Chapter 20 Red Clouds

"Ahhhhhh——!!"

Hayama Takuya couldn't care less about the livestream or Katori anymore. His companion's body was swaying from the ceiling, its lifeless eyes glaring at him, scaring the life out of him. He let out a piercing scream and started running, crawling on the floor as he went, unable to stop shouting.

"Ahhhhhh——!!"

This time, Hayama saw everything clearly. This was no prop—it was a real, dead body.

There really was a monster hiding in this terrifying abandoned mall!

Hayama's mind was a blank, his survival instincts kicking in. The only thought that remained was to run, to escape this place, to flee as far as possible, to reach the safety and comfort of the well-lit human world.

He ran wildly through corridor after corridor, knocking over countless objects in his path, sweating and gasping for air. He finally stopped, hands on his knees, panting heavily.

Looking behind him, he saw that nothing had followed. He sighed in relief.

"Where the hell am I?"

Only now did Hayama realize he was all alone. The cameraman who had been following him was gone, and his flashlight was missing too.

The cameraman didn't make it… so he must be dead too…

Hayama's mind raced, imagining the gruesome death the cameraman must have endured. If he had been slower, that would have been him…

Looking back at the pitch-black hallway, cold wind blew down his spine, making him shudder uncontrollably.

The cold wind woke Hayama up a little.

"Wind? That means there's an exit!"

He rushed forward and turned a corner, finally seeing a balcony. The cold moonlight, like a beacon of hope, spilled in from outside, lighting up this dark and despairing place.

"Thank the Buddha! Thank Tokugawa Ieyasu! Thank God! I made it out!"

Hayama's face lit up with joy as he rushed to the balcony. From there, he could see the countless lights of Tokyo city. Tears of gratitude filled his eyes, and he swore to visit every temple and shrine in Tokyo once he got back.

He climbed up the railing, and since it was only the second floor, his fitness training would hopefully allow him to jump down without breaking anything.

Even if he twisted his ankle, it would be worth it to escape!

But just as Hayama was about to jump, his body suddenly froze.

"What the hell is this? Why… why can't I move?"

"Help! Someone help me!"

The joyful expression on Hayama's face instantly disappeared, replaced by one of terror. His eyes widened in horror as he began shouting for help. Half of his body had already climbed over the railing, but now, his body was moving back inside on its own.

Like a marionette on strings, Hayama's rigid body stepped backward, his limbs moving awkwardly, walking back inside the mall.

"My body's been taken over! No… not now! I was so close to escaping… Ahhhh——!!"

Hayama screamed in terror, tears and snot streaming down his face. His exaggerated expressions stood in stark contrast to the mechanical movements of his body.

No matter how much he cried, begged, or screamed, his body continued moving on its own, retreating back into the dark hallways, step by step.

Once back inside the eerie corridor, Hayama's body suddenly collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He fell to the floor, flailing his arms and legs wildly, thrashing about in a frenzy of fear.

After frantically thrashing around for a few moments, Hayama realized he could move again. He quickly scrambled to his feet and tried to run back to the balcony.

Suddenly, Hayama felt something tightening around his neck, lifting him off the ground.

Hayama's legs kicked wildly in the air, his hands clawing desperately at his throat, but his body kept rising higher, until his head slammed into the ceiling with a loud thud.

Hayama's face turned bright red from asphyxiation, his bulging eyes fixated on the creature lurking in the ceiling.

"Crack."

The sound of a snapping neck echoed through the hall.

A few minutes later, a crow flew over, gazing at the lifeless, swaying body. It let out a few meaningless caws before flying away.

---

Meanwhile, Katori had finally escaped the swarm of mannequins after a frantic chase. She turned a rusty door handle, burst inside, and quickly locked the door behind her. She leaned against the door, gasping for breath.

In the chaos of running, her clothes had come undone, revealing a large expanse of her pale shoulders and chest, though there was no one around to admire it.

She adjusted her clothes slightly, then picked up her phone. At this point, her livestream had completely exploded with viewers!

Everyone who had been pulled in by the stream had seen the mannequins swarming after Katori. The viewers were praising the production team for sparing no expense and making the scene so terrifyingly realistic.

However, some fans were convinced that what they had witnessed was a real supernatural event. Two camps of viewers began arguing heatedly.

The tourists in the majority insisted that everything was fake, part of a scripted show. Only those with "chuunibyou" would believe otherwise. Meanwhile, Katori's fans, while primarily there to see her, were also fans of the occult and wouldn't let this slide. They shot back angrily.

The debate raged on as insults flew back and forth, with no one on-site to confirm what was true. All the while, the viewership continued to skyrocket, breaking all of Katori's previous records.

If this had happened during a normal stream, Katori would have been thrilled. She'd jump into the comments herself, acting cute to stir up the hype even more.

But right now, she didn't have the luxury of enjoying the numbers.

Unlike the viewers who sat comfortably at home, arguing over keyboards, Katori was in the thick of it, experiencing the horror firsthand!

It was just like going through a haunted house. Even when you know everything is fake—the ghosts are actors, the bodies are props—you still can't help but be scared half to death.

The memory of the mannequins chasing her, their twisted limbs scrambling to grab her, made her shudder. Even thinking about it now, her scalp tingled with fear.

This was way beyond the script. She knew that getting mannequins to move like that, to run and jump, would require an enormous budget. As a former prop designer, Katori understood better than anyone that her team could never afford that.

And there was no way Hayama's team had orchestrated it either. He was barely surviving on his own—how could he have spent so much on props?

"What's going on?"

She pulled out her phone to call her team members, Takashiro and Komizu, but no one answered.

A terrible sense of unease gripped Katori.

Their previous ghost-hunting livestreams had gone without a hitch, whether they were exploring old houses, abandoned schools, or hospitals. They never encountered anything paranormal. The biggest surprise they faced had been a stray dog in an old house. In fact, because their streams had been too bland, they'd started writing their own scripts and setting up spooky props to keep viewers entertained.

But this time… could it be different?

Just then, Katori noticed the comments flooding in again, saying that Hayama's livestream had captured something terrifying before cutting out.

Katori's face went pale as she read the comments.

"Everyone, listen to me. Something has gone wrong with this livestream. I don't know how those mannequins moved, and I have no idea what happened to Hayama-kun…"

Katori, her face grave, tried to explain to the viewers, but most of them didn't believe her. Instead, they praised her improved acting skills, saying it was much better than her previous streams.

Katori felt both frustrated and helpless. Why wouldn't they believe her?

Just then, her phone suddenly rang.

The caller ID displayed "Komizu." Katori felt a surge of relief and quickly answered.

"Komizu! What's going on? This is way off-script. Did you add some new surprise? Are those mannequins new props?"

"Where are you right now? Are you still on the second floor?"

Katori rapidly fired off her questions, but an eerie silence greeted her on the other end.

"Komizu? Why aren't you saying anything?"

After half a minute of dead air, the call was abruptly cut off.

Katori stared at her phone, confused. Why had Komizu called just to hang up? He had confessed his feelings for her only a few days ago—why was he acting so cold now?

Before she could make sense of it, her phone rang again, its clear, melodious tone echoing in the silent room.

Katori was about to answer when a sudden realization hit her, draining the color from her face.

Human imagination can be a terrifying thing. In a dark and eerie environment, it's easy for your thoughts to spiral into the worst possible scenarios.

Was it really Komizu calling?

If not, who was calling her? And why?

The ringtone!

In the silent depths of this abandoned building, even the faintest noise stood out. A phone ringing… could mean the worst.

Katori's mind raced, her body paralyzed with fear as a cold sweat ran down her back.

It was like a classic horror movie scene: the victim is safely hidden away, about to escape, when the phone rings—sealing their fate.

Frantically, Katori pressed the power button to turn off her phone.

At that very moment, footsteps echoed from outside

 the door—steps identical to those of the mannequins.

Katori held her breath, curling up into the corner, hoping the nightmare would pass.

"Bam!"

Suddenly, a heavy crash shook the door, making her scream.

"Who's out there? Stop it! This livestream is over! If you keep messing around, I'm calling the police!" Katori shouted with all the courage she could muster.

But there was no reply. The pounding on the door continued, growing louder and more violent with every blow.

"Please, everyone, I'm not acting! I don't know what's happening… Please believe me, I'm really scared… I just want to go home."

Tears streamed down Katori's face as she cried out in fear, her voice trembling. She looked into the camera with her pale, terror-stricken face.

"Please… someone… call the police… I don't want to be here anymore… save me…"

For a moment, the livestream comments came to a halt. Seeing Katori's genuine fear and the door shaking violently behind her, people started to believe.

"I've already called the police, Katori-chan, hang in there!"

"Wait, people are actually buying this? Her crying is so fake. It's a Saturday, stop bothering the police!"

"Shut up! It's Adachi Ward, right? I'm coming over now!"

Other commenters began offering advice:

"Those mannequins are just plastic. They can't be that strong. Katori-chan, block the door with something!"

"Yeah, block the door!"

The back door of the room was piled with construction debris, and the only window was boarded up with wooden planks. Thin slivers of moonlight seeped through the cracks.

Katori adjusted the livestream equipment, making sure it was aimed at the door. Then she prepared to move some of the debris to block it.

But just then, a long, pale hand reached through one of the side windows!

The hand opened its palm, dropping a black phone that was in the middle of dialing. It then curled one unnaturally long finger around the lock, flipping it open with ease.

The door creaked open, and a male mannequin with empty eyes stumbled in, its movements strange and unnatural. Following behind it were more mannequins, their faces expressionless, their limbs broken and twisted.

It was a scene straight out of a nightmare. The livestream chat froze, the comments disappearing as if someone had hit pause. Those who had been adamant that it was all fake, just props, were suddenly silent, unable to find the words.

Katori was cornered, her body trembling as she collapsed to the ground in despair. The mannequins were slowly closing in on her.

Just as all hope seemed lost, the boarded-up window was slashed open from the outside.

Along with the cool night breeze and soft moonlight, a figure stepped into the room—a young man dressed in a black cloak adorned with red clouds, with tear-like lines marking his face.