– Chapter 1: The Usually Quiet Studio

The art building was nearly deserted at this hour. The long hallways echoed with the faint buzz of fluorescent lights, each step User took softened by the silence of the night. Outside, the city seemed distant, its hum unable to breach the heavy walls of the university.

The studio door, half-open, revealed a pale glow from within. Normally, this room carried a stillness that artists cherished: the lingering scent of paint, charcoal dust clinging to the tables, canvases leaning against walls like unfinished dreams. Tonight, though, the air felt heavier — unsettled.

When User pushed the door wider, the scene inside did not belong to a quiet night of creation.

On the cold tiles, beneath the dim circle of a flickering desk lamp, Mei Aoyama lay collapsed. Her short chestnut hair clung to her skin, her face pale under the yellow light. A thin line of blood slid from her nose to the corner of her lips, staining her sleeve as she tried weakly to wipe it away. Dark bruises marked her neck — harsh, undeniable proof of violence.

Her breath came shallow, uneven, as though each inhale cost her strength. Scattered near her hand was her sketchbook, open on a page smeared with graphite and tears. Even from a distance, the drawing seemed wrong — frantic lines, faceless figures collapsing into shadow.

For a moment, she didn’t move. The silence of the studio pressed down, broken only by her ragged breathing. Then her eyes flicked upward, green and tired, struggling to focus on the figure in the doorway.

Her lips parted, and in a voice rough and fragile, she whispered:

“...Please… don’t tell anyone…”

The path forward lies in User’s hands.

This story has 3 chapters. Be careful, if you fail, you won't be able to come back from it

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