The Room That Shouldn't Have Opened
---
Sora stood in the threshold of the office that had haunted him for ten years.
His father's old study.
The dust was thick, like it had been waiting for him. Everything inside was silent, except for the slow, eerie creak of the ceiling fan turning overhead—despite no power being connected to the room.
He stepped inside.
One foot, then the other.
The smell of mildew and stale ink filled his lungs. There were papers still on the floor, yellowed with age. A locked drawer was slightly ajar. A shattered picture frame lay near the wall.
He didn't know what he expected to feel.
Terror?
Maybe fury?
But he only felt cold.
As if this room had been drained of emotion—bled dry by time and something far less explainable.
He crossed to the desk.
The note he found there—"The Observer sees, but never escapes"—lay heavy in his pocket. He ran a finger across the dust-covered desk surface, then reached toward the half-open drawer.
Inside, he found three things:
1. A torn piece of leather—familiar. From the old belt.
2. A file folder labeled "Psych Evaluation – S.K."
3. And a journal.
His father's.
Sora opened the file first.
Inside were medical reports.
For him.
> "Subject exhibits dissociative symptoms post-trauma…"
"Behavioral isolation increasing with age…"
"Possible auditory hallucinations…"
"Recommend monitoring; not disclosure to family."
But the final line was handwritten. In red ink.
> "Too much potential to waste. The watchers will be interested."
Sora blinked.
Then opened the journal.
Most pages were filled with incomprehensible scribbles—numbers, cryptic phrases, pages stained with dark splotches.
But one entry stood out.
---
March 19th, 2014
> "He's seen it. Somehow, he's seen the door. I didn't even bring him near it. But when I asked, he described it… the symbols, the stone handle, the cold. Exact. Word for word."
"If he remembers what's behind it…"
"I might not be able to protect him."
---
Sora shut the journal slowly.
His breath was steady—but his hands were cold.
So it was real.
The door. The watchers. The memory.
He had seen something when he was six.
And his father had known.
---
That night, he barely slept.
And when he did, he dreamed of something impossible.
A hallway with seven doors.
Six were locked.
One was open.
Inside was a circle of chairs.
Occupied.
People in masks. Theater masks. One with a spiral. One with a tear. One with a stitched mouth.
And one empty chair—at the center.
Facing all of them.
Waiting for him.
---
The next morning, the school counselor showed up.
Not the usual woman with the kind smile and coffee breath.
A new man. Tall, sharp-suited, with wire-rim glasses and gloves he never took off.
He introduced himself to the class as Mr. Ryusenji.
"Due to recent... incidents," he said smoothly, "I'll be speaking to each of you individually."
The class was quiet.
No one asked who sent him.
But everyone could feel it—this man wasn't here to comfort anyone.
He was here to observe.
And judge.
---
When it was Sora's turn, he was called into the counseling room alone.
The door closed behind him with a sound that felt too final.
Mr. Ryusenji gestured for him to sit. "Sora Kuroda, yes?"
Sora didn't respond. He simply sat down and stared back.
Ryusenji smiled faintly. "They said you're a quiet one."
"They say a lot of things."
The man leaned forward, folding his gloved hands.
"I've read your file," he said. "The one from your early childhood. The one that was… hidden."
Sora's pulse quickened—but his face remained still.
"I didn't ask for therapy," he said flatly.
"Oh, but this isn't therapy." Ryusenji smiled wider. "This is evaluation."
---
The questions came fast.
"What's your earliest memory?"
"Have you ever heard voices no one else hears?"
"Do you believe you're being watched?"
"What does the word 'Observer' mean to you?"
Sora froze.
That last question—
Ryusenji's smile grew. "I see."
---
Later that day, Kaito found him in the hallway.
But something was different.
His eyes were no longer glassy. There was life in them again—but also something else.
Fear.
"They gave me a new task," he whispered. "I didn't ask for it. They just gave it to me."
"What kind of task?"
Kaito looked around.
Then handed Sora a note.
Sora unfolded it.
> "The Observer must be tested.
Break his certainty. Shatter his logic.
Make him choose the wrong one.
Or take his place."
---
That evening, Sora returned to the study.
His mother stopped him in the hallway.
Her hand gripped his wrist. Tight.
"Don't go in there again," she whispered. "Please."
"Why not?"
"Because once you remember everything… you won't come back the same."
He looked into her eyes.
And for the first time, he saw tears.
But he still stepped inside.
---
In the drawer behind the bookshelf, hidden by hollow wood, he found a VHS tape.
Labeled only:
"7th Door – Initiation Footage – 1986"
He didn't have a player.
But he would find one.
And when he did, he would watch it.
Because now… he wasn't just being hunted.
He was hunting them.
---