The Sixth Ghost Story - College Entrance Exam Banned Song (10)
In the broadcasting station's dressing room, Porinseu's leader and I, the Ghost Story Club president, are locked in a fierce glare-down.
"Looks like we just need to keep an eye on who tries to leave."
The leader's face crumples. "...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Instead of answering, I half-turn my head and call out to Seon-ah. "Seon-ah."
"Yeah?"
"Guard the entrance. Don't let anyone out."
Seon-ah nods with fierce determination and heads to the door. Once there, she casually pulls a pink utility knife from her pocket and grips it tight.
I'm momentarily speechless, but I quickly steel myself and resume glaring at Porinseu.
"One of you isn't human."
"...What?"
The five girls stare at me in utter disbelief.
"One of you is a ghost. And we're going to catch it right now."
"You're insane!"
The leader can't hold back any longer and snatches up a stage prop cane, clutching it tightly. "Girls, grab weapons! He is suspicious after all!"
The girls tremble as they warily grab whatever's within reach. The leader steps forward boldly, but her hands shake slightly—clearly scared of us outsiders.
"You're gonna use 'catching a ghost' as an excuse to grope us or some shit..."
"What the fuck are you talking about!"
I yell back, even more flustered than she is.
"We just need to run a few checks, so cooperate, damn it!"
The girl group exchanges uneasy glances.
"...Explain first. What exactly are you planning?"
"Fine. Listen up."
I let out a sigh and begin my explanation.
"You ever heard this story? My friend over there—the one with the utility knife—told me about it today."
"There's a rumor going around singers that if you spot a ghost in the recording studio, that song blows up big time. True or not?"
The members turn to each other, still gripping their makeshift weapons.
"...Yeah, it's a pretty famous one."
With the older members silent, the maknae named Dasom answers instead.
The leader shoots her a quick glare like don't encourage this crap, but sighs and gives in.
"Yeah, it's well-known. Not just in music—most big celebrities have at least one ghost story up their sleeve."
"As expected."
"So? What's your point?"
"If that's true, then your new song exploding isn't that weird. You didn't just see a ghost—you had one singing backup with you."
"...So why the hell are we ghosts?"
"Just one of you. One."
The leader's lips twitch like she's about to retort, but she grits her teeth and averts her eyes.
She looks utterly lost for words at my brazen confidence in this ridiculous tale.
"Spit it all out. Keep going."
I nod and turn to Gyeong-won. "Gyeong-won-ah, how many members in 4Minute?"
"4, 4Minute?"
Caught off guard by the sudden question amid our standoff, he adjusts his glasses and replies.
"Four, obviously."
"Promise Nine?"
"Nine, duh..."
"Times tables? GOT7?"
"Hm. Guessing from the names—nine and seven."
I tilt my chin at the leader, eyes demanding confirmation.
"Right?"
As an idol herself, she'd know other groups better than us.
She nods silently.
"So how many in your group?"
She flinches, then mutters quietly. "...Five."
I nod back in silence.
Porinseu as a group name? Anyone can see it: "Four" + "Princess."
The leader fumbles for words a moment before responding, her fire dimmed a bit.
"...S-so what? Porinseu implies four, but we're five—so one ghost? Give me a break. We've been together over a month."
"Guess the ghost slipped in around then. Perfect timing with your single drop."
"You're really hanging everything on the name..."
She tries to counter but stammers, words failing.
"D-during promotions, lineups change—increase, decrease..."
"Already? For rookies?"
"Thought you debuted this year."
Hands on hips, she moves her lips like she's hunting for a comeback, but silence hangs heavy in the dressing room.
After a beat of thought, she whips around and starts pointing at each member.
"Dasom, Boram, Seryeon..."
She counts off the other four by name, excluding herself.
Satisfied nothing's off, she shoots me a glare.
"I'm the leader. I know every single one—who they are, everything. No way I messed up. You're off base."
"Is that so?"
I casually scan them all.
Porinseu's leader, Cha Ji-won. She's the one mistaken, for sure.
Just like the system warped reality to spawn a club room that never existed, ghost stories twist the world—fucking with perceptions.
Like how I nearly choked to death on an illusion in that elevator. She's been duped too.
"Then explain it. Why Porinseu?"
"Hey! You're obsessed with that shit..."
Her face twists in obvious panic as she snaps.
"Adult reasons! You're the freak claiming one's a ghost over a name!"
"Then why so panicked?"
Twitch.
"Deep down, like the name suggests—didn't you start as four, and now suddenly five's nagging at you?"
"D-don't be absurd."
A trickle of cold sweat slides down her thick stage makeup.
"Unnie, just stop... We were always four."
The maknae steps up, voice pleading.
"Dasom..."
"I've felt off for ages. Why one extra? It's weird..."
"But I can't remember... Who joined? Who was original...?"
The air chills.
Everyone's slowly piecing it together. One of them isn't human.
"So I kept wishing someone would notice... Popularity skyrocketing, schedules piling up—but someone's faking being one of us. Terrifying..."
The maknae shivers.
Silence lingers, then the leader turns to me, voice deflated.
"W-what're you gonna do? Spill it."
"Dunno."
"Just so you know, we've grinded through hellish schedules together this month. No one's acted weird."
That's the issue. Even I'm staring them down hard—no red flags. Just five pretty, lively beauties.
Thud. Thud.
Testing the waters, I stalk toward them aggressively.
All five flinch and backpedal.
Ghosts reverse stuff, so I make 'em walk backward—no dice.
How the hell...
Pondering, I glance back at my clubmates.
Seon-ah's still posted at the door, knife raised. Gyeong-won watches me intently.
"Time for the president to shine."
Catching my cue for input, Gyeong-won speaks up.
"It's all lined up. The ghost story, backstory, rough cause. Now the president unmasks it. One fake among them—how?"
"I trust you, President."
I nod back at Gyeong-won and refocus on Porinseu.
"Everyone—handstands?"
"...Huh?"
"Handstands. You dance for hours; should be easy. Pretty please."
They eye each other warily.
"...You know we're in skirts? What'll that prove?"
"Ghosts are opposites to the living. Reverse actions, reversed speech. Testing for it."
"...Reversed? For real?"
"Handstand's a Hail Mary. I'll make you do whatever till something slips—backbridge crawls, reverse counting, upside tumbling. Anything."
The leader trembles.
"Y-you little shit, forcing that on us with no clue..."
"Bothered?"
"Yeah!"
She bellows.
I persuade calmly. "Then you're the ghost, pissed. Explains the attitude... Cooperate instead of yapping!"
"I know you're perving out!"
"Bullshit, you crazy bitch!"
"Crazy bitch!!"
The leader lunges and grabs my hair.
I snatch her long black locks and yank.
"You're the ghost! Nailed ya, bitch!"
"Die! Die!"
The two leaders tangle, clawing hair.
"Unnie! Stop!!"
"President! Cut it out!!"
Chaos settles. Now Korea's top girl group begins boot camp under my orders.
"All together—clap."
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap clap.
Reluctant claps from sour faces.
"Good. Clear. Sit-stand ten reps. Cadence."
"One, two..."
"Hold! Stop! You—why opposite? All sitting, you're up! Caught! Seon-ah, end her!"
Seon-ah charges, eyebrows flaring.
"Not reverse—just a beat slow, you fucking moron! Again!"
"Good, reset! One, two... Clean. My bad, sorry."
"Elephant trunk. Grab nose, spin."
"Huff, huff, huff."
"Dizzy as fuck..."
"Soy sauce factory manager. Soy sauce factory manage..."
"Mana... Manage... Soy sauce?"
"Buzzer. Again."
"Manafac manage strong..."
Time drags. Girls drenched in sweat. Room steaming.
"C-can we stop? Pleeease? This proves it, right?"
Leader collapses, begging sweatily.
Sorry. Didn't peg it'd take this long.
But steeling for guilt, final plea.
"Truly sorry, but handstands it is."
"Y-you bastard... Skirts."
"Unnie, it's fine. Shorts underneath."
Maknae consoles.
"Apologies. Handstand. Absolute last. Clear? Beat me to death."
She pants hard but grins.
"...Deal. Final. Clear—you're dead by my hand."
"I'll demo."
Maknae rises despite gasps, heads to wall.
Sharp anomaly-spotter, raring to end this.
The middle-schooler hugs the wall, bends, kicks legs up—fluid handstand.
Skirt flips; black shorts peek.
Holds steady, no strain. Dancers, alright.
"Good. Clean."
"Hup!"
Down easy.
"Unnies—your turn."
Grumbles, but maknae's push wins; another rises to wall.
"Yap!"
Handstand, hips tracing supple S.
"Good. Down."
"Fuu."
Three left, leader included.
Gazes pin leader.
Maknae's done—leader's turn.
"This proves it?"
Arms crossed, seated.
"Gotta see. Annoying, but please."
Frowns at nudge, stands slow to wall.
"Fine."
Still dragging.
"Unnie, hurry..."
"Fighting!"
Eyes squeezed shut at wall, so I poke.
"...Knew it was you. Dodging handstand despite shorts? Snapping too—"
"Wrong, asshole! Don't assume!"
Yells, strikes pose.
"Doing it... Watch close, dick."
Long lashes quiver; sweat streaks.
"Eyyy!"
Overdone grunt, vaults wall.
Skirt flops; pink panties with shy cartoon—total 180 from her bold vibe.
Face crimson, eyes clamped, arms quake.
I nod serene.
Lucky break.
"Donnneeee! Fuuuuck!!"
Angel beauty spews curses beet-red, rights herself.
"Motherfucker, shithead... fucker..."
"Unnie......"
Leader flushes fury-tremble; maknae murmurs worry.
"Next! Last two—together!!"
Leader roars; final duo scrambles to wall.
"Go!"
"Four!"
Drill-sergeant sync to her call—legs up.
Last two nail balanced handstands.
"Heeng~! How's that! All good!"
Leader, unhinged glee, hands on hips smug.
Shame-fueled revenge in eyes, grins.
"Seeee~! Everyone fine~! Psycho fuck, you're done!"
Nails out, charges me.
"Yaaap! Motherfucker!"
Rushes face, arm cocked to rake.
But I don't budge.
Not just me. No one intervenes her frenzy. Ignores flat-out.
Notices dead quiet, freezes mid-claw, eyes dart.
Senses off-vibe, traces stares.
Gazes locked on one handstander.
Seon-ah, Gyeong-won, me, maknae, rest—all rigid on her.
"...What's wrong? Why the faces?"
Swept in mood, leader blanks confused.
Follows eyes.
"What. Both handstanding perfect. So wha..."
Blank stare shifts—spots it, gasps sharp.
Six silent stares on inverted duo.
Dressing room thick with unearthly tension.
"Uh, what's happening?"
One handstander pipes up, vibe off.
Blind to neighbor, clueless still.
"Getting tired—down okay?"
I nod deliberate.
"You—down. Over here, quick."
"Yes, hup!"
Exhales, corrects, steadies wobble-head, scans.
"?"
Head-tilt at wary stares, brushes knees, stands.
"What's up?"
"B-Bora... here, now......"
Leader's grim tone; she hustles over.
"What hap..."
Turns—sees solo handstander, former partner.
Frowns puzzled, then jolts, shudders.
"W-what..."
Silence encircles last handstander.
"Hey, you..."
Illusion shatters; leader quells dread, addresses her.
"Y-your name... was...? A-and......"
Trembling arms clamped; words die, mouth clamps.
The handstanding girl before us.
Inverted body—face should flip too. But no. Face rigidly upright, glued firm—eyes swiveling at us.