Of course it was.

  How could she run away like that, knowing this could happen any day now? She'd throw up, if she had the guts for it. Face-down on the tiled floor, a girl lies dead, halfway out of the fourth stall from the right of the downstairs girls' bathroom. Beneath her brown ponytail, the red marks of large hands mar her blue-tinged skin, a puddle of drool falling from her chapped and dry lips.

  Shiori can't breathe, but she holds her breath anyway. Bending down, she closes the girl's eyes in dea-...

  She's…still warm? …She's alive?

  …Okay. She can still do something. If that boy really can see her… Shiori dashes through the solid, wooden door, resolved.

  Rocky is fucked.

  It wasn't as if he was well-liked anyway, but after yesterday, he might as well have just committed social suicide. The hell was he thinking? On the roof, he leans over the railing and exhales roughly, burning his throat on cigarette smoke that isn't actually helping his mood. There's no point worrying about it, but realising that doesn't do a whole lot to stop him thinking about how it's a week into the school year, and he's already managed to become a social pariah. His grandfather - a rich and successful newspaper company owner, until he retired twenty years ago - is paying his tuition for this swanky private school, with the stipulation that he actually passes his classes; right about now, Rocky’s wishing he just bit the bullet and went to one further away, ideally one that didn't start the year a month early. He's never liked the bastard, but he keeps his promises, and now, he's fucked himself before most people even start the goddamn year.

  Those thoughts haven't gone anywhere since yesterday night, though, and it's pissing him off. He should've been ready for this - how, he doesn't know, but why the fuck wouldn't there be a ghost haunting this school? Groaning, Rokuro chews on the cigarette that he can't be bothered to relight, focusing on the texture of the tobacco between his teeth. He's gonna have to go face the music eventually, but the longer he can put it off, staring into the grey, smoggy sky, the better.

  …

  …He doesn't hear footsteps, but he knows when someone's behind him.

  “You ain't slick,” Rocky sighs aloud. He turns, flipping his feet so one rests over the other, squinting over his shoulder at the girl standing just a few metres back. “You ain't the first I've seen, y'know? Whatever undying grudge you got, make it quick.”

  Hands together, biting on her lip, Shiori stands, staring at the ground with teary eyes. The instant pang of guilt he gets is almost comical. Exasperated, he stomps his cigarette, and turns around to look her in the eye.

  Without a desk in the way, it's easy to tell. She might look like anyone else for the most part, but when a girl's feet just aren't fucking there, it's a pretty safe bet that she's not altogether alive. That said, with colourful bracelets on her arms and well-curled ringlets in her hair, she's a far cry from your stereotypical “vengeful onryou” - Shiori Inoue is definitely dead, but as she clasps her hands together and works up the courage to make her plea, you could be forgiven for seeing her as an ordinary highschool girl as long as you don't look down.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “I-... I-...”

  “...Take your time.”

  “...If-...if you can see me, I-...” Why does she have to start crying…? …Fuck, he made a cute girl cry, didn't he? He'd be surprised if she needed to breathe, but she's sniffling, balling her hands into fists and pulling them up to her chest. “...I really need your help.”

  …How the fuck is he meant to say no?

  Inches away from breaking through the police tape in front of her, her English teacher has her left arm, and a cop is holding her by her right. Two grown adults, using all of their strength to stop one pissed-off teenager - maybe the comedy wouldn't be so lost on her, if it wasn't her friend on that stretcher. “Calm down, Munezawa! Do you want your parents to hear about this?!” - Whatever that old hag's threats are, she's not listening. Erimi lets out a guttural war cry, struggling against the physical restraints. She's got to admit, that cop is jacked, but all it takes is the slightest weakening of grip, and she's slipping the leash like an angry dog.

  Manako is there - she can't just watch. That girl was there for her when her mom passed, dragged her kicking and screaming through her exams last year, and she's expected to just sit there and watch these idiots take her away? The paramedics are more understanding than the police, but that doesn’t say a whole lot - they stop her with gentle reminders and soft words, but they're still keeping her away.

  In the end, she's forced to settle for holding her hand, under the hmms and tuts of the teacher standing a metre or two behind her. Manako looks godawful - there's not really a way around it. Pale and breathing shallow, her skin is tinged bluish, and the purple reflections of two large hands are unmistakable on her neck. Erimi's mind races. Worry, fear, anger; who could have done this? Her gaze darts around the hall outside the bathrooms, accusing - the paramedics take it as their cue to take the stretcher and go, because her eyes land on her prime suspect, and Erimi stops still.

  …

  …That girl's gaze is full of fire. Rocky feels like he's burning. Maybe it was a dumb idea to break the stare and look away, because now she definitely thinks something's wrong with him. Munezawa shoots him a glare that would make lesser men shrivel up and die, and if he wasn't nervous before, he sure as shit is now as he watches her walk away.

  “Don’t-... Don't mind her,” the ghostly voice beside him pipes up. There's an almost hollow quality to the way she speaks, ethereal and wispy - as though it was coming from another room and inside his head at the same time. “Erimi is- she's-”

  “She's your friend, right?” His reputation isn't going to get any worse, whether he talks to an invisible girl out loud or not. Shiori nods, biting on her lip. “‘S’cool. I could take her.” (The horrified look on her face is almost cute.) “...If she started anything.”

  “You, um, sure have a way with words…”

  Rolling his eyes, Rocky stretches his shoulders, and rests his back against some poor schmuck's locker to wait for the commotion to die down. Five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen - the whole bathroom gets cordoned off, but…

  “Shouldn't we go in?” Shiori asks, eventually. “Or- well, i-it's the girls' bathroom, so- I could go in, and-”

  “Wait a sec,” he interrupts, tilting his head to gesture to the side as inconspicuously as possible. Shiori looks over, and then, alarmed, they share a glance.

  “He's coming over here,” she whispers. “Isn't that one of the Newspaper Club people…?”

  “...Inoue,” he frowns, gaze narrowing under a furrowed brow, “I think he can see you.”