Chapter 3 A Promise Written in Blood

At the time, she had slapped me hard across the face and confiscated my phone.

From that moment on, I did not even have the right to set an alarm to wake myself up. I could only stab deeper—deeper each time.

And even after I died, I still did not blame her. I knew it had not been easy for her to raise two children on her own. I knew the pressure from her job was overwhelming.

I only felt regret. Regret that I would never get the chance to prove to her that I had not been slacking off.

…

At noon, the school dismissal broadcast echoed across campus.

Students gradually filed out of the building, and the corridors returned to a suffocating silence.

There was no heating in the spare classroom. The girl on the floor had gone completely stiff. The sun had climbed to its highest point in the sky, yet not a single ray could reach through the window, half-sealed with metal plating.

My soul silently kept track of the time.

Three hours had passed since I fell.

The golden window for saving someone with a brain hemorrhage had likely long slipped away.

Just then, a beam of harsh light appeared at the end of the corridor.

The school's security guard was making his rounds, checking doors and windows one by one. The flashlight swept past the spare classroom window, then stopped.

On the floor was my hand, pale and cold. My fingers were locked in a death grip from the final spasms before I died, clutching a torn piece of my exam admission slip.

The guard paused, then leaned closer to peer through the glass. "Hello? Is there a student inside?"

He knocked on the window and reached for the walkie-talkie at his waist. "Academic office? There seems to be a student lying in the spare classroom on the third floor. She isn't moving."

My soul lunged toward the window, staring desperately at the device in his hand. 'Please, save me. Please open the door.'

Static crackled through the walkie-talkie. Then Mom's voice came through, cold and authoritative, leaving no room for defiance. "I locked that classroom myself. It's disciplinary confinement. Leave it."

The guard hesitated. "But Ms. Collins, the kid's posture looks… strange. Should I go in and check?"

"I said leave it. No one is to open that door today." Mom's voice rose sharply, absolute and commanding. "Let her reflect in there. She isn't going to starve."

The guard let out a quiet sigh and switched off his flashlight. "Alright then. You're the authority. You have the final say."

…

Across the street from the school, a small restaurant buzzed with warmth and steam.

It was the day the final exams ended, and Mom had booked a private room to celebrate. The table was filled with Avery's favorite dishes—barbecue ribs, garlic butter shrimp, and baked salmon. The only thing missing was my favorite—grilled cheese and tomato soup.

"Here, Avery. Eat more shrimp. It's good for your brain." Mom picked up a shrimp, carefully peeled it, and placed it into Avery's plate.

"Thanks, Mom." Avery smiled sweetly, then placed a piece of ribs into Mom's plate. "You should eat too. You worked hard proctoring today."

"As long as you get first place in your grade, it's all worth it." Mom looked at Avery with nothing but warmth in her eyes. "Once your results are out, if you rank first, I'll grant you one wish. Go ahead. What do you want?"

Avery tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "I want to go to Disneyland. All my classmates have been."

"Alright, it's a deal. I'll take you next week." Mom agreed without hesitation, her smile widening as even the lines on her face softened.

My soul stood in the corner of the private room, watching the two of them laugh and talk. And suddenly, I felt cold.

I remembered the half-finished note still tucked inside my uniform pocket that I had stayed up late writing the night before. 'If I can place in the top fifty on this final exam, I hope you will reinstall the door lock.'

That piece of paper was now soaked through with my blood, the ink long smeared beyond recognition. I would never live to see the day she kept that promise.

…

After lunch, Mom returned to school to grade papers.

The afternoon was reserved for teachers to mark exams together, with time compressed and every schedule tightly arranged. The grading room was filled with nothing but the faint scratching of red pens across paper.

Mom was assigned to grade language papers. She worked quickly—until she flipped to a completely blank answer sheet.