Trigonometry is a lot like a toxic relationship: it demands all your attention, makes you cry in public, and ten years later, you realize none of it actually mattered.
I sat at a scratched wooden table in the back of the school library, staring at a diagram of a triangle that seemed to be mocking my life choices. My brain, which was used to processing quarterly spreadsheets and performance reviews, was currently short-circuiting over "SohCahToa."
System Check, I thought, rubbing my eyes. Current Academic Qi: Zero. Intelligence Stat: Embarrassingly low.
According to my hypothesis—and the glowing blue status bar that flickered in my peripheral vision whenever I opened a textbook—studying wasn't just about getting into college anymore. It was literal cultivation. Every math problem I solved added a microscopic layer of spiritual armor to my soul. If I wanted to survive the next 179 days without being eaten by a stress demon, I needed to become a nerd. Fast.
The problem was, I had the attention span of a goldfish on espresso.
I glanced over the top of my book. Three tables away, bathed in the warm glow of a desk lamp, sat Elara.
She was the Mozart of studying. She hadn't moved in forty-five minutes. Her posture was rigid, her pen moved in precise, rhythmic strokes, and she radiated an intensity that would have scared off a lesser man. Or a smarter one.
Floating above her head, the red countdown timer ticked away relentlessly.
179 Days, 18 Hours, 12 Minutes.
Around her, the library was dead silent. Too silent.
Usually, a high school library during evening study hall is a hive of suppressed energy—giggling freshmen, the rustle of snack wrappers, the scratching of pencils. But tonight, the air felt heavy. Thick. It pressed against my eardrums like I was underwater.
I tapped my pen against my chin. My "Spirit Sight" was itching. The static in the air was clustering again, drifting toward the center of the room like iron filings to a magnet.
Something is wrong, my inner manager whispered. The vibe is off. Check the perimeter.
I scanned the room. The librarian, Mrs. Halloway, was sitting at her desk near the entrance. She was a ancient woman who looked like she’d been born in the periodicals section. She wasn't moving either. Her eyes were glazed over, staring blankly at a stamping machine.
I looked back at Elara.
The shadows beneath her table were stretching. They weren't behaving according to the laws of physics. Instead of falling away from the light, they were creeping up her legs, winding around the chair legs like dark vines.
And then I saw it.
Hanging upside down from the ceiling rafters, directly above Elara’s head, was a figure.
It looked like a human wrapped in a gray cocoon, but its limbs were too long, spindly and multi-jointed like a spider's. Its face was inverted, hanging just inches from Elara’s hair. It had no eyes, just smooth skin. But its mouth...
Its mouth was sewn shut with thick, black thread.
[Class D Spirit: The Silencer]16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxcBrnPd6bP
Origin: The collective fear of speaking up. Thrives in environments of enforced quiet.
The spirit slowly lowered a long, pale finger. It wasn't trying to hurt her physically. It was reaching for her temple. It was going to feed on her focus, draining her mental energy until she burned out.
Elara didn't notice. She was too locked in, too obsessed with maintaining her perfect GPA. She was the perfect meal.
I gripped the edge of my table.
If I ran over there and shouted "Ghost!", two things would happen:16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZM7wshz36G
1. Mrs. Halloway would expel me for noise pollution.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtmNzrFHkHS
2. Elara would think I was insane, and the spirit would just vanish and come back later.
I needed to break the atmosphere. The Silencer thrived on quiet. It needed that heavy, suffocating pressure to exist. If I shattered the silence, I’d weaken the spirit.
But I had to be smart about it.
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxgdZErS99G
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2txWV5xbig
Closing Note：I’m stuck on a plot point! Help me decide the Heroine's next move on our Discord: unplot_joshua.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.