Interlude - The Detective

Clutching a bag of fried chicken in one hand, I climbed up to the fifth floor, lost in thought.

What's her deal, anyway.

Her weird personality aside, how the hell...

In Ha-yoon's understanding level was exactly the same as last time I'd checked. Compared to Seon-ah and Gyeong-won, whose levels had already surpassed fifty, hers was pathetically low.

What's her real identity.

Especially that title: Bride Candidate. What even was a title? I racked my brain, recalling the titles of the people around me.

Mine was Protagonist. Seon-ah was Dirt-Spoon Girl. Gyeong-won was Pro-Klorepedia User. Jin-hee was Backseat Delinquent Chick. Teacher Hwa-eun was Old Maid Spinster. Deok-hoon was Otaku.

Lining them up like that, it seemed like titles were just single words capturing a person's defining trait.

...Bride Candidate, though.

Sure, when I didn't know her well, I'd thought she was just a quiet, polite, kind girl. But now? Her image had completely flipped.

Hmm, how does someone end up with a title like Bride Candidate?

The tutorial messages twisting situations to fit her whims, the club creation stuff—it all pointed to this system's sense of humor being beyond me.

Climbing the stairs with a serious frown, I suddenly found myself on the fifth floor, right by the club room. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

No point dwelling on it now; I wouldn't figure it out. Maybe ask her straight-up next time I saw her—though whether she'd answer was another question.

For now, time to eat chicken with the club members and have some fun.

I slid the door open with a lighthearted joke to shift the mood.

"Chicken delivery~"

But inside...

"...President."

"...Joon."

Yoon Seon-ah and An Gyeong-won stared at me with even graver expressions.

And there, back turned, gazing out the window: a man in a gray coat, broad shoulders straining the fabric, exuding a dangerous aura.

That's my spot by the window.

The middle-aged man stood motionless at the window. I nodded questioningly at Gyeong-won and Seon-ah, but they just shook their heads gravely.

"I'll just leave the chicken here~"

Sensing the heavy vibe, I set the bag down and turned to leave.

"So you're Joon."

The man whipped his head around, eyeing me. Bear-like, intimidating uncle. I'd seen him just recently—fourth period career talk, up on the podium giving a lecture. His job was... police, right?

"Detective."

Detective. My mind raced desperately. Why would a detective come looking for me? Only one possibility came to mind.

The message that had popped up recently when I'd unlocked the club's talent capacity. It clearly said the detective had been added as our ally.

That must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be why he'd come looking for me.

"...What's this about?"

Suddenly curious. The system must've manipulated things to bring the detective here, but what did he think he was doing coming to the club room? How would the system turn him into my ally?

"Kids these days even get chicken delivered inside school."

Instead of answering, the detective eyed the bag in my hand. Feeling awkward holding it, I slowly set it on the desk.

"What brings you here?"

Asking again, he just stared me down.

"What do you think?"

To become my ally? I wanted to say, but that was my secret alone.

"No idea. What..."

"Why would a detective show up here?"

The goateed man smiled faintly.

"You probably dozed off during my talk, so let me reintroduce myself. Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, Regional Investigation Division. The Violent Crimes Unit, as they call it."

Violent Crimes Unit. The kind from movies who catch murderers and fight gangsters.

"Still nothing ringing a bell?"

"Nope. No clue."

He peered into my eyes. Up close now, he seemed vaguely familiar—like we'd talked before, not today, but sometime in the past.

"I'm here about a murder. Have a seat."

We three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flinched at that.

"Don't worry about the chicken cooling. I'll order fresh."

"Sit."

He looked scary, voice gravelly, giving off a threatening vibe—but he was dialing it back for us kids, I could tell.

Murder case.

What the hell. I sat slowly, tense. He stared into my eyes, then spoke.

"A while back, a broadcasting station president was arrested for murdering a trainee and burying her on the premises."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah."

Watching my face closely.

"Looks like you knew."

"...It was all over the news."

"Not that kind of face."

Was this how criminals felt in front of cops? An urge to spill everything.

"How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

"That he killed her and buried her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there."

"How'd you know."

Interrogative tone. Casual, but his looks and voice made it feel like an inquisition.

The club room air grew thick instantly. Tense, I slowly opened my mouth.

"Saw it on the news."

"Before that. Before the news broke. You know what I mean."

He knew everything. Sigh.

"Heard it from the maknae?"

He nodded lightly instead of answering. Porinseu's maknae, Dasom—the middle schooler. I remembered contacting her during the grudge-song exorcism.

Somehow he'd gotten it from her.

"What'd she say?"

"Your turn first."

Staring me down.

"How'd you know? That he killed her and buried her there."

I racked my brain. What was my position here? A broadcasting president who secretly murdered and buried someone. Me, knowing that—practically the first whistleblower. Reporting a hidden murder from blocks away. In movies, they'd suspect the tipster as accomplice or suspect.

Was I under suspicion? Had he come to school to investigate me?

Waiting for my answer. I flipped it—thought from his perspective.

The incident was over a week old, perp caught. No need to come now. And he'd come for the career fair originally.

Scary vibe aside, maybe no need to cower.

"You know I'm not suspicious, right?"

No reaction. If he'd come with doubts, he'd have background-checked me. And I was just a normal high schooler—no ties to any station president.

Just answer boldly.

"Did you read the text I sent Porinseu's maknae?"

He smiled faintly.

"Yeah. That's why I'm here."

Softer ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tone. That text was full of ghost talk beyond the murder.

Come to think of it, I remembered talking to him before. In my past life, after the Nakseong High 300-head explosion. The bear-like detective who'd visited me in the hospital. Him. Started intimidating, but left convinced once I knew nothing.

The maknae thought I was an exorcist? Might as well lean into that.

"Then we're good. Like the text to her—I have strong intuition. Saw the trainee's ghost. She told me she was buried there."

Half-true. I'd met the ghost, and she'd kindly led me to catch the perp.

"That satisfy you?"

"Mixed truth with lies nicely."

I jolted, stunned. He just sat, staring into my eyes.

Could tell lies from truth that way? Not caught, though—the real stuff was the game system, regression. Beyond normal grasp. Just sharp instincts, reading my face, tone, vibe.

A message floated up.

...Nailed it.

"Something floating in front of your eyes?"

He caught my flicking pupils. I flinched despite myself.

"What're you talking about? Ease up."

"...Guess you really do see things. Live long enough, you see everything."

Seemed convinced, stood with a shrug. Lumbered over.

"Smart kid, so I'll be straight. Investigation's done—no worries. I know you're clear."

"...Okay."

"Members' testimonies were shaky and suspicious, so I dug. You popped up, had you in mind. Got invited to school—perfect timing. No need to freak."

Wasn't freaking. I calmed my pounding heart.

"Intuition, huh... heh, intuition."

Chuckling, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled something out.

"Don't buy it, of course. But you're not lying, Joon."

Patted my shoulder, slipped me his business card.

"Number's on there. If your 'intuition' acts up again, call."

"See ya. I paid."

With that, he strode out. Paid? This chicken was ours.

Answer came soon, via the delivery guy who showed up.

"Ghost Story Club? Gae-seong-bi Fried Chicken. Normally no deliveries inside, but you paid a huge rush fee. Don't do this again—get caught by staff, we're screwed even with the cash."

"Sorry."

Mumbling apology, he dumped an insane pile of chicken bags on the desk—too much for two hands—and left.

"Holy shit, how many chickens is this?"

"Whoa."

The tension melted at the sight. Fried, seasoned, soy, sweet-and-sour, snow cheese, onion, green onion chicken... plus cheese balls, seasoned fries, onion rings, snow crab tempura.

Desk overflowing, we gawked till the rest arrived for club time.

"Whoa, fuck! What the hell!"

Jin-hee jumped in, shocked.

"J-Jackpot."

Deok-hoon drooling.

"Joon, you ordered a ton."

Ha-yoon, expressionless.

"Kids! What's this! Oh my god!"

Hwa-eun shrieking, charging in.

We spent club time devouring chicken. Still tons left—we sprawled on the floor, only Deok-hoon and teacher still munching till the end.

Last piece went to Jang Hwa-eun.

"So good!"

"Quutso."

Teacher had a healthy build, but damn, she could pack it away—hadn't noticed behind the beauty.

* * *

After school, I had someone to grill too. Dialed quietly.

Sigh. Some thanks for a lifesaver.

Eh, middle schooler, crazy busy. Can't help it.

Summer was three months off. I gazed quietly at the sky.