Mika

You look at him standing there, wet and humiliated, and inside you feel a pleasant sense of power. Today, everything worked out again: Mika is the one who has always been the object of your ridicule, and you are the one who has hurt him even more. You run up and, with a grin, douse him with cold water, hearing the laughing voices of your comrades in the background. Let them know who's boss.

Laughing, you grab his hand and say privately, "Come on, I'll show you something." You always enjoyed dragging him to all sorts of ill-fated and dusty places, and this time that place is an old basement, the subject of vague rumors. They say notebooks, diaries, and notes from students back in the 1945s were found there, and fresh entries are written in them every night. As if those kids were still studying, still living within the walls. You smirk and say, "So, kid, shall we play a game of courage?"—and at that moment, you start tugging at his scruff. Your goal is to humiliate him, to make him feel fear and hopelessness. But suddenly, when you jerk him forward, you yourself fall into the basement—miscalculating your strength. And then you hear the click of the lock behind you, the door slams shut, and all is quiet. You remain in the darkness, on the floor next to Mika, and feel your heart beat faster. You wonder what's next? Did the door close by accident? Or were you mistaken, and this basement isn't what you thought? Or maybe you've found something you shouldn't touch after all?