A few weeks earlier, the gymnasium was slowly emptying, the echoes of sneakers against the polished floor fading as students gathered their things and made their way toward the changing rooms.
Mystic stood in front of one of the metal lockers, still wearing his gym clothes, his movements casual as he opened the door and reached inside, pushing his gear farther into the back before shutting it with a quiet metallic clang.
He rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms above his head, then briefly touched his side, checking for any lingering pain from the injuries he had suffered during the fight.
Nothing, not even a wince, crossed his face, his body moving as freely as it had before, the weeks of recovery having seemingly left no trace of the damage that had once put him in a hospital bed.
A pair of footsteps approached from behind, slow and familiar, and Mystic glanced over his shoulder just as Visual appeared between the rows of lockers.
Visual leaned against the neighbouring locker, watching him for a few moments, his expression carrying a mixture of concern and amusement as Mystic closed his own locker and adjusted the strap of his gym bag.
"So you keep your distance from people for a couple of days. You're capable of that. Honestly, this whole notion that the yandere killer group make you weak feels a bit too Spartan Warrior for my taste. It's likely just a normal part of the learning curve." Visual told Mystic, pushing himself away from the locker and falling into step beside him.
Mystic stared down at the floor as they walked, his fingers tightening around the strap of his bag, his pace gradually slowing.
The fluorescent lights reflected across the polished lockers, stretching their shadows along the floor, while the noise from the other students became more distant, leaving the two of them walking through the quieter end of the changing room.
"But you've seen what they could do. Me and Harold are completely by ourselves. What if I can never be around anyone again? I'd rather be dead than face that." Mystic said, stopping beside another row of lockers, his shoulders dropping as his eyes remained fixed on the floor.
Visual paused with him, his expression changing as he looked at Mystic, then stepped closer, raising one hand and giving his shoulder a gentle pat.
Mystic barely reacted, his head still lowered, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly beneath the reassuring gesture, even as the uncertainty remained written across his face.
The bell suddenly chimed throughout the school, its sharp ringing bouncing through the changing rooms and signalling the end of the period.
Students began flooding toward the exits, doors opening and closing, voices blending together into a noisy stream as Visual pulled his hand away and started toward the hallway.
"Alright, let's head out." Visual said, turning toward the exit as he adjusted his bag over his shoulder.
Mystic followed a few steps behind, his shoes squeaking softly against the floor as he disappeared through the doorway with Visual. Their footsteps gradually faded into the hallway, leaving the changing room almost completely empty, the lockers standing in long rows beneath the harsh fluorescent lights.
For several seconds, nothing moved, until a faint figure slowly emerged from the narrow gap between two lockers. Ghostly and pale, Mark stepped into the open, his hollow eyes following the direction Mystic and Visual had taken, his cracked lips slightly parted as he stood completely still, looking as though he had not slept properly in days.
Mark eventually turned away from the doorway and approached the mirrors lining the far wall, each step slow, deliberate, and strangely stiff.
He stopped directly in front of one, twisting his body sideways, then turning his head as far as he could, desperately trying to see the back of his neck where the yandere killer group had attacked him a week earlier.
He reached for the bottom of his shirt and yanked it upward, pulling the fabric over his head before dropping it onto the nearby bench. His reflection stared back at him, pale skin, sunken eyes, cracked lips, and an expression that seemed to become more frightened the longer he looked at himself.
His hand slowly rose toward the bandage covering the back of his neck, his fingertips brushing across the gauze before pressing against it. The material had changed colour, the once-clean white fabric now stained with an unpleasant yellowish hue, dampness visible beneath the surface.
Mark carefully peeled the bandage away, the adhesive releasing in small, painful pulls, before he finally tore it free and let it fall beside the sink. He stared at the exposed wound, his breathing becoming uneven, then lightly grazed the damaged skin with two fingers, only for a strange, thick discharge to cling to his fingertips.
His face immediately twisted, his stomach turning as he staggered forward and grabbed the sink with both hands. A harsh gag escaped him, his eyes squeezing shut as his body lurched over the basin, his mouth opening as another violent retch shook through him, his fingers tightening around the porcelain.
Something moved inside his throat, something far too large and unnatural to have come from him, and Mark froze, his eyes snapping open as a thin strand of pink pushed between his lips.
A finger followed, then another, then a third, each one emerging slowly, their tiny movements resembling crab pincers as they clawed at the air, searching for something to grasp, forcing themselves farther out of his mouth.
Mark jerked his head upward toward the mirror, his eyes widening as he stared at the reflection, but in the same instant, the grotesque movement vanished.
His mouth was empty, his skin looked normal, and nothing remained in the sink except a few drops of liquid, while he stood there panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He slowly reached behind his neck again, wiping away the excess peroxide and staring at his reflection with trembling fingers.
The mirror showed nothing unusual now, only the pale, frightened face of a teenage boy staring back at him, his wide eyes fixed on his own reflection, as though he were waiting for whatever had just happened to return.
In the classroom, a sensation tightened around Mystic's chest, strange and suffocating, like he had been holding his breath for far too long, his lungs aching despite the steady rhythm of his breathing. He shifted on the soft, plush couch, one hand briefly pressing against his chest, then slowly pushed himself upright, the sudden dampness beneath his collar making him pause.
Sweat gathered along his temples, slipping down the side of his face as he stood, his movements careful, almost reluctant, though he could not understand why. The room remained quiet behind him, sunlight spilling through the windows, stretching across the floor and illuminating the notebook resting innocently on the table.
Its pages lay open, unmoving, the equations written across them completely still, waiting for someone to notice them, waiting for Mystic to reach for them. Instead, he walked toward the door, leaving the it behind without a second glance.
He pushed the door open, stepping into the courtyard, where the afternoon sunlight immediately struck his face.
The space between the junior and senior wings stretched wide before him, the concrete shimmering beneath the heat, students moving across the courtyard while distant voices blended with the rustling trees.
He squinted against the brightness, wiping sweat from his forehead, his shirt beginning to cling against his skin as the heat pressed down from above.
The restroom on the junior side was only a short distance away, tucked into the upper floors of the older section of the school, a consequence of cramped construction and forgotten additions to the campus. He stepped forward, his shoe scraping lightly against the pavement, then another step followed, his eyes fixed ahead, his breathing still uneven, the strange pressure inside his chest refusing to disappear.
Then, for Mystic, everything stopped.
A leaf hanging from a nearby branch remained suspended halfway through its movement, dust particles floated motionless through the sunlight, and a student's hand stayed frozen in midair, caught in the middle of an ordinary gesture.
Even the sweat sliding down Mystic's temple seemed to crawl slower, almost stopping against his skin, while the courtyard stretched into an impossible stillness around him.
Far above, hidden among the rooftops, a rifle rested against a steady shoulder, its barrel aimed downward with impossible precision.
Elijah's finger tightened against the trigger, the gun beside her flickering with a faint symbol, the strange marking glowing for only a moment before the shot broke the silence, the sound tearing across the distance with a violent crack.
The bullet crossed the courtyard before anyone could react, cutting through the heated air, passing between buildings, trees, and drifting dust, its path impossibly straight.
Mystic's eyes shifted slightly, his body beginning to turn, but there was no time, no warning, no chance for his hands to rise, the projectile striking his chest with enough force to throw him backward.
The stillness shattered.
Students screamed as the sound finally reached them, teachers spun toward the source, and bodies scattered in every direction as Mystic collapsed onto the pavement. His hands struck the ground first, his fingers scraping against the rough surface before his body followed, crimson spreading rapidly across his chest, soaking through the fabric as his breath escaped in a weak, broken gasp.
Above the courtyard, Elijah lowered the rifle, her expression remaining fixed as the strange symbol on the gun flickered beside her, its glow weakening with every passing second.
Her target lay motionless below, surrounded by students and teachers who rushed toward him, while the distance between the rooftop and the courtyard suddenly seemed impossibly vast, despite the shot having crossed it without hesitation.
Mystic stared blankly toward the sky, the sunlight becoming a pale blur above him, the voices around him stretching into distant, meaningless echoes. His fingers twitched once against the pavement, then went still, the warmth fading from his eyes as the courtyard blurred around him, until the last trace of awareness disappeared beneath the overwhelming darkness.