The Last Letter: Why Allen Jest Killed Me and Hid the Body
Elaine and I left the Paranormal Investigation Club room and walked down the corridor amid the deafening roar of the rain.
"Teacher, I get that we need to investigate left-handers, but how exactly do you plan to do it? It'd take forever to go around asking every student in the academy if they're left-handed."
She asked with a worried expression.
"No need to make it that complicated, Elaine. Have you forgotten what my job is?"
I flashed a sly smile and headed for the teachers' lounge.
As I opened the door, Lydia, who had been sorting papers inside, looked up. She greeted us with a bright smile.
"Teacher Allen, what brings you here? Was club time okay in this weather?"
I approached with an awkward smile.
"Thank you for your concern. Club activities are all wrapped up, Teacher Lydia. Actually, it's nothing major... I'm the advisor for Class A, but it feels like I'm putting too much burden on you, the homeroom teacher. So today, I thought I'd help out with your work until quitting time."
At my words, Lydia's face flushed with emotion. It looked like tears were welling up in her eyes.
"Teacher Allen! Really? Oh, you don't have to go that far... I'm so touched!"
She beamed repeatedly, expressing her gratitude.
"Haha. Teacher Lydia, it doesn't seem like you're just happy to have a helper—it's more like you're thrilled that the helper is me?"
At that moment, Fresian, the grade chair sitting nearby and looking over papers, teased her with a mischievous grin.
"F-Fresian Teacher! When did I ever look that happy...!!"
"Whoa now, Lydia. How can you show your face so openly like that to Teacher Allen? Look how red your cheeks are getting."
Lydia's face turned tomato-red in an instant at Fresian's words.
"Grade Chair Fresian!"
While they bickered, I whispered to Elaine with a sly smile.
"The 'Fundamentals of Gifts' class I teach is elective, but the 'History and Literature of the Hifnia Continent' class that Teacher Lydia handles is a required course for first-years."
Unlike my previous life where most lectures were digitized, classes on the Hifnia Continent were still fully analog. That meant there would be handwritten submissions from students.
Elaine caught on to my intent and widened her eyes.
"You mean... you're going to use Teacher Lydia—tricking her—to look at students' handwritten reports!?"
"...Hey now! It's not tricking. I really will help out too!"
I said that as I sat in the seat next to Lydia, who flinched and tensed up the moment I did. Fresian passed by, teasing her playfully as she twitched nervously.
I suddenly looked at Fresian.
Something... something felt like it was on the tip of my tongue...
The rain poured down like a torrent, threatening to swallow the academy's grand buildings whole. Even the faint lights in the distance blurred into the downpour. Fierce winds whipped the wet branches into a frenzy, and the rain, laden with mud, formed sticky puddles along the paths. Deep pools everywhere reflected the dark storm clouds, rippling grotesquely.
The girl lay collapsed on the cold ground, lashed by the whipping sheets of rain. She didn't even think to seek shelter; clutching her chest, she writhed on the sodden earth.
"Guh... guhk! Guheuk...!"
Her dying gasps were pathetically drowned out by the roar of the rain. Her flailing fingertips sank into the mud, and her body grew ice-cold, as if all warmth had been stolen away. But was her body cooling from the rain soaking her, or was her life force draining out?
Rozalia hurried down the academy corridor, dodging the rain. Her footsteps led straight to her close friends, Beatrice and Sepia.
Even during club hours, the two girls welcomed Rozalia warmly.
"Miss Rozalia! What brings you here in this weather?"
"Club activities ended early today, Miss Rozalia."
After a brief greeting, Rozalia got right to the point without hesitation.
"Do either of you know about the ghost story called 'The Faceless Knight'?"
They might have felt disappointed or annoyed that Rozalia hadn't come just to see them but to extend club business, yet they answered her question earnestly without a hint of resentment.
Beatrice shook her head first.
"Hmm... Sorry, Miss Rozalia. I don't think I've heard of it."
But Sepia nodded right away.
"I know it. The 'Faceless Knight' story was popular in my region."
Rozalia's eyes widened.
"It was a ghost story from your region, Miss Sepia!"
Beatrice looked slightly defeated and jealous that she couldn't answer, while Sepia subtly puffed up with pride at being able to help.
Rozalia pressed Sepia further.
"Has anyone at the academy asked you about that ghost story recently?"
Sepia shook her head.
"No. You're the first person to ask me about the Faceless Knight since enrolling at Everlight Academy, Miss Rozalia."
Beatrice seemed inwardly pleased that Sepia couldn't answer this one too, and Sepia shot her a quick glare.
Rozalia paused in surprise at the answer but soon thought of something.
"Then, could you introduce me to a student from another region where that ghost story circulates? No one may have asked you, but someone from a similar area might have..."
Sepia nodded as if she understood.
"Of course, if it's a request from you, Miss Rozalia. But it might take some time."
"That's fine. We have time."
"Guh... guhk! Guheuk...!"
Intermittent dying gasps burst from the girl's throat. She splashed desperately in the puddle, thrashing her legs, but her body no longer obeyed her will.
"S-Save... me...! Hnng... Anyone... please..."
Her strained voice was helplessly swallowed by the raging rain. Though she cried out for help, her screams went unheard in the academy's outdoor grounds shrouded in thick storm clouds. Trying to hide from prying eyes had only isolated her further—no one noticed her agony.
In the end, she sobbed face-down in the muck.
"Why... me... Why only me... What did I do wrong..."
Why did she have to suffer like this? She hadn't done anything wrong. The injustice welled up inside her.
"I want to live... I don't want to die..."
But how could someone already dead stay alive? Despite her desperate pleas, her body was melting away. Her faint murmurs scattered into the rain. As if mocking her cries, the downpour intensified. She didn't have much time left.
Rone straightened her soaked uniform and knocked on the art club room door. Inside, students were still painting or sculpting even at this late hour.
The art club members were startled to see Rone dripping wet.
"Rone! Why'd you come all the way here in the rain?"
Club president Gain asked in alarm.
"Did you forget something?"
Dollorens approached with a worried look too.
"No, that's not it... Actually, I came back because I have something to ask."
She headed straight for Lily, who shrank back at the sudden visit.
"Wh-What is it?"
Rone smiled gently to reassure her.
"Has anyone been going around asking about what happened in the art club?"
Lily hesitated but remembered how Rone had helped many first-years and mustered her courage.
"N-No one really pried. It was just a minor story among club members—not a big deal."
In truth, the art club incident had been a mere blunder that everyone laughed off once Lily confessed. Nothing worth major rumors.
Rone couldn't hide her disappointment.
Then Dollorens spoke up as if something struck her.
"Come to think of it... it's surprisingly quiet."
"Senior Dollorens? What do you mean by 'surprisingly'?"
"I figured the newspaper club would make a fuss with some 'Art Club Mystery' article. They even showed interest when we got testimony from that track club student."
"...The newspaper club?"
"Yeah. A first-year newbie from the club was super enthusiastic about covering it. But it's weird that nothing's in the school paper yet."
Rone's eyes lit up—she'd caught a lead—and she asked urgently.
"Do you know that newbie's name?"
Dollorens groaned, trying to recall.
"Hmm... who was it..."
Lily spoke up cautiously.
"That student was Glair. She's in F class, same as me."
A faint smile crossed Rone's face at last. She thanked them hurriedly and left the art club room.
The furious downpour had weakened. But the girl noticed nothing. It wasn't that she lacked the leisure to notice—her senses had dulled so much she felt nothing at all.
She'd stopped thrashing and lay limply on the ground. No more groans of pain escaped her lips. Only faint, ragged breaths—sigh, sigh—mingled with the rain.
She was clearly dying.
She didn't know why. Or rather, she couldn't understand why someone who should already be dead was still here, alive.
Maybe dying was natural for her, and staying alive until now had been the anomaly.
Feeling her senses fade, she quietly resigned herself. Strange. If she'd been dead all along, what were those memories from the past month?
Asking dorm roommates about the Faceless Knight. Stumbling on the art club incident while doing newspaper side work and covering it eagerly. Laughing and toiling with newspaper seniors to write articles.
"Strange..."
I was definitely... alive...
"Really... so strange..."
For some reason, even the words from her own mouth felt off.
"Who... am I...?"
Hot tears welled in her eyes but vanished into the rainwater streaming down her face.
"Seriously, why am I the only one stuck with this? The others just wander around asking a few questions..."
Aurora muttered complaints as she walked the corridor, her investigation dragging right up to dismissal time. The rain had eased, but her irritation hadn't.
She hated getting the toughest, most tedious task. Tracing letter stationery origins? Where even to start?
But who was she? Even grumbling, Aurora's sharp analytical skills and research prowess didn't stop. She successfully traced the stationery to a specialty product from a specific region—the academy shopkeeper recognized it immediately. Narrowing it down by that limited area, she even identified the student using it: Glair Bismunt, an F-class freshman.
Despite the highest difficulty, she'd nailed the owner's name too. In a way, Allen's assignment was spot-on personnel placement.
Though it was nearly dismissal time now, which irked her more. It proved Allen Jest's judgment right for the hardest task.
"Just you wait—after all the trouble I went through, you're definitely hearing a thank-you from me!"
Determined to give Allen an earful later, she flung open the club room door.
But the club room was empty.
Aurora froze mid-swing on the door.
Only the patter of rain outside filled the vacant space.
"...Did everyone finish up and go home already?"
She frowned. While she'd slaved over the hardest job, the others had wrapped up and left.
"Well, he didn't say it had to be done today..."
Still, she felt unfairly treated. Aurora decided to wait a bit longer, sitting alone in the club room.
But even as dismissal neared, no one returned.
Finally, she scowled, grabbed her bag, and stood.
"Whatever, I can report what I found tomorrow..."
With that, she slung her bag over her shoulder and left.
The rain had completely stopped. Now only the faint plip, plop of droplets from leaves could be heard.
Like the ceased rain, her life raced toward its end. Less than a minute remained, and she sensed it instinctively.
Facing death, she felt no fear or sorrow anymore. She accepted it all.
I was dead to begin with... So returning to death is natural... No room for fear or sadness.
But one final question lingered unanswered.
Why did Allen Jest kill me? And who was the 'me' that Allen Jest killed?
Soon, even that would be meaningless.
The rain had stopped. And her life...
That was the moment.
"Glair Bismunt!!"
Someone called her name.
"Glair Bismunt!! Snap out of it!!"
No—not just calling. Hands lifted her from the puddle, shaking her urgently. The rough shaking stimulated the last flicker of her life.
"...Who...?"
She struggled to open her eyes and see who held her. But her blurred, unfocused vision formed no image.
"Snap out of it! Glair! Listen! You're not dying! You've never died! You're still alive! But if you believe you killed yourself, you'll really die! So pull yourself together!"
"...Wha...?"
That voice—she'd heard it before. Slowly, focus returned to her eyes.
"Listen! Those memories of dying aren't yours! They're from the ghost story possessing you! So reclaim your memories! Distinguish them! Figure out who the real 'you' is!! Separating them weakens the ghost story! Finding the real you makes you whole again!"
Strangely, though his words were hard to grasp, hearing his voice seemed to revive her bit by bit.
The rain stopped, clouds parted, and golden sunset light filtered in.
His face came into view. She'd thought the voice was familiar... Of course it was.
The owner was the one she'd hated and resented endlessly for the past month.
She recalled his tirade on her first day at the academy.
'Back when I was a student, stuff like this was unimaginable! But you kids these days just chase what's comfy... Are you crying right now? What do you have to cry about! This is all to help you students succeed! You hate hearing advice from adults that much? There's an old saying: listen to elders and rice cakes fall in your sleep. Advice like this is priceless—you get it free, so be grateful instead of scowling like that... Huh? Look at those eyes? You'll devour the teacher at this rate!?'
Oddly, his voice that had terrified her then felt far less frightening now.