Five hundred and fifty-seven years after the great war, deep within the sprawling campus of Bihira International High—hidden beneath the fifth building, almost camouflaged in the underground—was a small classroom that seemed entirely out of place. Its location, tucked away from the rest of the school, felt worlds apart from the grandiosity of the institution above. While the rest of the school was often seen as a beacon of perfection, this classroom told a very different story.

It was as though time had forgotten it. The building was in a state of severe disrepair, its windows shattered and walls crumbling. The hallway reeked of age and neglect, thick with the smell of mildew, much like the overgrown plants that had been left to rot outside. Graffiti covered the walls—though one could argue that graffiti is a form of street art, here it only contributed to the sense of misery.

While the rest of the school thrived in a paradise of luxury, leisure, and unimaginable fun, this little corner seemed to be trapped in a world of misfortune— totally opposite from what the public believed to be the ideal first-ranked academic institution in the entire country.

Down the dimly lit hallway, the steady, piercing sound of footsteps grew louder with every step, the footfalls echoing off the crumbling floor as they neared the lobby. Despite its rundown appearance, however, there was something unusual about it—something that made it stand apart.

Even though the classroom had been abandoned for what seemed like years, there was still a heavy presence of security surrounding the area. After all, a place like this, so out of place in the most prestigious school in the country, wouldn’t just be left to rot for no reason. If even a whisper got out about this forgotten corner, it could shatter the school’s flawless reputation in an instant. That’s why high security measures were in place, designed to keep things under wraps. It wasn’t just a random precaution—it was a necessity. After all, this was the number one school in the country, and they weren’t about to let any curious onlookers wander around the forbidden zone. It was the job of the guards, or better yet, the military, to keep watch over this hidden, decaying part of the campus, ensuring that no one who wasn’t meant to be there ever set foot near it.

The man’s footsteps grew louder as he moved forward, drawing the attention of the security team who were immediately on alert. They had no idea who he was—he was completely unfamiliar. But how had he gotten in? The steel gate under the military lookout was locked with two heavy-duty bolts, accessible only with clearance from military personnel or a direct order from higher-ups. But the guards at the gate hadn’t heard the familiar sound of the locks disengaging or the faint creak of the gate moving.

This unexpected intrusion raised alarms. The lookouts immediately trained their firearms on the man, focusing their lenses to get a better view. Through their scopes, they saw an unarmed man with long, deep-red hair pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands falling forward to partially obscure his face. He strolled casually down the hallway of the first-year seniors’ building.

At first glance, he didn’t seem like much of a threat. He was carrying a portfolio under one arm, which led the guards to assume he was a new faculty member, perhaps unfortunate enough to be assigned to this particular classroom. His polished suit, neat appearance, and bright smile made him seem harmless—just another happy-go-lucky teacher joining the ranks.

But as the military men followed him with their binoculars, they noticed something unsettling. His smile, so warm at first, masked a hint of frustration. He kept adjusting his necktie, his annoyance growing more obvious with each attempt. After several tries, he finally managed to straighten it.

Eventually, the man reached the door of the classroom he’d been assigned to supervise, and the guards watched, still unsure of who he was or how he’d managed to get past them.

The place was hardly any more surprising than the classroom itself. No matter how much one might protest, seeing the space in person was far worse than expected—like stumbling upon a sabotaged keg barrel planted down on one spot of the field. The air was thick with decay, and in some areas, wild rats and ants had feasted on the remains of rotting forest creatures that had been left to die. It was, to put it mildly, unsettling.

Nonetheless, the teacher stood still with his composure straightened. There wasn’t a hint of stagger, disappointment or any facial responses that met the military men’s expectations. However, despite his astounding composure, deep within his thoughts, he found himself repeating certain words, like, “Peromyscus maniculatus. Salmonella species. Orthohantavirus. Hantaviridae. Yersinia pestis,” every time he noticed deer mice, flies, decaying crows, or deceased creatures infested with fleas around the area.

Right at the corner of his eye, there lay an unused storage room, blocked by a sturdy steel gate topped with laminated glass. The place had resembled a military base more than the elite school they had envisioned it to be, despite its reputation as the most distinguished school in the entire country. The air was thick with the musty scent of old dust, strong enough to provoke a sudden cough from anyone who would breathe it. The walls that barred the spaces from the outside, which used to be sturdy, were now covered in mold and mildew. The bricks were falling apart and there were ominous splotches scattering everywhere. There wouldn’t be enough spaces in any corners for people from the campus to venture in, nor would they be able to find this place. So as to say, this has remained unknown to everyone, except for the ones who have knowledge about it.

“Class 11-5,” the man muttered, staring at the worn-out door sign before him. 

Whatever’s written on the door sign wasn’t very readable. The man had merely figured it out by tracing the missing strokes of its letters and numbers. He tilted down his head and noticed the door lacked a knob. At the same height as his eyes, a hole the size of a coin offered a sight into the happenings within the classroom. 

The military men on lookout just observed the new guy. His appearance wasn’t that suspicious though, so they held back for the time being. Surrounding the area and guns at the ready might be the best option for now. And besides, they’ve received no orders or any heads up either, so killing him would be their last resort if anything were to happen. They were certain he wouldn’t stay here for long anyways. Once the soldiers had grasped the idea that the newcomer was neither a trespasser nor a threat, they became convinced that he could be a new teacher. This realization brought them to a different task instead.

Anyhow, a mix of shouts, laughter, and bangs from students assaulted the man’s ears, but he chose not to be rattled by that. Instead, he took a deep breath, gathered up his strength, and prepared to greet the students with a loud and joyful “Good Morning, class!”

But as he cracked the door open, he was met with absolute indifference. A normal class would’ve had idle conversations, played games, used gadgets, watched movies, or had last-minute studying when there would be no teacher around. But here, it’s more than that. The students, a motley crew of misfits, glanced up briefly before returning to their illicit pursuits — card games, mock cult rituals, signs of illegal dealings, rival sports, contests using forbidden weapons, and many other activities a normal student wouldn’t dare to commit. 

No matter where the man would cast his gaze at, every sight had brought him discomfort. Bloodstains, food scraps, a blackboard riddled with bullet holes, floating ashes from burnt books, and a battered bookshelf. Above, where there once was a ceiling providing cover, only torn pieces were left as if ripped apart by the relentless force of shrieking winds, revealing a twisted framework of bent metal beams and broken ceiling tiles. The desks had haphazardly scattered around the room. Some were overturned and their surfaces had been scarred with graffiti and carved initials. The chalk tray was filled not with chalk, but with fragments of shattered glass. It appeared as if a celebration was imminent among a family of spiders as well, thanks to the sighting of some hefty web spiders in a few corners. 

The new teacher mentally pinpointed their lack of organization, uncleanliness, and that at least irked his nerves. But nonetheless, he still looked forward to being part of the class and nothing could change his mind otherwise. Just by observing the way they have acted so far, what the students were doing right now was just to test his patience. He’d seen right through them.