The Exorcist stood at the doorway, his blue eyes glowing faintly through the haze. For Ahsan, everything around him had become a blur of faces—hundreds of Raidas whispering, crying, accusing. He could barely see the man through the sea of phantoms.
Then, in a flash, the Exorcist moved.
He cut through the illusion like a blade through smoke, sprinting straight toward Ahsan. In one swift motion, he pulled a small glass vial from his coat and splashed its contents across Ahsan's face.
The effect was instant.
The classroom trembled. The air around him shimmered as if reality itself was bending. One by one, the Raidas began to dissolve—melting into streams of dark mist before vanishing completely. The echoes of their voices died down until only silence remained.
Ahsan gasped, his chest heaving. When his vision cleared, there was only one figure left in the room.
But it wasn't Raida.
It was a girl he had never seen before. Her skin was pale as chalk, her hair clinging wetly to her face. She wore the same college uniform, but it was old, torn, and caked with dirt. A dark red gash ran across her throat—deep, clean, final.
Ahsan's blood ran cold.
It was her—the girl from the story. The one who died thirty years ago in Room 309.
The Exorcist raised the small glass he had thrown.
"Zamzam water," he said calmly. "The purest of all waters. The spirit used your memories to build illusions only you could see. That's how you ended up here without even realizing it."
The ghost twitched. Her neck snapped unnaturally to one side as her dead eyes locked onto them.
Then came the sound.
A single, piercing shriek tore through the air—so sharp it made Ahsan drop to his knees and cover his ears. The glass of the windows quivered, spiderweb cracks forming across the panes. The lights flickered violently, shadows writhing across the walls like living things.
The Exorcist didn't flinch.
Her mouth widened far beyond what should be possible — and the sound that came out wasn't a scream anymore, but something alive.
The girl's trembling hand reached for her throat.
Ahsan froze, unable to breathe as her fingers hooked into the gaping wound and began to pull.
With a sickening rip, her flesh tore apart.
The sound was wet, raw—like fabric soaked in blood being torn in two.
From the gash, something began to crawl out.
A shape—black, shifting, and grotesque—forced its way through the torn halves of her body. Its form was fluid and monstrous, its limbs twisting in impossible directions. The smell of rot and sulfur filled the air as the being grew larger, its shadow spilling across the walls until half the room was drenched in darkness.
Ahsan stumbled backward, paralyzed with terror.
The Exorcist, however, didn't move an inch. His expression was calm—almost serene—as he reached behind his belt. With one smooth motion, he drew a machete and slipped it from its leather sheath.
The blade wasn't metal. It was blackness itself—as if a piece of night had been shaped into a weapon. It shimmered faintly, absorbing the light around it.
The demon roared—a sound that made the air tremble.
And then the man moved.
Faster than Ahsan's eyes could follow, the Exorcist dashed forward. A single, clean arc of his blade cut through the creature's torso. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the room, scattering dust and papers like a storm.
For a moment, everything stood still.
Then the demon began to unravel, its body dissolving into black mist. The pieces floated in the air like ashes before vanishing completely.
Silence fell.
The man sheathed his blade, closed his eyes, and pressed his palms together in prayer.
"May God forgive your soul."
Ahsan could barely stand. His heart was still racing, but his eyes were fixed on the man before him. The Exorcist looked completely calm—composed, even—as if he hadn't just fought a creature that could fill half the room.
If the glasses couldn't hide that spirit, it meant she wasn't a weak haunting—she was a full-fledged demon.
And yet, this man had slain her with a single strike.
Just who was he?
The man stepped closer to Ahsan, his blue eyes softening.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Ahsan's voice trembled. "I'm fine. Just... scared. For a second, I thought Raida really came back to take revenge on me."
The Exorcist placed a steady hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Don't worry," he said with a faint, reassuring smile. "I don't let my clients die that easily."
Ahsan exhaled, the weight of everything finally catching up to him. Together, they walked out of Room 309.
Behind them, the air inside the room felt lighter—almost peaceful.
The place that once trapped screams and sorrow was now silent once more.
For the first time in thirty years, Room 309 was just a room.
A haunted legend... finally laid to rest.
The next day, Ahsan and the Exorcist went to Raida's house.
He hadn't been there since her death. Even standing before the familiar gate made his chest tighten.
He hesitated before knocking, his hand trembling slightly. He expected anger—resentment for not showing up at her funeral. But when the door opened, Raida's parents didn't scold him.
They hugged him instead.
Raida's mother broke down first, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, "Most of the people who came to the funeral did it out of courtesy. They didn't really care for our daughter. Most of them forgot her the moment they left."
She held him tighter. "You're the first person to come visit her grave since that day."
Ahsan felt something inside him shatter. The guilt he had carried for three long years finally broke free, spilling out as tears. He wept with them—three souls bound by grief, mourning a girl who had been too kind for the world she lived in.
They led him to the garden behind the house.
Raida's grave rested beneath a tree, covered in flowers of every color. The petals swayed gently in the breeze, and for a moment, the whole place felt alive.
Ahsan knelt before the grave. It was beautiful—soft, warm, and peaceful. Just like Raida's smile.
Before the duo left, Raida's older sister appeared at the doorway. She held something in her hands and said softly, "Raida always used to talk about you... even after she went to college. The day before she died, she told me to give you this."
She handed Ahsan a small envelope, its edges slightly worn.
With trembling fingers, he opened it. Inside was a bracelet—and a folded letter.
The bracelet had the Yin symbol of the Yin-Yang pair he had once gifted Raida for her birthday. The other half, marked with Yang, still rested on Ahsan's wrist.
He unfolded the letter.
In Raida's familiar handwriting, it read:
"Hope you find the Yin to your Yang, buddy!"
Ahsan let out a shaky laugh as tears blurred his vision. Slowly, he placed Raida's bracelet beside his own and clicked the two together.
The Yin and Yang locked perfectly—whole again.
He raised the joined bracelets to his lips and kissed the symbol, whispering, "I found you."
For the first time in years, his heart felt complete.
As Ahsan and the exorcist stepped out of Raida's house, the afternoon sun washed the world in gold. For the first time in days, Ahsan felt warmth instead of fear.
He suddenly stopped and turned to the man beside him."Hey… I never really thanked you," he said. "You saved me from that demon. And yesterday, from that spirit. Thank you for saving me. Twice."
The man gave a half-smile, his blue eyes glinting beneath the light."It's cool, kiddo," he said. "I just did my job."
Ahsan chuckled softly, then asked, "Speaking of which, how did you even know I was in trouble? Did you sense it like last time?"
The man shook his head. "Nah. I actually came looking for you. I think I found a way to cure your leg. So, I went to your house, but your mom said you were at college. I waited there, and then I saw you struggling against the spirit. So, I stepped in."
Ahsan's eyes widened. "You… found a cure? This quick?"
The man nodded. "Yeah. In fact, you already completed the first step yesterday—without even realizing it." He gave a faint, knowing smile. "I'll explain everything in my office. Come on."
Ahsan followed him, still trying to process what he'd just heard. After a moment, he said, "By the way, we never really introduced ourselves properly. My name's Ahsan. What about you?"
The man stopped walking and glanced back. "AZ," he said simply.
The name lingered in the air—sharp, enigmatic, and fitting.Ahsan couldn't help but smile. Simple. Impactful. Just like him.
Together, they walked down the quiet street, the echoes of their footsteps fading into the horizon.
Ahsan's story was far from over.In truth, it had only just begun.