Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: The Reporter's Price
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"Haa..."
No matter what, dealing with two crazies back-to-back is more than I can handle.
Last time it was a guy; this time, a woman.
I've heard of people charging at horrors or even backing them, but trying to interview one? Never in my life.
"Um... excuse me?"
And for the star of this insane show to be me!
More bewildering than getting kidnapped to Fine Dying Restaurant yesterday.
For starters, how the hell does she even know who—what—I am to come requesting an interview?
Or maybe...
Just desperate enough to spew anything for survival?
"Y-you're the Horror Merchant, right?"
Nope.
She knows exactly who I am.
Only one person in the entire country visits the shop. What are the odds she'd know about me?
"How on earth do you know about me?"
The reporter flinches, backing away in terror at my voice.
At least she doesn't seem as batshit insane as that bastard from before.
"R-recently, that article came out..."
"Article?"
Did the people I saved from the restaurant spread rumors?
But I never explained my identity to them.
"Yes! The one about the shop selling those pills the Bureau distributed. Oh, you really are selling them."
The reporter fiddles nervously with a Momentary Dream.
"How the hell did that article spread?"
She presses her back flat against the wall, putting as much distance between us as possible.
"Not sure... Someone tipped it off, and the Bureau was scrambling to scrub it."
Someone with the balls to publish an article like that.
A true journalist, unbound by petty laws.
Now I see why politicians despise them.
I could call it peak publicity—the kind I wanted—but horrors aren't meant to be known by the masses.
My own story could twist out of shape.
Sure, most folks would brush it off as fake news.
But if she interviews me and snaps a few photos with that camera? My existence gets confirmed.
Still... there might be a way to spin it to my advantage.
"S-so... the interview?"
What's the rush? Why risk interviewing something that might kill her any second?
"Sorry, but no dice. I'd appreciate it if you deleted that camera data too."
Her face crumples.
Not that it was beaming before, but now she looks like she's staring death in the face.
"N-no interview, but you won't kill me, right?"
"Of course... I know. The article said you don't kill..."
Just how detailed was that damn article?
"Then why the long face?"
"Because... I can't report on it..."
Are all reporters this hardcore?
What happened to the era of the press?
"How'd you find the shop in the first place?"
"They promised a bonus for a successful scoop... And the article said it's not that dangerous, so everyone's hunting for it..."
Ah. Money, in the end.
From the paper dangling cash as bait to the reporter diving into a horror for it—this world's gone mad.
Separate from that, though, with Cat Image active, the shop should've been impossible to find.
Meaning she has some kind of story.
Look at that gloomy face. Doesn't it just tug at you to toss her a bone?
"Hmm... Well, I'm a merchant, after all. Show a little sincerity, and who knows? Things might change."
"Sincerity...?"
I stretch out an arm, gesturing to the wares.
"Buy something. Anything."
"Uh, okay. One Momentary Dream, then."
"Ehh... Doesn't look like we'll get through the interview."
"What? Fine, how about that hunk of flesh over there?"
"Sigh... Same issue."
She flails about in panic, eyes darting over the goods.
And her final pick...
"That roll of toilet paper!"
"Excellent choice! Now I'm dying to do the interview."
"Y-yes..."
"Judging by your demeanor, you know how payment works, right?"
"..."
No answer means yes.
"As you see, blue or red. Doesn't matter which, but personally? I recommend blue."
"Uh... any reason?"
"Someday, you'll need it. That's all I'll say."
No need to spill more of my secrets.
"The price."
Her pupils quake.
"Five fingers."
"Eep..."
Her left hand turns bald in an instant.
Well, she accepted the cash policy. She'll heal it herself somehow.
"Alright, interview time. No photos or recordings."
I stuck to known info, adding just a smidge more—with some fabricated fluff to paint my story in a flattering light.
Merchants embellish. It's tradition.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ A woman with one hand neatly trimmed.
Anyone would call the mismatch grotesque, but her colleagues shower her with congratulations.
"Congrats, Aram!"
"Haha... Guess I'm taking this."
Even envy and jealousy seep through the cheers.
Can't blame them—that thick envelope clutched in her good hand.
Enough cash to cover ninety percent even after full treatment.
Paid in bills for "security" and "confidentiality," as the paper demanded.
She had to hand over the traded toilet paper, of course, but it held zero value to her anyway.
Besides, she'd stashed a few sheets in her pocket on the sly. No loss, no worry.
Not a veteran journo by any stretch, but Han Aram now held more cash than most reporters earned in a lifetime.
Ignoring the searing pain still radiating from her hand, she hurried home.
She wasn't the greedy type, nor one to chase money through agony.
So why risk it all?
Not because her Seoul apartment vanished or her parked car got smashed by some freak.
"Auntie! You're back?"
"Auntie, Auntie!"
Two little lives she was responsible for—that was why.
Her sister, their birth mom, was trapped with an abusive husband.
Brother-in-law too, naturally. Someone had to take the kids.
How could she let her adorable nieces end up in an orphanage?
"Auntie, what happened to your hand? Hurt?"
"Auntie hurt?"
"Mm, Auntie’s fine."
The dark bruises lingering between patches of skin twisted her heart.
But raising them meant money—no choice.
"How about some grilled beef tonight? Been a while."
"Yay! Beef!"
"Beef!"
The meat sizzled perfectly.
Just as its juices hit the hot plate, releasing that nutty aroma...
Knock knock—
A knock after ages.
Han Aram tensed, replaying the day's events.
For the nieces or not, what she'd done was straight-up illegal.
"Wh-who is it?"
"Tale Management Bureau."
The words rang out from beyond the door.
It was over.
Her rash choice had led to ruin.
But she couldn't leave it shut.
The door creaked open at a speed matching her dread.
"Long time no see."
"Huh? Tae-jun? No kidding—ages! Bureau, though?"
The cop who'd saved her niece from a horror before.
They'd crossed paths a few times over adoption papers, but then he'd vanished—jailed, rumor had it. First reunion in a month.
"Ended up joining the Bureau somehow."
Her guard shot back up.
Han Aram slipped her traded hand into her pocket.
"Actually, that's why I'm here so late."
Tae-jun covered his mouth with one hand as he murmured.
"That horror—where I and Aram's nieces got trapped—showed up around here today."
It didn't take long for her to realize: Fine Dying Restaurant.
Thankfully, he wasn't here about her deeds.
"You might've guessed already, but it's that horror—the one blowing up online lately."
"Yes..."
"It was unpredictable enough before, but now that it's public? No telling how it'll mutate."
Han Aram bowed her head, biting back her guilt as a contributor.
"Stick to places with doors as much as possible."
Tae-jun should feel no fear thanks to the candy's power, yet an inexplicable chill gripped him.
"We're chasing it full throttle and should nab it soon. Just stay cautious till then."
Gratitude for Hyeok Tae-jun's warning visit was short-lived—a niece's voice called from inside.
"Coming! Uh... looks like there's more to say. Wanna grab some of that beef before you go?"