Chapter 101: Constellation, A Tiny Mischief 2
Chapter 101: Constellation, A Tiny Mischief 2
Fame is the power of a Constellation.
Why else would the Incinerating Tyrant round up every one of his Incarnations, load them onto battleships, and stage a spectacle for the world to see? And why had simply delivering coffee to Han Ye-ji's workplace nudged the Dream Demon's rank upward?
People name the constellations in the night sky. Constellations shine only when people are watching.
Broadly speaking, the shop's 90% discount on items matching a Constellation's name followed the same logic. The goal was to make the name stick — to ensure the name itself conjured something the moment it was heard.
Not that fame was the only motive.
If you could grow stronger just by being watched, I'd have started streaming ages ago. The one and only Dream Demon Constellation ever to physically descend into this world, hosting his own internet broadcast. Throw in a werewolf and an elf as guests, and wouldn't the entire world — not just the Eastern Continent — tune in?
But this whole thing had started as a way to share a hobby with Han Ye-ji and mess around a little. I had zero intention of blowing it up that far. A few days of getting screenshotted and posted on some internet board — that was about the ceiling. That was still the level where you could laugh it off without worrying about real-world fallout.
[100k just for not getting scared? Gimme your mouse!]
[Hey, it's my stream!]
[Hey, they're my viewers!]
The instant Han Ye-ji dropped the wager I'd told her to in chat, the long-haired woman and the short-haired woman on screen started grappling each other.
Going by appearances alone, they were both gentle-faced beauties who'd probably racked up their share of schoolyard confessions. Watching two women like that grab each other by the collar mid-game-stream, tussling badly enough to flash their bras — it was profoundly awkward. Not that they were actually fighting. They never batted an eye when a belly button or a bit of underwear peeked out on camera.
"Whose stream are you even watching?"
"Both of theirs, but my account is set to the long-haired one's side, so. They're not actually fighting though. They do this all the time."
"So the long-haired one came over to the short-haired one's stream — and because you've got a long-hair fan nickname, you dropped a mission to make them fight?"
"Right? But even after they go at it like that, afterward they split the money and donate some of it."
The two sorted themselves out in seconds, as if the scuffle itself was part of the show. The short-haired one grabbed the keyboard and mouse. The long-haired one scooted her chair out of the way. As they shuffled around, the open space behind them showed on camera. Enough room to drop in a single Nightmare.
"But, Constellation, why that kind of mission...?"
While I was still mulling over which one to send, Han Ye-ji sounded genuinely puzzled. Her whispered voice burrowed straight into my ear, and my shoulders gave an involuntary shudder. I hadn't suddenly sprouted an erogenous zone there, but I was definitely more sensitive now. When fingers touched it outright I hadn't noticed, but breath — breath tickled far worse than anywhere else.
"Obviously, I dropped a don't-get-scared mission in order to scare them."
It felt like someone was scraping the pointed tips of my ears with the edge of a fingernail. Goosebumps prickled down the back of my neck. I leaned my head back and let the soft cushion of her chest take its weight. She'd been cooped up inside the house; must've been too uncomfortable to wear a bra. I rested my hands on her thighs — firm and plush, a better armrest than any chair — and nestled my head into the valley of her breasts. A seat that left nothing in the world to envy. Though I did worry Han Ye-ji, currently propping me up, might be a little sore—
"Oh, it's starting."
Then again, the way her arms wrapped around me with practiced ease, her fingers idly kneading at my stomach — that spoke of a steely resolve to endure any discomfort. What were a slightly awkward spread-legged perch and a bit of stiffness? She had an elf boy in her arms. Feeling the weight of that conviction in the hands holding me from behind, I refocused my mind.
[Forward, right, right, left, photo at the phone, then turn around — click!]
[You already memorized it?]
[There's money on the line. Of course I did!]
The woman on screen shot forward like she was possessed, as if the whole screaming, stumbling, getting-her-ass-handed-to-her-by-a-ghost routine had been an act from the start. The chat log flooded with spam calling the game boring. The streamer mocked them and kept hoovering up clues at a blistering pace.
[At this rate you're gonna clear the no-hit mission too, huh?]
[Add the time attack and it's 350k!]
The hallway lights went out. The man in the picture frame wept blood. The unplugged phone on the wall rang. Neither woman so much as flinched. Even when a door drifted open on its own and a man in stark white funeral garb came trudging out, they ignored him and walked right past.
That was my cue. I called up a single Nightmare — the virgin ghost of a gender-role-reversed world, you might say, identical to the one from the game. Baggy white shirt and trousers that hid his limbs. Lank, unkempt hair long enough for a man, falling past his eyes. Blood smeared at the corner of his mouth. The kind of ghost so cliché it was more funny than frightening in-game. In fact, this one really had been harvested from a lower-grade elementary schooler who'd been wandering around.
But a ghost stepping out of a monitor in a video game was one thing. A ghost stepping through a door into your own home — that would feel entirely different.
The door drifted slowly open behind the two women, who were still cackling about slicing into steaks tonight with that 350,000 won.
The game room was kept dim for atmosphere. The living room, though — the living room was brightly lit. Maybe that was why. The moment the wooden door swung inward and stark white light cut into the dark, the viewers reacted immediately. Unlike the two women with their backs turned, the viewers were staring straight at the door through the camera.
[Door? What door? Wait, our door? There's no clue on our door.]
[Quit messing around with weird stuff!]
[No, it actually opened. Does your cat open doors now?]
[She's smart, she opens everything except the front door. Honestly, she's the one who took the money from your wallet.]
[Really? Gonna demand my money back when I catch her, then.]
The short-haired one was talking faster now — focused on the game. The long-haired one shut the door and looked around. But obviously, a cat hadn't opened it. No matter how often she glanced around, she'd never find one. The viewers laughed at their easy banter. Han Ye-ji, holding me, laughed too.
"Fun?"
"Yeah. I like when people say stupid stuff like that. Their humor kind of fits mine."
[There's no cat, though?]
[Might've opened it and wandered off. Don't talk to me, I need to focus.]
[What about my money, then?]
[Went to buy Churu trea— hey! I just got hit!]
From under the in-game rug, a gaunt, blood-soaked hand slithered up and raked across the character's back. At the exact same moment, the bedroom door groaned open again — slow, drawn-out.
The short-haired one howled about how unfair this was. The long-haired one ignored her, crossed to the door, and checked the living room again.
[No, seriously, there's nothing th— AAH!]
[Oh, quit bullshitting, for real!]
She was still peering around when she reached the doorway — and the door slammed shut in her face. And there, behind it, stood the man in white.
[Door? Behind the door? Wait, whose aggro— the door behind me?]
[Oh shit, what the hell? Why'd the door close?]
[Don't lie. You set this up with your viewers. Don't tell me it's a mission from my stream's fans. I mean it.]
The white-clad man lingered in the darkened room for perhaps half a second, then scattered into empty air. Neither the long-haired woman — outside the door — nor the short-haired one — too locked into the game to turn around — saw him. He flickered past the camera and vanished. The viewers went berserk, spamming chat so hard it lagged. The two streamers started fighting with their mouths while still pushing through the game, insisting they hadn't been scared.
Since Han Ye-ji had placed the mission wager under a long-haired-fan nickname, the short-haired one was starting to suspect her partner. Fair enough. Who'd believe a real ghost had materialized behind them during a horror game? Far more likely your prank-loving colleague was running a hidden-camera stunt.
Jumping out of your skin was one thing. Genuinely believing it was another.
So when a new ghost appeared in the game and they dodged its attack, I opened another door.
[Why do you keep messing with the door? So annoying!]
[Hey, your place — never mind.]
Not the bedroom door. The wardrobe door on the far wall. The long-haired one was growing uneasy. There couldn't possibly be a cat in there, but she started rummaging through the wardrobe anyway. The short-haired one was locked into the game, but the long-haired one — she'd watched a door slam in her face. Her unease and fear were palpable through the camera, so I reached out and shut the wardrobe door she'd been rifling through with trembling hands. Even then, the chat had slowed to a laggy crawl as people who'd glimpsed something white fought with people telling them to stop lying.
"Whoa, was that you, Constellation...?"
"Yep."
Han Ye-ji giggled as she watched. How entertaining must it be, spectating while knowing the whole truth? That was why hidden-camera variety shows flooded the world, wasn't it? Simple, yes — but popular, so they multiplied.
It wasn't as if this was anything bad. It'd be good for their stream. Nobody was going to foam at the mouth and collapse from a heart attack just because they got startled.
The game was hurtling toward its finale as the two of us snickered and watched the women's contrasting reactions. They'd collected every hint note, dodged every ghost. Now they just had to sprint down a few more corridors and watch the final event, and the game would be over — Han Ye-ji murmured all of this to me.
[There's nothing left! I fear nothing!]
[Run! Almost there!]
The two women must have memorized the game's story too; they were shouting with excitement. Glancing at the timer, the time-attack quest was still in reach — that explained the adrenaline. They'd blown the no-hit playthrough — a red line slashed through its icon — but at this pace, they'd still pocket 250,000 won.
[Really, not scared at all?]
Into that moment, a man's voice drifted — somber, low.
[Not scared. You talk— wait.]
[Stop screwing around. For real.]
[That wasn't me. Seriously.]
A man's voice in a room with only two women: the chat and the streamers both erupted. The in-game character stood frozen; they'd forgotten to play. The two women's heads whipped around so fast their hair slapped against their cheeks. They shoved their phones at each other.
[Look. I didn't turn on any recording. Yours?]
[I keep mine off during streams.]
[I've got nothing.]
The man's voice murmured right into the mic. Over the two women's outstretched wrists, thin blood-soaked hands settled with a whisper-light touch. The same hands that had crawled out from under the game's rug. Identical.
[U-uh, DAAAD!]
[Wha— what? What is it? What the hell?!]