Network TV Debut [5]
Wang Lingguan, transformed by the Cheongangsu Transformation Art, took my place on the panel seat.
"Make sure I don't get caught. I'm counting on you."
"Yes, yes!"
"To disguise a divine familiar like this... what an ingenious art..."
"Classic Kim Do-sa, huh? Whip out every kind of sorcery known to man."
"Though the way he talks is, um..."
I left Wang Lingguan's backup in the hands of Kim Han-su and Shin Han-hee, hunched low, and slipped out behind the set.
"...Good. No problems there."
The stand-in had worked — no backlash from the Narrative Coercion. I checked the Cheonijeonseong Art I'd planted in advance, before ever leaving the set.
"Ugh, uck... l-let me spe— ahem! That was our fourteenth story! Anyone object to this one being counted as a ghost story as well?"
"Th-that's not even a ghost story, it's just a cheap jump scare!"
"Exactly! It doesn't even have a story structure — it's a vulgar, cheap-shot boo scare!!"
"Th-that's right!"
All three of them were doing well. That said — why on earth did Wang Lingguan talk like that?
He sounded like someone who'd learned human speech from YouTube and livestream chat.
But whatever — he hadn't been caught, so it was OK.
"The occult faction has filed an objection...! But by a vote of seventy to thirty, the story has been recognized as a ghost tale!"
"That makes fourteen."
WHAM!
Still, as long as the viewers' fear was the standard of judgment, simply driving off ghost stories was clearly not going to be enough.
"In other words, it's a countdown."
Without pause, I traced the footsteps of the red-dress woman and the long-necked man through resonance divination.
"There."
Following the route the divination revealed, I sprinted through the broadcasting station at full power. My Do-ryeok-reinforced legs — a hundred meters in six seconds — were awfully convenient at moments like this.
It was night, so the station was deserted as I tore through it at sixty kilometers an hour — and then I noticed something strange.
"The path is blocked? But this is the exact route I took from the waiting room to the set."
No — it wasn't just this one path. Every time I tried another route, for some reason all of them curved off and connected somewhere completely wrong.
"Did I misremember the way?... No. No, I didn't."
Yes, broadcasting stations are deliberately built labyrinthine so they can't be seized in a war or a terror attack — but this went far beyond that.
Because the very corridor I'd come down was now blocked behind me too.
"The station itself is alive — and it keeps rearranging the paths."
Team Leader Kang In-hyuk of the Paranormal Administration Bureau had once said that powerful anomalies bring derivative anomalies trailing in their wake. A broadcasting station turned living maze was most likely one of them — spawned by the Baekmuleo.
Unfortunately for it, though, it had picked the wrong opponent.
Whoosh!
Thock.
The Jincheon Talisman I hurled with an environment-conversion art slapped flat against the wall. And then—
"Detonate."
KKWAAAAA-BOOOM!
"Sticking to the marked paths is boring. Paths are something you carve for yourself!"
At that, as if intending to lodge a formal protest against my foul play, the building began moving in earnest.
Wobble.
The corridor undulated like jelly, sagging and twisting to bar my way. But the living station didn't know one thing about me.
Two things, actually: that my favorite time-killer, my bread-and-butter routine, was churning out talismans in bulk — and that half of the Post-it talisman stash I'd brought along would be more than enough to bring the MBB station crashing down.
"Send the repair bill to the Paranormal Administration Bureau later!"
BANG-BANG-BANG!
I blew through the blocking walls with Jincheon Talismans, blasting my own road open by force.
A corridor writhing and sagging to block me? Jincheon Talisman — BANG!
A ceiling suddenly dropping onto my head? Jincheon Talisman — BANG!
Rooms squeezing in from both sides to crush me flat? Jincheon Talisman ×10 — BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!
And then, in the middle of burrowing forward like that—
KKWAAAAA-BOOOM!
"Hm?"
On the other side of the wall I'd just smashed through stood a squad of police officers.
"Wh-what the—!?"
"An explosion!?"
"Is this a terror attack on the station!?"
The officers flinched back in shock and leveled their guns at me.
"Excuse me — are you people seriously allowed to point those at a private citizen?"
Learning sorcery had let me do plenty of inhuman things, but I was still human at the end of the day, and having a gun muzzle an arm's length from my face was thoroughly unpleasant.
"...Who are you, exactly?"
"You're the police. Shouldn't you be identifying yourselves first?"
"...I'm Sergeant Jang Geon-woo, assigned to the precinct station nearby."
Sergeant Jang Geon-woo held up his police notebook as he spoke.
"Now that I've introduced myself, I'll ask again. Who are you? And what was that explosive that just blew a hole through the wall? Also... are you connected to the fact that we've been wandering this station in circles for God knows how long?"
So I wasn't the only one the living station had been stringing along. In that case—
"I'm Kim Ji-woo, Team 2 of the Paranormal Administration Bureau."
"Paranormal... Administration Bureau?"
Sergeant Jang tilted his head, puzzled. Well, of course — a rank-and-file sergeant would have no reason to know the Bureau existed.
But this was exactly the kind of moment where you leaned on momentum.
"We're the agency with exclusive jurisdiction over precisely the kind of anomalies you've just experienced. And be advised — I'm only telling you this because the situation is urgent, but disclosing the Bureau's existence to outsiders carries severe consequences for a public servant's career."
"What kind of... I've never once heard of any 'Paranormal Administration Bureau'—"
"Take the details up with your superiors. So — what brings you all here?"
I packed Do-ryeok into the question and pressed hard, leaving no room for him to change the subject.
"Yes, well... this."
What Sergeant Jang showed me was a social media account going by the name TOY8.
I was betrayed in the cruelest way. I wanted to seize one last chance, even if it meant giving everything — body and soul — but it all turned to nothing... I no longer have the strength to go on living. I mean to end it all at the station where I chased my dream.
I know many people will suffer because of my selfish choice. But please, think of this as the last stubbornness of my life, and forgive me...
It was, in effect, a digital suicide note.
"Who owns this account?"
"A young woman named Shimamoto Kanna."
"Japanese?"
"Yes. She came to Korea as an idol trainee — reportedly a member of a group called Fall U."
"Fall U? Never heard of them."
"I'd be surprised if you had."
Sergeant Jang smiled a wry, self-deprecating smile, clearly well-versed in the idol scene, and explained.
"Dozens of idol groups debut every year and fold, over and over. The shiny, glittering idols we actually recognize are a vanishingly small minority..."
"And this Shimamoto Kanna — did you find her?"
"Not yet."
"Understood. Don't move a step from this spot until I say otherwise."
"But—"
"If you'd rather not die, you'll listen to me. If your superiors raise a stink, tell them a Paranormal Administration Bureau agent ordered you to wait."
A few shifting corridors were one thing, but if a ceiling came down, a civilian would die instantly.
While I was at it, I plucked petals from a potted plant in a nearby waiting room and scattered them around the officers.
It wasn't a proper Kaji-gido — a fully completed rite — but better than nothing.
"Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha. Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha. Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha."
With the Ksitigarbha Ten Wheels Mudra, I raised a provisional barrier.
"What in the—!?"
The petals swirled in a way no flower ever could by natural law, circling the officers in a perfect ring. Sergeant Jang and the rest of them went pale with confusion.
"Understood? Not one of you steps outside this circle!"
"Hold on — at least explain why it's dangerous—!"
The moment I turned and sprinted off, the ceiling overhead came crashing down to crush me.
Fwoosh — KKWAAAAA-BOOOM!
The Jincheon Talisman pulverized the falling slab.
"Do you need any further explanation?"
I asked, brushing the stone dust from my shoulders.
"...N-no. No, it's dangerous. Understood."
"Good, quick on the uptake."
Leaving the officers to their circle, I ran back toward the waiting rooms.
The Baekmuleo currently in progress was a Japanese ghost story. And on this very day, at this very hour, a Japanese idol trainee had announced she would kill herself in this very station.
Coincidence? Not a chance — there had to be a connection.
I swept quickly through Shimamoto Kanna's TOY8 feed.
"So there was a connection... but who in the world is this 'Mr. H'?"
It was only a suspicion still, but it looked as though this "Mr. H" was deeply entangled in Shimamoto Kanna's suicide.
By then I had reached the waiting room where the red-dress woman and the long-necked man had come and gone.
"Ha...!"
The moment I opened the door, dozens of souls — no, dozens of earthbound spirits — rose to greet me.
Every one of them was grotesquely disfigured, their eyes burning with resentment, hatred, and grievance.
"How the hell did this many people die in one broadcasting station?"
From handsome celebrities to a cameraman who hadn't managed a shave, every human archetype that ever worked in television had gathered here. And judging by their attire, they spanned from people who'd died recently to people dead for half a century.
Presumably these were the vengeful spirits of everyone who had died in the station, or died on the job here. Then again, the television business ran darker than outsiders ever imagined — and MBB, the oldest broadcaster in the country, would be the worst of the lot. God only knew how many untold stories and buried grievances they carried.
"I understand the resentment, believe me — but I have circumstances of my own here..."
Whoosh!
I scattered the petals left over after setting the officers' barrier — and by now, they had finished their Kaji-gido.
"Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha. Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha. Om Bara Mani Dani Svaha."
The drifting petals turned to light and wrapped themselves around the restless dead. They soothed the spirits' grief and injustice, and guided those trapped inside the maze of the broadcasting station toward the way out.
"With one heart and one mind, I bow my head and offer my life in homage — it is far too late a night for overtime. Go home now, and rest."
It was the moment the earthbound spirits, bound to the station for so long, were finally set free.
"Whew...!"
With that, the storytellers meant to fill out the hundred tales were gone.
Stepping out of the waiting room, I found the corridors no longer writhed, and no ceilings came dropping down. The living station, it seemed, had been an anomaly born of the gathered earthbound spirits of everyone who had died there.
"Ah... though I guess the walls and ceilings I smashed are still smashed..."
Hmm. That part the Paranormal Administration Bureau can sort out itself.
Wait — surely these people aren't going to give me grief over this, are they? That old hag Baek Gong-ju didn't strike me as quite that inflexible...
Musing on that, I pulled out my phone to check on the set.
"Ugh, please... th-the vote stands sixty-five to thirty-five, and this one too has been recognized as a ghost story!"
"That's twenty-one."
WHACK!
"AAAAAAAAGH!"
"Damn it...!"
Another burst of blood-violet light, and Jin-woo and Professor Park Do-jun were screaming. Naturally, every eye in the studio swung toward the set's entrance, where the ghosts walked in — terrified eyes waiting to see what fresh horror would shamble in this time.
But minutes passed, and no new ghost came.
Well, of course not. I had just sent every remaining earthbound spirit scheduled to take the storyteller's seat off to their rest.
"...Why isn't the next ghost appearing?"
"I-I have no idea...?"
"Hot take: if you trust Kim Do-sa, he's got this in the bag."
A silence fell over the set — the kind no words could explain.
Then Park In-seop, wedged between the unhinged Vector and Soda with his forehead pressed against the panel seat, lifted his head just enough to speak.
"Is it... over?"
"...So this is how it's going to be."
Having sent off all the earthbound spirits who were supposed to tell the tales, the anomaly was now forcibly dragging the viewers' own stories into the count.
"Damn it!"
I bolted straight back for the set. Since I'd already exorcised the living-station anomaly, the return trip was quick.
"Wh-what the—!?"
"K-Kim Do-sa was just— he vanished!?"
The instant I arrived, Wang Lingguan vanished on perfect cue. People panicked — but there was no time to worry about that.
Vuuuuuum.
A ringing flooded my ears, and a line of blood trickled from my nose.
"Hah! A measly little thing like—"
I countered the spiritual shock of violating the Narrative Coercion with Do-ryeok, wiped away the thin stream of blood, and took stock of the situation.
Clear away the earthbound spirits meant to resolve the ghost stories, and the anomaly simply dredges up the viewers' stories and drags the count forward by force. And unlike the spirits, who had to walk all the way to the set to recite their tales, the chat could spew out ghost stories at an absolutely monstrous pace.
Nine stories had passed while I walked to the spirits' waiting room — and thirty more passed in the time it took me to walk back.
At this rate, I'd dug my own grave with my own two hands.
"Kim Do-sa... has something gone wrong?"
"Yes. I thought that once I sent the spirits resolving the tales to their rest, the anomaly would resolve itself — I never imagined it would continue like this..."
"Is there... is there anything we can do?"
"...Not yet."
At those words, I could feel it — not just Shin Han-hee and Kim Han-su, but the entire set, and every viewer beyond the screen, sinking into despair. It felt a little obscene to be thinking this in a situation like this, but the thought that I had disappointed my viewers made my teeth grind.
In my short career as a broadcaster, I had never once — not once — let my viewers down.
'One month in, and I'm already thinking like a streamer...'
Crack!
'Focus. There has to be a way...!'
The Narrative Coercion wore a grand name, but its essence was, in the end, a contract. And a contract means: whatever you gain, you also lose. That law applied just as surely to the ghost stories' coercion — the greater the correction and compulsion, the more fatal the flaw they carried with them.
'There has to be... there has to be another flaw in the Baekmuleo...!'
What do we do...!
It's so scary, the person watching with me is literally sobbing...!
Kim Do-sa, please, save us...!
Between the endlessly climbing ghost stories, the cries of ordinary viewers echoed. Amid anomalies no one could defy, screams poured in by the dozens every second.
And then—
"Huh?"
Something... something was off.
What was it? What, exactly, had struck me as strange? I interrogated myself back and forth, desperately hunting for the source of the wrongness.
And then—
"No way..."
I scrolled rapidly upward through the endless torrent of chat from fifty thousand viewers, scrutinizing it — and I understood.
The chat had been off from the very beginning of the broadcast.
I hurried over to Director Choi Ji-hoon.
"You still have the cue sheet for this broadcast, don't you."
"Uh, yes...! Here it is—"
Veteran broadcast instincts hadn't been acquired for nothing; PD Choi Ji-hoon handed it over without a beat of delay.
I checked the cue sheet he'd passed me. And sure enough — there it was, in print.
"Now it all makes sense."
"K-Kim Do-sa?"
"Kim Do-sa, did you figure something out!?"
"Please — do something, anything...!"
Shin Han-hee and Kim Han-su cried out with voices full of hope, and Jin-woo with one full of desperate pleading.
And for only the second time in my life, I spoke the words that follow.
"Th-then does that mean...?"
"There's... another one?"
"Yes. To be precise — two ghost stories have been running simultaneously, tangled together, this entire time."
I finished speaking and looked out past the camera, at the fifty thousand on the other side of the screen.
"Psychic Society is now off the air. From this moment on, this is Kim Do-sa's Exorcism Live — so if you don't want to die, watch closely, and do exactly as I say!"
It was time to tear down the curtain that had blinded fifty thousand eyes.