Second Assault on the Ripping Baker

Beep beep beep! I jolted awake in bed to the blaring alarm clock. As I glanced around, I realized I was in my room at the Teachers' Dormitory.

"Hah... hah... What the hell. A dream?"

It felt too vivid for a dream—the scene of teachers being massacred by Mr. Brandon. Yet the peaceful room around me, bathed in warm sunlight with birds chirping outside the window, insisted that the blood-soaked nightmare had never happened.

"What... is this?"

Confused from the morning, but a desk job's misery meant I still had to do what needed doing. On my way to the academy, I replayed the memories in my head. Nightmares usually fade like mist after waking, but this one—of people being brutally slaughtered—clung to my brain like sticky tar, refusing to blur. If anything, my unease deepened.

The morning view when I opened my eyes. The students passing by on my way to school. "Good morning, Mr. Allen." And Ms. Lydia's shy greeting upon spotting me. Everything felt wrong, an uncanny dissonance that set my nerves on edge.

Could the loop... still be going?

"Mr. Allen? Are you okay? You look pale."

"Ah, I'm..."

"Mr. Allen! Oh, sorry, Ms. Lydia. I have some business with Mr. Allen—mind if I borrow him for a sec?"

Just as Lydia expressed concern, Elaine wedged herself between us. Her awkward smile as she asked Lydia's permission seemed subtly urgent. Instinct told me she knew something about this phenomenon.

"Sorry, Ms. Lydia. I just remembered I scheduled a counseling session with Miss Elaine today. Excuse me."

"Huh? It's only the second day at the academy—what counseling...? Actually, if it's counseling, shouldn't it be with me, her homeroom teacher...?"

"Sorry! It's urgent! Ms. Lydia."

Elaine apologized to Lydia and pulled me toward a secluded spot.

"...What the hell is going on?"

"I rewound time. Using that thing in the sealed room on the fifth floor."

"Fifth floor?"

The fifth floor—where the core of the infinite loop ghost story had hidden. The place that, after we exorcised the ghost story, became the relic itself, capable of rewinding time.

"You used that on the fifth floor to rewind time?"

"Yes. Since you rewound time with it, Mr. Allen, I thought maybe I could too..."

"Got it."

Thank God. For a second there, I thought that damn infinite loop ghost story hadn't been fully exorcised.

"Anyway, it's not single-use, huh."

"It felt like something drained out when I rewound, so probably not infinite uses."

"...Anyway, I need a situation report. Can you explain?"

At my words, her face paled slightly, as if recalling pre-rewind memories, and she parted her lips.

"It was a disaster. Shortly after the teachers entered the canteen as a group, Mr. Brandon went ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠berserk and slaughtered them all—including you, Mr. Allen."

"Wait, I died?"

"...Yes. Definitely."

I hadn't consciously dwelled on it, but yeah, that figured. To think I'd die so pathetically. My current body held no shock from it, so it didn't feel real, but death was never easy to accept—especially your own. Thankfully, it wasn't my first death, so I recovered quickly and pressed her for the rest.

"Whew. So using the relic on the fifth floor can even reverse death. Valuable intel. Keep going."

"...You're awfully calm hearing you died, Mr. Allen. I'm more shaken. Anyway, the rampaging Mr. Brandon massacred ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all the teachers in the canteen, then the students gathered at the entrance too. I luckily got pushed out by the crowd gawking at the scene ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and escaped."

"Lucky indeed. If you'd died too, no one could've used the fifth-floor relic."

"After that, Mr. Brandon burst out of the canteen and killed every student nearby. I bolted straight to the sealed room on the fifth floor and rewound time, so I don't know what happened next."

"Hold on—Mr. Brandon came out of the canteen?"

From what I'd observed, Mr. Brandon's description was a ghost story that lured customers inside the canteen. Even when he mutated and his status changed amid the chaos, there was no mention of him leaving—only indiscriminate killing within.

"And at the end, he kept growing bigger. Last I saw, he was maybe 4 or 5 meters tall."

"Getting stronger over time? Is that part of Mr. Brandon's ghost story?"

"No. I've never heard of a 5-meter Mr. Brandon ghost story!"

But he did grow stronger—in killing me and after. "So Mr. Brandon powering up isn't specific to his ghost story, but a general trait of ghost stories? Maybe they all grow stronger as time passes."

Elaine's account filled in what happened after my death, but it only deepened the confusion despite the new info.

"...So, what now?"

"What do you mean? Mr. Brandon?"

"Yes. We rewound time successfully, but we didn't exorcise him. Things will repeat if we leave it."

Glancing at the clock, it was nearing 9 a.m. If he strengthened with time, we were on the clock.

"You go to the canteen now and keep students out. I'll rally people—including armed guards—and head there. This time, no half-measures like last time."

"...Will that work?"

"No idea. But if I fail again, I'll leave it to you one more time."

Her eyebrows twitched at my words.

"Got it. But please succeed if possible. I don't want to rewind again while everyone else dies."

"I'll do my best."

This time, before first period even ended, I'd convinced not just the staff room teachers but also the academy guards—every ounce of influence I had—to storm the canteen.

I'd been too conservative at first. It was a ghost story, after all. Worrying about aftermath, control issues, excuses—I hadn't gone all out, and it led to catastrophe. This time, full force from the start to crush it.

"Mr. Allen, you're sure about this place? A mainland psycho killer hiding in the canteen?"

"Yes. I was skeptical too, but... I confirmed it through my personal intel network via Allen Trading Company. Never imagined I'd encounter a criminal like that on my second day here."

I spun my newcomer-from-Hipnia-Continent status to paint Mr. Brandon as a notorious mainland killer. No such killer existed, but who cared? I was from the continent—they weren't. Dropping Allen Trading Company's name lent authority; even as a newbie teacher, they couldn't dismiss me easily. If the lie came out later, sure, trouble—but with Mr. Brandon's presence, it'd be a footnote.

Thus, with nearly thirty people—double the first try—we entered the canteen.

Ding-a-ling. The chime rang as the door opened. Inside, Mr. Brandon with his torn smile greeted us warmly from the counter.

"Hellooooo.... Welcome to Brandon's delicious bakeryyy...."

And so began the second ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠assault on Mr. Brandon.

Failed.