terrible secret, he continued.

"Miss Viola, as an expert in care and biology, has stated something."

All eyes were now on him, waiting for the words that felt slower, heavier with every passing second.

"Every victim found died within intervals that were too short, too fast, and too precise."

Mr. Damian looked at the students before him, ensuring they understood the gravity of what he had just said.

"And that is something impossible for just one person to accomplish."

Tension gripped the room. Silence. The cold night air slipped through the window cracks, sending shivers down the spines of everyone listening. In a room now thick with fear, there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

Mr. Damian reached into his bag with deliberate slowness, as if time itself had stalled in the suffocating moment. From inside, he pulled out two black envelopes, strange and ominous in his hands, marked with a symbol of a snake coiled around a die. He lifted the envelopes high, showing them to the entire room with an intense gaze that seemed to pierce through each and every student.

"Has anyone here ever seen envelopes like these? Or perhaps, seen someone carrying them?"

Silence hung heavily in the air. The students exchanged glances, some lowering their heads, others shaking theirs slowly. No answer. No sound. Only the pounding of hearts growing louder in their ears.

But then, something unseen crept into the atmosphere. Cold. Oppressive. An indescribable sensation that sent a chill down my spine for no reason. I did not even realize how, but as if my body moved on its own, my gaze was drawn to one figure.

Nathan. He stood there, motionless, yet his lips slowly curled into a smile that had no place in this situation. Those eyes... they were not the usual Nathan's eyes. There was a glint of madness, something flowing through his veins that made him look like he was thoroughly enjoying everything, and then he chuckled. Soft at first, then growing louder and louder.

"Khehehehe... Hahahahaha... HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

His laughter rang out, wild, like the howl of insanity echoing through the hall. Every student instinctively took a step back, as if the eerie aura radiating from Nathan was creeping into their chests, seeping into the fear slowly blanketing the entire room.

Mr. Damian swallowed, his voice nearly faltering as he finally asked, "Nathan... do you know something?"

But Nathan just kept grinning, his fingers slowly rising, pointing toward the black envelope with a movement so casual, as if commenting on something trivial.

"What are you talking about, sir?" His voice was almost a whisper before shifting into a sharper, more pressing tone. "Hah! That is clearly an invitation envelope."

Mr. Damian nodded slightly, his voice still steady. "I know that."

Yet those words only made Nathan's grin widen, stretching like a thin line that nearly carved into his face. He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with a madness that was now undeniable.

"So..." Nathan's voice floated like a whisper in the storm. "It seems Azazelle has already rolled the dice, and now we only have to wait for the numbers to appear."

Then, as if he could no longer contain it, he laughed. Loud. So loud it nearly made everyone's legs go weak.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

As if that name alone had opened a door to something far greater, far more terrifying.

Inside the vast, sealed auditorium, I could only stare outside, watching the rain that refused to stop. The droplets hit the ground in uneven rhythms, forming puddles that reflected the dim glow of the school lights. The air inside felt heavy, pressing against my chest.

But my thoughts were not truly on the rain. No, something else lingered in my mind—Nathan. He was still there, sitting calmly, as if he had never let out that laughter which froze the entire room moments ago. His face was neutral again, chatting casually with Dante, as if nothing had happened. As if it had all been nothing but passing wind.

I let out a quiet sigh and shifted my gaze to Vitra. She sat cross-legged in the corner, seemingly calm, though her eyes still held a hidden sharpness. I walked over, bent down slightly, and whispered, "Vitra... what exactly is going on with Nathan?"

She glanced at me briefly before quickly looking away, as if reluctant to discuss it. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke in a flat tone, "This is not the first time. I have seen Nathan like that before."

I froze, letting her words swirl in my head. What did she mean? Had Nathan always been like this? If so, why had no one ever talked about it?

Curiosity gnawed at me, forcing me to ask again. "Then... how should I ask about what he said?"

Vitra did not answer right away. She simply raised a finger, pointing toward Nathan, who was still talking with Dante, showing no signs of anything unusual.

Then, in a quieter but firm voice, she finally said, "Nathan is like a child. And that is how you should respond to him. If you want to know something from him, speak kindly, treat him like a kid playing a riddle game."

I stared at her, confused. Her words felt too absurd, too unfamiliar to grasp. But seeing the seriousness in her face, I could only nod slowly, trying to trust her despite the countless unanswered questions in my head.

With steady steps, I approached Nathan and Dante. Noticing my presence, both turned to look at me. But only one greeted me with a wide smile—Nathan. That smile, soft and innocent, almost like a child who had just found his favorite toy.

"Hey, Noir," he said, his voice light, as if nothing strange had happened moments ago.

I sat beside them, trying to catch up on their conversation. "It sounds like you two are talking about something interesting," I said warmly. "Mind if I join?"

Nathan's expression instantly shifted. His smile widened, his eyes sparkled, as if I had just knocked on the door of a world only he knew the way into.

Excitedly, he nodded.

"Sure, sure! So, Noir wants to know about demons too?"

I swallowed hard but kept my expression calm. Vitra's words echoed in my mind. Treat him like a child.

Leaning in slightly, I adjusted my tone to sound gentle, full of curiosity. "So… who is Azazelle, Nathan?" I asked, as if I were hearing the name for the first time.

Nathan's eyes widened, a spark of excitement flashing within them. His face lit up with a contagious enthusiasm, as if I had just mentioned his favorite fairy tale.

With a voice that was soft yet heavy with meaning, he answered in just two words.

"Azazelle is… a demon."

That was all he said, yet within those words, there was something more. Something that made the air around me feel colder, heavier. Something that sent a slow shiver creeping up my spine.

Nathan reached into his bag and pulled out a worn piece of paper along with a nearly dull pencil. With slow, deliberate strokes, he sketched something on the sheet, the lines gradually forming a clear image.

I watched intently as the shape took form—a serpent coiling around a die, as if controlling every turn of its fate. For a moment, my head spun, connecting the symbol to the black envelope Mr. Damian had shown earlier.

"This… What is this, Nathan?" I asked, my voice laced with curiosity.

Nathan studied the drawing for a brief moment before his lips curled into a faint smile.

"This is Azazelle's emblem," he murmured. "He loves games… and gambling."

He took a slow breath before continuing, this time with a tone heavier than before, as if the words themselves carried an unseen weight.

"Demons… are not just beings. A demon is a decision." His eyes locked onto mine, as if carving his understanding into my mind. "When someone chooses a path that most fear, when they step into the darkness without looking back, when they challenge the world despite knowing destruction awaits at the end… that is when a demon is born."

I swallowed hard while Nathan continued, his voice now like a whisper carried by the wind on a silent night.

"That is Azazelle. He doesn't force anyone, doesn't pull them into his shadow. He simply rolls the dice… and lets those tempted by uncertainty play the game."

His smile widened.

"And once the dice have been cast, we are no longer players. We are mere pieces in a game that has long since begun."

"Nathan… what do you mean?" I asked, my voice trembling between curiosity and something deeper—a subtle fear I had only just realized was there. This wasn't just about knowing anymore. This was something I needed to understand.

But Nathan merely shook his head slowly, his smile thin and unreadable, like a shadow dancing behind the flickering light of a candle. He lifted a single finger to his lips, a silent gesture that seemed to seal the door to the answers I sought.

"Forget it," he whispered. "It's beyond my control."

His gaze drifted to the distance, toward something I could not see, as if something or someone was listening more than they should be.

"Besides…" he continued, his voice softening, almost like the wind carrying a secret. "He is watching. And isn't it only natural for the pieces to obey the hand that moves them?"

Nathan turned to me with a faint smile, but this time something was different. It wasn't just an expression. It was a darkness lurking behind his lips, too clear to ignore, too subtle to fully comprehend.

Without thinking further, I quickly stood up, my steps heavier than they should have been as I walked away, heading toward Mr. Damian, who stood near the entrance. For some reason, the air around me felt colder, as if something was watching, waiting in silence.

"Sir…" I murmured, my voice floating into the thickened atmosphere, piercing through the brief silence that had settled.

Mr. Damian turned slowly, his eyes appearing dim beneath the school's faint lighting. His face was pale, the fine lines on his forehead deeper, as if the burden he carried was growing heavier with time. Behind his gaze, there was something difficult to describe—anxiety layered with pressure, and within it, a faint but unmistakable guilt.

"What is it, Noir?" he asked, his voice barely steady despite his attempt to sound composed.

"Please forgive whatever Nathan said earlier." My words lingered in the air, trying to reach the heart burdened by unseen weight.

Mr. Damian looked at me, then smiled. A soft smile, as if it could momentarily erase the bitterness lingering in his eyes. Within that smile, there was something different. The warmth of a teacher, the firmness of a leader, and the gentleness of a man who understood.

"It's alright, Noir. I don't hold it against him," he said calmly, his voice blending with the faint whisper of the wind crawling through the corners of the hall.

I nodded, feeling a slight relief in my chest. In this moment, I saw Mr. Damian not just as a teacher, but as someone who could maintain his composure even in the middle of a storm.

"You are very wise, sir," I said sincerely.

He gave a faint smile and nodded slightly. In this tense situation, perhaps even a small spark of calm could be a tiny light in the midst of darkness.

However, something kept bothering me. My gaze fell on the two black envelopes still tucked in Mr. Damian's shirt, as if they held secrets whispering softly, begging to be uncovered.

I furrowed my brows, then, with a voice barely above a whisper, I asked, "Sir… what's inside those letters?"

Mr. Damian lowered his head, his eyes fixed on the black envelopes in his pocket. For a moment, he seemed hesitant, his uncertainty lingering in the air, blending with the tension that had yet to subside. But with a deep exhale, he shook his head, as if brushing off his doubts.

"It's a long story…" he murmured, his eyes now locking onto mine with a burdened gaze.

"Around two-thirty in the afternoon, I found the first letter from someone I didn't know. When I opened it, the message was clear. 'When humans chirp like birds, I will claim the long-buried promise.' At first, I thought it was just a student playing a prank. But soon, the second letter appeared on my desk, and then the third was found beside the victim."

I fell silent, letting his words echo in my mind. Every sentence that left his lips felt like scattered puzzle pieces, waiting to be arranged into a complete picture.

"Then, what makes you so sure that the sender is behind all of this?" I asked, keeping my voice as calm as possible.

Mr. Damian turned to me, his brows furrowed in deep thought. A brief silence passed before he finally answered in a near whisper.

"At first, we weren't sure either. But those envelopes… they're too suspicious. How could a letter suddenly appear beside the victim if it was just a joke? No, Noir… this isn't a coincidence. It's a message. A deliberate trace left behind."

I knitted my brows, lost in thought as the heavy silence grew thicker around us. Then, carefully but boldly, I asked,

"Mr. Damian… what did the second letter say?"

As if struck by an invisible force, his breath caught, swallowed by a silence that felt unbearably heavy. Beads of sweat slowly trickled down his temple, like dewdrops sliding off leaves on a dark morning. His eyes, still locked onto mine, reflected an unspoken weight. Something that perhaps wasn't meant to be shared.

I lowered my head slightly, giving him space for his restless thoughts. "If you don't want to say it, that's fine. I understand… not everything has to be revealed."

But instead of avoiding the question, Mr. Damian shook his head slowly, brushing aside his hesitation. With a voice barely above a whisper, he said,

"No… I'll tell you. That letter… if my memory serves me right, contained these words: 'Give me ten nights, and I will grant you eternity.'"

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. Those words echoed in my mind, swirling like a violent wind slamming against the walls of my thoughts. I furrowed my brows, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind that strange phrase.

"Ten nights… eternity?" I muttered, almost to myself.

The thoughts racing through my head felt like a tangled cassette tape, wrapped in a string of unanswered questions. I looked at him with uncertainty, trying to reassess all possibilities.

"Are you sure this isn't just a prank?" I finally asked, my voice quieter than before.

Mr. Damian took a long, deep breath, as if swallowing a bitter truth. Then, in the silence that threatened to break, he answered,

"From everything I've seen… from everything that's happened… from all the abnormalities… I'm sure this isn't just a joke. This isn't just a prank. This is a message. A deliberate trace left behind."

His eyes swept across the room, as if searching for something invisible. Then, in an even softer voice, almost a murmur meant only for himself, he whispered,

"But why?"

Silence crept between us, seeping into the spaces of air that felt heavier by the second. His mind seemed to be spinning endlessly, trying to weave together the tangled threads laid before him. His gaze drifted downward, fixating on the floor, as if searching for an answer hidden within the cold tiles.

Then, as if a spark had ignited in his mind, his eyes sharpened, piercing through the lingering silence. With a voice filled with depth and meaning, he asked,

"Noir… what exactly did Nathan mean by his words?"

His question echoed in my head, shaking something I had yet to fully comprehend. Mr. Damian's gaze was so sharp, it felt like he was peeling away every layer of my thoughts. His presence seeped into my heart, rendering me momentarily speechless, struggling to grasp the weight of his question.

"What do you mean, sir?" I finally spoke, though my voice was barely more than a murmur. I didn't understand what he was implying, or maybe… I was too afraid to understand.

Mr. Damian stepped closer, his voice now heavier, carrying something difficult to decipher.

"What Nathan said… about dice, or whatever it was, because those same words were written in the third letter."

The world seemed to stop spinning. My eyes widened, my chest tightening with the weight of an unexpected revelation.

"What? You mean… those words were also in the third letter?" My voice trembled, almost unable to believe what I had just heard.

But before I could process it further, another question slipped from his lips, this time sharper, more piercing.

"And one more thing… who exactly is Azazelle?"

I fell silent. There was tension in his voice, and something deeper in his gaze, a growing wariness.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my heartbeat, which was now racing faster than it should. In a hushed voice, I finally answered,

"I don't understand either, sir… Nathan always says things that are hard for me to grasp. And about Azazelle… I truly don't know anything."

I wanted my voice to sound convincing so he would believe me. And it seemed to work. Mr. Damian's face softened, his shoulders relaxed slightly, and a deep sigh escaped his lips as if a weight had been lifted from his chest.

Then, with a voice that was gentle once more, filled with sincerity, he said,

"Forgive me, Noir… I let my emotions take over and ended up pressuring my own student. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

I stared at him in silence. Behind his authoritative demeanor, there was an exhaustion invisible to the ordinary eye, a burden heavier than I had imagined.

A brief pause settled between us, the air in the room feeling lighter, as if the tension that had been hanging moments ago had begun to dissolve. I took a deep breath, then finally spoke in a soft tone, trying to find words that could ease the moment.

"It's okay, sir… I understand. You must be exhausted. Everyone understands that. This all feels heavy, like a nightmare that refuses to end… But I believe we'll find clarity in all of this."

Mr. Damian looked at me for a moment, his eyes holding a warmth I rarely saw before. He nodded quickly, as if taking in every word I said. Then, with a genuine smile, he raised his hand and gently placed it on my shoulder, as if expressing gratitude without needing many words.

"You truly are my best student, Noir."

His voice sounded lighter, and a small chuckle escaped his lips, dissolving the remnants of tension still lingering in the air.

For a moment, only our laughter filled the room, like a small stream whispering among the rocks. As if, amidst all the mystery and darkness that surrounded us, there was still a flicker of warmth to be found.

Then, with a smile that had not faded from his face, Mr. Damian spoke again.

"Hey, how's the Art Club? Everything still going well? Nathan still talking strangely, Vitra still munching on snacks every chance she gets, and Feldard… still single?"

I let out a light laugh at that. His relaxed tone, his humorous way of speaking, it all made the conversation feel so familiar. I crossed my arms and responded in the same lighthearted manner.

"Sir, you always tease us."

Mr. Damian's eyes sparkled with amusement as our laughter once again filled the room, chasing away the shadows that had momentarily crept into our conversation. Like a candle burning in the night, its light was small, yet enough to illuminate.

Mr. Damian folded his arms across his chest, a wry smile playing on his lips, as if ready to make a playful remark at any moment.

"Hey, I'm your Art Club advisor. So never underestimate my judgment." He said, accompanied by a small chuckle that escaped with his breath.

I just chuckled lightly, scratching the back of my head, though it was not actually itchy.

"Ah… Sir…" I mumbled, responding in a half-resigned tone.

Outside, the night wind began to blow, brushing against the windows with a damp chill that seeped through. The rain still had not let up, as if the sky demanded further ruin, drenching the earth with its relentless downpour.

Mr. Damian stood still, his face reflecting uncertainty. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, weighing something unspoken. I followed his gaze, a dwindling supply of food, while dinner time was fast approaching.

I let out a quiet sigh before calmly asking, "Sir… is something bothering you?"

Mr. Damian flinched, as if snapped out of his thoughts. He turned to me, but his eyes flickered toward another spot before finally exhaling deeply and replying in a calm tone,

"The food supply here is running low… And most of the remaining food is still stored in the teachers' lounge."

I nodded quickly, then looked at him intently before voicing the question that hung in the air.

"Would you like me to come with you to get it?"

His eyes widened for a moment before he quickly shook his head, his expression reflecting an unease he could not hide.

"No. It's too dangerous out there."

That statement made one of my eyebrows arch. I tilted my head, looking at him in confusion.

"You're saying that to me, but what about you? Isn't it just as dangerous for you? That's exactly why I should come with you," I said, trying to convince him.

From behind, the sound of footsteps echoed, and soon, three familiar figures appeared. Vitra, Dante, and Saphta. The three of them stood with slight smiles on their faces, as if ready to help at any moment if needed.

"If there are more than two of us, it'll be safe," Dante said confidently, giving a thumbs-up to emphasize his conviction.

"I need snacks, so I'll help," Vitra added, her tone so casual as if this situation was not something tense. We all facepalmed simultaneously, unable to believe her simple reason in the midst of such a dire moment.

"What? I'm serious," Vitra spoke again, her voice full of determination, as if snacks were more important than the danger lurking outside.

Then, without many words, Saphta looked at all of us, and in a voice that was brief but firm, he stated his intention,

"I want to go."

Just three words. But enough to leave me speechless.

With a long sigh, Mr. Damian finally gave in to his four stubborn students. He merely nodded slightly before turning around, reaching into his jacket pocket, and pulling out a key that gleamed faintly under the dim light. His slightly trembling fingers started working, trying to unlock the metal padlock securing the auditorium door.

But before he could open it, a voice from behind made him freeze.

"Sir? What are you doing?"

A firm voice echoed in the quiet auditorium. Mr. Johan, one of the teachers at the school, stepped closer with a suspicious expression, his gaze fixed on Mr. Damian's hand holding the padlock.

Mr. Damian turned around, then calmly answered, "The food supply is running low. We're going to collect the remaining stock stored in different locations."

Mr. Johan nodded quickly, but not in disagreement. Rather, a look of understanding etched itself across his face. However, instead of letting them go alone, he locked eyes with Mr. Damian and spoke in a deeper voice.

"Let me come along."

Mr. Damian merely gave a small smile, understanding his colleague's concern, then nodded in response.

Taking a deep breath, he refocused on the lock in his hands. A soft click echoed as the metal unfastened and fell to the floor with a faint clang that resonated through the empty hall.

As the door slowly creaked open, a rush of cold air surged into the room, sending a biting chill deep into their bones. The night wind slipped inside, carrying the scent of damp earth and a heavy silence.

The corridor outside greeted them with impenetrable darkness. No lights flickered to guide the way, no glow offered direction. Only shifting shadows swayed in the gloom, trembling under the relentless downpour that showed no signs of stopping.

As we stepped outside, Mr. Damian swiftly locked the door behind us. The soft clink of the key against metal was barely audible, swallowed by the continuous drumming of the rain. The earthy scent of wet soil mixed with the biting night air, as if the evening refused to grant warmth to anyone.

"Let's start walking," Mr. Johan's voice broke through our thoughts, pulling us away from the hypnotic rhythm of the falling rain.

Mr. Damian nodded and raised the flashlight in his hand, letting its dim yellow glow dance along the shadowed corridor. Our footsteps echoed against the damp floor, accompanied by the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks of old windows.

"It's freezing… I should've brought my jacket," Dante grumbled, his teeth chattering, arms wrapped tightly around himself in a futile attempt to steal some warmth.

Beside him, Vitra let out a small chuckle, her voice laced with smug amusement as she pulled her thick sweater closer around her. "Not smart enough, huh? Look at me."

Dante turned, eyes narrowing in irritation. "Damn it, you're mocking me, aren't you?" he muttered, still shivering.

Yet Mr. Damian kept walking without glancing back, his flashlight cutting through the darkness ahead, guiding us through the shifting shadows. I stole a glance at him. His expression remained firm, but there was a subtle tension in his features, as if his mind was weaving through thoughts unspoken.

In the suffocating stillness, I finally broke the silence, my voice echoing slightly between us.

"Sir… do you know about the mechanics of gambling?"

For a moment, our footsteps faltered. The beam of light wavering on the ground seemed to flicker in rhythm with the weight of my question hanging in the air.

Mr. Damian did not answer right away. He furrowed his brows, as though tracing the threads of a memory he had never truly unraveled. His eyebrows knitted together, his mind stitching through strands of uncertainty, searching for a fitting response.

At last, after a brief pause, he exhaled and said, "I don't know. I have never gambled. That world is not mine, and its mechanics are not something I truly understand."

Our breaths remained still, but our feet continued moving forward, pushing through the freezing corridor. In the quiet that stretched between us, Vitra's voice suddenly broke the air, soft yet piercing, making us turn our attention toward her.

"Gambling is not just a game of chance," she murmured, her words slipping between the relentless drumming of the rain. "It is a reflection of a person's courage, the courage to risk something valuable in hopes of gaining something greater. But within it, there is always an inescapable uncertainty. And more importantly, not all bets are made fair."

Our pace slowed, momentarily caught in the current of her words, each one carrying weight.

"Gamblers often fall into the illusion that they can outwit the system, that if they persist long enough, luck will favor them. But reality tells a different story. The longer one plays, the higher the chance of losing everything. In gambling, the strongest are not the smartest or the luckiest, but those who know when to stop."

The night air seemed to grow even colder, mirroring the depth of her words, which carried something more than mere philosophy. They carried a bitter truth too often ignored.

"The danger of gambling is not just the risk of losing wealth," she continued, "but the illusion it creates, that losses can be redeemed with the next bet. That is what makes gambling more than just a game of numbers and strategy. It is a game of ego. And an unchecked ego…"

Vitra took a slow breath, her eyes gleaming faintly under the dim flashlight.

"That is far more dangerous than any loss imaginable."

Silence blanketed us once more, but this time, it felt heavier than before.

We swallowed hard, almost in disbelief that Vitra, the one who always seemed indifferent, could speak with such depth. It was as if this cold, empty corridor bore witness to the hidden sharpness within her, the understanding she had kept concealed beneath her usual detachment.

Dante smirked, the corners of his lips curling up as he reached out, lightly ruffling Vitra's hair. "Hey, kid, turns out you have got some pretty impressive thoughts, huh?" His voice held a teasing lilt, an attempt to break the heavy atmosphere.

But in that instant, Vitra clicked her tongue in annoyance. With a swift motion, she swatted Dante's hand away from her head. This time, however, something in her gaze had shifted, a firm resolve that could not be ignored.

"Do not touch me so casually." Her voice was quiet but firm, carrying an unmistakable edge of displeasure.

Dante fell silent for a moment before finally letting out a soft sigh, his shoulders slightly slumping as he pursed his lips. In a quieter voice, he said, "Yeah, I am sorry. I will not touch you again."

We now stood in front of the teachers' lounge, our breaths ragged in the biting night air. Mr. Johan and Mr. Damian were sweating, whether from exhaustion or the tension hanging in the air. With slightly trembling hands, Mr. Damian inserted the key into the lock, turning it slowly until a distinct click echoed in the silence.

As soon as the door opened, Mr. Johan moved quickly, stepping in with full alertness, his knife raised, gleaming faintly under the dim light. His sharp eyes scanned every corner of the room, ensuring no hidden danger lurked within. A few seconds passed before he finally gave a thumbs-up.

"There is nothing here. It is safe." His voice cut through the tension, signaling us to step inside.

We searched the room, our fingers probing every nook and cupboard, hoping to find something we could take back. Eventually, we stumbled upon stacks of instant food neatly arranged on dusty wooden shelves. It was not much, but it was enough to spark a glimmer of hope in these uncertain times.

Saphta let out a quiet sigh, his brows furrowed as he stared at the supplies. "Most of this food needs to be cooked... We do not have the equipment for that," he pointed out, and we could only nod, acknowledging the new obstacle.

Before despair could take hold, Dante suddenly spoke up, his voice brimming with certainty. "If I remember correctly, there is a portable stove in the Culinary Club room. There should also be enough gas canisters there."

Our eyes met, realization dawning on us. This was our only solution. Without hesitation, we headed straight for the Culinary Club room.

Mr. Johan carefully opened the door, and just as Dante had said, there was a portable stove and a decent amount of gas canisters inside. He picked them up, lifting them slightly with a relieved expression. "This is good. Now we can cook the instant food." A small smile formed on his lips.

Mr. Damian nodded, his tense expression finally easing. But as his eyes swept over each of us, his face suddenly changed. He froze for a moment, then his voice broke the silence, sending chills down my spine.

"Noir! Where is Vitra???"

Like a bolt of lightning, we all turned around. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes frantically searching for Vitra, only to find nothing but empty space. My heart felt like it had stopped, an icy dread creeping down my spine. Cold sweat trickled down my temple, my mind clouded with terrifying possibilities.

Whether it was instinct or pure reflex, Saphta and Dante immediately dashed forward, their bodies moving as if propelled by a storm of panic. I followed closely behind, our footsteps pounding against the floor, the echo of our hurried steps filling the cold, dark corridor. There was no room for hesitation, no concern for lurking dangers. Only one thing consumed our thoughts.

Dante reached the teachers' lounge first. Without a second thought, he kicked the door open, the loud bang shattering the silence.

Inside, in the dimly lit room, Vitra stood casually, a bag of chips in her hand, while several other snacks were already clutched against her chest.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT!!!"

Dante's voice exploded, his anger vibrating through the air. Vitra turned to face us, her expression as indifferent as ever. No panic, no surprise. Just that unreadable look that seemed to mock all the worry we had just experienced.

Dante stormed forward, grabbing Vitra's hand forcefully. "We are leaving!" His voice was firm, almost commanding, but underneath it, there was a hint of fear.

But Vitra simply let out a small sigh, shaking off his grip lightly, then looking at him with those enigmatic eyes.

"I just wanted to grab one more snack," she said nonchalantly, as if this was nothing more than a trivial matter, as if she genuinely did not care about the anxiety radiating around her.

Dante stood frozen, his breath ragged, before anger flared up again, consuming his voice.

"DO YOU REALLY THINK A SNACK IS WORTH YOUR LIFE?!"

His shout shattered the silence, leaving me and Saphta rooted in place. I had never seen Dante lose control like this before. Saphta took a step forward, likely to intervene, but I placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking my head. There was something deeper than just anger in Dante's eyes.

And then, everything changed. Dante no longer yelled.

Instead, he reached out for Vitra again, but this time, not to pull her forcefully. This time, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

We were stunned, my heart skipping a beat at the sight. In the silence, Dante's voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling slightly.

"Please… do not do this…"

There was no anger in his voice anymore. No scolding, no force. Just raw pain, deep fear. A desperate plea from someone terrified of losing something precious.

Silence accompanied our steps as we walked back, the long corridor feeling endless. Every now and then, Saphta and I exchanged glances. A conversation without words, spoken only through fleeting looks.

Ahead of us, two figures walked side by side. Vitra and Dante.

But what caught my attention was not their presence. It was the way their fingers were tightly intertwined. Dante held onto Vitra's hand as if he could not bear to let go, as if even the slightest loosening of his grip would cause her to disappear.

Saphta and I exchanged glances again, this time with deeper understanding. Without saying a word, we both knew what the other was thinking. There was something between them, something beyond mere friendship. Even if unspoken, Dante's actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

As we returned, Mr. Damian and Mr. Johan greeted us with worried expressions. Sweat still glistened on their temples, but as soon as they saw Vitra return unharmed, visible relief washed over their faces.

"Thank goodness you are all safe… I was really worried," Mr. Damian said, his voice hoarse but filled with sincerity.

Then, his gaze shifted to Vitra, sharp and full of determination.

"Vitra, do not do that again."

Vitra simply nodded quietly, without a word, without any change in expression. However, beside her, Dante glanced at him, and without realizing it, his fingers were still reluctant to release the grip.

Silence once again enveloped us as we made our way to the Hall. Mr. Damian grabbed the padlock, slowly unlocking it, and when the door opened, the warm air from inside the Hall greeted us, offering some comfort amidst the chill of the night.

Outside, the rain still fell, its melody a never-ending song that harmonized with the wind. The air remained biting, piercing to the bone, but inside the Hall, at least there was warmth.

The faces of the students appeared more relaxed. Some began to chat, seeking comfort in each other's voices. Yet, beneath the small laughs that could be heard, beneath the flowing conversation, there was still a sense of unease hanging in the air, invisible but undeniable.

Because we all knew, the real storm had not truly passed.

"Gambling is not just about winning or losing. It is about having the courage to stake something valuable, even when you know you cannot control the outcome. What sets a gambler apart from a fool is not how much they are willing to bet, but how ready they are to face the consequences."