After personally using his iron fists to "convince" his useless teammates in the most direct and heartfelt way possible, Orsaga finally managed to dispel all lingering suspicions.
The atmosphere inside the bus gradually returned to a tense but peaceful calm.
Everyone now accepted that there was indeed something strange—something inhuman—lurking near the bus, watching them.
A student crouched down and asked,
"So… what do we do now?"
After taking a punch from Orsaga, he'd genuinely experienced what felt like a near-death experience.
That brief moment had made him reflect on a lot of things—especially how reckless and foolish he'd been earlier.
Now, he saw the value of life and had firmly embraced a more cautious philosophy.
You could call it a physically induced intelligence upgrade.
Orsaga had quite literally beaten wisdom into him.
Hearing the question, Harris did his best to keep everyone calm.
"Let's just wait. We got through to the police earlier, remember?. They'll probably send someone soon to check on us."
As he spoke, he glanced out the window at the setting sun, its light turning an ominous amber.
An unshakable sense of dread crept through his heart.
But he said nothing.
In every horror story ever told, the fall of night is never a good thing.
He looked over at Orsaga, who was once again scribbling away, and silently prayed:
"Please let this exorcist be the real deal…"
The others, hearing Harris's words, felt marginally safer.
In this country, while the police occasionally shot civilians… well, civilians occasionally shot each other, too.
All things considered, the cops were usually the more reliable option.
At the very least, thanks to their frequent skirmishes with terrorists and gangs, most officers were well-armed and well-trained.
With the police involved, the passengers immediately felt more hopeful.
If a handgun didn't work, bring out the assault rifle.
If that still didn't cut it, bring out the machine gun!
Hell, the Ridgewood Police Department even had RPGs and sniper rifles!
As everyone chatted about what they'd do once the police rescued them, the mood gradually began to lighten.
That's when the cheerleading captain suddenly felt a wave of drowsiness wash over her.
Unable to resist, she slowly drifted into sleep.
In her dream, after a brief period of foggy disorientation, she found herself strangely lucid—aware of everything around her.
She recognized the setting immediately: the same road where their bus had broken down.
Just as she was beginning to wonder what was going on, two figures appeared nearby.
One was a young man, probably in his twenties.
The other was a little boy, no more than ten.
The young man looked at her seriously and spoke first:
"You need to get out of here—fast. He's already set his sights on you."
As he spoke, the dream began to shift and change on its own.
In the next moment, she saw a tall figure—clad in a black overcoat and wide-brimmed black hat—darting through the wheat field at high speed.
A few seconds later, he moved like a shot-putter and hurled a dart with terrifying force.
The projectile tore through the air like a bullet, piercing the boundary of the wheat field in an instant and striking the tire of a moving school bus—blowing it out.
It was their school bus.
The cheerleading captain immediately realized what she was seeing.
This was a replay of what had happened earlier.
The little boy beside her began to explain:
"No one knows what he is. No one knows when he first appeared. But he's been around for over a thousand years. And no matter what method people have tried, nothing can kill him. Every twenty-three years, he wakes up for twenty-three days. During that time, he hunts for food."
The cheerleader's face paled slightly as she asked,
"What kind of food?"
The moment she said it, the two males beside her suddenly became grotesque—bloody and mutilated, parts of their bodies missing.
The shock made her heart jump, and she instinctively took a step back.
But then, just as quickly, their bodies returned to normal.
The young man answered solemnly:
"There's a specific kind of fear inside the human body. That's what he feeds on. That fear tends to reside in a particular part of the body—and not everyone has it. So before he attacks, he scares his targets first—forces them to feel real, soul-deep fear. Then he identifies the ones he wants. He's been doing this since the days when this land still belonged to the Native Americans. killing thousands over the centuries."
The boy added softly:
"Only if all of you work together will there be a chance to escape…"
As their voices gradually faded into silence, the cheerleading captain felt her mind growing heavy again.
She instinctively shook her head, trying to stay alert—
—and the next moment, she woke up.
Opening her slightly dazed eyes, she saw her classmates and teachers still sitting around, chatting like before.
"…"
She took a deep breath, then stood up slowly.
Looking around at the road outside—identical to what she'd just seen in the dream—she felt a creeping tension rise within her.
She waved her arms, cutting off everyone's conversation.
Her expression was unusually serious.
"I know what that thing is now!. I just had a dream—two people who've died came to warn me. They said that thing has been alive for thousands of years. Right now, he's choosing his next meal. And the way he chooses, Is by sensing the fear we emit."
The students and teachers all exchanged uncertain glances.
One of the stronger male students frowned in disbelief and asked,
"What, you switch jobs from cheer captain to psychic while we weren't looking?. Since when could you talk to the dead?"
Laughter erupted around the bus.
Most of them figured she was just sleep-talking nonsense.
The cheer captain frowned and replied:
"I don't know how I was able to speak to them. But according to what they told me. That monster will return underground by sunrise tomorrow—to sleep for another twenty-three years. Then, after twenty-three years, he'll wake up again… feed for twenty-three days. And then go back to sleep for another twenty-three years. It's a cycle. It never stops."
The male student scoffed.
"Bullshit. You've been smoking too much weed."
Ignoring the mocking tone, the cheer captain's face grew even more serious.
Looking him dead in the eyes, she said slowly:
"He will come back for us. Even if we hide, it won't help. He can smell the fear we emit. He knows exactly which person to target, and which parts to eat…"
The boy's smirk began to fade.
He could tell—she wasn't lying.
And she definitely wasn't joking.
A chill crept up his spine.
And not just his.
All around the bus, everyone had gone quiet—
a cold, unspoken dread settling into their bones.
Outside, the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the hills.
The blue sky above finally darkened completely, swallowed by night.
___
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