"Who's there?"
The man's voice came from behind the third stall.
Not loud.
Not panicked.
Controlled.
Takeo stepped slightly in front of me.
Instinct.
"Maintenance," he said casually.
There was no maintenance uniform on him.
Silence answered.
Then the child's voice again—closer now.
"Please…"
It wasn't a scream.
It was the kind of sound someone makes when they've already tried screaming.
My eyes adjusted further to the dark.
The faint streetlight from outside cut a thin gray line across the tile.
The third stall door was shut.
But the gap at the bottom showed two shadows.
One small.
One larger.
Too still.
"Ushiyo," Takeo muttered under his breath. "Tell me what you're thinking."
"The dripping isn't plumbing."
"Yeah, I got that."
"It's too rhythmic."
As if on cue—
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Same interval.
Precise.
The man shifted inside the stall.
Shoes visible now.
Work boots.
Dark.
Scuffed.
Not school shoes.
Not a jogger.
The stall latch rattled once.
Not opened.
Tested.
"You shouldn't be here," the man said.
His tone wasn't angry.
It was irritated.
That was worse.
Takeo's shoulders tightened.
"We could say the same."
The air inside the restroom felt wrong.
Not just cold.
Stale.
Heavier.
And that chemical scent—
Stronger near the third stall.
Sharp.
Metallic.
I stepped slightly to the side.
Angle changed.
The shadow at the bottom of the stall shifted.
The smaller one twitched.
A soft scraping sound followed.
Rope against tile.
Takeo heard it too.
His jaw hardened.
"You hear that?" he whispered.
"Yes."
Behind the stall wall—
A dull thud.
Not from inside the stall.
Behind it.
Like something hitting hollow space.
My gaze moved to the tile seams.
Third stall wall slightly thicker than the others.
The grout line uneven near the back.
Subtle.
But wrong.
The dripping stopped.
Instantly.
Silence expanded.
The man inside the stall spoke again.
"Last warning."
Takeo leaned closer to me.
"That's not how ghosts talk."
"No."
It wasn't.
The child whimpered.
A sharp inhale.
Then a muffled sound.
Like a hand covering a mouth.
Takeo moved before I could calculate further.
He grabbed the stall door and yanked.
Locked.
He kicked it.
The metal shuddered but held.
"Open it!" he barked.
The man inside lunged.
The stall door flew outward—
But not toward us.
Toward the interior.
He slipped through the narrow gap at the back.
Not through the door.
Through the wall.
The panel behind the toilet shifted inward.
A rectangular cutout.
Hidden.
Takeo swore and shoved the stall open.
Empty.
Except for—
A thin plastic tube running along the ceiling.
Drip system.
Water fed from a small portable container strapped above the partition.
Timer attached.
9:11 trigger.
"Behind the wall," I said.
Takeo didn't wait.
He slammed his shoulder into the back panel.
It cracked.
Cheap plywood overlay.
Not original construction.
Another hit.
The panel broke inward.
Dust filled the air.
Behind it—
A narrow crawlspace.
Concrete foundation.
And a small shape curled against the far wall.
The child blinked at the sudden light.
Hands bound.
Ankle tied to a pipe.
Mouth covered with duct tape.
Eyes red.
Alive.
Takeo crouched immediately.
"It's okay. It's okay."
He tore the tape free.
The child gasped air and started crying properly now.
Full volume.
Relief tears.
Not ritual.
Not staged.
Real.
Footsteps echoed outside.
Running.
Gravel crunching.
The man.
He hadn't gone far.
Takeo stood.
"I'll get him."
"No," I said sharply.
But he was already moving.
He sprinted out of the restroom.
I stayed.
Because pursuit wasn't priority.
Stabilization was.
The child clutched my sleeve with trembling fingers.
"Is he gone?"
"For now."
"Is he coming back?"
"No."
That part was 70% hope.
30% lie.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Someone must have heard the child crying.
Or perhaps a passerby had noticed the open door.
Police response time in this district averaged eight minutes.
We were at minute four.
Takeo returned, breathing hard.
"He ran toward the trees. I lost him."
His knuckles were scraped.
He'd hit something.
Or someone.
Blue lights reflected off the restroom tiles moments later.
Officers rushed in.
Questions layered over each other.
Who found him?
How did you know?
Why were you here?
Takeo looked at me.
You answer.
So I did.
"Online rumor suggested paranormal activity at 9:11 PM. We observed irregular mechanical setup. We intervened."
One officer stared.
"…You what?"
"Intervened."
The portable drip device was photographed.
The hidden crawlspace documented.
The maintenance tape examined.
The officer muttered to his partner:
"This wasn't random."
No.
It wasn't.
Outside, the park filled with flashing lights.
Riku, Daichi, and Sora stood behind the police tape.
Riku pale.
Daichi recording again.
Sora whispering something about alien abduction theories that no one acknowledged.
The child was carried out wrapped in a blanket.
He pointed weakly toward the restroom.
"He said the ghost would protect him."
The officer frowned.
"What ghost?"
The child sniffed.
"The knocking lady."
Takeo's expression changed.
Slowly.
From adrenaline—
To understanding.
"He used the rumor," Takeo said quietly.
"Yes."
He needed isolation.
He needed people to avoid the restroom.
He needed a believable deterrent.
Urban legend provided both.
An officer approached us.
"You two should go home. We'll contact your parents."
Takeo scratched the back of his head.
"…About that."
As we walked away under flashing lights—
I glanced back once.
The restroom door hung crooked.
The stall wall broken.
The illusion dismantled.
But something lingered.
Near the mirror.
For a fraction of a second—
The reflection lagged.
Not dramatically.
Just slightly delayed.
Then corrected.
I didn't mention it.
Because tonight was about human cruelty.
Not anomalies.
But the timing shift still bothered me.
9:11 instead of 9:13.
The kidnapper needed two extra minutes.
For what?
Transport?
Signal?
Coordination?
Takeo nudged me as we passed the park entrance.
"You're thinking again."
"Yes."
"We saved a kid."
"Yes."
"Then why do you look like we lost something?"
Because the man escaped.
Because the timing was deliberate.
Because someone had adjusted the rumor with precision.
And because—
This felt rehearsed.
Behind us, sirens continued.
The city resumed breathing.
But the pattern had revealed itself.
Not a ghost.
Not yet.
Just someone smart enough to hide behind one.