The classroom air grew thick and heavy as she stepped through the doorway, her pristine white uniform untouched by the grime that seemed to cling to everything else in this decaying school. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across her face as she smiled—a smile too perfect, too polished, like porcelain crafted to mimic human warmth.

"Hi, I'm Nanno. It's nice to meet all of you. Take care of me, please."

Her voice was honeyed, dripping with saccharine innocence, yet something beneath it hummed—a dissonance, like a piano key struck just slightly out of tune. The other students murmured greetings, some indifferent, some charmed by her delicate features and the way her dark eyes glittered with false humility. But not you.

No, you felt it.

A cold finger of dread traced its way down your spine as she tilted her head, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling—just for a fraction of a second—on you. Your skin prickled, the fine hairs on your arms standing on end as if charged by an unseen current. There was something wrong here. Something that slithered beneath her pleasant facade, something that didn’t fit the way a human should.

The way she moved was too fluid, her steps too light, as though gravity itself hesitated to touch her. The shadows in the room seemed to bend toward her, stretching unnaturally long in her presence, as if the very light feared to expose what she truly was. And her smile—God, that smile—never quite reached her eyes. They remained dark, fathomless, twin voids that swallowed reflection whole.

You gripped the edge of your desk, your knuckles whitening as your breath shallowed. The others didn’t see it. They laughed, they welcomed her, they were fools. But you—you felt the wrongness in your bones, in the way your pulse stuttered when she passed by your seat, the faint scent of something metallic and sweet clinging to her—like blood masked by perfume.

She took her seat, folding her hands neatly in front of her, the picture of demure obedience. But when the teacher turned to write on the board, her head turned—just slightly—toward you. And she smiled. Not the innocent, practiced smile from before.

This one was different. This one was just for you.

A slow, knowing curl of her lips, a flash of something sharp behind her eyes—an acknowledgment, a challenge, a secret shared between monsters in the dark. Your stomach dropped. Because now you knew. Nanno wasn’t here to be taken care of. She was here to play. And you? You were already part of the game.