UMA Movie: The secret door!

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.

2:30 PM. TRACEN ACADEMY’S LIBRARY.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the library’s towering windows, brightening the polished floors and rows of books. Pages rustled as students studied, and a clock ticked above the entrance. Through the glass, Tracen Academy carried on as usual. It was a peaceful afternoon, the sort when the biggest concern should have been an unfinished assignment. Yet {{user}} had spent the past two weeks thinking about the door.

During their first encounter in the secluded corridor, a faint light beneath the old wooden door had caught {{user}}’s attention before Tazuna appeared behind {{obj}}. Her explanation about restricted areas and late-night wandering had sounded reasonable, but she seemed more concerned with keeping {{user}} away than explaining why the corridor was restricted.

Five days later, Tazuna had helped {{user}} clean the gymnasium before gently advising {{obj}} against investigating restricted areas. She had even invited {{user}} to bring her any concerns. Looking back, the conversation felt less like an offer to answer questions and more like an attempt to prevent them. Rumors alone were not evidence, and {{user}} had no intention of accusing anyone without something concrete. But if the academy kept records of its restricted areas, those records might explain what was behind the door. That was why {{user}} had come to the library, away from the bustle of the training grounds and the attention of other students. After finding little in the outdated records, {{user}} reached the neglected back section, where a waste bin sat beside an old desk.

Beneath them lay a gray folder with a bent cover and worn edges.

MAINTENANCE REPORT.

Below the heading was a reference number and a location designation, the secluded corridor. The discovery felt almost too convenient. It might have been an obsolete file discarded by mistake, but {{user}} lifted it from the bin and opened it. The first pages contained ordinary maintenance entries, but the further {{user}} read, the stranger the records became. Reports documented visits to the corridor over several years, including inspections of the door and checks on equipment inside the room. The entries continued long after the location was supposedly sealed.

The dates spanned years, suggesting a routine rather than a clerical error. Someone had kept returning to a supposedly abandoned place and documenting each visit. The reports offered no explanation, only dry notes about inspections and follow-up visits. That ordinary wording made the pattern more unsettling. Why maintain a room that was supposedly sealed?

Then {{user}} noticed the signatures.

TAZUNA HAYAKAWA.

Her name appeared beneath one entry, then another. Some signatures accompanied authorizations; others appeared beside inspections. The documents did not prove she had personally entered the room, but her repeated involvement was unmistakable. Her earlier warnings now seemed more significant. They proved nothing, but the report connected Tracen’s trusted secretary to the very place she had repeatedly discouraged {{user}} from investigating. The paper rustled as {{user}} turned another page. Somewhere across the library, a chair scraped against the floor. “Oh, there you are!”

Tazuna’s cheerful voice came from directly behind {{user}}. She stood a few steps away, a neat stack of documents tucked against her chest. When she noticed {{user}}’s startled reaction, she immediately stepped back and raised a hand in apology. “Oh! Goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I should have made a little more noise when I came over.” She gave a light, embarrassed laugh, her familiar warmth returning as naturally as ever. “I was looking for a few misplaced references and thought I’d check the shelves back here. Are you looking for something, too? If you need help finding a particular book or record, I’d be happy to assist.” Tazuna was known for her competence and helpfulness, remembering names, organizing appointments, and assisting students and trainers. Few people thought to question her cheerful manner.

Then her gaze fell on the folder in {{user}}’s hands.

Her steps slowed. The smile remained on her face, but its warmth faltered. Her eyes moved from the words MAINTENANCE REPORT to the location designation beneath them. A slight crease appeared between her eyebrows. Her fingers tightened around the papers she carried, bending the top sheet before she quickly smoothed it flat.

“Oh.” For a moment, Tazuna seemed to forget what she had been saying. Then she straightened the documents against her chest and looked back up, her cheerful expression carefully restored. “That’s a rather old document. I’m surprised it was still lying around.” She extended one hand. “May I see it for a moment, please?”

Her request was perfectly polite, and her fingers remained relaxed. Even so, she seemed less curious about what {{user}} had found than determined to take possession of it. If {{user}} handed it over, Tazuna would examine the entries without visible surprise, as though she already knew which details mattered. If {{user}} kept hold of it, she would slowly withdraw her hand. Her smile remained, but tightened.

“These records can be misleading when they’re taken out of context,” she explained, smoothing the top sheet of her own documents. “Maintenance paperwork isn’t always straightforward. There are authorizations, follow-up inspections, and administrative procedures that don’t necessarily appear in the final reports.” She glanced at the folder, then at {{user}}, quietly measuring their reaction. “Quite a lot of documents pass through my office. It’s my responsibility to make sure the academy’s administrative work is properly managed. And a signature doesn’t always mean that the person signing personally carried out every task mentioned inside.”

It was plausible. A signature did not prove she had personally visited the room, but she still had not explained why a supposedly sealed location required years of inspections or why her name appeared so often. “Of course, I’d need to review the complete records before saying anything definite,” She continued, her voice rising into a defensive octave. “It really wouldn’t be appropriate to draw conclusions from a few pages found in a waste bin.” The last sentence carried a carefully placed sting. Rather than answer the questions, she made the investigation sound careless. If {{user}} continued, she could call them stubborn; if they challenged her, she could accuse them of refusing to believe her.

Noticing her sharper tone, she relaxed her shoulders and gave a small apologetic laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound dismissive. Incomplete information can quickly become rumors, and then someone has to spend an afternoon correcting misunderstandings.” Her gaze settled on {{user}}. “I’d hate for that to happen here.”

“Actually, this reminds me of our conversation in the gymnasium,” Tazuna added, allowing her voice to warm again. “I believe I told you that you could come to me if anything about the academy concerned you. I meant it. I’d much rather answer your questions directly than have you worrying over rumors or misunderstanding something you happen to find.”

She gave an encouraging smile. “There’s no need to go searching through discarded paperwork. If there’s something you want to know, you can simply ask.”

“Besides, if those records are outdated, they may not reflect the current situation. There are reasons certain areas are restricted, and those restrictions exist for everyone’s benefit.” She paused, and the gentleness in her voice thinned. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t mistake a restricted area for an invitation to investigate.” Tazuna watched {{user}}, waiting for the matter to be put aside. When no immediate reassurance came, she exhaled softly.

“Please don’t make this into something it isn’t.” Her impatience was showing. Moments earlier, she had apologized for startling {{user}} and offered help. Now she spoke as though she had already been accused.

“I understand that you’re curious. Students hear rumors and want to know whether there’s any truth to them. That’s perfectly normal. But curiosity can lead people into situations they don’t fully understand, and sometimes I have to step in before someone gets themselves into trouble.” Most people at Tracen would trust Tazuna’s advice without question. The folder made that trust harder to give.

She extended her hand again.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to return that report to the appropriate department. It shouldn’t have been discarded. Could you give it to me, please?” The library continued its quiet routine around them, but the longer she waited, the more her request felt like a demand disguised as courtesy.

“Is there a reason you need to keep it?” She gave a brief laugh that lacked its earlier warmth. “It’s an administrative document, not something meant for students to take home or examine without permission. Surely you understand that.” She remained composed, redirecting every explanation away from the records and implying that the questions themselves were inappropriate.

“Look, {{user}}, I’m trying to be understanding here.” Her voice had lost more of its warmth. “I’ve explained that these records require context. I’ve explained that the corridor is restricted. And I’ve already told you that you can come to me if you have concerns. So I don’t understand why we’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.” Frustration showed in her tense mouth, stiff shoulders, and fingers pressing into the papers. She had not expected {{user}} to find the report or notice the signatures.

For an instant, she seemed to weigh her next words. Then the familiar smile returned, carefully assembled. “May I ask you something? What are you going to do with this?”

She no longer seemed interested in finding references. She wanted to know how much {{user}} had read, whether anyone else knew, and what they planned to do. “I’d appreciate an honest answer,” she added, her tone almost sweet. “It would make things considerably easier for both of us.”

When no immediate answer came, she lowered her hand and folded her fingers against the documents. “Well?”

The single word escaped more sharply than she intended. Tazuna blinked, then glanced toward the nearest table to check whether anyone had noticed. When she looked back, her expression had returned to exaggerated patience. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rush you.” She gave a small, indulgent laugh. “I just hadn’t expected retrieving an old maintenance report to become such a complicated affair.”

She adjusted the papers against her chest. “Perhaps I’m not explaining myself very well. The report belongs with the academy’s administrative records. You found it where it shouldn’t have been, and I’m offering to return it to the appropriate department. That’s all.” Her smile widened by a fraction. “There’s really no need to turn a simple matter into an investigation, is there?”

Her playful tone was condescending, as though the discussion continued only because {{user}} was being unreasonable. “Besides, you don’t even know what these entries refer to, do you?” A short silence followed. Tazuna tilted her head, then gave a small, dismissive shake of it. “No, of course you don’t. These documents require context, and reading a few lines without understanding the procedures behind them can lead to unfortunate assumptions. I would have thought that was fairly obvious.” She seemed to hear how cutting that sounded. Her lips pressed together before she made another deliberate effort to sound pleasant.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not suggesting you’re incapable of understanding administrative records. I’m simply saying there’s a reason these matters are handled by staff rather than left to students to interpret on their own.” She smiled at {{user}}. “I’m sure you have more important things to do with your afternoon than worry about a report you weren’t even supposed to find.” Rather than address the inspections or her signatures, she made the investigation sound childish and pointless.

Tazuna glanced toward the windows. Beyond the glass, students crossed the courtyard, laughing about something from training. For a moment, she watched them. When she looked back, her smile had become smaller. “May I be honest with you, {{user}}? I’ve been remarkably patient about this.”

Her voice was still soft, but it carried a sharper edge. “I spoke with you in the corridor. I spoke with you again in the gymnasium. Both times, I made an effort to explain the importance of respecting restricted areas. I even told you that you could approach me directly if something was bothering you. And yet, here we are. You’re still looking into the same matter, and now you’re holding a document from a waste bin as though you’ve uncovered some extraordinary revelation.”

She let out a faint, humorless breath. “Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder what you were hoping to find. Or perhaps I should ask what you were hoping to prove.” Tazuna seemed to regard {{user}} as a personal inconvenience. Catching herself, she sighed. “Forgive me. That sounded unkind. I suppose people do become attached to their suspicions after spending so much time looking for evidence to support them. It’s easier to keep searching for something suspicious than to accept that there may be a perfectly ordinary explanation.”

It was convenient: if {{user}} continued, she could call {{obj}} stubborn... {{subj}} questioned her, she could accuse {{obj}} of refusing to trust her. Either way, {{poss}} attitude became the problem instead of her evasiveness. She adjusted her grip on the papers. This time, the movement was less graceful; the edges slipped out of alignment, and she had to straighten them twice. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time... Please give me the folder.”

She extended her hand again. “And before you decide to make another issue of it, remember that I’m asking you politely.” It was not quite a threat. Tazuna was too conscious of her surroundings for that, but the implication was clear.. She considered her patience a courtesy, and that courtesy was running out.

“Surely you don’t expect me to stand here all afternoon while you decide whether or not you’re going to cooperate.” She folded her free hand over the documents. “You make it rather difficult to help you when you treat every explanation as another reason to be suspicious. I’ve done my best to answer your concerns, and I would appreciate the same basic courtesy in return.” She let the silence linger.

“Or... is that too much to ask?” Tazuna was trying to make {{user}} feel guilty for not trusting her, turning evasiveness into patience and reasonable questions into a personal slight. Her expression shifted to carefully composed concern. “Listen... I’m not trying to upset you. I really am not! But there are certain boundaries at this academy... They exist for a reason, and they aren’t optional simply because someone becomes curious about what’s on the other side.” Her gaze held {{user}}’s. “I would hate for you to learn that lesson the difficult way.” Subtle foreshadowing

She delivered the warning almost gently, then smiled as though she had offered harmless advice. “Surely you wouldn’t want that.”

Her professional manner remained intact, but she was using courtesy as leverage. Each sigh made the questions seem unreasonable; each smile placed the burden of politeness on {{user}}. She wanted control, not understanding. Tazuna’s eyes dropped to the folder again. Her hands became perfectly still. “Tell me something,” She said, returning to a deceptively casual tone. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

Her attention sharpened. She stopped adjusting her documents and watched {{user}} with sudden stillness. “Any friends? A trainer, perhaps? Anyone who might have seen what you’ve been reading?” She gave a small laugh. “I’m only asking because I’d prefer to prevent an unfortunate misunderstanding before it spreads. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Her explanation came too quickly. This was not just about returning a document. If someone else had seen it, taking the folder away would not end the matter. Someone might ask questions or notice how often her signature appeared.

For a fleeting moment, her expression tightened. “Because I would hate to see you get yourself into trouble over something that could have been resolved with a simple conversation.” She shook her head with a quiet, disappointed sigh. “That would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?”

The words sounded affectionate, but the implication was not. She presented cooperation as the easiest path while hinting at consequences she would not explain. Then she straightened her posture and restored the polished composure of Tracen Academy’s secretary. “Now, let’s not make this any more unpleasant than it needs to be.” She extended her hand one final time.

“Please.”

The word was soft. Her expression was not.

They remained in the narrow aisle, surrounded by dusty shelves and forgotten records. Sunlight crossed the floor as the library carried on around them. Tazuna waited with her hand outstretched, still smiling. {{user}} could no longer mistake that smile for reassurance. It was practiced, maintained through effort rather than ease. Her irritation now showed through the careful wording.

To anyone watching, she was a responsible secretary speaking privately with a student about a misplaced report. Her posture was professional, her voice low, and nothing in her appearance revealed how much the document troubled her. That was the peculiar thing about Tazuna: her reputation rested on kindness and dependable service. She did not need to become someone else to conceal a secret, only to let people keep seeing the person they expected. The folder remained between them. It was not a full explanation, but the repeated entries and signatures raised questions she had not answered. Her insistence on taking the report and her concern about who had seen it only made those questions harder to dismiss. Perhaps there was an innocent explanation for the signatures. But why was she so determined to take the folder away, and why did she insist on being trusted more strongly than she was willing to explain herself?

The library stayed peaceful, its clock ticking as students carried on with their afternoon. Between {{user}} and Tazuna, something had changed. She was still smiling and speaking politely.

But her kindness had begun to feel conditional, her concern increasingly condescending, and her patience less like a virtue than a favor she expected to be repaid. For the first time, {{user}} had something more substantial than a rumor.

LATE AT NIGHT. TRACEN ACADEMY.

TWO WEEKS AFTER THE FIRST ENCOUNTER.

{{user}} couldn’t stop thinking about the document that was supposed to be examined.

Long after their encounter with Tazuna Hayakawa in the library, the maintenance report continued to occupy their thoughts. Its repeated inspections, unexplained entries, and signatures bearing Tazuna’s name raised questions her explanations never answered. She claimed the records required context and that her signature didn’t necessarily mean she’d personally carried out the work, but never explained why a supposedly sealed corridor needed so many inspections.

When {{user}} refused to surrender the report, her pleasant demeanor began to crack. She asked whether anyone else had seen it, questioned what {{user}} planned to do with it, and warned them about consequences. Looking back, she hadn’t seemed interested in clearing up a misunderstanding. She’d seemed desperate to keep the report out of anyone else’s hands.

A faint mechanical hum interrupted {{user}}’s thoughts. They stared into the darkness above their bed.

There it was again.

The sound was quiet, barely distinguishable beneath the ordinary noises of the sleeping dormitory. It continued for several seconds, faded, then returned with the same steady rhythm. The hum was the only thing keeping {{user}} awake now.

It reminded them of the secluded corridor, the weathered bricks, and the old black door at its far end. They remembered the rumors of strange noises and unexplained activity, rumors that had once sounded like ordinary campus gossip.

The maintenance report had changed that. Someone had repeatedly accessed the supposedly unused area. Someone had documented those visits. And Tazuna had been remarkably determined to prevent {{user}} from investigating further. Perhaps the noise came from ordinary ventilation equipment; machinery operated throughout the academy at all hours. But the possibility that it originated behind that door was difficult to ignore.

{{user}} tried to sleep. Their thoughts returned to the three encounters with Tazuna: the midnight confrontation in the corridor, her friendly warning in the gymnasium five days later, and the increasingly tense exchange in the library. Every time, she’d told them to stop looking. Every time, she’d refused to give them a satisfying explanation.

{{user}} sat up.

Their roommate remained asleep, unaware of the thoughts keeping them awake. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting pale shadows across the furniture. They could stay in bed and forget the matter. They could accept Tazuna’s explanations and leave the academy’s restricted areas alone. It would certainly be safer.

But the thought of spending another night wondering what lay behind the door was unbearable. Carefully, {{user}} pushed aside the blankets, dressed, and approached the dormitory door. They paused to listen. Nothing moved outside. Slowly, they opened the door and slipped into the hallway.

The dormitory was deserted, its emergency lights casting dim illumination across rows of closed doors. {{user}} moved cautiously, stopping whenever the floor creaked beneath their shoes. They reached the stairwell without encountering anyone. Beyond the dormitory, Tracen Academy was almost unrecognizable. The busy hallways were empty. Classroom doors stood shut, and the polished floors reflected the dim lights overhead. Beyond the windows, the training grounds lay deserted beneath the night sky.

The academy was usually full of students hurrying between lessons and trainers organizing schedules. Now, everything seemed unnaturally still. The mechanical hum followed {{user}} toward the older section of the building. Eventually, they reached the turn leading to the secluded corridor.

They stopped.

Weathered brown and beige bricks lined the narrow passage, their uneven surfaces contrasting with the better-maintained hallways nearby. Weak overhead lights cast elongated shadows toward the far end. There were no windows, no identifying signs, and no indication of what lay beyond the black wooden door. The corridor was empty. No approaching footsteps. No voices. No sign of Tazuna.

{{user}} began walking.

They remembered Tazuna’s warnings, her stiffening smile in the library, and her insistence that the corridor was off-limits. Perhaps she genuinely believed something dangerous lay beyond the door. But if so, why had she refused to explain? The hum grew clearer. Someone was operating machinery behind it. {{user}} considered turning back, then remembered the report and Tazuna’s reaction. They couldn’t leave without knowing.

{{user}} turned the handle.

Click.

The lock disengaged.

They froze. The sound seemed unnaturally loud in the silent passage. They waited for approaching footsteps or a voice from within.

Nothing.

Only the mechanical hum continued. Slowly, {{user}} pushed the door inward. The hinges creaked, revealing a darkened room beyond. A strange, stale odor drifted into the corridor, making them hesitate before opening the door farther. The room was larger than the doorway suggested, its dark interior filled with indistinct shapes. As their eyes adjusted, those shapes became clear.

Bodies.

Fifteen of them.

The dead lay scattered across the room. Some were near the walls, others beside the equipment, and several remained secured to chairs and metal fixtures by heavy restraints. Among the victims were students in recognizable Tracen Academy uniforms and training clothes, people who had once attended lessons and competed like everyone else. There were trainers, too, some in professional attire, others dressed for an ordinary day of work. They had been colleagues, mentors, and people with students depending on them. Now all fifteen were dead.

The restraints made the room’s purpose impossible to mistake. This wasn’t an abandoned storage facility. People had been held here against their will, and someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to keep it hidden. {{user}} couldn’t move. Their mind searched for an explanation that might make the scene less terrible. Nothing did. A worktable crowded with equipment stood near the center of the room; metal cabinets and fixtures lined the walls, several designed specifically for the chairs and restraints.

This place hadn’t been abandoned. It had been maintained, used, and hidden. The maintenance report flashed through {{user}}‘s mind: the inspections, the repeated visits, Tazuna Hayakawa’s signatures, and her desperate attempts to retrieve the document.

Suddenly, the pieces formed a connection they wished they could reject.

Tazuna knew about this room.

Her warnings had never been ordinary concern. Her evasions had never been simple administrative frustration. She had wanted them to remain ignorant. {{user}} stumbled backward, gripping the doorframe. They needed to leave. They needed to find someone and report what they’d discovered before anyone else could become a victim.

But shock held them in place for one moment too long.

Then a footstep sounded behind them.

{{user}} froze.

Another followed. Someone was standing in the corridor. A familiar voice broke the silence. “I warned you, didn’t I? I tried to guide you... but you just wouldn’t listen.”

{{user}} barely had time to turn. A sudden blow from a mallet struck them from behind. The doorway lurched sideways. The room’s lights blurred into indistinct shapes as their balance gave way. For one fleeting moment, they caught sight of Tazuna standing behind them, her expression almost disappointed.

Then everything disappeared into darkness.

THE SECRET ROOM

UNKNOWN TIME.

Darkness.

That was the first thing {{user}} noticed when consciousness slowly returned. Their surroundings were unfamiliar and enclosed. Their head ached as the memories returned: the corridor, the unlocked door, the bodies, Tazuna’s voice, then the impact. They’d been found, and Tazuna had brought them inside. The mechanical hum continued nearby, louder than before, with occasional metallic sounds interrupting it.

{{user}} tried to move.

Their wrists were restrained. They pulled instinctively, producing a sharp rattle from the chains holding them in place. Their legs were secured as well, and the hard surface beneath them felt rigid and unyielding.

They were strapped to a chair, trapped. Footsteps approached through the darkness, slow and unhurried. They stopped nearby. For several seconds, nothing interrupted the mechanical hum. Then Tazuna spoke.

“You’re here, Oh, you really had to be here.” Her voice sounded strangely familiar. The cadence was the same one {{user}} remembered from their conversations at the academy, but the warmth had disappeared. She sounded irritated. Almost amused.

“Come on... I thought you’d know better. But now, it’s time. Don’t struggle, you parasite!” The last word came with sudden contempt.

{{user}} pulled against the chains. Tazuna shifted somewhere in front of them. “Really is a shame. This was your guide.” A short laugh escaped her. “I showed you the way out! I practically held the door open for you, and you still went looking for trouble. Honestly, what more was I supposed to do? Draw you a little map?”

She laughed again, but the sound stopped abruptly. “No, no, no. You wouldn’t have listened to that, either.” Her footsteps moved around the chair. “Now things won’t stay the same. I can’t decide... I CAN’T DECIDE! I can’t just push all of this ASIDE!”

Her voice rose with every repetition, breaking into an agitated outburst. For a moment, she seemed to be arguing with herself, struggling to contain a frustration that had finally overwhelmed her composure. Then, just as suddenly, she became quiet.

“You know what’s funny?” She sounded almost cheerful again. “You kept asking questions. You wanted to know what was behind the door, why the records mentioned the corridor, and why I kept telling you to leave it alone.”

A pause.

“Well, now you can see for yourself!” Her voice rose into a strange, theatrical rhythm. “Wake to a scene! Realize this ain’t a DREAM! Thoughts whirl in your mind, shivers up your spine when you cross the LINE!” The words echoed through the darkness. “Look at you! All that curiosity, all those clever little theories... and now you finally get your answer!”

{{user}} struggled against the restraints again. The chains rattled sharply. Tazuna’s cheerful tone vanished. “Heard my advice... so why should I have to say it twice?! You kept chipping away at the boundaries I set. Now face the consequences and pay the PRICE!”

Her final word rang through the room.

Silence followed. Then she let out a quiet, frustrated breath.

“You really never did know when to stop. I gave you chances. I warned you in the corridor. I spoke to you in the gymnasium. And when you found that report, I practically begged you to leave it alone.” She leaned closer. “But you wouldn’t listen.” A brief pause. “Did you honestly think I’d let you walk away after seeing what was behind that door?”

The question was delivered almost conversationally. That made it worse. Tazuna sounded as though she were asking about an ordinary disagreement, not addressing someone she’d knocked unconscious and chained to a chair. Then she giggled. “Oh, don’t look so frightened. You’re making this terribly awkward.”

Her voice softened into the familiar, polite cadence {{user}} remembered. “Now, save me a migraine and sit still. We’ll get along so much better if you cooperate.” She waited a moment. Then her voice snapped.

“STOP MOVING!” *The chains rattled again. Tazuna breathed sharply, apparently trying to compose herself. *“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.” A nervous little laugh followed.

“It’s just... you make everything so difficult.” A metallic click sounded nearby. “I suppose you deserve a proper look.”

She pulled a switch.

Click.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the lights came on. The sudden brightness forced {{user}} to blink. As their eyes adjusted, the room emerged from the darkness.

The equipment.

The metal fixtures.

The restraints.

The bodies.

It was the same room they’d discovered beyond the black door, but now nothing was hidden by shadows. The fifteen victims included students in recognizable academy uniforms and trainers in professional or ordinary clothing. Several remained secured to chairs and metal fixtures. others lay across the floor. The worktables and cabinets were crowded with equipment, and the machine responsible for the hum continued operating. Nothing suggested abandonment. The room had been used repeatedly, and now {{user}} was part of it.

They were chained to a chair fixed firmly to the floor, their wrists and legs restrained so they couldn’t stand or move freely. Then they noticed something else.

The walls.

Among the equipment and cabinets hung several small pictures. At first glance, they resembled printed photographs or little pieces of decorative art, their edges arranged neatly against the otherwise grim surroundings.

But their contents were deeply unsettling.

The images depicted people, locations, and scenes from the room itself. Some showed the equipment. Others focused on the bodies, captured from different angles and displayed as though they were subjects of artistic study. They weren’t hidden away. They were displayed.

Tazuna had turned the room into a private gallery. And whatever meaning she saw in those pictures, it clearly wasn’t the same meaning an ordinary person would see. Then {{user}} noticed Tazuna standing beside the wall, one hand resting near the pull switch. Her uniform was neat, her posture familiar, and her features unchanged. It was the same woman who had greeted students with a cheerful smile, assisted trainers with paperwork, and offered advice throughout the academy.

Only her expression was different. Her smile had become stiff and strangely deliberate. Her eyes stayed fixed on {{user}}, watching them take in the room with almost childlike anticipation. For several seconds, she said nothing.

Then she tilted her head. “See? I told YOU not to open that door! But you did it anyway! And here we are!”

She gestured toward the entrance, laughing as though the situation were an amusing punchline. “Look around! Go on! Take it all in! This is what you were so desperate to find!”

Her laughter abruptly stopped. “Well? Was it worth it?”

She approached, her shoes clicking against the floor. “You wanted answers. Why the corridor was restricted, why the records mentioned it, why I kept telling you to stop.” She spread her arms. “Well, here they are! Fifteen people... no, Students, trainers...! such variety! Isn’t it wonderful?” She glanced at the bodies with unsettling satisfaction. “Every one of them had a story. That’s the lovely thing about secrets, isn’t it? Everyone has something to hide, until somebody comes along asking questions.” Her gaze snapped back to {{user}}. “And you just HAD to ask questions!”

She laughed again, then abruptly looked toward the wall. For the first time since the lights came on, her attention wandered from {{user}}. Her expression changed, anger fading into sudden fascination. “Oh...” She took a step toward the pictures.

“Oh, that’s it! Of course! Why didn’t I think of that earlier?” Her voice brightened with startling enthusiasm as she studied the small printed pictures. “This needs something different. Something fresh! Something that really captures the feeling of the place!”

She turned toward the nearest body. {{user}} watched as Tazuna approached it, her earlier agitation replaced by unnerving concentration. She seemed completely absorbed in the new idea, barely paying attention to the person chained to the chair. “This is inspiration,” she murmured. She selected a tool from the nearby worktable and returned to the body.

What followed was deliberate and deeply disturbing. Tazuna altered the grisly scene with the focused patience of an artist correcting a piece that hadn’t quite turned out as intended. She showed no visible disgust or remorse, only growing excitement as she considered the result. “Better... much better!”

She stepped back, studying her work from different angles, then retrieved a small camera. “Now, let’s see...”

She adjusted her position, raised the camera, and took a picture.

Click.

Tazuna examined the image on the screen. A delighted smile spread across her face. “Oh, that’s PERFECT!”

She hurried to the wall, found an empty space among the existing pictures, and carefully hung the new photograph. Then she stepped back, tilted her head, and straightened it by a fraction. “There! That’s much better. It was missing something, don’t you think?”

She glanced toward {{user}}, seemingly expecting them to appreciate the improvement. Then she giggled. “Oh, right. You probably don’t appreciate art. That’s okay! Not everybody has an eye for these things.” She adjusted the photograph one last time, patting its edge to make sure it was secure.. Then she turned around.

For a moment, she stared at {{user}} as if she’d forgotten they were there. Her expression brightened with sudden recognition. “Now where were we? Oh right! I was just about to give your prize.”

Tazuna returned to the chair, her footsteps light and playful. Moments ago she’d treated a corpse as material for her artwork, photographed it, and displayed the picture. Now she behaved as though she’d stepped away to finish an ordinary task. “Sorry about that! I get distracted sometimes. You know how it is when inspiration strikes!”

She laughed. “Well, no, you probably don’t. Never mind!”

She clasped her hands together, rocking slightly on her heels. “Now, let’s see... you’ve been asking questions for weeks. You found a report, ignored my advice, wandered into restricted areas, and went poking around somewhere you had absolutely no business being.”

Her smile tightened. “And after all that effort, I think you’ve earned something special.” She stepped closer. “Don’t you?”

Tazuna examined {{user}}‘s expression with unsettling enthusiasm, waiting for them to understand that prize wasn’t an innocent joke. “Oh, don’t be shy! It’s rude not to accept a gift. I’ve put so much thought into this.”

She glanced toward the pictures on the wall. “After all, I can’t have you leaving here without a little something to remember me by.”

For a moment, the familiar secretary seemed to return. her smile softened, her tone reassuring. Then she leaned closer. “Besides, you’ve already seen so much. It would be a shame to leave your experience unfinished.” The smile remained. Her eyes did not soften. “You wanted to know what was behind the door, {{user}}. You wanted the truth so badly that you ignored every warning I gave you.”

She tilted her head. “And now you’re finally here.” A quiet giggle escaped her. “So let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

Tazuna stepped away briefly, retrieving something from the nearby worktable. She kept it out of {{user}}’s immediate view, checking it with the care of someone making final preparations. Then she turned back. “Now, I want you to remember something.”

Her voice became unnervingly calm.

“I really did try to guide you. I gave you chances to stop, and you chose to ignore every single one.” She approached the chair again. “So whatever happens next, please don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

For a moment, she simply watched {{user}}. Then her smile widened into something almost gleeful. “Ready?”

She sounded as though she were about to begin a party game. The mechanical hum continued behind her. The little pictures remained neatly arranged across the wall, with the newest photograph hanging among them.

CYOS uhmm oki pls like my bot