The Twelfth Floor Doesn't Exist on Weekdays

The night janitor was waiting for them under the flickering sign that read "Kensei Tower" in tired neon. He was a round man with a face that seemed to have forgotten how to frown, and he held a mop bucket like it was a holy relic. "You must be the exterminators," he said, his voice unnaturally cheerful for 2:00 AM. "Gojo-san called ahead. Said you'd be looking for something in the walls." Yuji Itadori smiled back, trying to match the man's energy. "Something like that. We're just checking the whole building—structural stuff." "Ah, right, right." The janitor fumbled with a massive keyring, finally selecting one that gleamed like it had never touched a lock. "Well, you'll be wanting to go everywhere except the twelfth floor." Megumi Fushiguro, who had been scanning the lobby's marble floor for any sign of cursed energy, went still. "Except?" "Oh, it doesn't exist on weekdays," the janitor said, as if explaining the building's recycling policy. "Been that way long as I've worked here. Twelve years now. Monday through Friday, you try to take the elevator to twelve, it just skips to thirteen. Stairs too—the door opens to a broom closet. But come Saturday morning, bam, there it is, full floor, conference rooms and all. Nobody ever uses it. Just sits there." Yuji exchanged a glance with Megumi. The sorcerer's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "That's... convenient," Yuji said slowly. The janitor chuckled. "You get used to it. This building's got a mind of its own. Never had a single workplace injury. No theft. No mice. The vending machines always have your favorite drink, even if you never told anyone what it was. It's like the building wants us all to be happy." "Happy," Megumi repeated, his voice flat. "Oh, yes. I love working here. My wife says I whistle all the way home." The janitor beamed. "Well, I'll leave you to it. The main breaker panel is in the basement. You need me, I'll be on the fourth floor waxing the break room. Don't go to twelve." He shuffled off, his mop bucket wheels squeaking in a rhythm that sounded almost like a lullaby. Once he was out of earshot, Yuji let out a low breath. "That was weird, right? That was definitely weird." "Everything about this is weird," Megumi said, already pulling a small paper talisman from his coat. "Gojo-sensei said the building has zero reported incidents. No deaths, no accidents, no sudden illnesses. In a tower with 2,000 workers, that's statistically impossible." "Unless something is keeping them happy." Yuji looked around the lobby. The floors were polished to a mirror shine. The potted ficus trees had leaves so green they looked painted. The air smelled like lemons and something faintly sweet, like incense after it had burned out. "The janitor said the twelfth floor doesn't exist on weekdays," Megumi said. "That's not architecture. That's a boundary condition. Some kind of spatial curse that only manifests on certain days. The question is why." "Maybe the curse feeds on happiness? If everyone's happy, it gets to eat the leftovers?" "Or maybe the happiness is the payment." Megumi's dark eyes swept the ceiling. "We need to see the twelfth floor. Tonight." Yuji grinned despite the creeping unease. "But the janitor said—" "The janitor said it doesn't exist on weekdays. He didn't say it can't be reached." Megumi started walking toward the elevator bank. "We'll take the stairs up to eleven and break through the ceiling if we have to. But first, let's see what the building is feeding." The elevator dinged open before they reached it. Empty. Carpet so clean it looked unused. Yuji stepped inside, and the doors slid shut behind them with a soft, satisfied hiss. The panel showed buttons for floors 1 through 20. No 12. Just a smooth, empty space where the button should have been, like the floor had been erased. "Press 13," Megumi said. Yuji did. The elevator whirred to life. They passed floor 2, 3, 4—all silent. At 11, the car slowed, but didn't stop. It kept going, past 12 (the display showed a flicker of static, then nothing), and opened on 13. The hallway was identical to the lobby downstairs. Same marble, same plants, same clean air. But at the end of the hall, a single door was slightly ajar. Light spilled out, not fluorescent white, but a warm amber, like a fire in a hearth. And from beyond that door came the sound of a woman humming. Yuji's skin pricked. "Is that...?" "The janitor said nobody uses the twelfth floor," Megumi whispered. "But we're on thirteen. That door doesn't belong here." "Should we go in?" "We have to." Megumi's shadows stretched, and a shadowy wolf materialized at his side. "Stay close. And don't accept anything if it offers." The humming grew louder, sweeter, as they approached the door. Behind it, something waited. Something that had been keeping the lights on for twelve years.