The Inescapable Chain of Death
Having escaped from Yeolbinru, the source of the fortune cookie curse, we found ourselves at a loss for where to go next. I'd figured investigating the restaurant itself—the origin of the prophecy—would turn up something useful, but contrary to expectations, Yeolbinru was closed for business indefinitely, and tracing the cookies' source had hit a dead end.
Of course, since everything would reset upon regression anyway, we could force the issue and dig deeper. But my hard-earned experience from countless ghost stories whispered that pursuing the cookies' origins any further wouldn't yield anything worthwhile. ...It felt like our entire approach had gone completely off track.
"...So, what do we do now?"
"...."
"Um, Teacher?"
The students turned to me with their questions, but I didn't respond. This sense of déjà vu. It was the exact feeling I'd gotten before—every time we'd veered down the wrong path while trying to resolve a ghost story, that nagging sensation of treading a road that led nowhere.
What is it? What are we missing?
It was purely thanks to that creeping déjà vu, scanning our surroundings, that I reacted in time to what happened next.
That hanging signboard—was that what they called it? Western restaurants didn't have them, but as an Eastern eatery, Yeolbinru sported this distinctive decoration. It began tilting slowly. Creak... creeeak—no, it wasn't tilting. It was falling!
"Everyone, get out of the way!!"
I shouted and shoved the students standing beneath it. After pushing them aside and remaining alone in that spot, the signboard plummeted straight toward my head.
...Damn it. Was this loop ending like this?
"Teacher! What are you doing!!"
At that moment, a strong hand seized my collar and yanked me back. My body lurched backward from the force just as the signboard crashed into the spot where I'd been standing.
Crash!
"...D-did I... survive?"
"Survive? Worry about yourself for once, Teacher! You almost died!"
Rone yelled at me, her face flushed with anger. Jeez. Even after I saved her life, she was mad. Talk about ungrateful.
"...But what the hell happened? A signboard just dropping out of nowhere!"
Rone grumbled, though her eyes were fixed on the fallen sign.
"No need to ask. It's the fortune cookie's doing. Seems like it can't wait to see Edward bite the dust."
At my words, Edward—who'd already been staring at the wreckage with trembling eyes—went even paler, if that was possible.
Still, it was a relief I'd been on high alert from the déjà vu. My judgment had been off. Now that Edward had received his prophecy, uncovering the cookie's true nature mattered less than dodging the 'fate' gunning for him.
But I'd fixated too much on the ghost story's source. It was obvious that, from the moment the prophecy hit, invisible murder attempts would rain down on Edward all day.
"From now on, it's not just about finding the ghost story's root. We have to protect Edward from dying too..."
Right then, the thunderous clop-clop of hooves echoed from afar, racing closer at breakneck speed. Not the steady rhythm of city carriages, but the frenzied gallop of something out of control.
I whipped around. In the distance, horses pulling a cargo wagon were foaming at the mouth, charging wildly. No driver in sight. Instead, beyond the empty driver's seat loomed a pile of farm tools—scythes, pitchforks, the works.
My hackles rose. No way that wagon was a coincidence—I'd bet my teaching position on it being the ghost story's handiwork.
"Damn it! Everyone, dodge!!"
At my shout, we instinctively hurled ourselves aside. The wagon barreled through where we'd stood at terrifying speed, but thankfully, we'd spotted it first and avoided getting run down.
But the danger didn't end there. Before we could catch our breath, as we scrambled out of the way, the ropes securing the wagon's load 'happened' to loosen.
"Son of a—"
The farm tools came tumbling out in a cascade. 'Coincidentally,' the sharp points of scythes and pitchforks hurtled straight toward us.
I saw the deadly barrage coming, but we were already prone on the ground—no dodging this one. Sensing death, I felt that strong grip on my collar again.
It was Rone. With her Gift-enhanced physical prowess, she yanked us away from the wagon just before the tools buried us.
Clang! Scraaaape!! Thud!
The tools crashed down with a deafening racket; some sparked against the stone pavement. Only then did screams erupt from the onlookers. Chaos engulfed the street in seconds.
Late to the party, Yeolbinru staff rushed out apologizing profusely, and the ashen-faced driver came sprinting after his runaway wagon.
In the midst of the horrific scene, Edward shook like a leaf. The rest of us exchanged grave looks, no words needed. Were we imagining it, or were the attacks coming faster, more brazen and lethal?
.
We shook off the profusely apologetic Yeolbinru staff and driver, heading for a quieter spot. Crowded areas were a no-go. No telling how the ghost story would strike next.
The moment we left the restaurant district and slipped into an empty alley, the next assault hit.
"Meow~."
We flinched. "Ah... j-just a cat."
Edward, already jittery and glancing around, jumped at the sound from above. Thankfully, it was only a stray cat strolling the back wall.
He sighed in relief—but it lasted mere seconds. A precariously perched old flowerpot wobbled and slipped free.
"Edward, watch out!"
I shoved him with my arm. The pot smashed where he'd stood, shattering into pieces.
That was just the beginning. The crash startled the cat, which bolted, kicking wildly. Its flailing paw snagged a sagging clothesline strung between buildings.
The frayed line 'coincidentally' snapped with a twang! One end whipped through the air like a lash, 'coincidentally' coiling around Edward's neck.
"Gack... guh...!"
Edward's eyes bulged as he clawed desperately at the noose. How the hell had it wrapped around him? He gasped and choked, his face turning blue in seconds.
"E-Edward!"
Rone and the others rushed over, frantically untangling the line. Just before his eyes rolled back, the old rope gave way, flinging him free.
As relief washed over us for averting another death, I spotted his feet. I lunged, catching Edward as he toppled.
A sidelong glance at the near-fall spot revealed jagged flowerpot shards glinting menacingly. Had he gone down, his head would've smashed right into them.
This wasn't one accident. Flowerpot, clothesline, then flowerpot shards again. In that brief span, three lethal traps had chained together for Edward—like a meticulously engineered Rube Goldberg death machine.
Why did my grim hunches always hit the mark? The fortune cookie's 'prophecy' targeted him with ever-bolder, more cunning strikes. And the intervals between attacks were shrinking noticeably.
No time left to chase the ghost story's source. And in that moment, I realized what I'd gotten wrong all along.
[Success: Correct judgment made from fragments of given information.]
[Ghost Story: Understanding of Unavoidable Prophecy increases.]
I'd mistaken the ghost story's genre all this time. This wasn't a detective tale about unraveling the fortune cookie's identity. The cookies were just set dressing—a MacGuffin to use once and discard. We'd wasted time on that irrelevant prop.
The true core of this ghost story was unavoidable fate. Itself.
A movie title from my past life suddenly sprang to mind. A long-running series, as I recalled.
Final Destination. Yeah, that was it.
That was the ghost story we faced. And we had to shatter that fixed future.