This... Is just a Dream??? And....

Miko suddenly wakes up and finds himself on the school roof. It turns out Miko was just dreaming. 

 The sky above was blue and cruelly peaceful.

For a moment, it felt like nothing had happened.

But the weight in his chest said otherwise.

He sat up.

His hand was stained with blood — dried, cracked.

The edge of the roof was near.

And beside it—

Kana’s body. Twisted. Pale. Her eyes half-open, staring at nothing.

Her limbs were bent wrong. Like a puppet with no strings.

He remembered now.

The argument.

The voices.

Her final scream as he pushed her.

He didn’t feel regret.

Not exactly.

Only a growing clarity. Like something had finally settled inside him.

Footsteps behind him.

Sena. Takamura.

They burst through the rooftop door.

Sena gasped, stumbling back.

Takamura froze. “ Kana—?! What the hell— ”

Miko stood slowly.

There was a strange, almost peaceful smile on his face.

He looked over his shoulder.

“ She’s gone now, ” he said gently. “ She was never meant to stay. ”

Sena’s voice cracked. “ Miko, what did you do? ”

Miko didn’t answer.

He stepped toward them. Calm. Serene. Like a prophet.

“ The world is hollow. We all just pretend it has meaning. But now... now I’ve seen it. ”

“ I know what to build in its place. ”

Takamura blocked Sena instinctively. “ You’re sick. ”

Miko nodded slowly.

“ I know. Isn’t it beautiful? ”

The camera would pull back, cinematic and slow.

Kana’s body.

Miko standing over her, silhouetted by sunlight.

Sena shaking.

Takamura uncertain whether to fight or run.

And the wind carrying a whisper — not from Kana, but from inside Miko.

“ You are the god now. ”

Fade to black.

And the world returned to normal. And the students in the class and the teacher are also back to normal.

Three days passed since Kana’s body was taken away.

The teachers said it was an accident.

The students said nothing at all.

No one questioned why the cameras didn’t work.

Why the rooftop was locked now.

Why Miko kept smiling.

He began small.

Whispers.

Not sermons.

Not yet.

He spoke only to those who listened — to the loners, the outcasts, the quiet ones who flinched when the bell rang too loud.

He didn’t tell them what happened on the roof.

He told them something worse:

“ The world already ended. You just haven’t noticed yet. ”

They listened.

Because he sounded sure.

Because they were afraid he might be right.

By the end of the week, Miko had cleared out an old storage room near the art wing.

It was cold. Windowless. Perfect.

He painted the walls with symbols that made no sense, even to him. Spirals. Eyes. Mirrors.

He said:

“ We are not a club. We are a cause. ”

He called it:

The Remaining

And when someone asked what they remained after, he only smiled.

“ After her. After truth. After meaning. ”

They didn’t understand.

But they nodded.

Sena watched from a distance. Every day, she saw more students skipping class. Wandering the halls. Sitting in silence. Eyes empty.

Takamura tried to talk to Miko once.

“ You’re scaring people. ”

 “Good, ” Miko replied. “ Fear is the first shape of truth. ”

“ You sound insane. ”

“ No. I sound like someone who finally woke up. ”

By the end of the month, seventeen students had joined him.

They didn’t talk to others anymore.

They didn’t smile.

They just waited.

For Miko to speak.

For Miko to decide what came next.

And one night, in the dark quiet of the old storage room, Miko stood before them and whispered:

“ You think I am becoming a god. ”

“  You’re wrong. ”

“ I’m remembering that I always was. ”

It started with silence.

The first period bell never rang.

The intercom crackled but said nothing.

Students wandered confused between classrooms. No announcements. No teachers.

Just... absence.

And yet Miko’s followers — The Remaining — moved with eerie precision.

They sat in certain rooms.

They avoided certain halls.

They stood in perfect silence at the corners of the school, as if guarding something unseen.

Sena noticed the pattern first.

The ones who followed Miko were always watching the third-floor west wing, even though no classes were held there anymore.

That wing had been abandoned after a fire last year.

But now its doors were clean.

Unlocked.

And once, when she pressed her ear to them — she heard chanting.

Not words. Not even language.

Just sound, pulsing, low, endless.

Like a heartbeat.

A teacher tried to confront Miko in the hallway.

Mr. Ichihara. Literature.

“ Whatever it is you're doing, it stops now, ” he snapped, grabbing Miko’s shoulder.

Miko didn’t flinch.

He looked the teacher in the eye, and said softly:

“ You’re already forgotten. ”

Mr. Ichihara opened his mouth to reply.

But then — just stood there.

Frozen.

Breathing.

But blank.

Then he turned…

...and walked away.

Out of the building.

He never came back.

By the end of the week, four teachers had “ called in sick. ”

None of them answered phones.

None were seen again.

Inside the old third-floor west wing, Miko stood before his followers. The walls were marked with charcoal spirals, and desks had been rearranged into a ritual circle.

He looked down at the notebook Kana once carried.

Now in his hands.

Its pages had changed.

Blank when she held them.

Now filled with writing — his writing — words that shouldn’t exist, yet bled from his mind like prophecy.

He smiled.

“ They tried to trap the world in order. We will free it with collapse. ”

The students in the circle bowed their heads.

And Miko whispered the first command.

“ Tomorrow, no one goes home. ”