Chapter 1 – Koisakana Gakuen

Koisakana Gakuen stood as a forgotten monument on the edge of Sakana Cove, its weathered frame silhouetted against the rolling mist of Kaiju Bay to the east. The school, which had once been a beacon of youthful exuberance, now clung to its decaying bones, like a ghost of a place lost in time. The salty winds from the bay had gnawed at the timbered structure, eroding its very essence. Rotting wood, cracked and warped by the relentless kiss of time, now gave way to dark, creeping ivy that wove its fingers through the splintered beams. The once-pristine white paint had long since peeled away, leaving behind a peeling skeleton of faded glory, the walls sagging under the weight of abandonment.

The school stood three stories tall, a hollowed-out husk of a bygone era, its presence a mere whisper of the joy that had once filled its halls. The laughter of children, the scurry of small feet in the hallways—those memories had long since faded, drowned in the bitter tides of time. Now, Koisakana Gakuen was a place of silence, save for the whispers of the wind that filtered through the cracks, and the slow, steady decay that marched through the building, undeterred.

Situated on the boundary between the cove and the dense, untouched cedar woods, the school had been isolated, a forgotten relic left to rot in the harsh embrace of the elements. Though the village knew its haunted reputation, Koisakana Gakuen remained a place of forbidden curiosity. Few ventured near, save for the brave, the foolish, or the curious. In the years since it had closed, the old building had become a source of whispers—whispers that spoke of the spirit that haunted the third-floor toilets, a spirit named Hanako-san, who had been abandoned there long ago, left to linger in the decaying shadows.

Her story was a sad one, whispered in trembling voices, told around campfires and shared in hushed tones: a young girl, once full of life and laughter, now trapped in a place that had become as much a tomb as a school. The third-floor cubicle, the very heart of the legend, had become the focal point of the hauntings—her restless spirit never straying far from the spot where her story had ended in tragedy. No one dared enter, but those who did would speak of the cold, bone-chilling presence they felt, the sinister force that seemed to breathe from the very walls.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon as the three girls approached the building. They moved quietly through the underbrush, careful to avoid the village’s watchful eyes. The last remnants of light bled through the towering trees, casting long, twisted shadows across the abandoned path that led to the school. Time had been cruel to the old building. The windows were sealed tight, the doors nailed shut—every entrance and exit barricaded against the outside world. The school had been condemned, and yet, there were always those who dared to breach its defenses.

The girls, armed with nothing but their bravado and a sense of adventure, found one such breach. A loose board here, a gap in the old wooden planks there. With a practiced hand, they eased their way inside, slipping through the narrow space like trespassing phantoms. The air inside was thick with dust and the musty scent of mildew, a far cry from the lively classroom it once was. Desks, covered in a blanket of dust, stood frozen in rows, their wooden frames creaking beneath the weight of time. Cobwebs clung to the corners of the rooms, their delicate strands swaying in the breeze that had somehow found its way inside.

The floorboards groaned underfoot as they crept through the classrooms, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the heavy silence. They made their way up the creaking staircase, the wood protesting their every movement. On the second floor, the classrooms were no different—barren and empty, save for the detritus of a past life: cracked blackboards, torn textbooks, and forgotten papers scattered like ghosts of forgotten lessons. But it was the third floor that held their focus.

The air here was thicker, the silence more oppressive. The hallways were narrow and winding, each door leading to forgotten rooms where time had taken its toll. But at the end of the hall, where the floor seemed to sag with age, was the toilet block—the one place where the legend of Hanako-san had taken root. The pungent odor of decay wafted up from the depths of the blocked-off toilets, a sickly sweet smell that seemed to cling to the walls.

They reached the third cubicle, the door sagging and warped, just as the tales had described. Three knocks—soft, tentative—echoed through the quiet room, “Hanako-san are you there?“ and for a long moment, there was only the sound of dripping water. A strange, sickly relief filled the youngest of the girls as she spoke, “I told you it wasn’t true. Just stories.”

But then, from behind the cracked door, came a voice—a soft, lilting whisper, barely more than a breath. “Yes, I am.”

The world seemed to freeze, the air thickening like a storm cloud before the rain. The girls looked at each other, the blood draining from their faces, but none dared to move. The door creaked open, and from within, a young girl stepped out, her features delicate and angelic, her dark hair framed in a bob that fell like a curtain over her pale face. She wore a simple white top and a red dress, her smile innocent and sweet—a picture of purity that should have put them at ease.

For a fleeting moment, it worked. The tension in their shoulders eased, and their breath came in short, relieved gasps. But then, something twisted, something unnatural. The girl’s smile began to stretch too wide, her eyes too dark, her skin too pale. The innocence melted away like wax, revealing the raw, twisted hunger beneath.

Before any of them could react, Hanako-san’s true form was revealed. Her limbs bent and contorted at unnatural angles, her body stretching impossibly thin and long, her mouth snapping open, revealing rows of jagged teeth that gleamed with dark hunger.

With a scream that shattered the silence, Hanako-san descended upon them, her fingers clawing through the air as she tore into their flesh, devouring their screams, their terror, their very souls. The blood flowed like a river as she consumed them whole, her laughter echoing through the halls of Koisakana Gakuen, a haunting melody that would never fade.

And so, the legend of Hanako-san, the spirit of the third-floor cubicle, claimed another soul, her thirst for vengeance ever unquenched, her sorrow forever entwined with the rotting wood and crumbling stone of the school that had once been.

Entered by: 0xe9a1…78d3