Broadcast TV Debut [7]
“Aa, aaaaah… AAAAAAAAARGH!”
Shimamoto Kanna — she who had failed the ghost-story verdict, garnished with a spicy dash of K-melodrama — clutched her shattered face and wailed. Before long, the grotesquely warped face of the anomaly peeled away and dropped, and her true face showed beneath.
I tipped a glance toward PD Choi Ji-hoon, who had been staring blankly at the scene from behind me. For a moment he wore a Huh? Me? expression—
But the man's station-honed instincts proved no joke, and PD Choi Ji-hoon spoke up. “Ah… Ms. Shimamoto Kanna… your work as assistant host… was not bad at all. If the Parapsychology Society gets picked up for a regular slot, I do hope you'll come back as a regular member.”
“……Thank you.”
Shimamoto Kanna smiled. Then, like a mirage, she scattered and was gone.
“Is it… is it over?”
“Hooah…!”
“What in the world just happened…”
At the sight, the tension drained out of people one by one, and they sank down where they stood.
“I need to step out for a bit. Everyone, please wait here on set.”
Leaving them to it, I walked out of the studio. My destination was the south wing — the very place Shimamoto Kanna had named as where she died.
“…Too late, I see…”
I had come on the faint hope that she might yet be saved… but it was hopelessly late. Blood had pooled thick across the bathroom floor — well over two liters of it, past the lethal dose for a grown adult, no matter how you looked.
The south wing, which doubled as the filming site for the Parapsychology Society (a pilot program, its set had been thrown up there for want of a home among the news desks and live-production departments), emptied out almost completely by evening. Which was doubtless why a bathroom painted this thoroughly in blood had gone undetected until now…
“Partly the labyrinth anomaly's fault too, I suppose…”
Shaking off the bitterness, I looked at Shimamoto Kanna's wrist. Above an old horizontal scar, one that looked to have been there for some time, ran a fresh vertical cut — deep enough to sever the artery.
“Slit your wrists, slit your wrists, slit your wrists, slit your wrists, slit your wrists — vertically, vertically, vertically, vertically — that's how you die right, die right…”
The words she had spoken while possessing Soda, it seemed, had been a projection of her own experience.
I carried the bitter taste out of the bathroom with me, and on the way back, I called Yoon Soo-ah.
The line rang for a long while before it was finally picked up.
“Hello…?”
A voice drenched in sleep. Had this woman seriously been asleep? It was barely eleven thirty.
“It's me. Kim Yi-yeon.”
“Y-Yi-yeon!? J-just one moment…!”
Through the receiver came a scurry of frantic bustle—
“Yi-yeon, calling so suddenly at this hour — is something wrong?”
Yoon Soo-ah answered again in her usual crisp voice. It wasn't even a video call; what she had scrambled to prepare for a mere phone call, I couldn't imagine. But the situation being what it was, I skipped the small talk and got straight to business.
“S-something like that happened?! J-just a moment — I'll contact the Paranormal Administration Bureau right away…!”
“Hold on. You're telling me the Bureau hasn't even grasped the situation yet?”
“W-well… I'm so sorry…”
“Sorry, schmorry — isn't handling exactly this kind of mess the Bureau's whole job? What do they even do all day?”
“That's… true, but for all their faults, Bureau staff are still civil servants…”
“Why, you—!”
…Was she right, though? Come to think of it, apart from a paycheck that arrived like clockwork and clocking in and out on the dot, what did civil servants have left? …No. However I looked at it, this still wasn't acceptable.
“Come on. In a way, the Bureau's like the army or the police, isn't it? Does nobody stand overnight duty?”
“There is, but… there's never been a case of an anomaly spreading this far and wide through a broadcast before, so…”
Put that way, I had no comeback.
“Ugh, forget it. What can you expect from an outfit that shoves brand-new rookies like you, Ms. Yoon, straight into a living hell?”
“Th-the Corner Man was just me being stubborn! I volunteered so as not to disgrace my grandmother's name… Huh?”
“What is it?”
“Did I ever tell you about the Corner Man, Yi-yeon?”
“You did. Over dinner at the hotel — you brought it up yourself, remember? Said it was what nearly killed you right after your first posting to the Bureau?”
“Did… I?”
“You must have had too much of that dinner wine. Memory's gone, I see.”
“I… see. Understood. I'll pass word to the Bureau and my grandmother right away. You've helped us tremendously again, Yi-yeon. On behalf of fifty thousand people, thank you. As for your fee for this, I'll send it to your account, same as with Seonhwa High.”
“Don't mention it.”
After the call ended—
“Phew…!”
I let out a long breath of relief. Thank goodness Yoon Soo-ah was naive — I had come within a hair's breadth of being exposed as Kim Ji-woo.
“…Though 'naive' might be generous. I'm starting to think the girl's just a bit of an airhead…”
More to the point — how on earth would the Paranormal Administration Bureau patch this one over? Fair question. Fifty thousand people had watched the anomaly with their own eyes, heard it with their own ears, and even lived through it, all in real time.
Frankly, I doubted the word "cleanup" even applied…
“Beats me. This is the outfit that buried an incident where hundreds died — students included — and the president's death on top of it. They'll sort it out themselves.”
Whatever else you could say about the Paranormal Administration Bureau, the sheer artistry of their cover-ups was second to none.
By the way, with the president dead, word was an early election would be held soon. Who would they pick, I wondered?
“Hmm. I'm a public figure now too — best not to flaunt my political colors too openly.”
For the record, I'm not fond of red or blue either. My favorite color is yellow.
“…Tch. Though there are crowds who use yellow as their emblem too, come to think of it…”
As of today, my favorite color was black.
And so, mulling over thoughts that concerned no one, I arrived back at the set to find… one person missing.
“And where has this gentleman gone?”
I asked, pointing at the seat he had occupied, and Kim Han-soo answered with a troubled face.
“Well… he suddenly said that after something this grotesque happened here, he couldn't bear to stay another second…”
“We did try to stop him, but…”
“He was far too adamant…”
I snorted at their words. The viper, bolting for its life — no, it had gone and struck its own foot — no, its own tail — numb.
“Hah! Hahk! Hah!”
A man ran for his life through the dark corridors of the broadcasting station.
“Shit…! What is this? Wasn't the way out this direction!?”
He came and went from the station like it was his own home, yet today, for some reason, he kept getting hopelessly lost.
Sure, he had comparatively little business in the south wing — but surely not enough to wander like this?
“H-here it is!”
That, at least, was over now. Strange as his wandering had been, he had finally found the way out.
But right at that very moment—
“…'Mr. Hi'?”
He froze.
At that form of address, his body locked up on the spot. Because only one person in all the world had ever called him that.
A strange nickname she had pinned on him after telling him never to use her real name whenever they met. And with its maker now dead, why anyone would still use it was a mystery.
For a heartbeat he thought Shimamoto Kanna — the woman who had vanished — had returned, and he turned his head.
But what stood there was…
“It is you, after all.”
“You…”
“Park In-seop. Or shall I call you… 'Mr. Hi'?”
“…Wh-what are you even talking…”
So I had decided on a slight shift in perspective. Try seeing it from the point of view of Shimamoto Kanna — a Japanese woman.
“So I ran every cast member's name through a Japanese translator — and exactly one person came back tied to the word 'hi.'”
Park In-seop.
Set the surname Park aside, and what is left is In-seop — two characters, the first of them meaning "person."
Japanese reads a kanji in two ways: the kun'yomi and the on'yomi. That character for person is read "nin" the on'yomi way — and "hito" the kun'yomi way.
“As for 'seop' — that character is almost never used in Japan, and none of its readings have anything to do with 'hi.' But here's the fun part: 'seop' also carries the meaning of flame. And by sheer coincidence, the kun'yomi for the character meaning fire in Japanese is 'hi.'”
Two "hi"s in a row inside his name — hence, "Mr. Hi."
“Simple and utterly without wit — but a naming scheme with its own clumsy charm to it, wouldn't you say?”
“…I have no earthly idea what you're—”
“Your own post, from a while back. Didn't this add one more line of controversy to your name?”
I didn't need divination, or to read Shimamoto Kanna's memories, to know why Park In-seop had posted that tweet that day.
The horizontal scar on Shimamoto Kanna's wrist — healed over, with some age to it. That must have been the day it was carved.
“You said the same thing to her too, didn't you? To Shimamoto Kanna. Must be nice — in the end, it worked out exactly as you wished.”
“…Are you actually a psychic?”
“What does it look like to you?”
“Ha! Fine — shiiiiit, you saw all that, so denying it now would be a riot. But listen, you've got one thing dead wrong!”
Park In-seop wore a viper's smile as he said it.
“She came wagging her tail at me first! Because I've got connections in the broadcast world! Like a honeypot she sidled up asking me to set up a meeting! Get her on TV!”
Park In-seop vented his innocence amid wild, flailing gestures.
“Hm? I refused! Like a true professional I drew the line between work and private — snap! Hm? Snapped it, clean! And then that whore went and slashed her wrists and threw a goddamn fit! Thank god I called an ambulance for the lunatic, or she'd have died right then! But no — she still had to go and croak on her own schedule anyway, pin her grudge on the wrong person, and kick up this whole circus! That mangy cur of a woman! I'm the wronged party here!”
Having emptied his lungs in one go, Park In-seop panted for breath — then soon curled his lips into an oily grin.
“And… fine. Say I did dangle that implication and used her for all she was worth. What's so bad about that? Hm? In the end, taking the bait was her choice. Society is cold — if you're stupid enough to be used, the fault is yours!”
“Wow…”
At an attitude that went past shameless into outright pride, I ran my hand up my arm.
“Ooh — it may be hidden under my sleeve, but my arm is covered in goosebumps right now.”
“Ha. A so-called psychic, and that's what gives you goosebumps? Honestly, what a pure little coward~”
“No. It's not that I'm a coward — it's just that this is a genuinely 'scary story.'”
You know the saying, don't you? People have always been far scarier than ghosts. And naturally, a scary story about this kind of person is also called a "ghost story."
“……What?”
“That makes the hundredth ghost story.”
At that instant, a woman's voice sounded from behind Park In-seop.
“It is complete.”
Sssssaaahhh—
It is said that at the moment a lamp, on the verge of going out, flares bright one last time — when the shadows waver and darken — a being called the Aoi Andon will sometimes appear.
Since ancient times, those who told the hundred tales brushed their lanterns with blue paper.
Speak not of ghosts in the deep of night, for to speak of ghosts is to summon the strange and the terrible.
And so, on a dark night, you must never recite ghost stories.
Because the Aoi Andon may come.
“Haa… haa…”
Park In-seop could not turn around to look at the voice's owner.
Not because of the chill pressing at his back, or the black hair winding around his body. But because the voice at his back was one he knew far, far too well.
“N-no way… no, but…!”
The Aoi Andon that had latched onto the viewers at home I had already swept away with the cybercast Gwangmyeong Jin-eon Gyeol — the Vairocana Mantra Barrier. The people standing on this set, however, were the exception.
“That's why I told everyone to remain on set. This place — the studio of the Parapsychology Society — is the birthplace of the Hyakumonogatari, so its taint had to be washed away properly, with real care.”
“B-but Shi-, Shi-, Shimamoto… sh-she passed on…!?”
I answered with a shrug and a bored face.
“Passed on — by whose permission? The enemy who toyed with her is standing right here.”
KRACK!
The hair that had been slithering around Park In-seop's body began to cinch tight, like wire.
“Ack— ack! AAAAACK!”
Between the strands that burrowed into every inch of him, his clothes were sliced away and droplets of blood welled up one after another. A strand dragged across his face crushed one eye and his nose, and Park In-seop screamed.
“P-please, help me! Please! M-money! You said it yourself — a man who delivers value for the money! I have money! I can pay you anything you want! So please…!”
At that plea, desperate beyond words, I burst out laughing.
“I'm a dosa. We don't make bargains with strange powers and restless gods.”
“Wh-what the hell is that supposed to mean!? That 'strange powers and restless gods' business is Confucius — I'm a person, damn it!!”
“God, your speech is a pain to follow. Trash beneath the human — I don't count it among people. Understand?”
“You… son of a—!”
SPLURT!
Park In-seop's curse never reached its final word. Before it could, the Aoi Andon — no, Shimamoto Kanna — had torn him to ribbons and flung the pieces down the corridor.
Splat!
Splurt!
What had once been Park In-seop lay scattered in fine shreds before the south wing's exit.
I raised a thumb toward Shimamoto Kanna, who had shredded him.
“I thoroughly enjoyed your retirement stage.”
She beamed. At that one line, Shimamoto Kanna smiled the way an idol smiles back at her fans' cheers.
Then, as the Aoi Andon, she drove her grotesquely swollen, razor-edged hands into her own body.
Splurt!
And with her own hands, she tore herself apart — as if to say that nothing bound her to this world any longer.
Before the torn pieces of Shimamoto Kanna could reach the floor, I scattered the last of my flower petals.
“Om bara mani dani sabaha,
om bara mani dani sabaha,
om bara mani dani sabaha.”
Then I chanted the Sutra of the Ten Wheels of Ksitigarbha.
The swirling petals caught Shimamoto Kanna's falling, shredded flesh and turned it into light. And her soul, become that light, pierced through the station's ceiling and rose toward the sky.
Without once mingling with the filthy hunk of meat that had been Park In-seop.
“…To the departed, with this single heart, I take refuge and bow in utmost devotion…”
“I agree with PD Choi, for what it's worth. If the Parapsychology Society had made it to a regular broadcast slot, you would surely have become a regular member. No — even if you had never appeared on the show at all, I'm certain you would have succeeded somewhere else. Truly, I am… and even if the broadcasting world itself had never worked out…”
“…you would have found your path somewhere. I'm sure of it.”
Not just in the idol business. In any field, where there is light there is shadow, and where some succeed, others are bound to fail.
Even so — I hoped the failures' tomorrows would not be too wretched. That they could shake off their pain and rise to walk again. And for those who could not rise — that they might at least forget the ache soon, and set out on a new journey.
That no one else would ever sink to the floor and give up on everything.
It was nothing but a small wish, offered up as a prayer. Even knowing full well that it was the willful whim of a third party who could never understand the pain she had carried…
…I prayed all the same.
“Rest in paradise.”