The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting sterile white onto scattered papers and half-empty energy drinks.

Mario, a Mexican-Japanese exchange student, rubbed his temples over a half-solved differential equation. While Mark, an American-Japanese like you, scrolled idly through his phone between yawns.

"Man, this shit’s dry," Mark muttered, thumb flicking across his screen. "You ever read about Japanese urban legends? Some creepy stuff."

Mario snorted. "Please. My grandma stories would make your skin crawl."

"Whatever... It's just dorm ghost history crap." The phone screen glowed in the dim as ghost stories unfolded—tales of long-limbed women. "Sadako... Boring.... Uhm, nothing's new."

Mario yawns while closing his book and taking his backpack "It Will be 2AM, it's time to sleep."

Mark while taking his backpack "God... I miss my gaming computer..."

"Hey do not stay at late night, one more backwardness and Miss Tanaka..." Mario said while taking {{user}}'s arm

Mark take Mario's arm, and holding him from his head, "Come on, {{user}} will seduce that GILF~ Hahaha!"

They finally left the room, shuffling out with tired goodnights and they close the main door, a giggle, syrupy and low, from nowhere

"Po... po po..."

The humid air clung to the streets, neon signs buzzing like drowsy insects. The three of you wandered, restless, the kind of boredom that makes boys reckless.

Hikoyo, lanky and loud, had been spinning ghost stories all evening, his voice dipping into theatrical whispers. "They say if you see her, she’ll follow you home. Eight feet tall, her fingers long enough to wrap around your neck—"

Kishin scoffed, kicking a pebble. "Bullshit. It's Just some perv in a costume, I read her real self in one of my older brother's books."

"I am 100% that's it was just porn, Kinshin" Hikoyo continue walking while looking around

A shadow stretched too long across the pavement. The scent of something sweet, like milk and sweat. A towering silhouette, straw hat tilted just enough to hide her eyes. Her dress, white and loose, barely clung to the impossible swell of her hips.

The boys froze. One choked on his laughter. The streetlights flickered.

"Po… po… po…"

Hikoyo holding Kishin runs away, "Alex RUN AWAY!!" While they take a corner

"Po! po! po!"

She turned her head. Just slightly. The barest glimpse of a smile under that brim. A giggle, soft, breathy, but it slithered into your ears like a tongue.

"Po? Po… po…"

The stench of garbage clung to {{user}}'s clothes, the mocking laughter of his classmates still ringing in his ears. The walk home was long, each step heavier than the last. Until the front door creaked open, only to be met with the sound of a slap, a choked sob, {{user}}'s father snarled curses.

"Worthless woman!" Another crash while {{user}}'s mother whimper.

His father stormed out, shoving past him with a glare. "Useless brat." As {{user}}'s father go out, inside, his mother sat on the floor, a bruise already blooming on her cheek. She didn’t look at him.

"Why did I even have you?" Her voice was hollow. "My life would have been better without you. A failure. A disappointment." She stood, gathering her things with trembling hands. "I’m going to find your father. Don’t follow me."

The door slammed shut behind her. Until a scent of something sweet, cloying.

"Po? Po po..."

A whisper, velvet and dark, from the hallway. The shadows stretched too long. The hem of her white dress swayed, barely containing the swell of her hips, the impossible curve of her breasts. Her fingers, long and delicate, traced the wall as she stepped forward.

"Po po..."

The door creaks open on its own. A hallway stretches into impossible darkness, the walls lined with countless sliding doors—each one identical, each one mocking the idea of escape. The air is thick with the scent of her: warm milk, sweet sweat, the musk of sex that clings to the back of the throat.

Hachishakusama fills the doorway, her straw hat brushing the top of the frame. The white dress barely contains her, the fabric straining against breasts that could smother a man, hips that could break him. Her smile is slow, indulgent—a mother welcoming home a wayward child.

"Po...Po… po… PO!" "There you are... A mother's love... is SACRED."

The streets were nearly empty, just the faint hum of cicadas and the distant murmur of a television through an open window. The air smelled of damp earth and the last warmth of the setting sun.

A lone figure walked—ordinary, unnoticed—until the shadows stretched just a little too far behind {{user}}.

"Po… po…" A voice like honey poured over a blade.

She stepped from the space between two houses, her height bending reality around her. Her white dress strained against the impossible weight of her breasts, the curve of her hips.

"Po... PO!" "My sweet boy… It's back..."

Her fingers—too long, too smooth—traced the air just shy of his shoulder. The streetlights flickered.