Eerie Honkai: Husband-Chasing Crematorium

"There aren't many backpacks left in the classroom. Survivors must have taken them," Li Mo remarked coldly, his voice devoid of sympathy.

Death not only strengthens but gradually erases emotion.

He quickly made his way to the broadcasting room. There were no windows here.

Li Mo approached the door but didn't open it. To open it was to court death. He wasn't foolish enough to think this door was any different from the others.

However, faint murmurs of voices came from within—roughly a dozen people, by his estimate.

Typically, the broadcasting room in an academy would be empty since students were always in their classrooms. Yet, despite the lack of windows, this group had entered and remained unscathed.

This could only mean one thing:

"Anomalies can't be killed."

(TL/N - Ghost and Anomaly is interconnected in this book. So I will use them interchangingly to fit the flow.)

"The first person to step through that door wasn't human. It was a ghost."

Li Mo decisively arrived at his conclusion.

The ghosts had lured the survivors into the broadcasting room. But why? What purpose did they serve?

Wait…

A chilling realization struck Li Mo. With no windows to serve as emergency exits, the only way out of the broadcasting room was through the door—and only the ghost would walk out alive.

Anyone who entered would never leave alive. The door was a death sentence.

Staying inside posed its own challenges: limited food, scarce water, emotional breakdowns, and potential violence.

In other words, this was a room of certain death for the living.

No escape. Escape meant death.

---

Li Mo's expression darkened as he silently stared at the door.

"This ghost has human intelligence, blending in with the crowd. Gathering survivors into the room might serve another purpose..."

"If that's the case, this ghost is less dangerous than I initially thought. A ghost that cannot kill directly poses little threat to me."

"For now, the priority is to identify and contain the ghost, then rescue the trapped survivors. Whatever the ghost's motive, disrupting it is the right move."

Taking a deep breath, Li Mo lightly tapped on the broadcasting room door. He wouldn't dare open it.

Knock, knock, knock.

The crisp sound echoed through the eerie hallway.

Inside, a raspy male voice answered. It was heavy and didn't match the typical tone of a young person.

Students at St. Freya were all teenagers, with the oldest being in their twenties. After all, Valkyries had much shorter lifespans. By their late twenties, their bodies deteriorated, forcing them to retire.

Teacher Himeko was a prime example of this.

"The person speaking has issues," Li Mo concluded immediately.

This was his intuition—an acute sense honed by countless encounters with the bizarre.

No one understood the supernatural better than he did.

The door creaked open. The narrow broadcasting room was crammed with students—disheveled, emaciated, their young faces haggard, their eyes dull.

The flickering ceiling light cast an oppressive gloom.

Such an environment could profoundly affect anyone's state of mind and psyche over time.

With scarce food and water, the 17 students and a single teacher were clinging to life. Their appearances suggested they were still human.

"Student, come in quickly! There's a ghost outside!" the teacher called out, his gruff voice urging Li Mo to enter.

The students' faces were stricken with fear, some echoing the teacher's plea.

But Li Mo didn't budge. Instead, he smirked, feigning ignorance. "Teacher, you're old enough not to believe in ghosts, right? I'm a staunch materialist. I don't buy into things science can't explain."

This playful jab was merely a distraction. Li Mo reached into his coat and retrieved a silver coin.

A coin imbued with anomalous rules: toss it, and the ghost will always pick it up.

With a flick, he launched the coin into the crowded room.

Li Mo was almost certain the teacher was the ghost. The voice matched what he'd heard earlier, and the teacher had been the one to open the door and insist on his entry.

Still, instincts weren't enough. He needed solid evidence.

If the teacher ignored the coin, it would align with normal behavior. After all, a coin—especially in these dire circumstances—held little value compared to food or water.

But the moment the coin hit the floor, the teacher's vacant eyes locked onto it. He moved stiffly, almost mechanically, into the crowd to retrieve it.

"Sir? Director?" one of the students called out, puzzled.

The teacher didn't respond. Like a puppet, he shuffled to the coin, bent down, and picked it up.

"Uh? What happened? Sorry, I must've spaced out. Student, come in! The broadcasting room is safe—we've been fine here for over ten days."

Li Mo's smirk vanished, replaced by an icy stare.

His hand rested on his waist, ready to draw his gun at any moment.

The coin remained intact—proof that entry was safe.

Ideally, Li Mo would've shot the teacher then and there. A single bullet would reveal the truth to everyone.

But the teacher—no, the director—seemed unaware of his own nature. If the ghost were merely masquerading, it would be hard to ensure a clean shot at this distance.

Moreover, the ghost had confined the survivors for a reason. Li Mo needed to save these future Valkyries.

"Fine, I'll come in," Li Mo declared.

Since the ghost opened the door, it wasn't his action. If others could enter safely, so could he.

Sure enough, as Li Mo entered, he didn't meet the grisly fate of others who had tried. The director quickly shut the door behind him.

Darkness enveloped the room.

The director approached Li Mo with feigned patience. "Student, what's your name? I don't think I've seen you before. Oh, by the way, there's a bathroom in here, but we're rationing water, so use it sparingly. Food is running low. You understand."

"There's a ghost in the school. Many have died! The broadcasting room is the only safe place!"

"When will headquarters send help..."

The director's incessant chatter was oddly normal. His demeanor was calm, his tone commanding yet mundane.

But Li Mo's sharp senses caught a faint stench of decay beneath the overpowering smell of pickled intestines—a scent only noticeable to someone well-acquainted with corpses.

Judging by the stench, the man had been dead for ten days.

"Before I answer, why don't you introduce yourself first?" Li Mo asked coolly.

The director seemed curious about Li Mo's aloofness but dismissed it.

"I'm the director of this academy, Aikiri Shawai. Pleased to meet you."

Li Mo stepped closer, extending his hand. "Return my coin."

Aikiri hesitated, then chuckled apologetically. "Ah, right. My bad. Here you go. But honestly, money won't buy us much now. Without headquarters' support, we'll all starve."

Li Mo turned to the huddled students, their pale faces and bloodshot eyes fixed on him.

"Do you all believe he's the director?"

"...Yes."

"...Yes."

"...Yes."

Without exception, they nodded.

Aikiri's irritation grew. Why was this boy so dismissive?

"This is St. Freya Academy," Li Mo began. "A place that trains Valkyries. There are only three roles here: students, teachers, and the headmistress. So where did this 'director' come from?"

The students froze, dawning realization on their faces.

Aikiri was stunned. "Wait! This is a misunderstanding!"

His protests only deepened the students' suspicion. They began edging away.

Enraged, Aikiri turned to Li Mo. "You—"

Before he could finish, a silver gun pressed against his forehead.

"Shh," Li Mo whispered with a mocking smile. "Don't rush. Let's take this one step at a time."

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