Kaidan Newspaper.
As the name suggests, this thing was clearly created by the Kaidan Club, a student organization, and circulated within Yoruyama High School.
Just like that hideous, aesthetically bankrupt recruitment poster, this newspaper was incredibly crude—seemingly made by folding together sheets of drawing paper. All its contents were hand-drawn, with no traces of printing, making one wonder just how many copies the Kaidan Club could have churned out per day back when it was still active.
But that wasn't what Takakai and the others were concerned about right now.
Unlatching the glass display case on the bulletin board, they took out the slightly tattered newspaper.
Takakai unfolded the flimsy paper, revealing its handwritten pages clearly. Among the scribbled text was an abstract illustration—barely recognizable as a female high school student with what appeared to be intestines dragging behind her.
What this newspaper recorded seemed to be the footsteps they had just heard in the stairwell—the so-called "Staircase Woman" urban legend.
[Kaidan Newspaper · Issue ■■]
[Editor: Edoya Kenichi]
[New Original Kaidan This Issue: "Staircase Woman"]
"Welcome to this issue's Kaidan Newspaper! This time, we've included a brand-new original urban legend—the 'Staircase Woman.'"
"Though the name might sound a bit plain, the concept is actually quite clever! This kaidan is set primarily in the 'school stairwell,' making it deeply connected to our daily lives—exactly the kind of 'closest-to-reality horror' our Kaidan Club strives for!"
"The legend itself is simple. It focuses on the small, unnoticed details of our lives. So before we begin, let me ask you this: when you walk through a narrow, enclosed stairwell, when you ascend or descend step by step under dim lighting… have you ever considered that something else might be there with you, hiding just out of sight?"
"The answer to that question varies from person to person, but one thing is certain—the fear of dark, enclosed spaces is hardwired into our DNA. Ever since our primitive ancestors, environments like these—where venomous snakes or beasts might lurk—have instinctively triggered dread. This is especially true for tall buildings with five or six floors or more, where elevators are the primary means of transit, leaving the stairwells abandoned and sealed off."
"Some of these stairwells don't even have windows, making them truly lightless. So when you step inside, breathing in the stale dust, forced to navigate in total darkness without a single light source… the pressure must be overwhelming, right?"
"The 'Staircase Woman' is born from that suffocating dread. Personally, I don't think the origin story matters much—it strips away the inhuman essence of the kaidan—so I'll save it for last. What's important is how the legend manifests. As I mentioned earlier, the 'Staircase Woman' is that 'other person' who appears in the stairwell with you… unnoticed at first."
"Once you enter, you'll hear her footsteps—almost perfectly synchronized with yours."
"No matter whether you go up or down, she'll draw closer. You'll hear her steps quicken, the distance between you shrinking bit by bit."
"Maybe you'll try to run. Maybe you'll try to shake her off."
"But as long as you remain in that stairwell—that cramped, claustrophobic space where the only options are up or down—you'll hear her getting nearer… and nearer… until her breath brushes against your skin, until her hand finally grabs you."
"Those caught by her vanish without a trace, just like the 'kamikakushi' of old—no one will ever know if they're alive or dead."
"So when you hear those approaching footsteps, when you sense her closing in… your only escape is to flee the stairwell entirely. Get out of the area where you encountered her."
"This ties into one of the core principles of kaidan: localization. A legend that works everywhere is boring—it's just a cheap, overpowered monster with no substance. True horror lies in intricate rules and mechanisms. Only these can separate kaidan from mere monsters, stripping away their human-like qualities to evoke a terror no living being could replicate."
"Would you want to face such a kaidan?"
"Haha, of course not. After all, kaidan don't exist. They're nothing but fabrications, manifestations of human imagination. And what our Kaidan Club seeks isn't to witness real urban legends—it's to explore the power of that imagination, nothing more."
"That's right. Kaidan aren't real. They don't exist in this world. So the 'Staircase Woman' isn't real… right?"
"Now then, let's move on to the origin story of this newly recorded kaidan…"
The rest was missing.
The newspaper was incomplete—half of it had been torn away. Exactly the half containing the "Staircase Woman's" origin story—the very core of the legend.
Edoya Kenichi, huh?
This was the first name Takakai had obtained after an entire day of searching in this dungeon.
Judging by the byline, this person was the editor of the Kaidan Newspaper, meaning they were likely a member of the Kaidan Club. No—given that their name appeared on the front page, they were probably a core member, maybe even the club president or vice-president.
I wonder if we'll be able to track this student down tomorrow.
At the very least, this gave them a new lead. The real question was… if he shared this name with the others, would they even be able to hear and comprehend it?
And another thing—this thing was torn way too conveniently. Was it really just a coincidence, or had someone deliberately ripped it at this exact spot?
Right at the origin story? Who the hell taught you to cliffhanger like this?!
Takakai could only grumble internally.
Still, the problem wasn't unsolvable. After all, he had a teammate with literal x-ray vision right beside him.
"You've already seen it, haven't you? The origin story of the [Staircase Woman]?"
Takakai turned to Miko, who had been reading the newspaper with him.
"Yes, I have."
Miko nodded slightly, her expression carrying a faint trace of lingering unease.
Good. The fact that I can hear her means we're still on the same level of information comprehension. No discrepancies yet.
"U-um… the s-second floor's clear. N-no anomalies detected."
Gotou Hitori raised her hand timidly, struggling for a moment before forcing the words out.
Since the operation began, despite her usual skittishness, she had been surprisingly efficient—scouting ahead, maintaining vigilance, using her Obsession Artifact to inspect every possible danger zone. In terms of reliability, this version of Bocchi had completely shattered Takakai's expectations based on her original depiction.
Well, at least when she's not talking. The moment communication is needed, she reverts to being a trembling mess.
That she could string together a coherent sentence with only one or two stutters was already a massive improvement.
If any other Crimson moon-grade player had her level of skill and equipment, they would've taken full command of the team by now, never letting Bocchi linger in a support role, quietly following Takakai's lead.
"Good work. Then let's see what the second floor has in store for us."
As he spoke, Takakai glanced down at the ID magnetic card from Fujika Academy tucked in his pocket, his brow furrowing slightly.
Since entering Yoruyama High School, he hadn't found a single place where the card could be used.
No matter how much this place resembled a school on the surface, its true nature as a research facility shouldn't have changed. In the original Yoruyama High, the research institute was located beyond the underground 10th floor of the school building. Yet after a full day of searching, they hadn't found a single clue.
Fujika Academy and Shirasawa Elementary both had obvious leads tied to the institute. Why is this dungeon so much more cryptic?
Perhaps it was because Yoruyama High was the only facility that remained operational post-war. It had continued running for a long time even after the Takamagahara researchers vanished, meaning it had functioned without direct oversight. That might explain why anything tied to the researchers was buried deeper here.
Hell, back in Fujika Academy, Kita could just waltz in whenever. But now that I'm here, she's nowhere to be seen. That's… suspicious.
As they moved down the hallway, Takakai's thoughts were interrupted by something else.
Unseen by the trio, on the opposite side of the second-floor corridor, a classroom door silently creaked open.
[■■■■■■…]
Amidst faint, distorted laughter, something stepped out from the classroom.
Something peered through the doorway—chattering, clamoring, yet utterly soundless.
At the same time, the clock on the hallway wall—its hands still moving just moments ago—froze in place.
As if time itself had stopped.