Rain woke up exhausted. The first thing he felt was the sunlight bleeding through the torn drapes that barely covered the window. The holes—most likely from students messing around—let streaks of gold cut across his face.
He blinked many times before his vision fully sharpened. Everything blurred together at first. Then slowly, the classroom came back into focus.
His desk was a mess. Drool covered his arm and pooled on the wood.
"Eugh. I really need to learn to sleep with my mouth closed," he thought, though he knew damn well it was impossible for him.
The room around him was big—probably fit forty, maybe forty-five students. He wouldn't know the exact number; he barely knew anyone here. As his eyes flicked around, he noticed a few people giggling, hands covering mouths, some outright laughing. It didn't take long to realize why. Not only had he drooled, but apparently, he'd been snoring again.
You'd think he'd stop sleeping in class after that, but honestly, he didn't care. Everyone gets embarrassed about something. Everyone cares what others think, at least a little. But Rain? He couldn't bring himself to. He could walk into school naked—not that he ever would—and he still wouldn't feel embarrassed.
Lost in that thought, a flat, almost distant voice broke through the air. His teacher.
"Class, it's a two-day weekend. I know you're tired—I am too. But you still need to study for the quiz on Monday."
A wave of groans filled the room.
Rain didn't join in. He just turned his head toward the window and shrugged. He wasn't going to study anyway. He never did. That's probably why he was failing every class miserably—except reading.
Ms. Sandy spoke again. Her voice had this dull, lifeless quality to it. Not exactly monotone, but close. No energy, no expression. Just words rolling out flat. Most teachers were too expressive—loud, animated, even rude sometimes. But Ms. Sandy was… plain. Boring. Her voice wasn't feminine, either. She had to be over sixty, and Rain figured that was probably why. Though, according to rumors, she'd always sounded that way. Thirty-five years teaching and not a single trace of life in her tone.
Rain always wished for a cool teacher. The kind you'd see in movies—young, sharp, effortlessly attractive. Not a tired sixty-year-old grandma with a voice that could put a rock to sleep.
Her words faded into white noise. Rain leaned forward again, resting his head on his arms. Maybe he could catch another nap, hopefully without snoring this time. He turned his head slightly, but seeing the person sitting close beside him made him uncomfortable. So he turned to the right instead.
He sat by the far-left window, the sunlight spilling directly across his desk.
As his eyes drifted half-shut again, the light dimmed slightly, and through the gaps in the drapes, he caught something. Faint. Blurry. But definitely there.
A single object falling.
He squinted, focusing. It was hard to tell exactly what it was, but with Rain's good vision, he could easily make out the shape—a book. It fell from the sky, landing somewhere at least a hundred meters away from the classroom.
He blinked, suddenly wide awake. From the second floor, he couldn't see exactly where it landed. But still… a book falling from the sky? His thoughts raced. How did it fall? Or—no… where did it fall from?
There weren't any tall buildings nearby. The only reasonable explanation was that it must've fallen out of an airplane.
His interest faded as quickly as it came. He'd just finished a book and was looking for something new, which was why it caught his attention at first. But knowing it probably fell from a plane—ripped, ruined, worthless—it didn't matter.
He sighed quietly and let his eyes close again. The sunlight felt warm against his face. Within moments he fell asleep
—
RING RING — a loud bell noise erupted in Rain's ears, jolting him awake.
Before falling asleep, he had been immensely tired. Yet now, after barely an hour of rest, he somehow felt even more exhausted than before.
As the school bell rang, signaling the end of the day, everyone except Rain shot out of their seats, grabbing their bags and purses in a blur before rushing through the classroom door.
Rain didn't follow. Instead, he got up slowly, slinging his bag over his shoulder in a calm, almost lazy motion. He just wanted to go home — to crash, to forget how tired he was. But a thought had been lodged in his mind ever since he woke up.
The book.
The one that fell out of the sky.
It was strange. When Rain was tired, he usually didn't care about anything. Yet now, he couldn't stop thinking about some broken book that might've fallen from an airplane? It didn't make sense. He wanted to go home, but his curiosity refused to let him.
While everyone else rushed out the front doors toward their buses and cars, Rain walked in the opposite direction — toward the back of the school. That's where the book had fallen.
Finding the right door was more annoying than he expected. After ten minutes of wandering, growing more irritated with each wrong turn, he finally found the exit that led outside. He pushed it open and sighed in relief.
A burst of cold wind rushed past his arm, prickling his skin.
"Cold… cold… very cold," he muttered.
He wore a plain black T-shirt and grey sweatpants. It was summer — he shouldn't have felt this cold. Then he realized: the wind hit harder behind the building. That explained it.
He stepped into the overgrown grass, scanning the area. Nothing. Just empty patches of green. Frustration built inside him. From his second-floor seat, he'd seen where the book dropped — but from up there, everything looked closer, clearer. Down here, everything blended together.
Should I just leave?
This isn't even worth it.
But his body didn't move. His soul, it felt like, wouldn't let him.
After what felt like hours — though it was barely twenty minutes — he finally saw it. Half-hidden under a rock, swallowed by tall, uncut grass.
Rain's eyes widened. He crouched, reached out, and picked up the book.
The moment his fingers touched it, his eyes snapped open.
"What… what the hell?"
The book was flawless. No dents, no scratches, no tears. It looked even cleaner than the ones locked behind glass at the library.
He tilted his head back, squinting at the sun burning above. A short laugh slipped out. The thought was ridiculous, but he still checked the sky for tall buildings. Did this thing drop from heaven? he wondered. Though, judging by its appearance, it didn't seem very divine.
The cover was made of black leather, yet the surface gleamed like metal—cold and reflective.
Rain studied it closer. Most books had titles, author names, summaries—something. But this one? Nothing. No markings, no words. Just an empty, pitch-black surface that somehow made it more… interesting.
It was so strange. So unnervingly perfect. Still, it looked readable enough.
He slid it into his bag, left the school grounds, and walked home.
The entire walk home, Rain fought the urge to pull the book from his bag and read as he walked. But with the traffic in the city, dying from being distracted by a book wasn't exactly on his list of goals. So he waited.
When he stepped inside his apartment, the smell hit him first—stale air mixed with leftover takeout and old clothes. A normal person would've immediately picked up the trash scattered around his small one-bedroom apartment. But Rain was too drained from school, Even tho he spent the entire day asleep.
His place was cheap. Cheap enough for a sixteen year old to afford on his own. It wasn't the nicest—one bedroom, one bathroom, and a "kitchen" barely deserving of the word. It didn't even have a stove or microwave, forcing him to live off greasy takeout nearly every day.
After eating, he rarely had the motivation to clean up. Even when he stood in the bathroom and faced himself in the mirror—unkept hair, faint facial stubble that needed shaving, light pimples dotting his skin—nothing about his reflection sparked any change. His looks weren't bad, but they weren't good enough to care about either.
As he entered his bedroom, Rain set his backpack on his desk, cluttered with his PC, monitor, and other accessories.
His bedroom wasn't trashed—not like the rest of the apartment. To Rain, keeping his room clean was essential. If his bedroom was a mess, he believed, then so would be his mind and soul. He spent most of his days there; being constantly surrounded by trash would only drive him insane.
He inhaled the faint scent of cleanliness and exhaled slowly. "Finally home." The week had been exhausting. Mondays through Fridays were school, and Tuesdays and Wednesdays he had work on top of that. It wasn't the activities themselves that wore him down—it was the people.
Large groups at school always made him uneasy, sometimes even sick. It had been that way since he was a child. He had hoped it would get easier as he got older. It hadn't.
His thoughts drifted back to the book. He hopped onto his bed, reached into his bag, and pulled it out. Laying back, he let himself focus entirely on it.
The book felt different now—not in how it looked, but in how it felt. Cold. Almost freezing.
Rain let go for a moment, confused. It was as if the book had been stored in a freezer. How could his bag make it feel like this? It made no sense.
But he was too absorbed to care. His fingers drifted back over the cover, and for a moment, he felt almost… trance-like, completely lost in it.
As he opened the book, a flash of blinding light exploded across his vision. It was so bright it staggered him, forcing his eyes shut.
He groaned, rubbing at them. It felt like tiny needles were stabbing straight through his pupils. In the blur of pain, he didn't even realize he'd let go of the book.
When he blinked his eyes open again, the book had fallen fully open.
A sudden tightness wrapped around his feet—cold, constricting—then began crawling upward.
His eyes went wide. Panic flooded his chest. He screamed. Tears leaked down from the lingering burn of light and fear as he stared down in disbelief.
The book was swallowing him whole.
"HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP!" he shouted, voice cracking. But the room stayed silent. He already knew no one would come.
The pull grew stronger. He grabbed the wooden frame of his bed, trying to fight it, but the force kept dragging him closer. When his hands slipped, he screamed again—"NOOOoOoOo!"—his voice breaking into desperation.
He clawed at his sheets, but his body was already shrinking, disappearing into the pages. The agony was indescribable. His skin burned, his bones twisted—it was pain beyond anything human.
In seconds, half his body was gone. Then his chest. Then his arms. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe—only feel the unbearable pull.
Ten seconds later, Rain was gone.
The book slammed shut.
Welcome… to The Unforgivable End.