Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: One Night's Shopping (1)
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That was right after I'd ordered soy sauce marinated crab for lunch delivery, of all things.
"This is the life."
Craving soy sauce marinated crab out of nowhere and just ordering it delivered on the spot.
What kind of luxury is this?
Two female crabs packed full of eggs.
It cost over 50,000 won.
Slipping on vinyl gloves and squeezing the halved crab guts over steaming white rice—they gushed out, transparent flesh mingled with red roe and the salty crab sauce, seeping into every nook between the grains.
Scoop one bite into your mouth, and the umami would slick across your tongue before bursting with a satisfying chew.
I was happy.
With money coming in, I could pull stunts like this.
Spend freely without a worry.
From now on, I could make as much cash as I wanted from ghost stories—no need to fret about the future. Just hunt down fun stuff, craft more ghost stories, and live. Was this what they called graduating from life?
I was patting my belly, feeling fresh gratitude toward the Responding Bear Doll and Rational Gacha Machine, when—
Suddenly, a stabbing headache hit, and another field of view snapped open.
⚙ VISION OPENED ⚙ Blink. Blink. Blink. "Ugh. What now? Out of nowhere."
This time, it was some alleyway. Yellow tape blocked it off like a crime scene, with ominous words scrawled on it: [Special Quarantine in Progress].
And inside...
"Hm? They're together."
My first ghost story and my second.
The Responding Bear Doll was perched at the alley entrance, while a crowd buzzed around the Rational Gacha Machine.
I barely had time to wonder why the Responding Bear Doll and Rational Gacha Machine were in the same spot before I had to squint.
"What the hell are those people doing?"
A bunch of folks in hazmat suits were huddled around, heaving my gacha machine up.
A trailer sat nearby with its doors wide open, ready to haul it away.
A surge of intense displeasure hit me as I tried to size up the situation.
Conveniently, the most standout guy in the alley was on the phone.
He was pushing 190 cm tall with a broad, bulky build that drew the eye—but more than that, his outfit stood out. Everyone else was in hazmat suits, white lab coats, or sunglasses with suits. He alone wore jeans, a white sweater, and a gray coat—civilian clothes.
He looked like the top dog there, no question.
I shifted my view toward him, listening intently.
"Yes. Yes, yes. We're in the process of isolating the Aberrant Reality Pollution Source right now. Just loading it onto the trailer—we should arrive at the quarantine site within the hour." Aberrant Reality Pollution Source?
Quarantine?
Short words, but they let me piece together a ton.
Ah. So there were already people in the world who knew about ghost stories. They called them 'Aberrant Reality Pollution Sources.' They were isolating ghost stories and hiding their existence from the public.
Not surprising at all. Just a cliché I'd seen a million times in fiction.
If anything, it was weird that I hadn't thought of a secret organization managing ghost stories—especially after creating them myself and learning about the Ghost Story Market through the Shadow Office.
Yeah. Thanks to that, I grasped the situation crystal clear.
And I was pissed.
"Quarantine? Quarantine my ghost stories? Who the hell do you think you are?!"
I didn't even know myself.
If this was even worth getting mad over.
No. Rationally, they might be the good guys protecting world peace, and I was the villain spawning monsters. I got that on a logical level.
But.
I had my side too.
Honestly,
Have my kids killed anyone?
Well, they tried, but those were scum who deserved it.
Have my kids tormented people?
Okay, kidneys ripped out, ears bitten off, fingers chomped—but that was all part of a game they consented to.
So what right do you have to ban it by force?
Do I create ghost stories without a second thought? I had my own standards. Hard-won conclusions after real deliberation.
And now you're blocking my hard-earned escape from this life?
Why?
Who are you to decide?
What did we even do wrong? If anything, we've helped out.
My ghost stories.
My money.
My soy sauce marinated crab.
You can't just take what I've earned with my own power.
It felt like getting slapped, then spat on—like a fury I couldn't comprehend gripped me.
How dare they!
How dare they!
How DARE they! If that's how you wanna play, I'll slaughter every last one of you!
Slaughter...
...Slaughter.
...
Eh?
The childish blaze of rage cooled.
The torrent of fury sputtered out, lost.
Because of what was unfolding in the alley.
Snap!
- Grk!
Crack!
- Hngh!
Crunch crunch crunch!
- Squeak. Squeak. Mmph!
My Responding Bear Doll was yanking off their fingers.
Crushing their hands.
Not content with fingers—it ripped off a scalp, hair and all.
Before this flashy display of violence,
I lost any other words.
Uh. Um. Uh uh.
Th-that. Go easy. Easy now.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The alley situation wrapped up with the Responding Bear Doll filming its own mad movie, but the real problem was just beginning.
"That guy... he noticed my initials..."
I watched the plainclothes man retreat outside the alley and make a call. Once a vision formed, I could move it freely until it vanished, so I slid it over to eavesdrop.
"This is Agent Oh Ji-seong. Yes. It's urgent. Looks like we've found an Aberrant Reality Pollution Source that's creating other ARPSs. Yes. Yes, yes. No. This one's way stronger. Different from any ARPS Maker we've seen. Yes. Yes, yes. If it's true, it's a massive threat. Yes. Some initials or whatever—KEH. Yes. If it's not initials, probably read as 'Keh.' Yes. I think that's the ARPS Maker." A secret organization hiding and quarantining ghost stories from the whole world had zeroed in on my initials. And pegged me as a major threat.
My skin crawled, my stomach twisted.
Scary.
What if they track me down?
No. Stay calm. No evidence... But do they even care about evidence?
The more I thought, the sharper the chill down my spine—like a prickling crisis sense.
That handbell earlier seemed like a ghost story too. If they're using ghost stories like items, aren't they hunting me with ghost stories too?
The creepy part? I couldn't swear they didn't have the means. And if they did, I'd be dead or locked in quarantine, no escape.
"Argh... If only the Responding Bear Doll had killed them all... No. No, even then. That's not human."
Even if it had wiped them out, nothing much would've changed.
Might shut them up short-term, but investigations would drag on, and I'd get caught eventually.
Man. Fear makes you think wild stuff.
"Hoo..."
So, that was it, huh.
The only thing I could do right now.
I picked up the paper in my hand.
📜 How to Get to the Ghost Story Market (Faded ink on crumpled paper) "Maybe head there, get some inspiration, and crank out a new ghost story."
One that hides my identity and lets me dodge that unknown secret org.
Or at least buy an item like that.
"Not sure if that'll cut it, but..."
No other ideas popped up. They were some badass secret group; I was just a nobody civilian who could make ghost stories.
What could I do?
Only one play.
"Let's go."
The spot I figured was the Ghost Story Market.
Honestly, I'd been putting it off out of fear.
But now, sink or swim—time to face it.
Thud thud!
A knock at the door.
"Hm?"
I opened up and couldn't help a hollow laugh at the usual hefty delivery box sitting there.
"Why do these keep piling up?"
Inside: 11 fingers, each vacuum-sealed individually.
Freshly harvested from the scene I'd just witnessed—straight from the source.
Touching them... still warm.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Prep was simple.
Black long-sleeve tracksuit, black backpack slung on.
Stuffed the pack with the 19 well-wrapped fingers, plus a million won in cash just in case. Nothing else—didn't know what I'd haul back, and my back already ached.
Pinned the Responding Bear Doll's eyeball badge to my chest.
That was it.
All set.
Perfect timing—pitch-black night.
Market time.
📜 How to Get to the Ghost Story Market 1. Nightfall. Enter a very old, deserted commercial building. 2. Head straight to the 5th floor, then go down to the 4th. 3. Without stopping, spin in place right there. Quickly, while counting to ten. 4. After ten, look up and walk straight in the direction your head faces. Until stairs appear. 5. Don't run into anyone through step 4. 6. At the stairs, climb exactly one step, then turn and go straight down. 7. Reach the next floor before three pass and four arrive, exiting the stairs. That's the market. 8. Recommended items: Fingers. Badge. 9. I've told you. The spot for this shady market: an old, empty commercial building.
I picked the traditional market near my place.
Not the street stalls with their parasols—that was the 'building' they backed onto.
"Out of all the buildings I know, none are as rundown and deserted as this."
Most folks stick to the road, browsing stalls, so the building behind stays a mystery zone.
Step inside: cramped, dim halls lined with rooms like warehouses for vendors. The odd restaurant or cafe pops up—does anyone even come here? That vibe.
Bigger ones sprawl into a maze via rickety extensions and passages. Our neighborhood market was exactly that.
A dim corridor stretching forever—like the Nine Dragon Fortress descended to earth.
"Hoo... Let's do this."
Rushed from 1F to the stairs. No one yet.
"Good. Straight to 5F then..."
Looked up the stairs.
"..."
Truth was, traditional markets shut down by night.
So the stairs to 2F were pitch black, lights out.
"Scary..."
Staring up at the stairs gaping like a dark maw, I dropped my gaze and flicked on my phone light.
Step. Step.
My footsteps echoed like in a cave.
Shadows warped in the jittery phone glow.
2F.
Then up to 3F.
"Chicken shit..."
More unnerving than expected, but I gritted my teeth.
Into the dark.
Deeper into the dark.
Up the stairs.
Toward the unknown.
The market.