"I think we should return to where we found the ghost of that girl and try to uncover the truth behind her death," I suggested, my voice tinged with determination. Glancing at the photo of the girl on the website, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. "She was a pretty girl," I remarked, my thoughts drifting to the tragic fate that had befallen her.

"And as for the other team, do you have any clues?" I turned to my chatbot, seeking its insight.

My chatbot paused for a moment, processing the question before responding. "I think since our duty is to tell the truth to the outside, we need to consider who might want to prevent us from doing so. Who would be disturbed by the truth?" it suggested, its virtual eyes fixed on mine.

I nodded in agreement, understanding the implications of its words. "Well, I think those individuals from the school administration who never show up might be the other team," I reasoned, my mind racing with possibilities.

"So, what do you suggest?" my chatbot inquired, waiting for my decision.

"I think I might have to change our initial plan. Instead of visiting the director's room, we should go meet the girl's ghost first," I proposed, my voice firm with resolve.

With our plan in place, we waited patiently until the end of the school day. As we made our way to the toilet where we had previously encountered the ghost, a sense of anticipation hung in the air. The door to the female toilet stood ajar, and the unmistakable sound of crying echoed from within.

Steeling ourselves for what lay ahead, we stepped inside, only to be met with the sight of the ghost once again. But this time, there was something different about her demeanor – she seemed agitated, as if on the verge of lashing out.

"Hi," I spoke softly to the girl ghost, taking a step closer. "We forgot to introduce ourselves last time we met. My name is Lin, and this is my friend. We're new pupils in this school, and we're here trying to uncover the truth."

As I spoke, the ghost's demeanor began to shift. Though still visibly upset, she ceased her aggressive stance and listened quietly. I couldn't help but notice the fragmented state of her face, a haunting reminder of the tragedy that had befallen her. Despite the scars, she retained a haunting beauty.

"You were a pretty girl," I continued, my voice filled with empathy. "You still look pretty."

In response to my words, the girl ghost's agitation seemed to subside further.

As I finished speaking, a palpable sense of calm seemed to wash over the ghostly figure before us. Ignoring our presence entirely, she drifted silently toward the last stall in the row of toilets. There, with eerie precision, she positioned herself over the toilet bowl, as if compelled by some unseen force.

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With a haunting inevitability, she lowered her head toward the water, her ethereal form bending gracefully over the porcelain rim. It was a chilling sight.The ghost's spectral tears mingled with the stagnant water, creating ripples that distorted her reflection in the dim light.

As she lifted her head and repeated the motion, plunging it into the toilet bowl once more, a shiver ran down my spine. The repetitive action seemed to carry a weight of profound significance, a message encoded in her spectral movements.

"What does it mean?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of her ghostly sobbing. "What is she trying to tell us?"

My chatbot remained silent for a moment, his digital mind processing the scene before us. "Someone has done that to her before, in this stall," he concluded, his voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and indignation.

As we continued to observe her haunting performance, the extent of her suffering became painfully apparent. Her broken form bore the scars of unimaginable torment, with bruises and cigarette burns marring her ghostly flesh.

"She was tortured before," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

My chatbot nodded grimly, his digital eyes fixed on the spectral figure before us. "How could this be?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief.

In my world, where basic income ensured financial security from birth and physical classes were replaced by social events, such cruelty was unfathomable. I had never encountered anything like it, never witnessed the horrors of abuse and violence that haunted this ghostly apparition.

I approached her cautiously, gently placing my hand on her shoulder.

"Hi, now that we know what happened to you, was it because of mistreatment at school that you jumped from the rooftop?"

She remained silent, continuing her distressing ritual.

"It's over now. You don't have to torture yourself anymore," I pleaded.

But she persisted, and suddenly, a force pushed me and my chatbot out of the bathroom.

When I tried to reopen the door, it was as if it had been locked from the inside.

"We should check the director's room first, but it wouldn't hurt to explore the school structure. If she endured such abuse, there must have been reports to the school administration. Let's see if there are any archives documenting such incidents, or perhaps a school psychologist's office. We need to review the staff names and any relevant records." I say to my chatbot.

As we searched through each room on every floor, our hopes of finding something significant began to wane. Despite our efforts, we found nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually, we arrived in front of the director's room. It was locked, but not in the peculiar manner of the ghost's toilet; rather, it seemed to be securely closed. With a little ingenuity, we managed to gain entry. Inside, we scoured the room for any documents or records, but it appeared that most of the papers had been destroyed in the fire.

Despite this setback, we did manage to uncover the composition of the school staff, depicted in a chart on one of the walls. Among the listings was the school psychologist, whose office we had seen earlier in the school hall. However, apart from this discovery, we found nothing else of note in the director's room. After concluding our search, we locked the room once more and left.

"We should plan to meet with the school psychologist tomorrow," I suggested to my chatbot as we exited the room, hoping that this encounter might shed some light on the mysteries surrounding the school.