It hurts.
"I— I can't feel my leg. What's happening?"
An echo of inner thought. Her voice — or maybe just her mind — trembling.
A minute ago, it was just her house. A couple of classmates were there too, working on their science project. Nothing unusual.
"Oh, what a waste," she muttered weakly. "My death can't be this poorly written…"
Then, a faint voice — not hers, not anyone's from the room. It drifted from somewhere else.
"Samantha…"
Her eyes snapped open. The world came back in fragments — blurry outlines, colors melting into one another. Just moments ago, she couldn't feel her legs.
Now… somehow, she could.
After waking up, reality didn't match her expectations.
"What…? Is this some fucked-up dream?"
She tried to recall what had happened just a moment ago.
She was sitting around the living room, discussing something with one of her friends while the others goofed around her house. Knowing Samantha came from an upper-middle-class family, some of them were clearly taking the opportunity to have fun.
Everyone else was still in their school uniforms, but she had already changed into her home clothes — a soft hoodie and worn-in sweatpants. Comfortable, casual, completely at odds with the chaos around her.
Her group consisted of eight people, including herself. Three guys were messing with her brother's gym equipment, two other guys were busy playing FES football in Playsubway 5, and three girls were chatting and laughing with her. One guy, Charles, was working quietly on the project — probably the only one actually taking it seriously.
Samantha didn't mind. She really didn't care much about the project anyway. But seeing Charles struggle made a twinge of guilt creep in.
"God… I really shouldn't let Charles do all the work by himself."
Her head throbbed as she recalled the earlier moment. But the more she thought, the clearer something important became.
"Charles… thanks for going through all that trouble. I'll help out too, and I'll get you your favorite drink from Patrickbuck!"
"Oh, what a pain in the ass you know, but this makes it worth it. Thanks," Charles replied with a faint smile.
"No need to thank me… but you had the option to goof around with the others. The deadline's still far away," Samantha added quietly, careful not to be heard.
She studied him, confused. Charles was always logical, cold, yet occasionally selfless. She didn't know him that well… but she wanted to. And, truth be told, she found him kind of attractive.
"Alright, I'm going to hang out with them. You can join later," she said softly.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the air, sharp, clear, impossible to ignore.
"You abandon him."
Samantha froze, her chest tightening. She turned, but what she saw left her baffled.
Charles was standing impossibly close now, closer than before, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her stomach clench.
"You abondened him."
"No…," she whispered.
"You abondened him."
His words grew heavier, pressing into her chest like a physical force. Before she could react, strong hands gripped her throat. She gasped, clawing at him, her vision already starting to blur.
"MMMMIH DENEDNOBA UUUUUUU!"
The sound was backward, monstrous, vibrating in her skull. His face twisted grotesquely — greenish liquid oozed from his skin, hollow spaces replaced features, and writhing, intestine-like masses spilled out in horrifying coils.
Samantha's feet slipped on the wet concrete. Fog clung to her skin, cold and suffocating. Her lungs burned; panic surged through her in sharp, stabbing bursts. She tried to scream, but the pressure in her chest stole the sound.
"No… I'm not!" she croaked, struggling against him, but the grip only tightened. Darkness edged her vision. The endless gray field, the wet concrete, the choking fog — it all closed in.
Her last thought before the blackness took her was a single, desperate cry:
"Nooooo—!"
And then she passed out.
Remembering all of that, she immediately shot up from her lying position and sat on the floor. Her hands clutched her neck, pressing against it as if to make absolutely sure nothing — nothing — was there except her own trembling hands.
But it wasn't just the fear of physical danger that shook her. What haunted her most was what Charles had said… and what he had become. The memory hit her like a truck. Every detail of his words, his twisted, monstrous appearance, the way he had choked her — it all clawed at her mind. She cried, sobbing uncontrollably, the trauma wrapping around her chest like iron. In that state, she barely noticed where she was.
Only when her racing thoughts finally slowed, and her mind regained some clarity, did she become aware of her surroundings. The voice that had been calling her was still there — soft, persistent, impossible to ignore.
She didn't know where to focus first: the familiar voice… or the place she was occupying. After a few moments of frantic thinking, she decided to recognize her location first before confronting the voice.
She was in a completely white room. Lighting spread evenly across the space, illuminating every corner. Nothing was there besides a single door and a single window. The door was closed, the window open.
Through the window, she saw the outdoors — and it felt strikingly familiar. Something in her chest tightened with recognition, though she couldn't place it immediately.
"What the… What the hell is this? Isn't this too much?"
Her mental energy had already been drained by the previous events, and this revelation pushed her further to the edge. But she forced herself to look closer.
Her suspicion was correct. The view outside was the front of her school. Even though the room she was in had no furniture and was pure white, the placement of the door, the window, and the height of the ceiling… it all perfectly matched the layout of the building she used to visit for snacks after classes.
"I'm very certain this is the layout of that canteen I visit a lot after school…" she muttered, finally certain.
She took a shaky breath, trying to lampoon her own panic, forcing a sarcastic edge over her terror.
I do admit, God, every day I want some 'shock' and momentum for my life… but isn't this too crazy? Going to slop mid isekai world is definitely better than this.
Manta, following a habit that had become almost inseparable from her, lifted her right hand to her face. Her thumb and index finger pressed gently against her upper lip, tracing it in small, precise motions. She rolled the delicate skin between her fingers, tugging slightly, then inhaled softly through the gap.
She didn't even remember when she had started this peculiar ritual — the one others would undoubtedly call strange. But to her, it always brought a small, inexplicable relief. Every careful movement, every slight pull along her lip, carried a subtle sense of calm, a fragile anchor in moments when the world felt impossibly heavy.
Meanwhile, through it all, the voice calling her grew clearer, sharper.
"That voice… there's no way it's him…"
Suddenly, Samantha felt herself trembling. Her face went pale, a cold sweat coated her skin. Anxiety clawed at her chest, and her strange habit — the one with her upper lip — grew more aggressive, almost frantic, as she sought any shred of calm.
Calm… if that's really him, then I should be fine. I'm a woman. If this world hasn't truly changed, my biggest concern is still… a man. As a woman, I need to get the hell out and find my way out.
Her thoughts raced. She realized it was too late to dash through the door. There was no time. Her only option now was the window, no matter what awaited her outside.
And then he appeared.
The figure stood in front of the white door, half-open.
"Samantha! I know you're around here…"
It was Charles. Just as she had feared.