Kaito Sakamoto never liked going home late. On October 13th, rain clung to his glasses as he walked the back streets of Kagamino City. His younger sister, Emi, had texted him a dare. “Bet you won’t stay 10 minutes in the Red Corridor,” she typed.
What would you do? Folklore said anyone who lingered near that school passage after midnight vanished. Many claimed it was a joke. Do you believe old urban legends can hide some truth?
Kaito, still in school uniform, marched toward the blocky shadow of Urashima School. The building taught more than writing and numbers. Certain rooms held stories, warnings in whispered tones.
He stepped under the cracked archway as a chill broke over his back. “If you get caught alone,” his friend Hiro warned, “don’t look at the far mirror. Or you’ll regret it.” Kaito planned to disprove them all.
Inside, floorboards squeaked. Cobwebs hung over yellowed windows. Kaito checked his phone: 11:56pm. Only four minutes left. He’d already thought of the video he’d send to the group chat. Hiro, annoyingly, didn’t want to join. Emi watched from the gate, ready to capture any drama.
The corridor stretched on, almost blinking between light and dark without any clear shift. Kaito’s head swam as everything seemed longer, stretched thin like plastic wrap pulled too tight. Nothing sneakier has happened to him, ever.
Deep up ahead sat the famous red lamp post. Or he thought so. The world tipped sideways. A cold breath like someone’s sigh—not quite inside, not quite outside—held him stiff for two heartbeats.
“Is someone there?” Kaito called. Only air returned.
Kaito’s phone buzzed wildly. Emi messaged “You OK? I saw something move.” She wouldn’t joke at a time like this. Behind him, a sneaker scraped the wet floor.
Was that Hiro, sneaking a prank? The older urban legends flooded Kaito’s mind: masks, missing faces, red thread looped in knots by unseen hands. Some said the corridor wanted new stories to feed on—secrets from anyone brave enough to wander after midnight.
A spidery shadow stretched out by window panes, and something whispered close to his ear. The words were gibberish, or maybe his own nerves.
“If I don’t find anything, I get the free bento next week,” he muttered, trying hard to laugh. But Emi’s last text popped up: “Behind you!” This time, he spun. 
The corridor behind was empty except for a mirror mounted too high to use. For a second, he thought he saw his own face smiling back—but the eyes were gone.
He staggered back as an icy hand gripped his wrist, stopping him from fleeing. Real? Dream? His thoughts buzzed with rapid panic. Scrambling, he pulled free. Around the mirror, faces flickered. Kaito bit hard on his lip. Putting his phone up as shield, he let the flash skate over the shadow: only emptiness at first, but then a swirl, and the shadow’s mouth stretched wider.
He snapped a picture, sent it to Emi and Hiro. “Proof or prank?” Hiro typed. Emi called, voice shaking: “Come out! NOW!”
Down the hall came echoes, the clacking of shoes not his own. The legend wasn’t that those who vanish get eaten, or die. They join the laughter in the corridor, smile without seeing.
Out of pure fear, Kaito dashed for the exit. The shadow followed even after dawn crept up the stained glass doors. But outside, the doorway snapped shut. The legend, alive and restless, now wanted him to keep a secret too.
Will Kaito face another dare? Would you linger in a place where your own reflection could betray you? The next morning, the mirror remained unmarked—but a faint thumbprint shimmered on the glass. The episode ends with his phone ringing: an unknown number displayed the reflection from the corridor, only this time the faceless grin had Emi’s ribbon.
