Who Am I? The Ghost Story of the Dead Self

"Hah… hah… Teacher…!"

Rough, gasping breaths came from behind me. I turned to see Rozalia Soline, Aurora Victoria, and Elaine Astraea arriving one after another, their feet pounding the rain-soaked ground. Only Rone Yustria stood beside me, watching the scene with a heartbroken expression. The other students had apparently just spotted us and were rushing over now.

The girls who reached the scene gasped in horror at the sight of Glair Bismunt in my arms, her face drained of all color. They panted heavily.

"T-Teacher…! I-Is she… dead…?" Rozalia asked between heaving breaths.

"Why were you in such a hurry… hah… hah… No, what is this…?" Aurora stared at Glair with wide, frightened eyes, her face as pale as a ghost.

"…"

Elaine just stood there, eyes bulging, unable to speak. She merely alternated her gaze between me and Glair.

In truth, they hadn't grasped the situation yet. I'd grabbed Elaine while she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was helping Lydia in the staff room—after I'd pieced together the ghost story's identity—then snatched Rone on her way back from the art club, Rozalia from the hallway, and Aurora who was lingering sadly in front of the club room. I hadn't explained a thing; I'd just dragged them along. They had no idea why I'd been in such a rush, what the ghost story really was, or even who this collapsed girl was.

I held Glair close and quietly regarded them. The rain had completely stopped, and sunset rays poured through the parting clouds, bathing everything in golden light. The yellow glow draped over Glair's pallid face.

"Teacher. Could she be…?" Rozalia's voice trembled with anxiety. Her eyes were fixed on Glair in my arms—the bloodless face, the faint breathing, the limp limbs. It screamed emergency to anyone watching.

"That's right. Glair Bismunt. The one who sent us those letters."

I gave a short reply, gazing down at her. Her body was still cold.

"B-But why is Glair in this state…!? We read the letters and we're fine, so why is the sender herself dying…!?"

Elaine panted, trying to catch up to the story, but ended up asking with a confused expression, unable to make sense of it. Aurora and Rone stared at Glair in shock as well.

I lifted my eyes to meet the students'. Water dripped from their soaked hair, but no one cared.

"Truth is, this ghost story wasn't targeting us from the start."

Confusion resurfaced on their faces at my words.

"Not targeting us…? But the letters were sent to us, weren't they? If not us, then who was it after?"

Rone asked cautiously.

I looked down at Glair with a somber expression. Her shallow breaths stood out sharply in the stillness after the rain.

She was better off than when we'd first found her on the brink of death, but her breathing was still faint.

"This ghost story… it was designed to kill Glair from the very beginning—not us."

The students' faces filled with shock in unison as my words sank in.

"I first sensed something off while helping Lydia in the staff room. Lydia was thrilled for my help, and Fresian was teasing her mischievously as usual. The moment I saw Fresian, the letter's contents flashed in my mind."

I'd recalled that first day because Fresian had played the mid-boss role in the infinite loop ghost story, in his own way.

'On the academy's first day, you killed me.' That's what the letter claimed.

"But on the academy's first day, I was trapped in that infinite loop nightmare, scrambling desperately. No way I had time to kill some random student."

Then it hit me. On that first day, I hadn't killed any person. But a ghost story? I couldn't claim full credit for slaying the infinite loop's core. I'd brought it to the edge, but Elaine delivered the finishing blow.

Still, to those infected by the ghost story—like Fresian—it absolutely felt like I'd killed them.

That's right. The only thing I could say I "killed" on the academy's first day was the grotesque humans.

That's when it started clicking. It became crystal clear while reviewing Class F's reports. The neat, precise handwriting matched the letters sent to the Paranormal Investigation Club exactly. And the owner? A girl named Glair Bismunt.

Class F. Female student. First day of the academy. Death. Grotesque human.

The clues connected like lightning, striking a hypothesis in my mind.

Elaine's question to me: 'I can't figure out this ghost story at all. I don't understand its intent.'

By then, the ghost story's true nature was taking shape. So what was its goal? Who was it trying to kill, and how?

Who…?

Maybe we'd been assuming wrong all along.

I looked around at the students and said, "It was a trap we set for ourselves. The Paranormal Investigation Club has always confronted ghost stories head-on, risking our lives—sometimes throwing ourselves into mortal danger. So we assumed this one was the same. That it was obviously targeting us."

But that mindset had blinded us.

"Once I considered the target might not be us, the next likely victim came to mind naturally: the ghost story's own host."

The ghost story hadn't been after us from the start.

"It was Glair Bismunt."

By the time we read the letters, the ghost story had progressed far. The realization hit me like a bolt—I couldn't waste a second. I told a worried Lydia, whose hands had frozen in concern, that something urgent came up. I grabbed Elaine, who was helping her, and bolted from the staff room. Then I picked up Rozalia in the hallway, Aurora moping outside the club room, and Rone heading back to the academy.

Luckily, they'd each zeroed in on the letter sender in their own ways, so explanations were brief. We'd detail everything after finding Glair—I ordered them to search immediately.

Thankfully, Rone found her in time. I rushed to Glair's side and halted the ghost story's progress.

Aurora asked in a faintly trembling voice, "…I get how you pinpointed Glair Bismunt. In summary, she's the student possessed by the ghost story you exorcised before we formed the club, right? But there's still something I don't understand. What is the original ghost story this stems from? Even hearing your explanation, I can't guess its identity."

"Because this isn't a ghost story born from rumors—it's one born from personal resentment."

"Personal resentment?"

Aurora and Rozalia echoed in bewilderment. Conversely, Elaine and Rone looked like something clicked—they'd experienced resentment-born ghost stories ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before. Especially Rone, who'd once been a host to one.

"There are two kinds of ghost stories in this world. First: those from vague rumors spread by the masses. Second: deeply personal ones born from a single person's intense resentment. Glair's falls into the latter. It didn't spawn from rumors—it's rooted in her inner turmoil. No wonder you've never heard of it."

"A personal ghost story… I never knew. So you've figured out even that one's identity?"

"The final letter's content—the one we dismissed. That was the last piece."

I looked down at Glair in my arms. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sender claimed death by my hand on the academy's first day. And that they'd met me repeatedly over days, dying that first day after enrolling.

It sounded like schizophrenic nonsense, so we ignored it. But if it was Glair—possessed by the grotesque human during the infinite loop—everything fit. We'd looped that first day multiple times because of it.

"In other words, her 'memory' of dying by my hand is from her time as the ghost story I exorcised. Like me, she was aware of the loop. But unlike Elaine and me, who fully grasped it, her memories stayed fragmented—like mine in the loop's early stages. And then the ghost story ended, leaving her in limbo."

She couldn't fully forget those ghost story days, nor fully recall them. It never occurred to me a possessed human might retain memories from possession.

"Confused by those hazy remnants mixed with her real memories, she suffered. And from that torment, a new ghost story was born: 'The Self That Was Killed.'"

"So you've figured out how it kills too?"

"I didn't nail down the exact mechanism until we got here. I knew it was targeting Glair, but not how."

But seeing her state—body melting like candle wax—and connecting it to the ghost story's origins made it clear. It matched Fresian's death in the infinite loop perfectly: dissolving alive.

"The more she recalls that 'murdered' memory, the more it overlays her current self with the ghost story's dying state."

I said this while gazing at Glair. Her body was still melting in patches, but my words seemed to work—it had stopped progressing.

"So the solution is the opposite: separate the 'possessed ghost story' memory from her 'Glair' memories. Force her to recognize them as belonging to two different beings."

I looked at her. She stared back, but her mind seemed foggy.

"Glair Bismunt. You've heard everything we've said, right? You probably don't grasp it fully. But remember this one thing: You didn't die. You've never died. Those memories of me killing you? They're false implants from the evil spirit that possessed you. After enrolling, you just attended classes normally, made friends, joined clubs."

"…"

"Think back. You joined the newspaper club, wrote articles, did interviews. You collected ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mysteries from Lighthouse Hill for stories, asked your roommate about hometown ghost tales, interviewed your art club classmate about the club's statue incident. Could a dead girl do all that? If you were dead, how?"

"I… didn't… die?"

For the first time, she spoke. A weak voice, but a clear question.

"Yes. You're alive. It was just a bad dream. You know how some feel so real, lingering like actual events? But it's just a dream. A nasty one-night fluke that never happened—and never could."

"Then… Teacher killing me… that was a dream too?"

Life began returning to her body. Crack. Crumble… Her melted skin cracked like dried mud, flaking to the ground. Beneath it, her true skin emerged—pale and smooth.

"Of course. Me killing a student? Ridiculous. Let alone yelling at some ordinary girl, accusing her of theft, insulting her parents for not appreciating my scolding?"

"…R-Really…? A teacher with your reputation… wouldn't say that to me…? Haha… Weird… Why did I think that…?"

For some reason, the students' stares felt prickly. Especially Elaine's—it screamed 'Shameless.'

But the important thing: she was pulling away from death. Color faintly returned to her face.