Cold autumn wind whipped past my face, scattering dry maple leaves across the stone steps of Mihama Academy. I pulled my blazer tighter, trying to shield myself from the chill. Iron gates towered above me like the jaws of a sleeping beast, ancient and intimidating. This was my fresh start. Scholarship students like me weren't supposed to belong in a place this prestigious, but my swimming times had forced their hand. Stepping through the threshold, I plastered a bright, cheerful smile onto my face. "You can do this, Mizuki," I whispered to myself, smoothing down the pleated skirt of my new uniform. Whispers clung to the hallways of the main building like heavy, invisible dust. Every eye tracked my movement as I navigated the grand, gothic corridors. "Is that her?" a girl muttered, her voice dripping with artificial sweet poison. Transfer students were rare, and they treated me like a curious specimen under a microscope. Gilded portraits of past headmasters lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow me with silent disapproval. Every step I took on the polished marble floor felt loud, a sharp tap-tap-tap that announced my presence like a warning bell. Gossip was the primary currency of Mihama Academy, and I was the newest, cheapest coin. My fingers tightened around the straps of my school bag until my knuckles turned a stark, bloodless white. Smiling through the suffocating tension was my only defense mechanism. "Good morning!" I chirped, turning to face a group of girls with a bright, practiced grin that didn't reach my eyes. They blinked, startled by my sudden cheerfulness, before turning away with collective sneers. Mihama Academy was beautiful on the surface, but underneath the polished mahogany and brass, it felt like an elegant cage. Heavy wooden doors lined the corridor, each one seeming to seal in a different dark secret. Rumors of the school's tragic history had reached me even before I set foot in the city. People whispered of students disappearing, of love affairs that turned violent and bloody, of a curse that seemed to hang over the student body. But I couldn't focus on their ghost stories; my chest was too tight, the air too thick with their judgement. My lungs screamed for air, a familiar, phantom panic clawing at my throat. Suddenly, a crowd parted in the center of the main hall, creating a wide path. Walking toward me was Ren, the school's undisputed golden boy. Perfect blonde hair fell across his brow, framing a face that belonged on a magazine cover. His uniform was immaculate, and his smile was warm enough to melt glaciers. Yet, when his eyes locked onto mine, a sudden chill raced down my spine. Underneath that dazzling warmth, something dark and sharp flickered in his gaze. "You must be Mizuki," Ren said, his voice a smooth baritone that commanded instant attention from everyone around us. "I am," I managed to say, maintaining my cheerful facade despite the sudden drop in my stomach. He stepped closer, invading my personal space just enough to make my heart beat faster. "Welcome to Mihama," Ren murmured, offering a hand. "I hope you find our school... accommodating." On his finger, a silver signet ring caught the dim hallway light, gleaming coldly. I shook his hand, his grip surprisingly firm, almost possessive, before I pulled away. Beside him, a quiet girl named Yuka shrank back, clutching a heavy cello case to her chest. Her eyes were wide with a terror that she desperately tried to hide from the rest of the world. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but Ren stepped between us, cutting off my view of her entirely. "If you ever need anything, Mizuki, just find me," Ren said, his smile widening into something almost predatory. Nodding quickly, I excused myself, rushing down the hall toward the only place where I could breathe. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. His gaze felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders even as I walked away. I had to escape. I needed the water. --- Chlorine hit my nose before I even saw the double doors of the aquatic center. Instantly, the tight knot in my chest began to unravel. I pushed open the heavy steel doors, stepping into the massive, cavernous room that housed the school's elite pool. Vaulted ceilings arched high overhead, casting deep, silent shadows across the empty bleachers. No one was here. Light filtered through the high, frosted-glass windows, illuminating the pristine turquoise water. For a competitive swimmer like me, this place was a sanctuary. Stepping into the locker room, the heavy scent of lavender soap and old iron greeted me. I peeled off my uniform, folding each piece with meticulous care before sliding into my swim gear. My reflection in the mirror showed a girl who looked too small for this grand academy. But my shoulders were broad from years of training, my muscles defined and ready. Walking toward the pool deck, the cold air hit my skin like a slap. Stepping back out, the cool air pricked my bare skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. Water was my only true home. Deep down, I knew why I chased the silence of the depths so desperately. My mother's face flashed in my mind—pale, still, and beautiful beneath the surface of the lake where she had breathed her last. I had watched her sink, too young and too paralyzed by fear to dive in and save her. Ever since that day, I swore I would never let anyone drown again, and I would never fear the deep. Standing at the edge of the deep end, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the chemical-scented air. Taking one last deep breath, I let myself fall forward, cutting through the water with clean, silent precision. Freezing water enveloped me like a sudden, shocking embrace. Bubbles rushed past my ears, muffled and roaring, before settling into a profound, beautiful silence. All the whispers of the classroom, the judging glares of the girls, and the heavy atmosphere of Mihama Academy vanished instantly. Gliding down, the water pressure pressed against my eardrums, a comforting weight. I opened my eyes, ignoring the slight sting of the chlorine. At the very bottom of the pool, resting in the shadow of the lane lines, lay a long, dark object. It looked out of place in this pristine environment. Swimming closer, my heart rate began to climb as the shape became clearer. It was Yuka's cello bow. Frayed horsehair floated around it like pale, drowned hair. A sickening realization washed over me. This belonged to Yuka, the terrified girl from the hallway. Why would someone throw her precious bow into the pool? I reached out, my fingers wrapping around the waterlogged wood. Instantly, a memory of my mother's cold hand grabbing my wrist flashed in my mind. Oxygen starved, my lungs screamed as panic seized my chest. I surfaced with a violent gasp, pulling the cold air deep into my burning lungs. Clinging to the edge, I hauled my shivering body onto the wet tiles. I held the ruined cello bow in my hand, water dripping from its snapped fibers. My eyes scanned the empty pool hall, searching for any sign of life. Nothing moved. Only the hum of the filtration system broke the heavy silence. I stood up, intending to find a teacher, when a loud, metallic slam echoed through the chamber. Heavy metal doors had swung shut. Before I could move, a sharp, grinding noise followed—the sound of a padlock being violently clicked into place from the outside. I bolted across the wet tiles, my feet slipping as I ran toward the doors. I grabbed the handles, pulling with all my strength. They didn't budge an inch. Locked from the outside. Panic, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. Without warning, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then died completely. Darkness swallowed me whole. Panic seized me, squeezing my throat until I could barely breathe. My eyes strained against the darkness, desperately searching for any sliver of light. But there was nothing. Even the high windows were blocked by the thick, overcast night sky outside, offering no moonlight. I was entirely alone. Or was I? A soft, rhythmic splashing sound echoed from the far end of the pool. My heart leaped into my throat. Freeze. I stopped breathing, straining my ears to listen. Slow, deliberate ripples disturbed the water, sending a soft lapping sound against the tiled edge. Someone was in the water with me. "Who's there?" I whispered, my voice trembling. No verbal response came, but the splashing grew closer, moving with an eerie, predatory slowness. Backing away from the edge, my foot brushed against the discarded cello bow. I stumbled, my arms flailing as I tried to regain my balance in the pitch black. Cold tile slipped beneath my heels, and I fell backward, plunging back into the freezing water with a loud, echoey splash. Bubbles engulfed me once more, but this time, there was no peace. Only terror. I kicked wildly, trying to find the surface, my orientation lost in the absolute dark. Sinking deeper, I felt the phantom hands of my mother's memory pulling at my ankles. "No," I choked out under the water, losing precious air as bubbles escaped my lips. Forcing my limbs to move, I fought my way back to the surface, breaking through and gasping for breath. I grabbed the edge of the pool, my fingers clawing at the wet tiles. My eyes scanned the darkness, desperate to find the intruder. A sudden glow caught my attention. I looked up, my breath hitching in my throat as the faint hallway light illuminated the high glass. Standing behind the glass was a tall, shadowed silhouette. A pale hand with a silver signet ring gently presses against the glass of the pool observation window, leaving a smeared, crimson fingerprint.

Chlorine and Crimson Chords