Uncle Brandon's Gruesome Bakery
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"That's what I want to ask you. Get a grip, Teacher!"
"Get a grip? Anyone overhearing that might think I'm out of my mind right now."
Elaine's utterly out-of-left-field remark made me scowl. Sure, we'd grown closer after surviving that infinite loop ghost story together, but charging in and treating me like a lunatic the moment we met was just rude.
But Elaine didn't back down at my obvious irritation. If anything, she pressed harder, her voice urgent.
"Snap out of it, Teacher Allen. Take another look at what you've been talking to this whole time!"
She half-shouted it at me while whispering just low enough that no one else could hear. It wasn't about being considerate to others—it felt like she was desperately lowering her voice out of fear of something, terrified of being caught.
...As if I were the one in the wrong.
Half-suspicious, I turned back to the counter. More precisely, I observed the "baker" behind it.
What's so weird about him?
Dull, purplish skin typical of an old corpse. A mouth crammed with shark-like teeth, ripped all the way to the ears. Nothing unusual...
Flash—!
[Classification: Ghost Story]
[Gift: ???]
[Traits: A ghost story entrenched in Everlight Academy's canteen. It pollutes the minds of visitors, forcing them to perceive it as an ordinary baker. Further investigation required for more details.]
I could almost hear the blood draining from my face.
The moment I observed the baker, a translucent status window popped up before my eyes, and my distorted perception snapped back to normal.
"What the fu—"
"Is something... wrong?"
"N-no, nothing at all."
The instant our eyes met, I barely swallowed the curse bubbling up and managed to play it off.
"Sorry about this, but a student asked me about some lecture material I don't know offhand. Mind if I step out for a quick chat and come right back?"
"..."
"I-I'll be super quick."
The monster baker stared at me silently.
...He's not gonna try to kill me now, is he?
"Very... well. But our breads are popular, so hurry back before we... sell out."
The monster baker, who had been staring at me stone-faced, soon flashed a friendly smile again—utterly horrifying now that my perception block was gone—and let me go without a fuss.
Popular my ass. With only two items on the menu, both looking like absolute nightmares!
Luckily, it seemed to buy my promise to return, and I managed to escape the canteen with Elaine.
.
.
.
"Urk...!"
The moment we stepped outside and I gulped fresh air, the nausea I'd been holding back hit all at once.
The metallic stench of blood and the students' muffled groans still clung to my senses. How had I ever mistaken that hellhole for a cozy, upscale bakery? And those kids groaning inside...
Were we too late to save them?
Thank god my stomach was empty—no actual vomit. After a long bout of dry-heaving, I finally regained my composure and turned to Elaine.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"That's what I want to know. I came looking for you the second lunch started, and you're tangled up with that... How is something like Uncle Brandon even here?"
"Wait, Uncle Brandon? You know what that thing is?"
She shot back as if I were the clueless one.
"You don't know about Uncle Brandon? He's a super famous ghost story."
"Famous enough that even I should've heard of him, huh?"
"I'm more shocked you haven't. How do you reach your age without ever hearing the Uncle Brandon story?"
"Get buried in starting a business young, and that's how it goes. Anyway, start from the top—what's this Uncle Brandon ghost story?"
"Aren't you using me a bit too casually?"
She sighed but dutifully explained about Uncle Brandon anyway.
Uncle Brandon.
Like most ghost stories, Brandon started out as human.
There was once a man named Brandon who loved baking bread more than anything.
The kind Uncle Brandon baked delicious loaves every day, and his bakery grew more popular by the day.
But someone, assuming his success meant wealth, robbed the place one day.
Brandon never kept much profit—he just loved making bread—so there wasn't much cash. Enraged, the robber snarled, "Love bread so much? I'll make you eat it till you die!" and crammed loaves down his throat.
His mouth tore open from the force, and Brandon suffocated to death. Filled with resentment, Uncle Brandon returned as a ghost, still baking.
But only two kinds: red cookies and white candy.
Ask for red cookies, and he'll hack off your limbs to bake them in your blood.
Ask for white candy, and he'll gouge out your eyes to make it.
Legend says those were the tortures the robber inflicted while demanding hidden money—and Uncle Brandon, unable to forget his grudge, inflicts the same on his customers.
That was Elaine's rundown.
My first thought upon hearing the Uncle Brandon tale?
"Red cookies and white candy? Sounds kinda plagiarized..."
"Plagiarized?"
"Never mind, you wouldn't get it."
"What?"
I glanced back into the canteen to peek inside.
Cautiously peering in, there it was: the ghost story with its murky purple face and mouth ripped to the ears, right where it belonged.
Forcing down the urge to look away from the monstrosity, I observed it.
[Classification: Ghost Story]
[Gift: —]
[Traits: A notorious ghost story haunting Everlight Academy's canteen. It pollutes visitors' minds, making them see it as a normal baker. It offers two choices—red cookies or white candy—and slaughters people based on their pick. Known to easily overpower an average adult male.]
The info updated based on what she'd told me. I was starting to get a feel for this Observation gift.
It didn't just pop up details from staring—it seemed to refresh when I pieced together clues and inferences about the target myself.
Overall, the ghost story itself was more mundane than terrifying. Unlucky ghost with a tragic past. Forced unfair choice. Death either way. The kind of generic tale that'd trend among students, like red mask or red/blue tissue paper.
"So, what's the banishing method for this Uncle Brandon story?"
"Banishing method?"
"A ghost story that famous has to have some famous counter, right? Like asking for a third option, yellow cookies or blue candy."
"There isn't one."
"...What?"
"Demand anything but red cookies or white candy, and furious Uncle Brandon butchers you. Stall without answering? Same. Any other dodge? Still dead."
"But you die even if you pick red cookies or white candy!"
"Yes."
"So no matter what you say, you die."
"No. Like what you just did—claim you forgot money or have an errand, say you'll come back, and you can escape Uncle Brandon."
"...But that's just evasion, not banishing."
"Exactly why it's a ghost story."
What kind of bullshit was this? Uncle Brandon might as well be invincible—total munchkin setup.
As I gaped in disbelief, Elaine asked cautiously, unease creeping in.
"...You can solve it, right?"
"Die one way, die another? How am I supposed to handle that solo?"
She looked shocked, like she'd never imagined I'd admit defeat. What did she expect from me? I was the pathetic guy who crawled into the basement alone during the infinite loop fiasco.
"But it's not like there's zero way to solve it."
"Huh? You just said—"
"I said we don't both have to solve it. No need to shoulder all the risk ourselves."
If two people couldn't handle it, bring more. Lesson from the infinite loop: ghost stories had surreal powers, but they weren't beyond physics. Hit 'em hard enough with weapons, and they broke like anything else.
Brandon's description said he could easily take a normal adult male—which implied a group of abnormal ones might fare differently.
"So I'll round up some people. Block the canteen entrance meanwhile—keep students out."
From the lore, he stayed put and killed visitors, not hunted them. Bar the door, buy time.
"Me? How am I supposed to stop students!?"
"Figure it out."
"What!? That's so irresponsible!"
"Good luck!"
I dodged Elaine's grab and headed for the academy building.