Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Even If I Fall into a Ghost Story, I Still Have to Go to Work
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The situation matches.
The live broadcast began.
With lively band music, the host in a suit waved to the cheering audience.
It was a typical American talk show.
Except for the fact that all the staff faces were smeared beyond recognition, and the host had an old TV instead of a face on his head.
"…."
It matches.
It matches.
However, on the 111th run.
An anomaly occurred on the 100th exploration.
Bam bam bam ba-bam!
Spotlights shone with the sound effect.
Seven podiums arranged in a semicircle.
Three of them.
Spotlighting precisely the podiums where I, the deputy manager, and the foreman stood.
Ooooh!
Invisible audience members applauded.
I felt like I might faint.
Maybe... just maybe.
"…!"
The host made a fuss as he received something from a staff member.
A whopping.
"……!"
I'm alive.
'It's not the 100th...!'
My heart felt like it would burst out.
'Yeah, the odds of hitting exactly the 100th are low anyway.'
I nearly gripped the podium in relief but held back.
The 'Tuesday Talk Show' answer sheet PDF we'd received clearly stated it.
- Interfering with the broadcast results in incineration.
Not punishment. 'Incineration.'
And this was live TV.
In other words, any slip-up meant death.
I turned my head.
The deputy manager and foreman at the other podiums weren't overly tense; they gave me light nods or smiles.
As expected from veterans confident in this pattern-established ghost story, safe for nearly three years through 99 runs.
'Deep breaths.'
It's fine.
...It'll be fine.
I took a deep breath in and out.
"Yes."
"Yes. It's my first time on a quiz show like this."
Strange text appeared on the host's head, the spherical TV.
An unfamiliar, ominous language system that I could somehow read. A wave of headache and nausea hit and faded.
"…Number 4, earth."
The quiz show proceeded... smoothly.
'The themes are a bit creepy, but the questions aren't impossible.'
Moreover, the past question list smuggled out by the Field Exploration Team was reliable.
Not exactly the same, but close enough to answer without issue.
'Having to think a bit actually lowers the chance of mistakes.'
The past questions matched well, and it proceeded without a hitch.
I pretended to ponder before answering at times, doing my best to fit the broadcast vibe.
'I have to get through this show somehow.'
Obsessive thoughts gripped my mind.
During the mid-break ad time, when the host suggested coming back again, I inwardly screamed but outwardly mumbled agreement vaguely.
After questions 2, 3, 4, 5... up to 9.
Finally, the end of this insane situation was in sight.
I saw my superiors at the other podiums subtly waving or nodding at me.
Just nail this, and it's over.
"Yes."
The question appeared.
"……."
A trap in the final question?
I steadied my breath.
"The answer is... number 1,"
"And 2."
"…!"
"And 3, 4... all of them."
"……."
"Humans are in critical danger at around 30 to 40% blood loss on average."
"So, anything beyond that means death."
The TV flashed.
I didn't think I'd die for a wrong answer.
But I didn't want to give this dangerous ghost story any opening, so I gritted my teeth to avoid the trap.
"No."
Ooooh.
Murmurs from the audience.
And... a faceless staff member rushed onto the stage...?
Wait, hold on.
Yes!! The audience shouted.
The host spread his arms wide.
"…!"
Ha.
'Alive anyway.'
Why dig your own trap! In relief, I inwardly screamed, squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them.
Taking it as emotion, the host came over and patted my back in a hug.
The body heat made it creepier.
"…Thank you."
The host grabbed the mic and shouted emotionally.
Pop.
Confetti burst, cheers erupted.
My superiors at each podium wore 'it's wrapping up' expressions, visible even through masks.
Drum roll continued...
The host pointed.
Waaaaah!
The band added flashy celebration sounds.
"Thank... you."
I took the small gift box from the host.
I was thrilled. Not for the item, of course.
'Finally over.'
Once the camera's off, we can leave.
'Please, let's go.'
As my mind calmed imagining return to the 21st-century Seoul office building.
Click.
Suddenly.
Spotlights lit up the four empty podiums.
"…?!"
Figures now stood there.
Four people looking around in bewilderment.
All in suits and masks.
'Company employees?'
Definitely another Field Exploration Team squad.
One familiar mask—probably my fellow new hire.
That I get. But...
'Why the overlap?'
Can you even enter a ghost story like this overlapped? Beyond can or can't...
'...Broadcast accident.'
Silence filled the studio.
1 second.
2 seconds.
3 seconds.
"……."
Something's wrong.
The zebra-masked employee beside me seemed to sense it too.
"Wh-what is this? Why are the first arrivals still..."
It ignited.
"…!"
The zebra-masked employee burst into silent, rapid flames without grasping the situation, mouth agape, then crumbled like a lie.
Only shoe-shaped ashes remained.
The camera hurriedly panned.
Loud band music hastily covered it up.
Now the camera was on me.
"…!"
Damn.
Damn it!
Desperately maintaining composure, I waved the gift box in the air excitedly.
Like I was thrilled!
Pop.
More confetti in mid-air, drums blared. The host riled up the audience cheers.
Bam!
With upbeat guitar, the camera light went out.
"……."
It's over.
Over...
Or not?
Why are we still here?
The camera was definitely off.
Faceless staff rushed the stage, audience lights dimmed.
Band vanished.
We entered the noisy, murmuring backstage exposing chilly steel beams.
But we didn't disappear.
...A chilling premonition crawled up my spine.
"…I already have a job."
Why does the ghost story continue?
Simple reason.
The considerate host was kindly explaining the incident to the contestants.
The host addressed the suddenly intruding employees—the 'new contestants'—warmly, as if they'd been there from the start.
Meanwhile, staff swept up the ashes of the incinerated one.
My sanity was fraying.
But we can leave now.
Please, please just end like this!
Then.
Someone with a megaphone ran onto the stage.
Face smeared by lights, but distinguishable by sunglasses unlike other staff.
The figure whispered urgently to the host.
The host turned to us.
The emoticon on the TV monitor looked glum.
"…!"
What?
The host looked genuinely apologetic, antennas drooping atop his TV head.
"Then... cl-clear?"
"Phew... whew…."
Amid bewilderment, fear, panic, hopeful voices from the other squad employees faintly reached me.
But cold sweat chilled the nape of my neck.
'No.'
This development...
The host's TV antennas perked up at a staff signal.
"…!!"
"Hold on."
Our squad's deputy manager raised a hand stiffly.
"We've already done the show, so we'll head back now…."
"…!"
The TV screen crackled right in the deputy manager's face.
"……."
The deputy manager slowly shifted gaze, meeting mine across.
I subtly shook my head.
He'd noticed.
'No choice' didn't mean letting us go—it meant quick incineration.
Ominous silence.
Pale company employees' breaths filled the studio.
I was one too.
No, am I even breathing?
No convincing excuse?
No plausible line?
"Yes. Didn't expect back-to-back broadcasts."
"Could slip up."
I gripped the podium until my knuckles whitened.
"More prep, join next Tuesday…."
The host muttered excitedly.
No use talking.
Like possessed by the broadcast, he dashed to the camera.
I'm going mad.
Reading the teleprompter, the host waved both hands.
….
The set backdrop opened.
Rust, stench piercing the nose, dark massive pig head.
Hell had arrived.