The moment the female ghost's hand grazed my hair, her inner thoughts exploded with pure joy.

"I touched her! She's so soft and fluffy that I'm gonna die! My life's complete, Mom! I touched a human!"

Once she succeeded, the whole army of ghosts could no longer hold back. They rushed toward me in excitement, flinging detached arms and dragging their broken legs behind them.

"This human is so well-behaved that she actually lets ghosts pet her!"

"If she gets to touch her, I want a turn too! I'm touching her next!"

"Lemme pet her! What's the big deal with just one pat?"

My head spun, and cold sweat ran down my spine.

That wouldn't do. I knew that if they kept it up, I'd probably be rubbed bloody by sheer enthusiasm even if they didn't rip my head off.

I darted back several steps toward the door and twisted the handle, but it was locked from the outside.

"No! The tiny human won't let us pet her anymore, but I didn't even get my turn…"

"Don't go, tiny human. Come here and let me hug you."

"I must look too scary. Even the tiny human doesn't like me…"

From the way the ghosts stopped in their tracks and huddled timidly together, they actually looked kind of… pitiful.

For some reason, I actually felt bad.

"Well… If you could tell me how to get out of here…" I guessed that I had to let them touch me again.

I saw the way their eyes instantly lit up, or maybe, only the ghosts who still had eyes.

Overjoyed, they busily scurried around the classroom and grabbed random junk before piling it in front of me. The pile included fragments of a notice, a notebook, and the rope they untied from the neck of the hanging ghost.

What on earth was this mess?

When I opened the notebook, words in various colors and handwriting styles leaped off the pages. Without exception, every line was filled with nasty insults and mockery.

"Know your place, Piggy Clark."

"You're last in the class, so why are you wasting paper on a notebook?"

"Drop out. You don't deserve to be here."

I frowned. What on earth was going on?

…

After several attempts, I confirmed that though I could hear the ghosts' inner thoughts, I couldn't directly ask them for the game's solution.

Whenever I brought up anything related to the game's content, the ghosts would go completely blank as if someone had unplugged their senses. It seemed that if I wanted to end the game, I'd have to do it on my own.

As I recalled all the survival-horror novels I'd read, I rested my chin in my hand and sank into deep thought.

The ghosts sat in a huddle around me and pretended to think hard, too.

But…

"Why is everyone sitting here and spacing out? Well, I'll space out too!"

"What should I eat for lunch… and for dinner…"

"The tiny human looks so soft… I really like her… If only I could pet her again…"

"Tiny human…" The last comment trailed off with giggles.

Listening to the ghosts' chaotic inner thoughts, my brain slowly began to melt like a pot of mush.

Just then, the shy female ghost who had approached me first pieced together the notice fragments and proudly presented them to me.

"You're a huge help. What's your name?" I offhandedly asked as I gratefully took the notice.

She shook her head and looked blank with confusion.

"Don't you remember your name?" I asked.

She shook her head and drifted away, looking melancholy.

I grabbed a few other ghosts, who all gave the same answer. Without exception, they knew nothing about their names or pasts, so I had no choice but to refocus on the clues at hand.

The notice was roughly pieced together, but I could vaguely make out that it was a school notice issued to students.

"Campus… Fully enclosed management… No communication devices allowed…"

This was a fully enclosed boarding high school. Before completing their studies, the students could not set foot outside the school grounds.

That meant these students likely couldn't contact their parents at all during their three years of high school studies.

After struggling through the fragmented, barely readable notice, I still couldn't pick up any clear clues. Compared to semi-enclosed schools, this high school mostly enrolled left-behind children.

Parents who couldn't pick up or drop off their kids for various reasons would usually send them to this fully enclosed boarding school with low tuition fees.

So, how had the students turned into these ghosts?

Solemnly, I swept my gaze across the circle of grotesque and terrifying, yet strangely harmless faces of the ghosts, one by one.

Under the barrage of "Human, come cuddle!" inner voices, I admitted defeat.

A clingy human wasn't scary, but a clingy ghost was. A whole classroom of clingy ghosts was an absolute nightmare!

I took a steadying breath, picked up the notebook, and resumed searching for more clues.

The notebook's owner was named Peggy Clark. Her handwriting was neat and pretty, and for some reason, it felt vaguely familiar.

Where had I seen it before?

Suddenly, it clicked. The handwriting!

Even if the ghosts didn't remember their names or pasts, their handwriting wouldn't change much. If I could get all of them to write something, maybe I could identify Peggy by finding the ghost that could match her handwriting.

As per my instructions, the ghosts formed a line and began writing on several blank sheets of paper. Though they fumbled with the pen and paper at first, muscle memory kicked in, and soon, they were scribbling comfortably.

I watched closely and silently while comparing the handwriting.

They began with simple words like "sky"and "big".

Somehow, someone had a terrible idea and started a trend among the ghosts. They began copying each other and writing the word "human".

One particularly cultured ghost even wrote a full sentence. "Humans love me, and I love humans."

When I met his eagerly expectant gaze, I wore a complicated expression and applauded. "Y-You did great."

After the cultured ghost disappointedly drifted away, another ghost stepped up to me, bent down, and started writing.

This female ghost looked especially tragic. Her head was barely attached to her neck, and she had to hold it in place with one hand.

She was the last ghost in line.

Finally free from so many eager, longing stares, I let out a small sigh of relief, but that relief was short-lived because I recognized her handwriting.

It wasn't Peggy's handwriting, but the handwriting from the line "Know your place, Piggy Clark."

I took two steps back and carefully studied her. But after looking her up and down, the result wasn't what I expected.

This grim, tragic female ghost, whose head was barely attached, was covered in blood and broken limbs. Her eyes were filled with pure innocence.

Could it be that all ghosts became childlike and pure after forgetting their pasts?

While resting my chin in my hand, I circled Grimmie thoughtfully.

She blushed under my gaze and had no idea what to do with her scattered limbs, though her blood-strained face hardly showed any color.

Her inner thoughts, however, had spiraled into a frenzy. Words fired out at machine-gun speed.

"Why is the human looking at me? Does she like me? Does she hate me? Does she like or hate me? Why is she still circling me?

"Will she nuzzle me? Can I nuzzle her? Does she like me? Does she hate me? What—"

Her thoughts were annoyingly loud and chaotic. I pretended to circle her a few more times, but mentally, I was drowning in her psychic high-speed rambling.

Rather than overthinking, I decided to go on the offensive and deploy some cunning tricks.

I fixed Grimmie with a feigned stern look and demanded, "It was you, wasn't it?"

Her brain was completely short-circuited. "She's talking to me! She likes me, but why isn't she smiling when she talks to me? Does she hate me? What—"

I couldn't take it anymore and grabbed her shoulders to give her a hard shake. "Calm down! I have questions for you!"

"She's touching me! She's touched me! Did you see that, everyone? The human touched me first! I knew she liked me!"

With that, I gave up. Humans and ghosts were truly different creatures.

I figured that there wasn't any villainy going on here. To be bad, she’d at least need a functioning brain.

With that clue leading to nowhere, I had no choice but to take out the last item the ghosts had brought me. It was a thick, coarse hemp rope.

It looked plain and ordinary. There was nothing special about it, except that someone had hanged themselves with it.

I examined the rope and ran it through my hands inch by inch. However, I found nothing unusual. Since the problem wasn't with the rope, it must be with the ghosts.

I looked up and scanned the circle of ghosts sitting around me, including three hanging and 17 jumper ghosts, and one especially unusual ghost.

Grimmie's injuries were catastrophic. She looked like she'd been hit by a car and repeatedly run over.

Who would commit such insanity in a school? What exactly happened here that left students dying in every horrific way imaginable?

Before I could connect the dots, Grimmie sat beside me. She finally seemed calmer now, and though her face was still flushed, at least she'd stopped rapping in her head.

She brought me a new clue. It was a class attendance log, recording details of daily class matters.

But the ghosts had searched every nook and cranny of the classroom looking for clues earlier… So why had the log only appeared now?

Before I could probe, Grimmie grabbed a pen and began writing swiftly on paper.

It must have been a long time since she'd held a pen because she struggled and looked strained. However, even through the uneven strokes, I could see the neat, careful handwriting she must have had when she was alive.

"I don't remember anything… I don't even remember why I hid this log and was too scared to let anyone see it. I have no idea…"

She stopped writing. Her eyes were clouded with confusion and fear.

A sharp pang hit my chest.

Grimmie had died as a teenager, and her whole life had stayed frozen at that age.

"You did fine," I murmured reassuringly. I gently brushed her hair. "It's all in the past now, so forget whatever should stay forgotten."

She obediently bowed her head and gathered her thoughts for some time before picking up the pen again. "In that case… could you nuzzle me?"

I was utterly speechless. What kind of weird obsession was this?

"It's fine if you don't want to. It's my fault for being too greedy, so I'm really sorry…"

Damn it. I couldn't possibly say no, could I?

By imitating how a cat nuzzled, I gently brushed my head against Grimmie's.

"...Happy now?"

Grimmie fainted on the spot with a strange smile still on her face.

…

I quickly flipped through the attendance log. The early pages mostly contained formulaic records of duty assignments and class discipline notes.

Then, the homeroom teacher's signature changed.

Starting in January, Wyatt Prescott began serving as the class' homeroom teacher. Soon after he took over, the log began filling with more notes, some by Wyatt and some by a female student named Erin Miles.

I was deeply familiar with Erin's handwriting. She was Grimmie.

As I kept turning pages, the name Peggy Clark began to show up frequently in the log's notes.

"...Peggy has recently had poor academic performance. You're the class president, Erin. Please provide additional supervision."

"Understood, Mr. Prescott. I'll pay close attention to her studies."

"Peggy is jealous and undisciplined. Erin, correct her behavior."

"What exactly should I do, Mr. Pescott?"

"You must fulfill your obligations in your position. As class president, you must always keep the class in line. Otherwise, removal from position or even expulsion are common consequences."

"Mr. Prescott, could you explain in more detail? I'm not sure I understand."

…

The same exchange continued through the pages.

Wyatt never answered Erin's questions, yet each time, he would write similarly vague, cautionary remarks in the log the next day.

Judging from the looks of it, she received evasive answers even when she approached Wyatt in person.

Time and again, he'd casually mention drop hints about Erin's vulnerabilities, including her financial aid, enrolment status, and even her parents' jobs.

Though he never left any direct evidence, he was driving Erin to the brink of madness.

I flipped dozens of pages further in the log.

"I did everything, Mr. Prescott. I did everything you asked."

"Good child."