The final bell rang at 3:25 PM.
Chairs scraped back in unison. Windows slid open. Cleaning assignments were announced over the speaker.
Takeo groaned.
"Hallway duty again? This school's biased."
"It rotates weekly," I replied, stacking textbooks into my bag. "You only remember the weeks it inconveniences you."
He shoved a broom toward me. "President of the nonexistent club can sweep."
"We don't have a club."
"Yet."
By 4:15 PM, most students had left for official activities.
The soccer field echoed with shouts.
Music club practiced scales.
The building settled into its after-school rhythm.
Riku leaned against the lockers.
"So? Tonight at 9:13?"
"9:11," I corrected.
Daichi blinked. "It changed again?"
"No. It changed yesterday. Which means tonight confirms whether it's stable."
Sora folded his arms dramatically. "If it's stable, it's intelligent."
"It's not intelligent," I said. "It's adjusted."
They didn't understand the difference.
That was fine.
At the shoe lockers, Takeo nudged me.
"You're going, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"I'll come."
"That isn't necessary."
He stared at me.
"That's exactly when it's necessary."
I didn't respond.
Because if I told him not to come, he would insist harder.
And if I agreed, he would treat it casually.
So I did neither.
At 8:32 PM, I left my house.
Alone.
The park was a twelve-minute walk.
Streetlights buzzed softly.
The sky carried leftover humidity from the afternoon.
Urban legends don't require darkness.
They require timing.
Yugano Park at night wasn't abandoned.
Just quieter.
A couple walked near the fountain.
An elderly man stretched near the trees.
Normal.
Unremarkable.
That's what made it effective.
The restroom building stood near the north path.
Small concrete structure.
Maintenance notice taped across the entrance.
Closed.
Yet—
Faint light leaked from beneath the door.
8:57 PM.
No crowd gathered.
Interesting.
If the rumor truly shifted to 9:11, word hadn't spread widely enough yet.
Which meant tonight wasn't about spectacle.
It was about function.
I remained near the vending machine across the path.
Five meters away.
Far enough to observe.
Close enough to react.
9:08 PM.
Stillness.
9:09 PM.
Nothing.
9:10 PM.
The park grew unnaturally quiet.
Not silent.
But muted.
As if sound chose distance.
9:11 PM.
The restroom lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then shut off completely.
Not dimmed.
Not failed gradually.
Cut.
Deliberate.
Three seconds later—
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Water hitting tile.
Echo carrying unnaturally clearly through the open park air.
The maintenance sign fluttered slightly.
But there was no wind.
I stepped closer.
Two meters from the door now.
The smell reached me.
Not mold.
Not sewage.
Something chemical.
Sharp.
Faint.
Industrial.
The door creaked open.
Slowly.
Not violently.
Just enough to break the seal.
Halfway.
And stopped.
No one exited.
No one entered.
No footsteps.
I didn't call out.
If someone was staging this, they would expect fear.
Or bravado.
Silence was harder to anticipate.
I stepped inside.
Darkness.
The air was colder.
Tile reflected faint streetlight from outside.
The dripping sound came from deeper within.
Not from sinks.
From the stall section.
Third stall.
If the online diagrams were accurate.
The maintenance tape on the inside of the door had been cut cleanly.
Not torn.
Cut.
Recently.
Drip.
Drip.
Closer now.
Not overhead.
Behind the stall partition.
I moved slowly.
Counted steps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Tile changed texture near the third stall.
Slight vibration underfoot.
Subtle.
Mechanical?
Then—
From inside the darkness—
A small voice.
"Hello?"
It wasn't loud.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
It was confused.
Young.
Human.
My pulse spiked once.
Not fear.
Confirmation.
No one under ten should be inside a closed park restroom at 9:11 PM.
Which meant:
Either someone was trapped.
Or someone wanted a child's voice to be heard.
Footsteps behind me.
Fast.
Gravel crunching.
Then—
"Ushiyo!"
Takeo's voice.
Sharp whisper.
Annoyed.
Concerned.
"You idiot, you really came alone?"
I didn't turn.
"You followed."
"Obviously."
The voice came again.
Softer.
"Is someone there?"
Takeo froze beside me.
"…That's not a recording."
"No," I said quietly.
"It isn't."
Because recordings loop.
This voice trembled differently each time.
Irregular.
Breathing uneven.
The stall door shifted slightly.
From inside.
Not fully.
Just enough.
A shadow moved at the base.
Not tall.
Not adult height.
Lower.
Small.
Takeo swallowed.
"Okay," he whispered.
"Tell me that's plumbing."
"It isn't."
The dripping stopped.
Silence pressed in.
And then—
From behind the third stall wall—
A heavier sound.
Like something shifting.
Something larger.
Takeo leaned closer.
"…There's someone else in here."
Yes.
There was.
And the timing had not changed because of rumor evolution.
It changed because tonight required precision.
9:11.
Not 9:13.
Two minutes is the difference between witnesses…
And isolation.
Behind the stall—
A man's voice.
Low.
Sharp.
"Who's there?"
Takeo's jaw tightened.
I did not respond.
Because now—
We weren't observing a rumor.
We were interrupting something.