Tetsu first learned about the “nap room” on a humid afternoon in May.
Overwhelmed by lectures and assignments, he had begun dozing off in a quiet corner of the university library when Yoshida, a classmate from his seminar, whispered the secret to him.
“Room 305 in Building D—nobody uses it anymore. No desks, blackout curtains… Perfect for a nap. It’s kind of a hidden gem.”
Tetsu never imagined such a secret spot existed on campus. Curiosity and sleepiness got the better of him, and that very afternoon, he headed for the room.
He passed through an empty hallway and opened the door.
Inside was a space that looked as though it had been prepared for sleeping.
Mats were laid on the floor, and old curtains blocked the western sun. There was no air conditioning—only silence.
His first nap there was shockingly deep.
The moment he closed his eyes, Tetsu began to dream.
He stood in a vast hall, with about ten people scattered around him. None of the faces were familiar, yet each one felt strangely nostalgic.
But the strange part was this: just before he woke, one person would vanish.
They would simply melt away from the space, disappearing without a trace. And nobody else seemed to notice.
The next day, and the day after that, Tetsu returned to Room 305, took a nap, and saw the same dream. The same people were there, but each time, one more disappeared.
Then something changed.
The people who vanished in his dreams also began disappearing in reality.
Names reported on the news. Faces printed on missing-person posters—each matched someone he had seen in his dream.
A chill crawled down Tetsu’s spine.
Coincidence? A trick of the mind? But as it happened again and again, that explanation crumbled.
Finally, only Tetsu and a black shadow remained in the dream.
The shadow’s outline was blurry, and it had no face. It simply stood there, staring at him.
When he woke, his body was icy cold. The clock showed he had slept for two hours, but his senses told him he had spent far more time inside the dream.
“…Something’s wrong with this place.”
Tetsu tried to distance himself from Room 305. But his legs were heavy, and a strange fatigue clung to the core of his body.
That night, he searched through the university’s records.
Years ago, there had been a suicide attempt in Room 305. The student had suffered from overwork, insomnia, and mental strain—and had taken daily naps there.
In his notebook, the student had written one haunting line:
“Each time I dream, I feel myself fading.”
Something solidified in Tetsu’s mind.
—The dream is the dismantling of the self.
Are people’s memories and imaginations linking during sleep?
Or is the room itself feeding on something?
The next day, Tetsu avoided Room 305.
Instead, he quietly posted a note on the campus bulletin board:
“Be cautious when napping in Room 305 of Building D.
If a ‘nameless shadow’ appears in your dream, do not fall asleep again.”
For several days, students walked past without noticing.
Then one day, someone had written beneath his warning:
“…It’s already too late.”
He had no idea who wrote it.
And then Tetsu realized something.
In the final dream, the shadow had begun to resemble him.
Little by little.
He no longer knew which world he was in.
Was this the dream?
Or was this reality?
Who decided such things?
Outside the window, the campus was washed in the same white daylight as always.
And yet, for some reason, Tetsu’s feet were carrying him back toward Room 305.
