A chill seeped through the cracks of the door, and Kaion instantly knew—
whatever was outside wasn't human.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was rhythmic. Too precise.
It wasn't a person's hand—it was mechanical, like a machine endlessly repeating a
programmed gesture.
Who… or what… was it?
Was it drawn to her again, because of her spirit-attracting nature?
And of all times—why now, when Touta wasn't home?
Moisture began to spread across the floorboards near the entrance. The air turned thick and
sticky, the suffocating humidity of Japan's rainy season returning without warning.
The knocking grew louder. Sharper.
Yet somehow, no one else in the building stirred.
It was as if she alone could hear it.
So this was the work of resentment—again.
She didn't fully understand how it operated, but she'd seen this pattern before.
Some spirits could bend perception itself—muting the world around their chosen prey.
Unless the ghost wanted to be seen, no one else would hear a sound.
And if anyone did manage to witness it…
things usually got much, much worse.
Kaion took a long, steadying breath.
Then she turned on the PS4.
Her hands were calm—too calm. Like she'd practiced this exact ritual before.
She scrolled through her rhythm game library, searching for the loudest, most chaotic track she
owned.
Found it.
"Brain Fluid Explosion Girl."
Maximum volume.
Speakers, not headphones.
She hooked up the massive Yamaha NS-PA41 surround system—
the one Touta had been guilt-tripped into buying after weeks of her pestering.
Two towering column speakers.
Two satellites.
One center channel.
And one enormous, wall-shaking subwoofer.
She cranked everything to MAX.
"Let's see you out-scare this!"
Hatsune Miku's shrill, high-speed vocals filled the apartment, piercing enough to rattle glass.
The rhythm game's miss sounds—from Kaion deliberately failing notes—added layers of
chaotic beeps and metallic clangs.
Water in a nearby glass vibrated violently.
Kaion stood in the center of the room, hands on hips, grinning like a devil under neon light.
Every bulb in the apartment blazed at once.
"You wanna mess with me? Midnight haunting in a crowded district?
Fine! Let's see who's louder!"
Within seconds, angry shouts erupted from both sides of the hall.
"What the hell's going on?!"
"Some of us have work tomorrow!"
"Turn it off, you maniac!"
Kaion smirked. Bingo. The plan was working.
The knocking outside her door grew faster, heavier—furious now.
But she didn't flinch.
Finally, a door somewhere down the corridor clicked open.
A tenant—middle-aged, sleeves rolled up, wielding a baseball bat—stormed out, his face red
with fury.
Then he saw it.
"Guhhh… huuhhh…"
He froze mid-step.
A figure stood before Kaion's door, hammering its bloated fists against the wood.
The man's rage drained away instantly.
That thing wasn't human.
Its swollen, waterlogged skin gleamed sickly white.
Its fingers bent at unnatural angles, black fluid dripping from each joint.
The stench hit like rotting seawater.
Its soaked clothes clung to its bloated frame—once a man of maybe 170 centimeters, now
stretched to nearly 180 by death's swelling.
Hair hung in stringy, matted clumps.
Each knock made its shoulders twitch, its head loll.
It wasn't a man.
It was a corpse.
The tenant stumbled backward, slamming his door shut.
Silence swallowed the floor again, save for the pounding music and the ghost's relentless
knocks.
Then—
footsteps echoed from the stairwell.
A tall figure stepped onto the fourth floor, pausing at the far end of the hallway.
He stood in the shadows, listening to the distorted music, the ghostly knocking, and the growing
panic.
One by one, doors cracked open.
Tenants peeked out—
and immediately shut themselves back in when they saw him.
Fear thickened the air—
that primal dread when a horror movie scene crawls into real life.
Kiryu Touta watched from the dark, eyes cold, taking in the sight:
a bloated corpse pounding on his sister's door.
He raised a hand toward Lu Zizhen, who had just reached the landing, GoPro ready.
"Too many witnesses," he muttered. "I don't wanna move again. No filming."
Zizhen nodded and switched the camera off without a word.
Touta rolled his shoulders once. His body began to glow.
Then—
a blinding pink light burst across the corridor.
A towering Sugar Bean Man emerged, his bulk filling the narrow hall from wall to wall.
He said nothing.
Then he ran.
It was a sight ripped straight from a nightmare.
The hallway thundered beneath his charge.
To the terrified tenants peeking through cracks in their doors, it looked like a scene from hell:
a monstrous pink blob barreling toward another monster.
Charge. Grapple. Impact.
In a single breath, the Sugar Bean Man lunged forward and seized the bloated corpse by the
chest.
The smell of rot and brine hit like a wave—but Touta felt only adrenaline.
The hunt.
The thrill.
His grip tightened. Flesh split with wet cracks. Black fluid splattered across the walls.
Then, he used the most infamous move in all of Fall Guys—
Push.
But this time…
it carried real power.
BOOM!
The air exploded.
His massive hands slammed forward with a force no human body could endure.
CRACK!
The corpse's chest burst inward, ribs snapping like twigs.
The body launched backward down the hall and hit the ground with a sickening thud.
In the game, that push would just send your friend tumbling into a pit of jelly.
Silly. Harmless. Fun.
But here—
Touta had to win.
The swollen chest collapsed. The corpse twitched once… then lay still.
Touta approached.
Wisps of black miasma rose from the ruined flesh, drawn to his eyes like smoke into a void.
He inhaled it all.
And just like that—
Silence.
Kaion, trembling, turned off the music.
The apartment lights dimmed. The hallway plunged into uneasy quiet.
The Sugar Bean Man turned, scanning the corridor.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Every remaining door slammed shut.
Behind them came the frantic sounds of phones—tenants calling the police.
Touta sighed inwardly.
Good thing this building didn't have security cameras.
Time to vanish.
Tomorrow morning, he'd just "come running back" when Kaion called—
pretend he'd been out with friends all night.
Plan set.
But something about tonight was different.
The air around that corpse had been too dense. Too familiar.
Something—or someone—had sent it.
And instead of fear, the thought filled him with a fierce, burning excitement.
Finally.
The real game is about to begin.
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