The Academy's Sinister Records

Before the story of the secret hidden inside that erotic game, I have one confession to make. I did not begin this endeavor out of any shallow sense of justice. What I truly wanted was the attention and money that would follow a sensational subject.

Yet the deeper I delved into the investigation, the more I was forced to confront one bizarre truth.

What follows are the records of Mirae Talent Academy that I compiled during that investigation.

I had originally been writing an article tracking the whereabouts of a missing female student, Miss Kim, who had vanished near OOO. Unlike the past, modern investigative techniques have advanced considerably, and true cold cases have grown increasingly rare. Even so, disappearances still occurred from time to time—elderly people in rural areas, young children, or, in exceptionally rare instances, female students who had only just become adults.

Naturally, public interest always gravitated toward the young woman. People sensed some dark secret might lie behind her vanishing, far more than they did for the elderly or children. So this time, I intended to craft an article from that very sensational premise. My mind was consumed with the single desire to escape this wretched local newspaper.

“...You need materials on Miss Kim?”

Of course, I had no genuine intention of uncovering the truth. I immediately contacted a police acquaintance I knew and asked whether he could obtain some documents related to her case.

“Come on, why act like this between friends?”

At first he wore a distinctly troubled expression.

“If I get caught, a reprimand won’t even begin to cover it…”

The moment I showed him the small bribe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I had prepared in my pocket, however, his attitude flipped with comical ease.

“Ahem… Well, for poor Miss Kim’s sake, I suppose I can’t refuse.”

He told me to wait a moment and disappeared. I must have waited several minutes. When I first arrived at the station, the sun had been setting; now it had vanished completely. I had apparently dozed off without realizing how much time had passed.

Shivering at the night air slipping through the open window, I drew my collar tighter. In the distance, I spotted a familiar man walking toward me.

Click—

I had left the passenger door unlatched for him.

“......”

The man who drew near wore a frightened expression. He glanced around once, then shoved a brown envelope through the gap in the window before hurrying away.

Stunned, I tried to call after him, but—

“…The world’s gone mad. Completely mad.”

“…We all have to eat.”

The nearby voices stopped me from shouting his name. After a moment’s hesitation, I reached over and picked up the thick brown envelope lying on the passenger seat.

…I didn’t know what it contained, but the envelope itself radiated an unmistakably sinister aura. It hadn’t been sealed—probably brought in haste—and I was able to pull out the documents immediately.

They included Miss Kim’s basic personal information, family relations, her movements on the day of her disappearance, and the witness statements the assigned detective had organized. Far more material than I expected, yet the truly suspicious details I wanted—the sensational circumstances that would hook readers—were nowhere to be found.

I felt bitterly disappointed. I had paid the policeman a considerable sum, only to come away empty-handed. Irritated, I hurled the brown envelope onto the passenger seat. A single sheet I had overlooked slid out from the unsealed flap.

…The numbers were absurd.

For some reason, Miss Kim’s affiliation I had read moments earlier flashed through my mind. I snatched the documents back up and checked the relevant field.

[Affiliation: Mirae Talent Academy]

It was written clearly. I looked at the statistics again.

Mirae Talent Academy — 147 cases.

The number felt far too ominous to be mere coincidence.

Lee Harin, who had been listening to Senior Yeonwoo’s story, finally couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer.

“…Hold on a second!”

Senior Yeonwoo smiled at her outburst. “What is it?”

Lee Harin pointed at the materials concerning Mirae Talent Academy. “If this data is accurate, that means there were one hundred and forty-seven incidents at Mirae Talent Academy…” She pulled out her phone, tapping it rapidly, and showed us the screen. “Then why isn’t there a single article about it? With that many accidents, it should have been all over the news multiple times, shouldn’t it?”

Senior Yeonwoo offered no reply. He simply continued the story.

Mirae Talent Academy.

I tapped away at my keyboard, searching the internet, but not a single relevant article appeared.

…Why?

With this many incidents, any reporter hungry for sensational material—like myself—would surely have written at least one piece on it. Yet the information was strangely, almost unnaturally, absent.

Unable to shake the growing unease, I tapped my foot restlessly and finally dialed the only person who could answer my questions—the acquaintance who had given me the incomprehensible document.

Ring… ring… ring… click.

But the man who had handed me those papers could no longer be reached. Not since that day.

…Had something happened to him?

I tried to suppress the dark thought and continued my research, but nothing of significance surfaced. It was only the following day that I learned what had become of him.

Beep—

My phone vibrated once in my pocket.

…The feeling that something had gone terribly wrong settled over me like ice. Yet I could not stop. On the contrary, that single message only drove me deeper.

I mobilized every contact I possessed and began gathering every scrap of information on Mirae Talent Academy. In doing so, I uncovered several disturbing facts.

First, the record of one hundred and forty-seven incidents at Mirae Talent Academy was accurate. The vast majority, however, had been closed for lack of evidence. By the time police arrived at the scene after receiving a report, every trace of proof had been meticulously erased.

For instance, after a woman reported a suspicious man following her in a dark alley, the responding officers would request CCTV footage—only to discover that every camera covering that exact time frame had mysteriously malfunctioned. Or a student would report molestation by a classmate or teacher inside the academy; when police sought witnesses, those who had promised to testify would suddenly claim memory loss on the day of the hearing. In other cases, the original complainant would retract the report, insisting it had been a simple misunderstanding.

Too many coincidences to dismiss. Not a single one of those records had ever been publicized.

As I compiled these cases, cold sweat broke out across my forehead.

…Something was wrong. Terribly, unnaturally wrong.

The urge to abandon the investigation and return to my old, boring routine surged inside me. But I already understood the truth.

I had traveled too far down this road to turn back.

“Reporter J was found the next day, hanging in his room.”

Having finished the entire tale, Senior Yeonwoo wiped sweat from his brow and sat down. Senior Kyungmin stared at the clubroom door with an unreadable expression. The rest of us could only sit in stunned silence.

“…Is this some kind of urban legend?” Lee Harin asked, the only one brave enough to speak.

Senior Yeonwoo simply smiled without answering.

“Think whatever you like… Just don’t go spreading it outside.”

The uncharacteristically serious tone froze Lee Harin where she sat.

“Well then, that concludes today’s club preview.”

Senior Yeonwoo’s expression brightened back into its usual cheerful mask. As he saw us out, he added with a grin, “If you want to hear the rest of the story, you’re welcome to join our club.”