Network TV Debut [3]
Kim Min-ae, freshly armed with her fortune reading, was left speechless. It was a situation that could easily have spiraled into a broadcast disaster — but PD Choi Ji-hoon was a clever man.
Actually, this is an opportunity!
He deliberately flashed a banner reading across the screen and put the broadcast on a brief hold, then had the cameraman follow Kim Min-ae back to the waiting room and film the whole thing. Kim Min-ae called her landlord on the spot, and within moments a shouting match was raging through her phone.
"I knew it was you! Park Cheong-su! Your own son! You'd better watch your mouth! I'm being filmed at a broadcasting station right now!"
Kim Min-ae was a sharp woman. She shrewdly leveraged her own situation to deploy the magic phrase that bends every injustice in her favor: the cameras are rolling. And on the other end of the line, the landlord's bluster promptly deflated.
"Come clean about everything right now, and if you cover my deposit plus compensation for emotional distress, I won't take it as far as criminal charges."
Caught between that exquisitely timed whip and carrot, the man on the phone finally capitulated. And every step of it — Kim Min-ae realizing something from Kim Do-sa's reading and calling her landlord, unmasking the source of the gaze that had tormented her, extracting her compensation — all of it went out live on air.
Meanwhile, PD Choi Ji-hoon pieced together what the assistant directors and Kim Min-ae had told him and relayed it to the studio.
"Ah — some shocking news, everyone. The truth behind Ms. Kim Min-ae's story — her claim of feeling someone's gaze watching her, at home and out in public alike — has come to light. According to what we've just been told, the owner of that gaze was the son of the landlord of the building Ms. Kim Min-ae lived in."
The son's name was Park Cheong-su. Still young, he had drifted in and out of the courts for violent offenses, only to receive a reduced sentence on grounds of diminished mental capacity from borderline intelligence. But old habits die hard, and this time he had begun stalking Kim Min-ae, a tenant in his parents' building.
"Because he lived with his parents, who managed the building full-time, he had access not only to the master keys of every unit but was also able to tamper with the security cameras."
In other words, the gaze Kim Min-ae had felt at home came from hidden cameras Park Cheong-su had planted after sneaking in with a master key — and the reason the security footage never showed anything was that he had manipulated the cameras in advance. When his parents belatedly learned all of this and still tried to hush it up, the pressure of a broadcasting network on their backs broke them, and they confessed everything.
"Ms. Kim Min-ae says she's truly grateful to Kim Do-sa. She'd like to meet him separately later to offer an honorarium—"
"Ahahaha, honestly, that sounds like the harder ask?"
The female co-host roared with laughter as she applauded.
"Alright! It ran long, but with that, the occult camp's presentation is over — and it's time for the science camp's remarks!"
Host Yoo Jun-seok declared it, but...
"What is there left to even say at this point..."
"They've already finished everything over there..."
"Aying, what is this! Soda didn't get a single word in!"
"...A total rout for us. We never even got to the debate — we died to a first-turn kill."
Professor Park Do-jun shook his head slowly.
"Ahh, well, under the circumstances, I imagine it's hard for you to say much! So then — the science camp is unable to present a defense! Occult versus science! The second vote begins now!"
Beeeep beep beep—!
The second vote began. The result was exactly what everyone expected.
"Oh my! The science camp's overwhelming 95-to-5 lead from round one has been clawed back to 85-to-15!"
Watching the results, Park Do-jun clicked his tongue.
Tsk. Still, they've laid the scripting on far too thick.
He was convinced this entire sequence was, of course, a planted script. He shot a subtle frown at PD Choi Ji-hoon — and the PD responded with an awkward, hollow laugh.
You think I wrote this script?
He would stake his career on it: if he had scripted it himself, it would never have come out this absurdly convenient.
Kim Do-sa... who the hell is that man?
The stories kept coming after that. Storyteller number two, Hwang Myung-ho.
"I-I visited an abandoned house recently, and ever since then I can't sleep at night. And even in places with nobody around, I hear this faint woman's voice..."
"Nothing attached to you. You can't sleep? You're wearing an LCK fan shirt, aren't you? There was an overseas away match recently that I couldn't watch. Did you watch it? You watched all of it? Impressive fandom. Day and night must've been a nightmare to juggle. What's that? You skipped sleep entirely for work? For three days straight? Hey, moron — that's not the abandoned house keeping you up! A woman's voice? That's tinnitus from three days without sleep! Go home and sleep, now!"
Storyteller number three, Kim Seong-woo.
"I played hide-and-seek alone, just to kill some time. Nothing actually happened, but ever since then, every time I check the clock it's 44 minutes..."
"How many times a day do you check the clock?"
"I'm sensitive about time, so fairly often..."
"And how often is 'fairly often'?"
"Maybe a hundred times...?"
"You used to glance and move on. The one time it landed on 44 minutes, it creeped you out, so that's the only memory that stuck. Nothing attached to you. Next."
Storyteller number four, Kang Deok-hoon.
"I went to an abandoned house experience and picked up a strange doll, and ever since I brought it home, when I turn off the light to sleep I can see something moving in the dark..."
"Nothing attached to you, and that's just the bugs hiding in the doll coming out when the lights go off. Call an exterminator before you catch something. Next."
Storyteller number five, Han Mi-ji.
"Ugh. Damn it! Why is everyone so obsessed with going to abandoned house experiences!?"
"I'm a fan of Kim Do-sa, so I watched his abandoned house collab and wanted to try it myself, so I begged my friends..."
"Oh, a fan of mine? Then that changes things. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing attached to you — you just saw something shocking, developed a bit of trauma, and your sleep's been restless. Still, if it bothers you, take this protective talisman I wrote and find some peace of mind."
"Wow! Thank you! I'll rewatch your latest video thirty times, I swear!"
"And don't go to abandoned house experiences anymore. It's dangerous."
"Yes, sir!"
Because the science camp's vote share was still toweringly high, the occult side kept opening each round — and Kim Do-sa's fact-bomb medley rolled on. The funny thing was that even after all that, the score had narrowed to 65-to-35. Kim Do-sa's advice was thoroughly practical, occult or not — but beyond that, his delivery was funny and disarmingly sincere, and it won the viewers over.
At the sight of it, Park Do-jun groaned.
This is bad...
Park Do-jun's specialty was crushing fraudulent psychics who shoehorned the paranormal into things that were nothing of the sort. Which meant that against an opponent like this, he had nothing to work with. Worse, Kim Do-sa was racking up the occult camp's points steadily even while dispensing plain common sense. Everyone else would chalk it up to Kim Do-sa simply being likable, but Park Do-jun saw it differently. In the pre-modern era, the greatest role of shamans and psychics was to persuade people through sheer gravitas. Wasn't there that old story? However much their children begged, parents who distrusted hospitals and refused their regular checkups would—
"There's an illness star in your fortune this year. Get that checkup, and soon."
—that one line, and suddenly they were dutifully showing up for every screening. Viewed through that lens, Kim Do-sa's behavior — regardless of the content of his advice — was authentically, textbook psychic. And on top of that...
The real-time viewer reaction was glowing, and the audience of thirty thousand had swollen to fifty. That was also why PD Choi Ji-hoon hadn't said a single word despite Kim Do-sa's solo act. But not everyone viewed Kim Do-sa favorably.
"Hey, tone it down a little, would you?"
Veteran entertainer Park In-seop jabbed a finger at Kim Do-sa and shouted.
"Seriously, what the hell! Kim Do-sa, you're just stealing all our lines! Planning to do the entire show yourself!?"
"Eeeek, Mr. Park In-seop is angry!"
"My, my, why is Mr. Park In-seop so upset?"
The two hosts tried to calm him down, but he apparently decided this was a golden chance to seize the broadcast's spotlight and only raised his voice further.
"I mean, you're the occult camp, aren't you? Kim Do-sa, was it? Why are you only giving practical advice? You're not a fortune-faking con man with no actual abilities, are you?"
At those words, Kim Han-soo — a genuine fraud of a shaman — flinched violently. But Kim Do-sa himself merely smirked, as if to say, so what?
"Laughing? What's so funny? Am I amusing to you?"
"Whether viewers choose to believe in science or the occult is their decision. I simply gave the practical advice that was within my power to give."
With that, Kim Do-sa turned the question back on him.
"Or is it that you'd rather watch me raise a fuss, Mr. Park In-seop — insisting that some random person with nothing to do with spirits is possessed by a ghost?"
"Fine. And if I would?"
"Then I'd have to oblige. Mr. Park In-seop."
"Wh-what?"
The moment Kim Yi-yeon narrowed his eyes and stared at him, Park In-seop's whole body jolted.
"It's attached to your back."
"Wh-what are you saying!?"
Saying that, Park In-seop whipped his head around anyway. At the sight, Kim Do-sa let out a dry chuckle.
"There you go. Even someone who doesn't believe gets scared half to death — so why on earth would I go frightening innocent storytellers?"
The viewer reaction was one chorus of praise, but if Kim Do-sa ran the show any harder than this, the optics would sour — so PD Choi Ji-hoon raised his instruction whiteboard.
[Kim Do-sa — please restrain yourself a little.]
Kim Yi-yeon nodded without objection. He was well aware he'd hogged far too much airtime. After that, he did his best to trim his commentary on the stories — but it was no use.
"Kim Do-sa, what do you think about this?"
"Kim Do-sa, what should I do?"
"Kim Do-sa...!"
The storytellers, having watched the earlier segment, had started turning to Kim Do-sa for his opinion instead. In the end, a good forty percent of the remaining broadcast was filled with Kim Do-sa anyway. But thanks to Park Do-jun, Vector, and Soda battling for every scrap of the other sixty, the final score when the twelfth story wrapped came out 55-to-45 — a science victory. That victory owed something to the science panel's efforts, but more to the many viewers who stood rock-firm with the science camp no matter what.
Honestly, of the people voting occult, only a small minority actually believe in this stuff.
Given how things went, he figured that setting aside the Paranormal Administration Bureau's incompetence, the world had little to fear from word of mystery and anomalies spreading. People don't believe what they can't see. No — to be precise, they don't even believe what they can see. People believe what they want to believe. And in the modern age of CG and AI, isn't it the perfect environment for cherry-picking only what you want to believe? To the general public, it would hardly matter whether it was real or not — no different from CG and AI.
Tch... still, a major corporation is running this, so there must be a profit angle somewhere... where should I invest?
He was mulling that over when the final story ended and host Yoo Jun-seok began his closing remarks.
"And that's it for Psychic Society — thank you to everyone who joined us! And now, the final vote you've all been waiting for: 55 to 45, victory for Team Science! Which means the occult camp will have to take their penalty. The penalty you'll be receiving is—"
The host's words stopped dead. Because a thirteenth storyteller, scheduled for no one's rundown, had appeared. And her appearance was anything but ordinary. A blood-red dress, flamboyant hair hanging down to completely hide her face, and bare feet. Worse, with every step she took, footprints stained dark red with blood stamped themselves into the floor.
The flustered host glanced at PD Choi Ji-hoon, mouthing what is this?
But the PD only shook his head — he knew nothing about it. Meanwhile, the woman in the red dress took her place at the storyteller's seat.
The woman's voice sounded grotesquely warped, as if someone had deliberately smeared it through an audio mixer.
"The thirteenth ghost story."
In a flat, level tone, the woman in the red dress began to unspool her tale.
"I killed myself in this broadcasting station last year. If my head had come off first when I jumped, I would have died all at once — but I was too frightened, so I thrashed in midair, and my legs tore away first. I jumped at night, when no one was around, so my legs were crushed, my pelvis and organs burst open, and I floundered in agony for three hours before I died. How could I have died faster?"
At that grotesque, unspeakable story, every face on the set went rigid. In the icy silence that spread across the studio, two voices sliced through it.
"Your head...! You must come off headfirst...! Next time, press your face against the ground like this! Like this! And jump! By the structure of the human body the weight then shifts naturally to your head, so if you drive your face straight into the pavement the cervicalvertebraeshatterandthenthevagusnerve—!"
"Slitthewrists slitthewrists slitthewrists lengthwise lengthwise lengthwise that'showyoudiequick diequick..."
Vector, the science YouTuber, and Soda of the Sisters had begun spewing grotesque words, noses bleeding, heads lolling.
"Wh-why are you two suddenly—!"
"Hiiiek!"
Park Do-jun and Park In-seop, fellow panelists on the same row, recoiled in horror at the monstrous scene. And then—
"Hiiiiiiek!"
One of the more timid cameramen, appalled by the spectacle, abandoned his camera and bolted for the edge of the set. And in that instant—
"HUUUURGH—!"
The fleeing cameraman began to vomit up his food. Vomiting was almost too mild a word; it was an eruption, violent and total. He retched and retched until there was nothing left but bile, and then, at last, bright red blood began to surge up his throat.
"Grab the camera! If you want to live, hurry!"
PD Choi Ji-hoon, having realized something, shouted, and the cameraman — still spitting blood — somehow hauled himself up and seized the camera. The instant he did, the fountain of vomit and blood stopped. Chest soaked crimson, the cameraman clutched the camera with a deathly pale face, breathing in ragged gasps.
Every single person on the set understood. Leave this seat, and you die. Naturally, Jinwoo of Thirteen — who had just hoisted himself out of his chair to make a run for it — caught on too.
Wh-what... what is happening right now...!?
A torrent of thoughts churned through Jinwoo's head. Mom! What is this? A real ghost? What do I do? Am I going to die? I don't want to die! Somebody help! Somebody—!
Not just Jinwoo — everyone on the set was thinking the same thing. And the result of that shared thought:
Slowly.
Side-glance.
As if under orders, every gaze on the set converged on a single man. The man whom Kim Han-soo and Shin Han-hee had already been staring at with desperate, pleading eyes.
"Aaargh..."
I scratched my head in irritation and heaved a sigh. It's never just once or twice — why does chaos break out everywhere I go? Did an accident star snag itself into my fortune this year? I'd love to read my own chart, but divining one's own fate is the great taboo of reverse divination.
"K-Kim Do-sa, what on earth is happening right now..."
"It is... an anomaly after all, isn't it?"
I nodded to Shin Han-hee and Kim Han-soo, who had murmured their questions. The sensation I'd felt when the cameraman left his seat and vomited blood was close to the feeling of the Corner Man stealing a face. Which meant this anomaly, too, was some species of ghost story.
What a colossal pain in the neck...
Unlike ordinary anomalies, ghost stories come bundled with a powerful buff called narrative coercion. In other words, a head-on contest of strength is a losing game. The problem was that, unlike with the Corner Man, I couldn't even begin to guess which story this was...
Focus. If it's a ghost story, it has to be following that story's own particular narrative. Pin down the narrative, and I'll know which ghost story this is.
I combed back through everything that had happened today — or rather, everything that had happened here on this set. Psychic Society. The occult camp and the science camp. The argument with Park In-seop. The conversations with the storytellers. And the woman in the red dress who had appeared out of nowhere.
"Ah...!"
In that instant, a single ghost story surfaced in my mind.