Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: Watching Everything
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Watching everything.
A problem cropped up.
The ghost story...
wasn't manifesting.
"No way. It popped up whenever it felt like it before, but now that I'm trying seriously, nothing doing."
He tossed the pen down like it was trash and leaned back in his chair.
"This ain't easy. After all that agonizing, I finally psyched myself up to give it a real shot."
The desk was littered with countless sketches and concepts.
My daydreams. Ones that might've come alive. Might've helped someone. Might've even become my big ticket to making bank.
Three whole notebooks filled, hands raw and arms aching from brainstorming and trying—but nothing worked.
"What the hell's the trick?"
So far, only two successes.
Responding Bear Doll and Rational Gacha Machine.
What was the difference between then and now?
"Does it not work with drawings? Need the real thing?"
Maybe.
But...
"Nah, can't lock that in—I've got real props with airtight setups that bombed this time too."
Sample size too small.
"And... the Shadow Office doesn't fit."
Shadow Office.
A daydream from my childhood. Had to be a ghost story now.
No doubt about it. Still delivering Rational Gacha profits via parcel, that fixer who hangs up after one word every call. The spitting image of the Shadow Office I'd dreamed up.
"But that's weird, right? No drawing for Shadow Office—just pure imagination. That became a ghost story, but sketches don't? Doesn't add up."
So what was the issue?
"Is it the inspiration after all?"
That subtle sensation when birthing Responding Bear. When unleashing Rational Gacha.
Like dragging something from beyond reality through words...
"What the hell even was that?"
He threw his head back over the chair rest. Room upside down.
"Argh. Felt like inspiration hit a few times this round too. Why'd it flop? Was it really different?"
Sensations fade fast from memory—now even he was second-guessing.
That spark back then—what'd it feel like? Totally unlike these?
No clue. None.
Groaning to himself, he muttered without thinking.
"Man. So damn tough. So damn fun."
Huh. Am I smiling?
Hand to face—yep, grin stretched wide. Smiling for real.
Complain all I want, this was his jam: unleashing wild fantasies.
And get this—they could come alive. Make money too. How could he not love it? Failures galore, headaches be damned—even this fumbling felt good.
"Ha. What to try next?"
Bzzzzt.
Phone buzzed. Incoming call—no caller ID.
"Whoa?!"
Been ages! Way too long!
Handled everything via parcels lately—no calls!
Snatched it up on reflex. Connected automatically, deep voice rumbling.
- Delivered as instructed.
He yelped like it'd scorched him.
"Shadow Office! That's you, right?! "
- …
No reply.
But line didn't drop. Normally it'd hang up after one line.
Spitting words fast before it could cut:
"Just wanted to say thanks. Seriously grateful. For always handling stuff for me. And showing up like this. Always appreciated it. Still do. Thanks again."
Rambling mess.
But real.
Saltier than salt, sweeter than sugar—dried, boiled down pure heart.
Of course. Shadow Office: imaginary friend from elementary days, always by his side. Real him sucked at everything, but dream version handled it all.
That sticks. Even now, adult scribbling new setups, he'd filler "Shadow Office" into forms.
Home of his daydreams.
- …
Silence on the line. Checked—still connected.
- …
Long pause.
Maybe imagination, but faint, soft chuckle from the other end?
Ears perked, face to speaker.
Listen close. Real laugh or noise?
Just a bit more...
Voice cut in.
- And,
And?
Jolted. A second later, awe hit.
Said "and." Conjunction, not verb! From Shadow Office!
First time ever. What was coming?
- Informed as requested.
Click.
Call dropped.
Euphoria crashed.
Uh.
What just...?
Stared blankly at phone.
So, I thanked him.
Long silence.
Sudden "and," like more words incoming—then "Informed as requested"?
What conversation was that?
His fault for craving ghost story chit-chat? Or did it respond in its way? No idea.
"Anyway... check it out?"
Thud thud!
Someone pounded the door. Rhythm and force unmistakable now.
Creak.
Yup—door open, no one, just parcel box.
Grabbed and ripped it open.
"..."
First thing: badge made from a doll eyeball.
"Why this...?"
Looks like Responding Bear's eye. Made into badge and sent?
"...Why?"
No clue. Set aside, rummaged box.
"Gah!"
Jump scare! Flung it away, stumbled back.
Hit the floor—head throbbed.
"Responding Bear... what the hell you been up to?"
They were.
Individually plastic-wrapped,
fingers.
One, two, three... seven whole ones.
"Insane."
Already headache from Lee Seol's pinky in the fridge—now seven more?
And what.
Responding Bear.
Ain't you living the dream, loved up? Whose fingers? Where from? Huh? Not that woman's, right?
Luckily.
Stomach churning, inspected: calluses, thick joints—man's fingers, not woman's... but lucky?
"This bastard. What're you doing out there?"
Clutching pounding skull, pulled last item: paper.
📜 How to Reach the Ghost Story Market [Strange methods listed in numbered order] 8. Recommended items: Fingers. Badge. 9. Informed as requested. Shadow Office note, huh.
That long pause earlier—this what it meant?
"But why...?"
Some market?
Weird directions scream ghost story market...
"Why tell me? Go there?"
Hold up. Think.
Shadow Office: handles or helps with what I want.
Right before call—what was he pondering?
Sudden sketchy market guide...
"No way. This helps make ghost stories?"
No answer.
Instead,
Chill!
A hunch hit.
Ghost Story Market. Inspiration inside?
Idiotic, reckless, safety-blind thought.
Chill!
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ World Health Safety League (WHSL) Korean Branch, Agent Oh Ji-seong's report.
📄 WHSL Report #ARPS-NEW-31117 (1) Confirmed sightings of suspected Aberrant Reality Pollution Source (ARPS, aka apse) in select internet community posts. Designated suspect; investigated all CCTV under ⬛⬛⬛⬛, pinpointed ARPS. Glass display case (inverted trapezoid) filled with capsules. Height 2.5m. Width 1.5m. Glowing with lights and monitors. Insertion slot present. Coin slot and crank handle. Registered under new code ARPS-NEW-31117. — #ARPS-NEW-31117 (2) Confirmed ability to vanish, reappear, and relocate freely. — #ARPS-NEW-31117 (3) Does not vanish while observed by 1+ person. Assigned 3 special response agents for constant visual surveillance. — #ARPS-NEW-31117 (5) 31117 prizes confirmed as penalties paid by prior players. — #ARPS-NEW-31117 (7) CCTV analysis: Subject presumed to have drawn "1 eyeball" prize—identified as Lee Seol, 21, female. Congenital optic nerve issue caused blindness; post-draw, gained sight. Prizes sourced from prior players but undergo semi-real changes upon becoming prizes. — #ARPS-NEW-31117 (11) Deployed 13 test subjects. Failure to insert designated penalty item within 3 days triggers forced collection. Observed blood vanishing from subjects' bodies. Forced collection accrues like interest; unpaid penalties lead to daily blood draws until death. Missing blood appears as new 31117 prizes. As prizes increase, subjects show growing obsession with gacha game. Repeated willingness to accept deadlier penalties observed. 📝 Agent Comment — Oh Ji-seong If left active, prizes will inevitably multiply. Desperate players will emerge, taking ever-deadlier risks for the gacha. Lures irresistible prizes to force life-threatening penalties—not neutral, but aggressive. Request code change to ARPS-HTS-31012 and initiate containment. "Phew... another one down."
Agent Oh Ji-seong stretched long.
Rumble rumble.
Alley held a massive trailer.
Three burly guys hefted the gacha machine aboard.
Special response agents gripped shotguns inside suit jackets, eyes locked on it the whole time.
By the rules they'd cracked,
flawless.
This hazard ghost story would be contained, never see daylight again.
Should've been.
Roll—
Till the doll eyeball stuck to the gacha machine rolled its pupil.
"Huh? What's that?"
Insertion slot side.
Always there, overlooked somehow—till it moved. Massive dissonance hit Oh Ji-seong.
No.
Chill crawled his nape.
Pat pat—
His sharp senses caught tiny footsteps entering the alley. Too small for human. Cat-like.
Whirling on mounting dread, he frowned.
"Hm...?"
Nothing suspicious—but something caught his eye.
Was that there?
A bear doll.
Tattered, ugly, silver sword at waist—squatting blankly at alley mouth.