Hui-min realized then that the candy in his bag no longer mattered. To survive the night, he didn't need to be a romantic; he needed to be a ghost hunter. He had to solve the riddles of the talismans, outrun the possessed faculty, and find a way to break the seal on the front gates before the sun rose—or he would become just another urban legend whispered by the students of Yeondu High.

In the woodshop, the air grew frigid. A faint sobbing drifted from the rafters. When he looked up, he didn't see a student—he saw a specter, her face a pale mask of sorrow. The school was a "Labyrinth Named School," a place where the barrier between the living and the dead had dissolved.

Suddenly, a rhythmic thump-drag, thump-drag echoed from the floor above. It was the janitor. But this wasn't the man who waved to students in the morning. This was a twisted version, his eyes clouded with a milky, murderous haze, a heavy set of keys jingling like a death knell against his belt.

Lee Hui-min didn't mean to stay late, but the box of candy in his backpack felt like a lead weight. It was the eve of , and he only wanted to slip into Class 2-8 to leave the gift on So-young’s desk. But the moment the heavy school gates clicked shut behind him, the air in Yeondu High School changed. It wasn't just dark; it was heavy .

"Just leave the candy and get out," he whispered to himself, his flashlight beam cutting a shaky path through the gloom.