Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes.

Chapter 11.11: No Way Out

Inside the abandoned classroom, Jing Xia unconsciously gripped the flashlight in his hand. The pale light swept across the empty classroom, the cobweb-covered picture frames, and the floating dust.

Everything was as they had seen during the day; nothing seemed amiss. He frowned, listened intently for a few seconds, then turned to Hosokawa and asked.

Did you hear anything just now?

"No," Hosokawa shook his head blankly, but quickly noticed something else amiss. "Eh? Where's Sato?"

It was only then that Inoue realized that Sato had disappeared.

That's strange, when did he leave?
Hosokawa was about to call out a few times when Inoue stopped him.

“If you shout, you'll just make a fool of yourself in front of the new recruits. I suspect that Sato has bad intentions and is planning to dress up as a ghost to scare the new recruits,” Inoue rationally analyzed.

Hosokawa thought that was also possible. They had indeed discussed this idea, but it hadn't come to fruition, mainly because of insufficient funds. Buying those props was already expensive, and dressing up as a ghost would be another expense.

They're here to select bad actors, not to actually renovate a haunted house for business.

But in such a gloomy environment, if you really want to scare people, you don't necessarily have to dress up. Hiding around a corner and suddenly jumping out should be just as effective.

So Sato probably felt that those scary props weren't enough and decided to do it himself.

"That can't be right either, isn't Sato the one who's most afraid?" Hosokawa thought for a moment and had another question, but before he could finish speaking, he was cut off by a sudden chill.

The two froze on the spot—a wisp of damp, cold air was slowly creeping up their necks, carrying a musty smell, like rotten paper.

[Walk Fast]

Hosokawa's pupils contracted sharply, and the flashlight fell to the ground with a thud, rolling a considerable distance. The beam of light slanted across a pane of glass placed in the corner, clearly reflecting the silhouette of a third, blurry figure behind them.

Inoue whirled around, his heels tracing a semicircle on the dusty ground, only to see his own violently swaying shadow cast on the mottled wall.

All that could be heard was the sound of their heavy breathing.

The two remained completely silent, exchanging a glance with expressions of surprise and uncertainty.

"I don't remember this floor being set up with anything, right?" Inoue slowly walked to the flashlight that had just fallen, picked it up, stared at the broken piece of glass, and said in a dry voice.

"No, definitely not." Hosokawa answered with a tense expression, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, pulling at the veins on the side of his neck, his voice even carrying a hint of a sob.

The two fell silent again.

You will die. He's annoying right now.

Again, fragmented words and phrases, vaguely seeping out from who-knows-where.

Inoue suddenly turned and stared intently at Hosokawa. Hosokawa finally awakened his belated emotional intelligence, and for once, his EQ exploded. He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace: "Boss, I... I suddenly have a stomachache. Can you come down with me to poop?"

Inoue breathed a sigh of relief and casually wiped away the sweat that was about to slide down his neck and collar: "I really can't do anything with you, you poop and pee so much. Let's go, if we run into any newbies, let them know that we're meeting downstairs instead."

The two hurriedly prepared to leave.

They had only taken two steps toward the door when they realized that it was closed at some point.

"Did you close the door just now?" Inoue asked, his voice trembling.

"No way, it might be the wind?" Hosokawa stretched out his trembling hand, forced himself to open the door, and then, as if he had been frozen in place, stood behind the door.

"Why aren't we leaving?" Inoue urged from behind.

"B-Boss," Hosokawa was about to cry, "How the hell is the toilet behind this door?!"

What the hell?
Inoue doubted that he had heard correctly.

They entered the classroom through the aisle, so how could it possibly lead to the restroom?! Do you think you've opened a magic door?!
But that's the reality. When Inoue pushed Hosokawa aside to look, there was no doubt that behind the door was the toilet, the old-fashioned Japanese-style urinal.

You can even smell a faint odor of urine.

It was unclear whether the odor came from the toilet or their crotches. It was as if someone had actually overheard Hosokawa's excuse about needing to use the toilet and conjured one up out of thin air for them.

Inoue pushed Hosokawa aside, slammed the door shut, closed his eyes, and muttered to himself, "It's all an illusion, it's all an illusion." He took another deep breath and quietly opened the door again.

This time, what appeared before them was finally a gloomy and dimly lit corridor.

The two of them breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. Even the cold environment couldn't stop them from sweating profusely, but they didn't bother to wipe it off and quickly went outside.

Da da da.

They had only run a short distance when the loud sound of wooden planks made them stop involuntarily.

"Was this sound heard when we arrived?"

They exchanged a strained glance, then their gazes slowly moved downwards.

By the dim moonlight streaming through the window, one could vaguely see that what they were standing on was a wooden floor.

But this school building doesn't have wooden floors at all.

Even if they're slow on the uptake, they should have realized what's happening by now. If they haven't both lost their minds at the same time, then they've really encountered something evil.

But it was too late to realize it now, or rather, the outcome was already sealed the moment they chose to step into that old building at night. Because at that moment, a pair of charred hands rested on their shoulders.

In an instant, their bodies stiffened like stones.

A hoarse voice came from behind.

"Why aren't you all paying attention in class? What are you running around for?"

Inoue gritted his teeth, glanced at Hosokawa who had his mouth agape, and frantically gave him meaningful looks.

Hosokawa looked terrified. "Boss, what's with that look in your eyes? I don't understand!"

Ghosts are seven parts afraid of people, ghosts are seven parts afraid of people!

Inoue hypnotized himself like this, took a deep breath of the burnt air, instantly put on a ferocious face, turned around and threw a punch: "Baka yarou! Don't try to play tricks on me here!"

Click.

His fist felt like it was hitting a crispy chocolate cake; it broke through the brittle outer layer and sank into the other person's body softly. The feeling was extremely strange, like hitting putty.

At this moment, he also saw clearly what kind of existence was behind him. It was a charred ghostly figure with no facial features and a teacher's certificate hanging on its chest. Inoue's fist was stuck in the other party's shoulder, as if it was firmly attached to something and could not be pulled out no matter what.

The ghostly figure grinned, revealing a blood-red smile, and reached out, silently grabbing Inoue's neck as he tried to pull his arm away.

"Click. Let go."

Inoue was lifted up without any resistance, struggling desperately with a look of despair on his face. He turned his head slightly with difficulty and looked at Hosokawa with pleading eyes.

"Waaaaah! I'm so sorry! Boss! I'm so sorry!"

But Hosokawa was completely terrified and had no courage to resist. While the other party was still dealing with Inoue, he turned and ran away crying.

"Goo-ho-ni." Inoue waved weakly at Hosokawa's disappearing figure, then tried to pry open the charred ghost's hand, but to no avail. Slowly, his eyes bulged and his hand fell limply to his sides.

“Disobedient children deserve to die,” the charred figure said.

He watched the direction Hosokawa had left in, his charred figure silently disappearing into the darkness.

With a thud, Inoue's body, its eyes wide with rage, fell to the ground. But upon closer inspection, it was clear that his right hand was tightly gripping his own neck, and even in death, he had not let go.

He strangled himself to death.

(End of this chapter)