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."

A chill crawled straight up my spine.

After that day, the attendance log contained only Erin's increasingly panicked, distorted handwriting.

"Mr. Prescott, I saw Peggy hurting herself. What should I do? She could die.

"I did everything you asked. You promised my dad wouldn't lose his job.

"Mr. Prescott, Peggy's falling apart. Can we please stop now? I'm begging you."

Later, large sections of the log were left blank. Only the last page recorded one final attendance note.

Peggy dropped out, while Erin died in a car crash. Wyatt had used his authority to crush two helpless female students.

Like fresh, bright, and barely blooming flowers, they were ground into the dirt by malice before they ever witnessed dawn or dusk.

Hatred churned in my chest, so intense that it felt unbearable.

…

As I set the attendance log down, the sudden emotional drain left me feeling weak.

Erin was still seated behind me, revived by the swarm of ghosts frantically shaking her awake, though I had my doubts about whether that even worked on ghosts.

Maybe forgetting everything was the best for everyone. And if someone had to remember the truth, it should be me.

As I met Erin's gentle, smiling gaze, I smiled back.

"She smiled at me! She likes me! She said she'll be my only human from now on!" she squealed. "What do I do? I'm so shy… What should I name her?"

Covering her face, Erin lowered her head in a flutter of bashfulness.

…Maybe I should stop smiling.

Suddenly, the screech of brakes and the heavy thud of a collision tore through the rare moment of peace.

My expression fell as I rushed to the window and looked outside.

A car sat stalled on the empty lot in front of the teaching block. Beneath it, a large pool of blood was spreading from a mangled body.

My heart pounded wildly in my chest.

The truth seemed to be right before my eyes. It was just a thin veil away and almost within reach. The nagging suspicion that had been lodged in my throat all this time was finally about to be revealed.

I grabbed a chair and smashed it against the class window. As shards of glass flew everywhere, I only felt a strange sense of relief.

When I turned around, the ghosts were standing quietly behind me. Their already pale faces now seemed nearly transparent.

I gave Erin's trembling hand a comforting squeeze and said, "Don't look or follow me. I'll handle this. Just don't try to remember anything. Forget it all."

The ghosts exchanged glances.

Ghosts seemed to have an innate fear of those who'd directly or indirectly caused their deaths. Even after all these years, that terror, watered by hatred, had grown into deeply-rooted towering trees, and it bred incurable maladies.

Through their inner voices, I could hear their terror and dread as clear as day. So, there were some things I had to do myself.

After climbing out the window, I paused and turned back to see the ghosts watching me eagerly.

"Do you have a knife?"

…

After climbing out of the classroom, that strange premonition grew stronger.

The hallway ahead felt strange yet familiar, as if I'd walked it a thousand times.

Guided by instinct, I wound through the twisting hallways and arrived at the car. Erin's body lay crumpled under it in a pool of blood. She'd long stopped breathing.

Still, I crouched down and closed her eyes.

Despite knowing that this was just a replay of events from years ago, it didn't matter that nothing I did could change it. Some things simply had to be done.

As expected, the driver's seat was empty.

I circled to the passenger door and pulled it open.

A female student lay curled on the seat, limp and unconscious. Blood matted her dark hair and hid her face.

I reached out and brushed her hair aside. It was a face identical to my own, or rather, it was me from years ago.