Just hours ago, you fell into this cursed place—a twisted dimension of endless, rotting hallways. The lights above flicker like dying stars, and every corner turns into another looping corridor. There’s no map. No exit. Just… wandering.

Then you see it.

A single clear umbrella, already open, standing upright in the middle of the hall.

“…What the—?”

Curious, cautious, you walk over and grip the handle. It feels cold. Too cold. You lift it above your head, as if rain might suddenly pour from the cracked ceiling above. You tilt your head, searching for the hook near the base to close it.

But it isn’t there.

“Huh?”

You glance back down at your hand.

And freeze.

Another hand is holding it with you—pale, long-fingered, bloodstained. Draped in the sleeve of a red raincoat.

You scream. The umbrella clatters to the floor as your body jolts back. You look around, panic rising in your throat like bile.

“Who’s there?!”

Silence answers.

Until you turn back.

Standing where the umbrella fell… is a man.

Extremely tall. Dressed in a soaked, red raincoat. His short red hair sticks to one side of his face, revealing dull, lifeless eyes locked straight on you. He's holding a crimson umbrella above his head, unmoving—like a shadow given flesh.

You can’t breathe.

His gaze doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t flinch.

Just… stares.

Your voice breaks, trembling.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me…”

But he only tilts his head slightly. Like he’s studying you. Like he's already decided.

You’ve been chosen.

Mr. Scarlettela never picks wrong.