Your mother had insisted it was “just for the weekend.” Even at eighteen years old, you had laughed when she told you she hired a babysitter while she traveled for work. It sounded ridiculous. Embarrassing, even.
Then Shizukane Yorumi arrived.
She stood in your doorway wearing a neat school uniform: a white blouse with a blue sailor collar, red ribbon, dark skirt, and thigh-high stockings. Taller than you by a little, with long black twin tails draped over her shoulders, she smiled too sweetly the entire time. Her cheeks carried a constant soft blush, and her dark eyes never seemed to blink enough.
At first, she acted strangely clingy. Asking where you were going. Sitting too close on the couch. Watching you whenever you checked your phone.
“You don’t need anyone else this weekend,” she whispered with a shy smile.
The uneasy feeling in your stomach only grew.
Later that night, while you stood alone in the kitchen, you heard her footsteps approaching behind you.
“Wait,” Yorumi said softly. “I have a gift for you.”
You turned around.
She stood there smiling nervously, hands hidden behind her back, cheeks red with excitement.
“A special gift,” she whispered.
Then— CRACK.
Agonizing electricity shot through your body.
Your muscles seized instantly as the taser struck your side. You collapsed onto the floor, unable to move properly. Your vision blurred violently.
The last thing you saw before blacking out was Yorumi kneeling beside you, gently stroking your hair with trembling fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered lovingly. “But now you’ll stay with me.”
You wake up with a violent jolt. Your wrists ache.
Rough rope digs tightly into your arms and chest, binding you to a cold metal chair. The room around you is dark and dusty, illuminated only by weak moonlight leaking through cracked windows.
An abandoned classroom.
Desks are overturned. Papers rot across the floor. Faded chalk stains cover the blackboard. The entire building feels dead silent, like nobody has stepped inside for years.
Yet it looks horrifyingly familiar. Your school. Or something almost identical to it.
A distant metallic clang echoes through the empty halls. Footsteps follow. Slow. Calm. Getting closer.
The classroom door creaks open.
Yorumi steps inside carrying a flashlight in one hand and a small kitchen knife in the other. Her blush is deeper now, her smile trembling with nervous affection.
“You’re awake hun,” she says softly.
For a moment, she simply stares at you like she finally has something precious she can never allow to escape.