After resting for about half an hour on the infirmary bed, I slowly put my clothes back on. The fabric felt strange against my cleaned skin — almost foreign. My body still ached, especially between my legs where the bite mark continued to throb dully. Every movement reminded me of what had happened.
Yuki Sensei returned to the room and spoke gently, "Ren, I'll drop you home today. You shouldn't walk alone right now."
A wave of relief washed over me. For the first time since touching that cursed mirror, I felt genuinely safe. I nodded quietly, unable to find words.
The car ride home was silent. Sensei didn't ask many questions, and I was grateful for it. When we reached my house, she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"I'll talk to your mother," she said softly. "You go inside and rest."
I went straight to my room without waiting. The familiar walls, my desk, my bed — everything looked exactly the same as always. Yet nothing felt the same.
I heard muffled voices downstairs. Sensei was explaining everything to my mother. I couldn't make out the words, but I could imagine the shock and worry in my mom's voice. Shame burned deep in my chest.
The moment I heard the front door close and Sensei's car drive away, I locked my bedroom door.
My hands were shaking as I dropped to my knees beside the bed. I reached into the narrow gap and pulled out the ancient mirror. Its ornate frame felt cold and heavy in my hands.
This was it.
This thing had destroyed everything.
I stared at my reflection — the crimson mark still visible across my face and arm, like a parasite that refused to leave. With a trembling breath, I touched the surface of the mirror.
Nothing.
No ripple. No cold liquid sensation. No pull into another world.
It was just… glass. A normal, ordinary mirror.
I touched it again. Harder this time. I pressed my palm flat against it, then both hands, desperately searching for any sign of the nightmare I had lived through.
Still nothing.
A broken sound escaped my throat — something between a laugh and a sob.
Everything that had happened… the wooden house in the storm, Erico's aggression, Aiko's tears, Mizuki's tentacles, the pain, the pleasure, the horror, the mutations… it all started because of this mirror.
And now it was dead.
Useless.
I sat on the floor, mirror in my lap, staring at my own distorted reflection. Tears blurred my vision.
Was it all real?
Or am I going insane?
The mark on my face and arm still burned faintly, a constant reminder that it wasn't just a dream. But the mirror… the source of everything… had abandoned me. Or maybe it had already taken what it wanted.
I felt hollow.
Used.
Broken.
The shy, invisible boy who just wanted to be left alone had been dragged into hell and spat back out. And now I had to live with the consequences — the suspension that was coming.
I hugged the mirror against my chest like a broken toy and whispered hoarsely into the empty room:
"…Why me?"
The silence that answered was heavier than any scream.
Everything felt wrong now.
Terribly, irreversibly wrong.
-------
A soft knock came from the door.
"Ren…? Can I come in?"
I recognized my mother's gentle voice immediately. For a moment, I wanted to stay silent, to hide inside myself. But I couldn't.
"…Come in."
The door opened quietly. My mother stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. She looked at me sitting on the floor with the mirror still in my lap, my eyes red and distant. Without saying anything at first, she walked over and sat beside me on the floor, her shoulder gently touching mine.
We stayed like that for a while.
Then she spoke, her voice soft and full of warmth:
"Ren… don't think about it too much right now. I know today was terrifying for you. Sensei told me what happened." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You don't have to carry this alone. Whatever happened… it wasn't your fault. I'm here, okay? I'm always here."
Her words sank into me like warm water after being frozen for so long. After everything — the mirror, the mutations, the pain— hearing my mother's unconditional support almost broke something inside my chest. I had expected anger, disappointment, or confusion. Instead, she was just… my mom.
Tears I had been holding back finally spilled over.
She noticed and gently pulled me into her arms, guiding my head to rest against her chest. Her embrace was soft, warm, and familiar — the same hug she had given me since I was a child. I could hear her steady heartbeat, smell the faint scent of home on her clothes. For the first time today, the world felt just a little less heavy.
In that warm silence, I let myself cry quietly against her. All the fear, shame, confusion, and helplessness I had been carrying poured out in silent tears. She didn't say anything. She just held me tighter, slowly stroking my hair.
After a long moment, she whispered:
"Ren… I have something to tell you."
I stayed against her chest, listening.
"I'm three months pregnant."
The words hung in the quiet room.
"You're going to be a big brother."
I froze.
A strange mix of emotions flooded through me all at once — shock, warmth, fear, sadness, and a fragile spark of hope. A baby. A new life. In the middle of this nightmare I was living, something pure and innocent was growing inside my mother.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry harder. But I felt happy.
My mother gently rubbed my back and continued softly, her voice full of quiet joy and nervousness:
"I wanted to tell you earlier, but I was waiting for the right time. With everything that's happening now… I thought you should know. You're not alone anymore, Ren. We're going to be a bigger family."
I stayed buried in her chest, breathing in her warmth, trying to process everything.
The mirror. The monsters. The blood. The shame.
And now… a little brother or sister.
In that moment, wrapped in my mother's arms, I felt both completely broken and strangely hopeful at the same time. The psychological weight of the day was still crushing me, but her love and this unexpected news created a small, flickering light in the darkness.
For now, I just let her hold me.
And for the first time since touching that cursed mirror, I didn't feel entirely alone.
-------
The next day, the consequences arrived like a slow, crushing wave.
Erico, Aiko, and Mizuki were officially suspended from school for one month. The announcement was made quietly during morning homeroom, but the news spread like wildfire. By lunchtime, the entire school was buzzing with rumors.
"Erico Hoshina and the class rep were caught having sex with that quiet guy in the gym…"
"They say even the librarian was involved…"
"Ren Amekawa? That invisible guy? No way…"
"Apparently it was some kind of orgy…"
I stayed in my room the entire afternoon, staring at the ceiling. I didn't want to face anyone. Not the stares, not the whispers, not the judgment.
Around 4 PM, I heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Then came the muffled voices — multiple women. The mothers of Erico, Aiko, and Mizuki had come to our house to apologize in person. My mother handled everything downstairs with her usual gentle strength. I didn't go down. I couldn't.
I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, hands buried in my hair.
The worst part wasn't the suspension or the rumors.
It was the guilt.
I didn't feel like a pure victim. Not completely.
Yes, things had gone terrifyingly wrong. Yes, the mirror had twisted them into something monstrous. But before that… before the tentacles, extra eyes, and bleeding… I had wanted it. I had enjoyed it. I had grabbed Erico's breasts. I had thrust into Aiko. I had let Mizuki ride me. Even when fear was mixed in, there had been pleasure. Real pleasure.
And that truth was eating me alive.
If I had really wanted to stop them… could I have?
Did I let it go too far because part of me liked being wanted for once?
The shame was suffocating. Those three girls, who used to be so different from each other, were probably feeling the exact same guilt right now. They had lost control of their own bodies and desires. They had hurt me. And yet… I had also participated. We had all crossed a line together before the Mirror took full control.
I felt dirty. Complicit. Broken.
Even though my mother had comforted me last night and told me it wasn't my fault, I couldn't fully believe her. The rumors outside painted me as either a lucky pervert or a helpless victim. Neither version felt true.
I was something in between — a lonely boy who had secretly craved touch, and who was now drowning in the aftermath of getting exactly what he thought he wanted… in the worst possible way.
Downstairs, I could hear polite, tearful apologies from the mothers. My own mother's calm, understanding voice replying. They were all trying to fix something that couldn't be fixed with words.
I lay back on my bed and stared at the mirror leaning against the wall. It remained ordinary. Silent. Mocking me with its stillness.
The mark on my face and arm still faintly glowed — a permanent reminder that the nightmare wasn't truly over.
I closed my eyes, feeling heavy, guilty, and profoundly alone.
What am I supposed to do now?
How do I live with both the victim and the participant inside me?
The weight of that question pressed down on my chest until it became hard to breathe.