The morning sun filtered weakly through the grimy windows of Riku's high school classroom, casting long shadows across the worn desks and faded posters that lined the walls. The stale scent of chalk dust and sweat mingled in the heavy air, but beneath it all, a faint whisper of jasmine clung to him like a secret no one else could smell.
Riku sat rigid in his seat, eyes half-lidded, his mind tangled in the memories of the night before. The ghost girl's touch, her desperate moans, and the icy warmth of her skin replayed relentlessly in his thoughts. His pulse thrummed unevenly as the dull hum of the teacher's voice faded into the background.
The room buzzed with mundane noise—the scrape of chairs, the scratch of pencils—but for Riku, it was as if the world had slipped sideways, and he was trapped between two realities: the everyday school day and the dark, trembling night where lust and sorrow had intertwined.
A sudden breeze swept through the cracked window, carrying with it the faintest hint of jasmine, and Riku's breath caught. His classmates didn't notice. They couldn't. But he did—because the scent meant she was near, or at least, something like her.
His fingers twitched on the desk, aching to reach out, to touch, to feel again the ghostly caress that haunted his skin and dreams. Yet an invisible barrier held him back, a fragile thread of fear woven deep into the fabric of his courage.
"Riku Tsukikage," the teacher's sharp voice cut through the haze, jolting him awake. "Are you paying attention?"
He blinked, forcing himself to focus. "Y-yes, sensei," he stammered, cheeks burning.
The teacher's eyes narrowed, skeptical, but she let it slide.
As the lesson dragged on, Riku's gaze flickered to the window again, searching the schoolyard for any sign of the ethereal presence. But all he saw were students laughing, talking, living—untouched by the dark secrets that gripped him.
He clenched his fists beneath the desk, the memory of her fingertips—cold and trembling—against his skin a vivid contrast to the sweat pooling at his temple.
Then, a sudden chill swept the room. The fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, before stabilizing. A low murmur rippled through the air—barely audible, but unmistakable. A whisper.
"…Riku…"
His heart hammered violently. The voice was soft, breathy, yet carried the weight of centuries.
He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the classroom, but no one else seemed to hear it.
The scent grew stronger, weaving through the air like a delicate poison. Jasmine and something deeper, muskier — the unmistakable fragrance of her presence.
A cold breath grazed the back of his neck.
He shivered, half from fear, half from the strange thrill that coursed through his veins.
Was she here? Or was his mind unraveling beneath the strain of the curse?
Before he could answer, his phone vibrated sharply on the desk.
A message.
From an unknown number.
Three words:
"Meet me tonight."
No signature.
No explanation.
Just a promise.
Riku's fingers trembled as he locked the screen.
Tonight.
He knew.
The night would come again.
And with it, the unholy pact would deepen.
The sun had barely dipped below the horizon when Riku stood before the old building at the far end of campus—one rarely used, shuttered off years ago due to "structural damage." But everyone knew the truth.
They said it was haunted.
Students whispered about it in hushed voices: the abandoned music room, where a girl once hung herself after a forbidden relationship with a teacher was discovered. Since then, moans had echoed in the night, and faint piano keys played themselves in the silence.
Riku wasn't scared. Not anymore.
He was hard.
Not just with lust, but with curiosity, and a pull he couldn't resist—a voice like silk threads dragging his soul deeper.
He pushed open the heavy rusted door, and it groaned like something long asleep being stirred awake.
Inside, darkness clung to the walls like mold. The air was thick, humid, and electric.
Each step echoed loudly against the cracked floor tiles. His breath hitched as he neared the far corridor—the one leading to the music room.
The scent hit him like a kiss.
Jasmine. Sweet and thick. And beneath it, sweat. Arousal. Something feral.
Riku's cock twitched in his pants, stiffening fast.
The door at the end of the hall was already open. Just a crack.
A soft sound slipped out from within.
A girl's moan.
Not pained. Not scared.
Hungry.
He stepped inside.
The moonlight spilled through tall broken windows, casting long silver stripes across the dusty piano at the center of the room. And there—leaning over it like a dream—was a girl.
Her back was to him.
Her long brown hair spilled down her naked back, her uniform skirt hiked up, revealing smooth, pale thighs. Her panties were pushed down to one knee, trembling.
She turned her head slowly, as if sensing him.
Riku's breath caught in his throat.
She was beautiful—elegant, tragic. Her eyes were wet with tears and lust, glimmering under the moonlight. Her lips were full and parted, glossed with something that glistened like dew.
"You came," she whispered, voice cracking like an old melody. "You heard me…"
"Who are you…?" Riku asked, barely able to form the words.
She smiled gently. "Do you remember this place? You've been here before… in another life."
"I—"
"I've waited for you," she breathed. "So many years. I couldn't pass on… not without you."
She walked slowly toward him, every step graceful, seductive, like a dance only the dead knew.
Her hand touched his chest, and ice bloomed beneath her fingers.
"But now you're here. And I can finally feel again…"
Her hand trailed downward, sliding over his shirt, his stomach, reaching the bulge in his pants.
"I want you inside me," she whispered, lips brushing his ear. "On that piano. Right now."
He gasped.
Her fingers began to unbuckle his belt, slow and deliberate. The scent of her body flooded his senses—sweet, wet, warm—and he could feel the heat radiating from her ghostly form.
Their lips met.
She kissed him like she'd die if she stopped. Desperate. Wet. Raw.
And when she pushed him down onto the piano bench, climbed onto his lap, and began to grind against him, her tears mingled with her moans.
This wasn't just sex.
This was release.
And Riku would be the key to her salvation—or damnation.
The girl straddled Riku on the worn piano bench, her thighs parting around his lap as if they had done this countless times before. Yet her touch trembled—hesitant, fragile—like she was rediscovering the feeling of being alive through him.
Her skirt was bunched at her waist, and her soaked panties dangled around one knee, clinging to her leg like a memory. Every curve of her pale, spectral body shimmered under the moonlight seeping through the broken glass. Her skin was cool, but not dead—just desperate. Her nipples, hard and flushed, brushed against Riku's chest as she leaned in to kiss him again.
The piano beneath them groaned faintly, like it too remembered the things it had witnessed in this room.
"I died here," she whispered against his lips. "Still dripping. Still aching. I never got to finish…"
Riku's breath caught as her hand slid between them and pulled his cock free. The air hit him—cool, damp, arousing—and then her fingers wrapped around him, squeezing softly, stroking him with reverence.
"You're hard for me," she said, voice thick with both wonder and longing. "Just like… back then…"
"Back then?" he whispered, dazed.
She smiled sadly, still stroking him. "You used to play piano here. I always watched from the doorway. But you never noticed. Until that day…"
Her thighs spread wider, her slick folds hovering just above his tip. Her heat pulsed against him.
"I was a virgin," she said, tears glistening in her eyes, "and I died full of regret… still wanting you. Now… I need you to take it from me."
She lowered herself onto him slowly—inch by inch, trembling. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip hard as the first stretch filled her. The moment he was inside her, they both moaned—loud, raw, and uncontrollable.
She was tight—so impossibly tight—and wet, as if her desire had been pooling in her for years.
Her hips began to move. Slowly at first.
Back and forth.
Each motion made the piano behind them creak and whisper with ghostly resonance, like it, too, was moaning.
Riku gripped her hips, helping her find rhythm. Her wetness coated his cock with every grind, every bounce, her body clenching him as if afraid he'd vanish.
"I've waited so long…" she gasped, her hands in his hair, her voice barely holding itself together. "So long to be touched… filled… made real again…"
He leaned forward, took her nipple in his mouth, and sucked gently. Her back arched, a cry escaping her throat.
She rode him harder.
Faster.
The sound of skin against skin, of breathless gasps and the piano's groans filled the room like a symphony of lust.
And then—suddenly—her body tightened.
Her moans turned into cries—sharp, desperate, broken.
Her eyes widened, glowing faintly.
"I—It's happening…"
She came, violently.
Her body spasmed, and light burst from her chest like fog burning away in sunlight. Riku grunted, his climax hitting seconds later, his seed pumping deep into her ethereal womb as her soul burst with pleasure and sorrow.
She collapsed against him, trembling, sobbing softly into his shoulder.
"I… I can feel warmth…"
Her form flickered, growing translucent.
"I think… you freed me."
Riku held her tight, heart pounding, eyes wide.
As she faded, her final whisper lingered in the room like perfume:
"More girls… are waiting…"
And then she was gone.
But the scent of jasmine… stayed.