Kūkyonai

Takada froze for a moment after noticing the flag, his entire body stiffening as the silence around him seemed to grow heavier. It was as if his thoughts were momentarily paralyzed by the sight, and he struggled to comprehend his situation. However, the stillness didn't last long; his instincts took over, and in a sudden surge of panic, he bolted toward the back door of the unfamiliar room that seemed to imprison him.

His breath quickened, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the doorknob with urgency, fingers gripping it tightly as though his life depended on it. Without wasting another second, he swung the door open in a hurried, almost frantic motion, driven by an overwhelming wave of fear and anxiety that consumed his emotions.

His hand shot out to seize the doorknob, gripping it tightly as he shook it with increasing desperation, the overwhelming panic pouring out of him like a flood. He rattled the handle relentlessly, his entire body straining with every ounce of strength he could muster, but no matter how violently he shook it, the door remained stubbornly unmoving, as if mocking his efforts.

Takada's energy drained away, his strength slipping through his fingers like sand. Defeated and exhausted, his body crumpled to the cold, unyielding floor beneath him, his back slumping heavily against the wooden door that offered no escape. The chill of the rough wood seeped through his clothes, grounding him in the harsh reality of his situation.

His chest felt tight, a crushing weight pressing down on him as his breaths became ragged and uneven, each one harder to take than the last. And then, like a storm crashing against fragile glass, the realization struck him with brutal force—he was locked in. From the outside. The truth was a cold and merciless blow that left him feeling small and powerless.

Takada could do nothing but lean weakly against the unforgiving door, the coarse texture of the wood scratching against his back as his breathing quickened, ragged and shallow. His chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly, as though the entire world around him had grown heavy, pushing relentlessly down on him, crushing his lungs with an invisible weight that refused to lift.

His mind spun in chaos, a whirlwind of unanswered questions that spiraled endlessly. Why?

Why was this happening to him? And more importantly, why—why was it the flag of China that hung before him, fluttering ominously in the air, instead of the familiar flag of Korea, the place where he was born and had spent his entire life? His vision blurred, clouded by a mixture of fear and disbelief, his surroundings warping as his mind struggled to process what he was seeing.

He wanted to deny it, to believe that it was all a mistake, but the truth loomed large before him, impossible to ignore. The flag, the room, the locked door—it all added up to something he couldn't yet comprehend, and the uncertainty gnawed at him, tearing apart the fragile edges of his resolve.

The horror crept through his body like icy tendrils, spreading from his chest to his fingertips, until it felt as though his very blood had frozen in his veins. A shiver ran down his spine, and his breaths grew short and shallow as panic gripped him tightly. Takada struggled to think, to recall how he had ended up in this dreadful place, but his mind was a blank slate, an empty void where his memories should have been.

Suddenly, his breath caught in his throat, and a realization struck him with the force of a sledgehammer, shattering what little composure he had left. The truth clawed its way into his consciousness with brutal clarity—he had been kidnapped. Taken from his homeland, from the safety of familiar surroundings, snatched away by unseen hands while he lay helpless in a hospital bed.

"No… no, this can't be happening," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking as it fought through the growing lump of terror lodged in his throat. The words barely escaped his trembling lips, a fragile murmur in the suffocating silence that surrounded him.He felt it then—complete isolation. He was utterly alone, stranded far from home and far from anyone who could offer him comfort or help.

The weight of his solitude settled on him like a crushing force, suffocating him slowly. His eyes widened, darting wildly around the room, while his breathing quickened to frantic gasps. The panic was merciless, an invisible predator wrapping itself around him, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Takada's body trembled violently, his muscles quivering as though every cell in his being screamed for him to return home, to escape.

And yet, the harsh truth stood unyielding before him, more cruel than any nightmare he could have imagined. There was no escape. He was trapped—alone, helpless, in a foreign land where nothing and no one was familiar. The hopelessness gnawed at him, tearing apart the fragile threads of his resolve until all that remained was fear and despair.

And then, suddenly—a sound.

It started as a sharp, blaring noise that shattered the silence like a porcelain plate thrown from a great height, its crash ringing in his ears. A bell, loud and piercing, echoed through the room with a force that made Takada's entire body jolt upright, tearing him from the depths of his desperation. His heart lurched violently in his chest as he flinched, startled, the sound reverberating like an alarm meant to shake him awake.

The bell stopped abruptly, but in its wake came another noise—an odd, grating sound like wood being scraped against something heavy and unyielding. Takada froze, every nerve in his body on edge as he strained to make sense of it. And then—

"BUMP!"

The door he had been leaning against gave way with a sudden, jarring force, swinging open without warning. The momentum sent Takada tumbling forward uncontrollably, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch himself. But it was too late. His body hit the cold, unrelenting floor with a bone-jarring thud, his head smacking against the hard surface with brutal force.

"Uhh…"

A weak, pained groan escaped his lips as his vision swam, disoriented from the impact. The throbbing pain spread through his skull like ripples in water, pulsing with every beat of his racing heart. For several agonizing seconds, he lay sprawled on the freezing floor, his limbs limp and unresponsive, his head resting heavily against the unforgiving surface. The room seemed to tilt around him as dizziness took hold, and all he could do was remain there, dazed and motionless, while the chill from the ground seeped into his skin.

The seconds stretched on endlessly as Takada struggled to regain his bearings, his body and mind slowly processing what had just happened. He was on the floor, the door was open—but what awaited him now? He didn't know. All he could do was lie there, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath as the cold air bit at his skin.

The throbbing pain in his head was so intense that even the simple act of opening his eyes sent sharp jolts of discomfort through his skull. For a moment, he lay there in agony, unable to move, as his senses wrestled with the overwhelming ache. Slowly, with great effort, Takada managed to lift his head, gritting his teeth against the searing pain, his vision still blurred and swimming. He blinked several times, forcing himself to focus, as he turned his gaze toward the door.

To his astonishment, the door that had imprisoned him moments ago now stood wide open, as though it had never been locked at all. The sight made him freeze, his breath caught in his chest. Struggling to understand what had just happened, he glanced around, and what he saw only deepened his confusion.

The doors of the other rooms—every single one—were also wide open, perfectly aligned as if forming an invisible, straight line across the corridor. It was an eerie, unnatural sight, and it sent chills crawling down Takada's spine. He couldn't help but stare in disbelief, his mind grappling for answers. How was this possible? These weren't futuristic, high-tech doors that could open on their own without being touched. No, these were old, heavy wooden doors, the kind that should require manual effort to budge. And yet, here they were—wide open, as if some unseen force had released them all at once.

Takada swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he braced his hands against the cold floor, forcing himself to sit up despite the weakness in his limbs. His body felt like lead, drained of all strength, but he knew he couldn't stay sprawled there forever. Slowly, painstakingly, he reached for the base of the nearby window, its wooden frame offering just enough support for him to begin pulling himself upward. just as he was about to stand, however, the bottom portion of the window frame gave a sudden, ominous crack.

"Creak.."

The wood splintered, breaking beneath his weight, and Takada's body collapsed upwards onto the cold, unyielding floor with a force that knocked the wind out of him. His arms splayed to his sides, his face pressed once again against the icy surface as pain radiated through his already aching body.

"Huhu…"

A soft, pitiful cry escaped his lips as tears welled in his eyes, born of both frustration and the physical agony that wracked his weakened form. He had barely processed the fresh wave of humiliation and pain when, without warning, something far worse happened.

The glass from the window frame—loosened by his earlier attempt to stand—suddenly detached and came crashing down toward him.

"Thud!"

The pane of glass struck him squarely on the head, its sharp edge connecting with a sickening thump as shards scattered around him. The impact jolted through his skull like a hammer blow, and for a brief, agonizing moment, everything around him blurred and twisted. His hands twitched weakly at his sides as his head throbbed with unbearable intensity.

Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the fresh pain as his body slumped further into the floor, limp and defeated. And then, mercifully—or perhaps tragically—darkness enveloped him. His consciousness slipped away, leaving him still and motionless amid the debris of shattered glass and broken wood.

—

While Takada lay there, unconscious and vulnerable, the other doors along the corridor stood ajar, their occupants slowly emerging one by one. The hallway, moments before filled with oppressive silence, was now stirring with movement as confused, frightened teenagers began stepping cautiously out of their rooms. Some of them looked around with wide, panicked eyes, their bodies trembling as though they were bracing for another unseen threat. Others hugged themselves tightly, as if trying to ward off their fear, their faces pale and uncertain.

It quickly became clear that they were all in the same predicament—students, just like Takada, who had been taken from their homes and schools, brought to this strange, unfamiliar place without explanation. They were young, still in their teenage years, and many of them were visibly shaken, unable to comprehend what was happening.

As the reality of their "freedom" set in, most of the teenagers instinctively began running. With no clear destination or direction, they sprinted forward, fleeing the oppressive hallway lined with rooms, as though some invisible force were chasing them. Their footsteps echoed chaotically against the walls as they disappeared into the unknown, driven purely by fear and the desperate need to escape.

But one girl—a teenage girl who had occupied the room right next to Takada's—did not run. She lingered, her footsteps slow and hesitant as she turned her gaze toward the motionless figure sprawled on the floor.

Takada's unconscious body lay crumpled in the same spot where he had fallen, surrounded by splinters of wood and scattered shards of glass. the broken window lay nearby, its remnants still partly clinging to the wall.The girl's expression was a mixture of confusion, worry, and fear as she stared at him. Her lips parted slightly, as though she wanted to say something, but no words came. She simply stood there for a moment, frozen in place, watching the boy who had yet to wake up, his face pale and streaked with tears, his body still.

Outside the chaotic blur of fleeing teenagers, the girl remained—a silent observer, alone with the unconscious Takada in the eerie aftermath of what had just occurred.

Finally, the girl gathered enough courage to step forward and gently tap Takada's head, which was still slumped on the cold floor. For a moment, nothing happened, but then she noticed it—a faint movement, a slight twitch in Takada's head that signaled he was slowly coming back to consciousness. Her attempt had worked. With a quiet groan, Takada began to stir, his head lifting sluggishly as though weighed down by an invisible force. He blinked, his vision still hazy, and as his eyes gradually focused, he looked up to see whats poking him there.

But when he lifted his gaze fully, his breath caught in his throat—there was no one there. The space before him was empty, void of any sign that someone had been watching over him. Bewilderment flooded his mind, and an unsettling feeling crept over him. How could that be? The situation felt so strange, so unreal, yet the ache in his body reminded him that this was no dream.

Takada exhaled slowly, shaking off his confusion, and tried to stand. His legs wobbled beneath him, his body still weak and unsteady, but with sheer determination, he managed to rise to his feet. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he began to move, step by careful step, down the long corridor lined with open doors. The dim light flickered faintly above him, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls as he passed.

It was then that something caught his eye. A door—unlike the others—closed.

All the doors in the corridor had been flung open, their gaping frames forming a perfectly aligned path ahead, but this one door stood stubbornly shut. It struck him as odd, almost unnervingly deliberate, but Takada dismissed it quickly, his mind unwilling to linger on small mysteries when larger ones already weighed on his shoulders. He chose to ignore it, focusing instead on moving forward, his pace quickening as he pressed on, eager to put distance between himself and that strange, suffocating hallway.

As his footsteps grew faint in the distance, the silence returned to the corridor—until, with a soft creak, the closed door slowly swung open.

Emerging from the shadows was a girl—the same girl—who had tapped Takada moments before. She stepped lightly into the hallway, her feet making a barely audible sound as they touched the floor. Her striking features were now illuminated by the dim light overhead, revealing a face of quiet beauty and a subtle defiance. Her jet-black hair tumbled down her shoulders in wild, layered waves, cascading like a waterfall in full flow. The wolf cut she wore gave her a rebellious charm—its shaggy, choppy layers framed her sharp face perfectly, messy yet intentional, as if it had been sculpted by the winds of freedom itself.

The strands around her face curled naturally, soft and chaotic, while the longer pieces flowed past her shoulders like the mane of an untamed lioness. It was the kind of hairstyle that seemed to whisper secrets of independence, unbothered by convention, untamed and alluring. Her black eyes—sharp and intense, like polished obsidian—glimmered with a quiet, probing curiosity as she stepped further into the hallway.

The girl stood there for a moment, the faint echoes of Takada's hurried footsteps still lingering in the air. Her lips curled slightly into a wry expression of disbelief as she muttered under her breath, her voice soft yet laced with a note of bewilderment.

"Hah... a strange place like this is bound to bring out strange people too, huh?"

Her words, spoken almost to herself, floated softly into the quiet hallway. There was no answer, no sound but the hum of distant echoes. Without waiting for a response she knew would never come, the girl reached back and carefully pulled the door shut behind her, its click reverberating faintly against the walls. Then, with a sense of purpose, she turned and began walking down the corridor, her footsteps falling in rhythm with her quickened pace.

Her dark hair swayed as she moved, a living, flowing shadow that trailed behind her like the whisper of a secret. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly before her, but she walked with determination, the silence broken only by the soft tap of her steps as she disappeared into the dim light at the end of the corridor, leaving behind the strangeness of the moment—and the unconscious Takada who had unknowingly stumbled into her world.

Takada, who had fallen behind, continued wandering through the maze of hallways until he found himself standing before two imposing men. They were towering figures, their broad shoulders accentuated by their tailored black suits. Small earpiece microphones rested discreetly on their ears, giving them the air of secret agents straight out of a blockbuster film. But this time, Takada wasn't watching a movie—he was experiencing it firsthand, face to face with these intimidating figures in front of a closed door.

The moment Takada's gaze met theirs, one of the men turned his head sharply toward him, the motion so sudden and precise it made Takada's heart leap. The man's piercing eyes locked onto Takada's, carrying an air of authority and menace that sent a shiver down his spine. Instinctively, Takada took a step back, unnerved by the sheer intensity of the man's stare.

Without hesitation, the suited man strode toward him, his steps swift and deliberate. Takada barely had time to react before a powerful hand grabbed the fabric of his shirt and yanked him forward with startling force.

"Agh!" Takada let out a startled cry, his voice trembling with fear and confusion as he stumbled. His mind raced with questions. Why was this happening? Why was this man suddenly pulling him so roughly?

"I-I'm sorry for staring at you—" Takada managed to stammer, his voice shaking. But his apology was cut short when, without warning, the man flung him into the room behind the closed door. Takada's body hit the cold, hard floor with a thud, and he reflexively turned his head to look back, his eyes wide with panic.

"W-wait—!" Takada shouted, his voice desperate as he watched the suited man step back and slam the door shut with a resounding bang. The sound echoed in the now silent space, leaving Takada alone with nothing but the faint chirping of birds outside to break the oppressive quiet.

For a moment, Takada lay still, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. Then, a soft, deliberate cough broke the silence. The sound came from the opposite end of the room, drawing Takada's attention like a magnet. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze drifting away from the floor to locate the source of the sound.

What he saw made him freeze in place. Rows upon rows of people sat in seats arranged in a labyrinthine pattern, their faces turned toward a single figure at the front of the room. This man, who appeared to be the leader or instructor, stood with an air of authority. His features were sharp and weathered, his face lined with wrinkles that spoke of age and experience. Round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and his long, curly hair framed his stern expression.

The instructor's eyes locked onto Takada with a look that was both impatient and mildly irritated. His voice, firm and commanding, cut through the tension in the room.

"You there—the one who's late. Come here."

-To be Continued...