Chapter 13: Chapter Thirteen: Two Choices

"Hey! Is anyone there?"

A trembling cry echoed through the pitch-black corridor.

The scorched floor was stained with many blackened smudges; a faint, strange odor hung in the air—not like charcoal, yet inexplicably stirring unease in the heart.

"Damn it, weren't we just singing in the KTV? How did we suddenly end up in this hellhole?" Takagi Ryosuke pushed his sliding glasses back onto his nose and glared at the wall illuminated by his phone's light.

The place was suffocating him, making it hard to breathe.

"We're still in the KTV," Ishida Kawakami said, frowning, his gaze fixed on the wall lit by Takagi's phone—beneath the grime and dullness, faint patterns were barely visible.

"I remember this style—the ukiyo-e waves. Our art appreciation teacher specifically pointed them out last semester."

"Now is not the time to admire ukiyo-e! Think about how to get out!" Takagi Ryosuke was nearly driven mad—how could Ishida possibly be admiring patterns in such a suffocating environment?

A guy who only cared about baseball one day suddenly showed up saying he wanted to be cultured, then spouted a barrage of technical terms.

Normally he'd have laughed and mercilessly mocked him.

But standing in the middle of this eerie, mottled corridor, Takagi Ryosuke couldn't laugh.

As they explored further down the corridor, the light didn't change—only the wall colors darkened, as if streaked with blood threads.

"Where did everyone else go? Are we the only two who came in?" Ishida Kawakami remained calm, muscles relaxed, stepping leisurely on the creaking floor.

Besides Niino Li and Ringo, who claimed they were going to the restroom but were clearly off doing god-knows-what, five others remained in the private room.

The sound of rain outside, car horns, even distant train noises could still be faintly heard, proving they were still inside the KTV—just accidentally stumbled into some hidden space.

If mysterious disappearances happened among customers in his own KTV, the owner must be sweating bullets right now, utterly at a loss.

Drawing on his experience browsing creepypasta websites, he, an atheist, remained unusually composed.

"Who knows? I remember I was about to pick 'Phoenix' on the song selector, then I ended up here." Takagi Ryosuke replied while cautiously walking down the center of the corridor.

Stepping on the uneven floor, breathing in the foul odor mixed with strange scents, it felt like crawling into a cannibal's den—his skin began to crawl.

"The private room up ahead doesn't seem locked. Let's go take a look."

Following the direction Ishida Kawakami's arm pointed, Takagi Ryosuke adjusted his phone—the dim light revealed a half-open, nearly shattered wooden door swaying slightly.

Within the half-destroyed doorframe lurked a devouring darkness, as if luring them closer.

"Hey! Ishida, are you insane? There might be something terrifying in there!" Takagi Ryosuke's face twisted in shock, waving his arms to try to stop him.

The human fear of darkness was perfectly embodied in him right now.

"Wandering this corridor won't get us anywhere. Might as well try breaking through." Ishida Kawakami stretched his stiff shoulders, ignoring him, a mocking smirk curling at his lips:

"You're not going to turn into a useless coward like Okura, who believed a girl turned into a praying mantis, are you?"

"Okura..." Takagi Ryosuke wanted to retort, his heart pounding, his neck flushed red—but no words came out.

The two stared silently at each other across the darkness for minutes.

Ishida Kawakami checked his phone—low battery. He didn't press further: "Tch. Fine, you coward, just hug your head and cry out here."

With that, he stepped forward, holding his phone, and pushed open the wooden door—immediately swallowed by darkness.

Watching Ishida Kawakami's confident, walking-away silhouette, Takagi Ryosuke's psychological defenses snapped tight—his palm, gripping the phone, grew slick with sweat and trembled continuously.

Without voices, the corridor's ambient noises grew louder; beneath the rain, other sounds subtly emerged.

Like someone dancing—or helplessly struggling.