Chapter 4
Simon strolled away from the third floor, his footsteps echoing faintly in the blood-smeared hallway.
Behind him, the wet, rhythmic sound of the lion-masked killer mutilating Mei's face continued with mechanical precision. Each blow sounded heavier than the last. A dull crack, followed by the squelch of muscle and brain matter being crushed.
Simon didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
He'd already seen enough.
As he made his way down the stairs, he adjusted his jacket and exhaled through his nose.
"You'd think hearing someone get turned into jam would ruin your night," he muttered to himself. "But this is actually kind of relaxing."
His voice held no malice. No fear. Only an eerie mix of amusement and analysis.
Reaching the second floor, Simon glanced around casually. Most of the lights here had either flickered out or been shattered in the earlier chaos, casting the hallway in shadow. The emergency lights blinked red along the baseboards, giving the scene the look of some haunted sci-fi movie.
Simon walked to the window.
And there, he saw it.
A girl—probably no older than sixteen—was sprinting through the open courtyard between the east and west wings. Her hair whipped wildly behind her. Her face was twisted in terror, eyes darting frantically in all directions.
And behind her?
The snake-masked killer.
Moving fast. Almost too fast. His limbs moved like a machine optimized for one thing: chasing.
The girl reached the second floor entrance and threw open the door.
Simon took a single step back from the window as she bolted through the hall—straight toward him.
"Huh," Simon murmured. "She's coming here."
She locked eyes with him.
Desperation. Pleading.
Then, without warning, she shoved him.
Hard.
Simon stumbled.
Not because she was strong, but because the act itself caught him by surprise.
He was thrown directly into the path of the snake-masked killer.
The killer stopped.
Simon met the black voids of the snake mask's eyeholes.
For the first time, Simon thought: Ah. So this is it. This is the part where I die, huh?
He didn't panic.
Didn't flinch.
He simply stood still, breathing in, eyes wide open, waiting for the blade.
But it never came.
The killer didn't attack him.
Instead, the masked figure stepped aside, ignoring Simon completely, and resumed the chase.
The girl had frozen after pushing Simon—clearly hoping he'd be torn to pieces.
But when the killer rushed past him?
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Oh shi—"
She turned.
Too late.
The killer lunged forward and jumped.
CRACK.
The blade slammed into the back of her skull, cutting deep through her neck and collar. The force lifted her off the ground for a second before she crumpled like a rag doll.
And then—
Stab. Stab. Stab.
The killer straddled her, blade plunging again and again into the back of her head. Her face, pressed to the ground, cracked against the linoleum with each brutal impact.
A pool of blood spread out beneath her like a flower blooming in slow motion.
Simon exhaled. His hands were still in his pockets.
"She pushed me into her own death," he said quietly. "That's cold."
He tilted his head slightly.
"But also clever."
To an extent.
She had known. Or at least suspected. That the killers wouldn't switch targets mid-chase. She'd gambled on Simon being used as bait to redirect the killer.
But she was wrong.
"Wrong method, right idea," Simon said, watching her body twitch for the last time.
Then—
Creak.
A classroom door on the right side of the hallway opened slowly.
A young man peeked out.
His hair was a mess. Sweat dripped down his temples. His eyes were bloodshot—he'd clearly been hiding since nightfall.
Seeing the girl's body made him freeze.
Then he noticed the killer—still hunched over the corpse.
The man's breath caught in his throat.
He turned to run.
The killer stood up.
The blade in his hand glistened with fresh blood, dripping steadily onto the floor.
He turned.
And he saw the man.
And like a switch had been flipped—the chase began again.
The man ran as fast as he could.
He spotted Simon standing there. Still. Calm.
"HELP ME!!" the man screamed, eyes wide.
He ran toward Simon.
Then past him.
Simon watched, unmoving, as the killer followed.
And as the snake-masked killer ran past him too—without slowing down, without even glancing his way—Simon felt something click in his mind.
The man screamed behind him.
"WHY IS HE STILL CHASING ME?! HE'S RIGHT THERE! WHY ME?! WHY ME?!"
Simon turned, slowly, to watch the chase continue down the corridor, then around a corner.
And he understood.
"They only kill the first person they see."
It was a simple rule.
But it explained everything.
The girl? First person the killer saw after appearing—targeted.
The man? Peeked out of hiding—instantly became the next target.
Simon?
He was just background noise.
Not the first.
Not the focus.
A shadow.
He scratched his head, grinning a little.
"That explains why I wasn't killed when I bumped into him," he said. "He was already locked onto her. And now that guy's the new prey."
He walked over to the blood-stained tile where the girl had died.
He crouched.
Took a closer look.
There was almost nothing left of the back of her skull.
"Accurate. Efficient. Repetitive," Simon said, analyzing the damage. "They all aim for the head. No face, no recognition. Like they're erasing identity."
He stood up again, brushing his pants off.
"Which means…"
He looked at the wall clock.
Still ticking.
Still moving forward.
"…if I just stay second, always second, always the observer… I can learn everything."
Simon turned, slowly walking toward the stairs again.
Down below, the goat-masked killer's stomping echoed faintly through the halls.
Somewhere else, the lion-masked killer was likely searching for a new target.
And the snake? Still chasing his prey, who probably wouldn't last long.
Simon exhaled.
"This rule…"
He grinned.
"…is very useful."