Chapter 39 – Back to School, but Faiz Left Behind His “Treasure”

The Next Morning

The usual chaos begins.
The aroma of garlic butter toast and scrambled eggs fills the air.
Sylvia, already up and dressed in her uniform, gracefully glides around the kitchen, flipping omelets with one hand and shaking Dad awake with the other. Her voice is soft, yet commanding.

“Dad, wake up. We have exactly twelve minutes before the eggs burn and Alex forgets his pants again.”

“I HEARD THAT!” I yell from upstairs, brushing my teeth with my head sticking out the door. “I’m not a kid!”

She flashes a teasing smile. “Says the guy who left the rice cooker on overnight again.”

“...Tch.”

Mom’s pacing around the house, half dressed for work, holding Sam—who’s clinging to her hair like it’s a rope swing.
A classic weekday.

We somehow manage to stuff breakfast down, and before I know it, I'm trudging toward the bus stop. Backpack slung lazily over my shoulder, earbuds halfway in, brain still buffering like a dial-up modem. I guess I'm just going with the flow today.

At School

The bell rings.
I shuffle into class like a zombie. Everyone else is already inside, chatting, scribbling last-minute homework, or trying to look busy.

Then…
BOOM!!!

The door SLAMS open.

A thundering voice echoes through the classroom like a war horn.

“ALRIGHT, EVERYONE!!”

Mr. Rahim.

Our class captain.
Our tyrant.
Our chaotic neutral warlord.

He stomps into the room like he owns it, arms crossed, chest puffed out like a villain giving his debut speech.

“IT’S TIME FOR THE MIDTERMS!”

Huh?

Wait—
MIDTERMS?!

“SHIT!!”

I whisper internally, eyes wide.
The class erupts like someone dropped a grenade.

“AGAIN?!”

“WE JUST SURVIVED A MOCK TEST LAST MONTH!!”

“NOOOOOO!!!”

But Mr. Rahim just grins, his glasses gleaming like a final boss.

“I WANT FULL MARKS! FULL!!! You hear me?! Our class will DOMINATE the Top 50! Even if I have to drill it into your heads with pure willpower!!”

We could all see it now—an imaginary pirate hat on his head, wind howling behind him, one foot up on the table like he’s about to declare war on mediocrity.

Amin throws a sarcastic salute.

“Aye, Captain!”

Mr. Rahim’s eye twitches.
“IT’S. MR. RAHIM.”

In the next second, he launches the dreaded camel clutch technique™ on Amin.

We don’t even react anymore.
At this point, it’s background noise—like the humming of the fan.

“Pray for him,” I mutter, sipping from my water bottle.

We try to distract ourselves by talking about something less traumatic. Like the upcoming school festival.

“Hey, Alex, what do you think?” someone asks.

“Huh?” I blink. “About what?”

“The festival. You gonna join anything?”

I shrug. “Like I care about that stuff.”

“Really…”
Mariam suddenly leans in from behind.
Amin too.

They stare at me like I just kicked a puppy.

Before I can reply, someone yanks the back of my collar.

“Oi—!?”

Mr. Rahim again.

Standing right behind us, glowing with dark aura like a monster.

He growls softly.
“Did you forget… there’s class now?”

“W-we’re just talking—”

“WE. ARE. HAVING. CLASS. NOW!!!”

He doesn’t wait.
His arm swings.

WHACK!

Amin, Mariam, and—WHY ME?!
WHY AM I INCLUDED?!

“CAPTAIN!!! I’M THE VICTIM HERE!!”

He’s not listening. He’s laughing like a maniac.

“ARGHH!! HAHAAHAHAAHA!!!”

The wind from his swing is so intense, it sends papers flying and hair fluttering.
Someone screams.
Another student ducks under a desk.

“THE CAPTAIN’S GONE NUTS!!!”

Pandemonium erupts.
Even the teachers next door peek in.

“Again…?” mutters Mr. Rahman, joining the fray like a concerned citizen.

By the time Ms. Genevie storms in with a rattan cane and a thundercloud over her head, the class has turned into a battlefield.

Whipping noises.
Shouting.
Teachers kneeling in squads.
Students with hands raised like they're surrendering to the police.

Even Mr. Rahim is caught doing duck-walk squats as punishment.

And me?

I’m just lying flat on the floor.

“...I should’ve taken the day off.”

The school bell rings.

Another long day ends, the air buzzing with laughter, sneakers squeaking, and the distant bark of Mr. Rahim still yelling at some poor soul who forgot their homework.

I sigh, slinging my bag over my shoulder and making my way out the school gate. Just when I thought today couldn’t get any weirder—

“Excuse me, are you... Alexander Bin Imran?”

I stop.

A postman in a wrinkled uniform stands in front of me, clutching an oddly-shaped package wrapped in aged brown paper. It looks like it traveled through time. And maybe a flood.

“Uh… yeah?”

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “This is for you. It took… uh… a long time to deliver. Not sure why, the system flagged it but didn’t say why. Weird, right?”

He hands it over with both hands like it’s cursed.

I stare at the package.

The corners are torn. The tape is half peeled. There's even a faded stamp that looks like it came from 1990’s-something. What the hell?

But then I see the name.

Sender: Faiz Bin Razak.

My throat tightens.

Even now, even after everything, just seeing his name…

There’s this strange pit forming in my chest. I want to smile… but instead, I feel cold.

“…Faiz?”

The package is light. But the weight in my heart isn't.

And then… the feeling hits me.

A chill on my spine.

A whisper in my gut.

“I have a bad feeling about this…”

“Darling?”

My soul nearly ejects from my body.

Sylvia.

She’s right behind me. Her voice soft, but deadly.

I instantly shove the package behind me like a guilty child.

“Uh—yeah? What’s up?”

She tilts her head with an innocent smile that does nothing to calm me.

“What’s that you’re hiding?”

“Huh? Oh! This? Just… uhh... some stuff Aunt Deb sent! You know, homemade spice packets and… uh… pickled pineapple! For Mom!”

I give my best 'I’m-not-lying' face. It’s probably the worst performance of the year.

“Really…?”

She squints.

And I swear… her eyes darken. Literally. Like a shadow passes over them.

Yandere aura: MAX LEVEL.

My heart skips. Not from love—from pure survival instinct.

This is what Natalie and Sylvia have in common.
When they get suspicious…
Even Satan gets nervous.

“Yep! Totally normal! Family stuff! Ha ha ha…”

Sylvia smiles again. It's the kind of smile that says I’m watching you even in your dreams.

“…Okay,” she says sweetly.

But I don’t buy it.
Because the moment she turns around, I see her eye twitch.

Then, as if things weren’t bad enough—

“YO BRO!!!”

“NOT AGAIN!!”

Amin and Mariam march right up to me, like they were summoned by drama itself.

“We’re finalizing the booth for the school festival! You in or what?” Amin grins, then points at my hand. “Wait… what’s that?”

“NOTHING! Just… my mom’s stuff! From Aunt Deb!”

“Oh?” Mariam raises an eyebrow. “Strange. It’s addressed directly to you, not your mom.”

“Hahaha—crazy right? Like, maybe she’s going senile? Postal glitch? Space-time rift? Who knows!”

They stare at me.

I laugh nervously.

They keep staring.

Sylvia watches from a distance like a hawk.

Yep.

Everyone’s suspicious.

Later, On the Bus

We sit quietly, the bus rocking slightly as it heads toward our neighborhood.

Amin and Mariam are chatting with the other students. I keep checking over my shoulder every five seconds, clutching the package like it’s nuclear.

Sylvia hasn’t said a word the entire ride. But she’s sitting close.

Too close.

Like "if-you-even-breathe-wrong-I-will-skin-you" close.

At Home – My Room

As soon as we get home, Sylvia greets Mom, still with that calm voice, but I can feel her gaze burning into my back like laser eyes from a Gundam.

I sprint to my room and lock the door. Twice.

Finally.

I sit on the edge of my bed, the package in front of me.

My hands are sweating.

I slowly peel it open… dust puffing out like something ancient.

Inside:
A wrapped bundle.
And a letter.
Faded ink. The paper’s yellowed at the edges.

I unfold it.

Salam Alex,

Bro... gotta hand it to ya. You and Nat, you two were always something else. I always respected that about you guys.

I really hoped we'd all stay like this… till the end.

Bros forever.

—Faiz

P/S – Don’t let anyone else read this.
We're old enough to know what’s real now.
I took it with Matt… and Travis.

I pause.

A cold breeze flows through my room, even though the windows are shut.

My fingers tremble slightly.

Took… what?

I unwrap the rest of the bundle. Inside is—

…

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

The color drains from my face.

Because whatever Faiz left behind...

Isn't just a letter.

And I think I’m about to get dragged into something way, way deeper than I ever expected.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

Mom’s busy in the kitchen, Sylvia’s upstairs helping Sam with his coloring book, and Natalie—thank God—isn’t here.

Perfect.

I slip into the old storage room behind the laundry. It’s packed to the ceiling with junk—rusty bikes, broken chairs, and boxes filled with stuff no one remembers owning.

Cobwebs cling to my hair as I duck under a leaning shelf.

And there it is.

The VHS tape.

Dusty. Faded. Marked in Faiz’s dumb, confident handwriting:

“BEST GAL”

“What… the hell… is this?”

I stare at it like it might explode. The handwriting alone gives me anxiety.

And yet—

Curiosity wins.

I rummage through the storage, pulling out an old CRT TV stacked under a moldy blanket. It still has the built-in VHS player. Somehow, it powers on after a few slaps and one solid punch to the side.

I double check—no one’s nearby.

Click.

The tape slides in.

Whirrrrr.

The screen flickers.

Then—

Oh no.

OH NO.

On-screen is the unmistakable sound of retro funk music.
The lighting is pure 80s neon.
And then—
A girl with huge hair, tight clothes, and zero shame struts in front of the camera.

It’s full-on retro porn.

“WHAT THE FUCK, FAIZ?!”

I slam both hands over my mouth as a moan echoes from the TV.

Is this… is this what he meant by “treasure”?!

The tape is grainy, but the… uh… sounds? Too crisp.

“Faiz, if you’re still alive and Marina finds this—you’re getting buried alive.”

I move to shut it off—

But suddenly the screen cuts.

A new scene appears.

Black background. White font.

“Nice, right?”
"I know deep down you always wanted to see Nat like that, bro."

“…WHAT!?”

My soul leaves my body.

I scream into my hands, sliding down the wall in despair.

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN THINK THAT?! YOU ASSHOLE!!”

I facepalm so hard I nearly knock myself out.

And that’s when I hear it—

Footsteps.

Voices.

Getting closer.

“BROOOOOO!!!”

No.

No no no NO—

“YO BRO! Kukuku~ Hiding somewhere, huh?”
Amin and Mariam

Of course it’s him. He’s like a bloodhound for disaster.

Behind him—

“Huh? Alex?”
Mariam.

“Darling?”
Sylvia. 😱

“Babe?”
Priscilla. 😱

WHY ARE THEY ALL HERE?!
IS THIS A CURSED TAPE THAT SUMMONS EVERY FEMALE I’VE EVER MET!?

I panic.

I scramble. Trip over a broken exercise bike. Hit the corner of the shelf. Fall to my knees.

And in that exact moment—

I accidentally hit the volume knob.

“AAHHHH! AHHH! AHHHHHHHH—OH YEAH BABY!” 🔊🔊🔊

OH SHIT!!!!!!!

It’s loud.

Too loud.

Even the damn moths freeze.

I fly at the TV like a rabid monkey and slam the power button. The screen goes black.

But the silence is worse.

From the other side of the door—

Knocking.

And then Sylvia’s sweet, dark voice:

“Ah ha… I thought I heard something.”

“MEOW!” I scream. “It was a documentary about cats! Japanese cats! Very vocal ones!”

“Bullshit!! …..kukuku….” Mariam

Amin laughs from the hallway. “You’re so done, bro.”

I try to eject the tape, but it jams.

No. No no—

The TV buzzes again.

One last cut appears.

Faiz’s face.

Grinning like a demon.

“If you’re watching this… then yeah, I knew you’d get caught. Enjoy the chaos. Love ya, bro!”

“FAAAAAAAAAAAIZ!!!”

I yell, shaking the TV like I can throttle his ghost.

The door handle turns.

Sylvia’s voice again.

“Alex… darling… open up. Let’s talk about what I just heard.”

Behind her, I hear Mariam snort.
Priscilla's chuckling softly.
Amin’s dying from laughter.

I'm sweating buckets, on my knees in front of a possessed VHS player.

Faiz…

Wherever you are right now...

You’re already dead.