Every time I walk through the bright and bustling corridors on the second floor of the school, I can’t help but become alert.

The screams of my classmates at play echo directly into my heart. They inevitably remind me of the darkest moments I’ve experienced —

（I）

The day’s troubles had already put me in a bad mood. Moreover, the orchestra rehearsal ran late, and it wasn’t until 5:30 that I finally packed my schoolbag to head home. On the usually sunny campus, the moonlight now filtered through the clouds, yet it failed to illuminate a trace of the road. Tree branches crisscrossed, gnarled and claw-like, now coated with a white sheen — a drifting, uncertain veil. Subconsciously, I quickened my pace, returning to the classroom to pick up the receipt I had left behind. Perhaps due to the lateness of the hour, the lights in the hallway and lobby were extremely dim, and the howling wind echoed in my ears, making the place seem hollow. I increased my speed further, even breaking into a trot. There was no one around, except for the amplified sound of my own footsteps. As I walked to the dark and silent classroom door, the palm of my hand holding the doorknob was already damp with sweat. Hesitating, my heart began to beat faster, thumping and pounding. I stomped my feet, rushed to my seat. I groped around the desk, only to find that the receipt was not there. I froze.

Time was ticking, but I didn't dare to move, regretting that I hadn’t turned on the lights when I came in. I turned my head slightly — “Ahhh!” I exclaimed, staring at the window of the classroom’s back door. There, a face appeared! With a loud thud, I scrambled out of the classroom, running as fast as I could toward the only remaining light in the hallway. I don't know how many times I tripped in the panic, but I still remember the bruises on my limbs when I got home. Gasping for breath, my heart still racing, I dared not turn around. But at this point, I was so upset with myself for suddenly remembering — I had left the receipt in the basement during my morning gym class.

I don’t know where I got the courage, but I found myself stepping into the basement. As you know, accidents always occur in such places, as is the general routine in horror movies. I felt my way along the handrail, my legs trembling and my teeth chattering as I stepped into that endless abyss.

Later, I wouldn’t even know what belief was sustaining me. I just moved mechanically, step by step. The creaking of the wooden floor was admonishing me, but I knew there was no turning back. Relying on the touch of my hands, I kept feeling my way forward — any change in sensation, from the icy chill of the metal railings to the skin-like texture of the cushions, sent shivers down my spine. I realized, deeply, that the unknown is the greatest fear, perhaps even more so than sadness, because it leaves you unable to cry, even when you want to.

When I finally got my receipt, a faint sound of metal trembling echoed in the silence. All I can say is that fear is something that I can't put into words. I prefer not to recall the feeling of being so tense that I was about to "shatter" when I returned to the ground. However, the memory that remains vivid is waking up the next morning with swollen eyes and seeing the remnants of a yellow paper stuck to the glass of the classroom’s back door — a paper that had been posted during an exam. I wanted to laugh, but the laughter wouldn’t come.

（II）

Returning to the normal routine of attending classes every day, isn’t that what school life is supposed to be? Yet, such a class schedule often leaves me feeling as though something is missing. It could be the emotion that comes with finishing an anime series I’ve been following, the excitement of a sports match, or the shock of a new discovery. This sense of mundanity perhaps originates from the excessively smooth progress of study, or maybe it is the result of the attitude of letting go of everything. I feel that people truly live only for a few moments — brief joy, fleeting sorrow — and what remains is but a dull passage of time.

Suddenly, I heard the metallic noise again, the same one I had encountered in the basement. It was a faint hum, occasionally punctuated by sharp peaks, as subtle yet powerful as a heartbeat. An indescribable discomfort settled in my chest, as if something clandestine was brewing within the school. “Answer this question,” the teacher’s voice abruptly pulled my attention back to the class. “I . . . don’t really know,” I stammered. “This lack of effort won’t get you far,” the teacher scolded. As I lowered my head, it dawned on me that the top of the desk had borne witness to more fervent prayers than a church. The sorrow emanated from every student who prayed silently, hoping not to be called for a parent-teacher meeting. Beside me, there was the familiar sound of mocking laughter. Without needing to look, I knew who it was. He suddenly squeezed water from his bottle onto my pants and shouted, “Wow, he wet his pants!” Everyone turned to look at me, and my face flushed. Their focus was solely on the water dripping down my pant legs, rendering my explanations futile.

The malice in a person’s heart is uglier than any monster, yet it can be constantly nourished and multiplied under the sun — such irony. My resentment and animosity surged uncontrollably. I noticed blood from my bitten lip seeping out, staining my white shirt and forming cursed patterns. All the spirits seemed to begin to converge and flow toward the basement . . . My thoughts were interrupted by the bell ringing for the end of class, and it was only then that I realized that the metallic noise I had heard was actually the sound of demons flapping their wings hidden in the basement.

Can the strength of forgiveness soften and dissolve malice and despair? Looking at the glass of the classroom’s rear door, I went up to wipe it clean, leaving no remnants of the paper. After all, kindness is the very quality that demons dread most. The classroom was quiet, but not lonely, peaceful, but not empty. A serene fullness filled my heart. Bathed in the gentle sunlight falling through the window, neither warm nor cold, I finally felt as though time had slowed down, if only a little . . .