The Smiling Impostor
I hesitated to casually eat the items here in the Ghost Story Apartment—not out of guilt for using a survivor's belongings, but worry that they might be dangerous somehow. Still, I figured food in a 'safe room' couldn't possibly be harmful, so I started preparing a meal.
Personally, I wanted to eat while watching TV, but the diary warned that only bizarre programs infected by ghost stories aired. For the record, those weird programs were separate from the monster anchor we'd encountered on the 9th floor. Just how screwed was this world's setup, anyway?
Shin Jong-min had stocked the shelter with all sorts of preserved foods, so it was all canned goods and such, but the meal turned out quite abundant. Especially the instant ramen that was left—it felt like divine luck. Sure, it was a bit past its expiration date and had that stale oil smell, but boiling it up with a ton of canned tuna made it negligible.
No, more than that, tasting ramen for the first time in decades sent shivers of感動 through my entire body.
Thankfully, the students loved the instant ramen too.
"It's only been about ten minutes since you started cooking... and you whip out pasta like this...? What kind of magic did you use? And there were no fish ingredients, but there's actual fish inside...!"
Elaine was already trembling in awe at the ramen itself, even before tasting it.
Rone carefully slurped a mouthful of the hot broth, then her eyes flew wide open.
"Oh my god! This... I can't believe food like this exists! It's the best thing I've ever eaten! How can it be so salty, spicy, oily, and umami-packed at the same time!? It's too intense!"
Her cheeks flushed pink.
Rozalia took a sip of broth, coughed for a moment, then burst into admiration.
"Cough. Cough. This dish called ramen is pretty spicy, but the depth of flavor is incredible! It only took about ten minutes to make, yet this level of umami...! Were you a famous chef in your previous life, Teacher!?"
"If I were that skilled a chef, I'd have become one after reincarnating instead of a merchant. This isn't my talent—it's the instant ramen that's amazing. Anyone can make this taste in five minutes."
"My goodness!! So people in Teacher's world can all make this precious dish!?! What kind of world did you live in!?"
"It's a world like this."
"This ramen dish! It must be an incredibly high-class cuisine!!"
"It's cheap."
"Lies!!"
Thankfully, the students raved about the ramen. The power of 21st-century chemical seasonings was truly formidable.
"To think you'd even make something this delicious. Maybe ghost stories aren't all bad—they don't always harm humans outright."
"..."
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"Nah. It's just... eating a taste of home after so long has my chest all choked up."
"Hee hee hee! If that's the case, don't hold back—eat as much as you want! There's plenty of 'ramen'!!"
"It's not yours, Rozalia."
The taste of ramen after decades was as delicious as ever, expiration date be damned. But...
Would a ghost story really create something beneficial to humans?
Rozalia had said it casually in passing, but her words pierced right to the heart of the matter. Ghost stories existed fundamentally to harm and kill humans. Yet this Ghost Story Apartment was filled with spaces that were lethally dangerous and brimming with malice, but it also had areas that were neutral or even useful to humans.
...Was this apartment really created by a ghost story?
Pushing that doubt aside, we finished eating and stepped out of Room 105. Our goal was to find the room that used the four-digit password from the diary: 7 10 9 3.
"Which room should we check first?"
"Hmm, probably somewhere on a high floor, right? Important things are usually at the top."
"No, it could be hidden on the lowest floor instead. Somewhere no one would think to look."
As the group debated their theories, I opened my mouth to speak. For rooms we'd already cleared, a survivor would likely have tried entering the password by now. But none of the cleared rooms mentioned anything password-related. So the room that needed it was probably in an uncleared area—beyond the 10th floor.
...That's what I was about to say.
Screeech—!
Bam!
The emergency stairwell door on the 8th floor burst open with a deafening racket. Then a figure clad head to toe in a hazmat suit poked out abruptly.
At the sudden appearance of the man, we all tensed up and assumed combat stances.
The suited figure paused, eyeing us. We held our tension, locked in a standoff.
But unexpectedly, he pulled off the suit's hood, shook out his sweat-drenched hair, and greeted us cheerfully.
"Oh? New residents?"
Behind the suit was a handsome young man, his face soaked in sweat but radiating undeniable freshness.
"..."
"..."
"..."
His response was so far from what we'd expected that we froze, unsure how to react.
That's when his hazmat suit struck me as familiar. The group seemed to recognize it too and cautiously asked.
"Um... are you Shin Jong-min?"
Elaine spoke for us.
The suited man flashed a bright smile and replied cheerfully.
"Ah! That's me! Shin Jong-min!"
The hazmat suit he wore was identical to those hanging in the closet of Room 105 we'd just left—even the hand-stitched repairs were a perfect match, sending chills down our spines.
As Shin Jong-min grinned and confirmed his identity, we couldn't help but be stunned. He looked nothing like the haggard, desperate survivor we'd imagined.
"Oh, I just stopped by Room 105 on my way. Sorry for barging in without permission!"
Rozalia apologized hurriedly at his name.
But Shin Jong-min laughed it off with a wave.
"No worries! It's a rest spot for anyone. Us residents have to help each other. Don't sweat it!"
His casual demeanor put us at ease as he spotted the UV light in my hand and exclaimed happily.
"Ah, you're using the flashlight I prepared!"
"Yeah. Found it in a shoe cabinet after entering some room. Yours?"
"Yep! Some places get dangerous if you turn on the lights, so I placed them in every room to make it easier for residents. Helpful?"
"Saved our lives, yeah."
He let out a smug "Heh heh!" but instead of annoying, his affable vibe made him seem playfully cheeky.
"And... we ate some of the food in the room..."
Rone hesitated as she spoke, but he grinned refreshingly again.
"All good! Plenty of supplies. There's a 'Mirror Room' where you can duplicate stuff! Help yourselves!"
"The 12th floor?"
"You knew?"
"Saw the warning. The O/X marks meant that, huh."
I muttered.
Shin Jong-min was brighter and more energetic than I'd pictured a survivor. He kept smiling ear to ear, chatting animatedly about apartment life as if we were old pals, creating a warm atmosphere.
As he approached the group familiarly, I stopped him.
"Ah. Don't come closer. Talk from there."
He blinked in confusion.
"Huh? Why? Oh—you suspect me? Think I might be contaminated?"
"Yeah."
I answered firmly, but he didn't seem offended, just nodded with a grin.
"Fair enough. Makes sense in this world to be wary of strangers. But I'm really not some dangerous disaster. Hmm. How can I prove it?"
His smile never wavered.
"The diary warned the emergency exit was dangerous. Yet you came from the stairwell."
I pointed out the contradiction.
"Huh? Did I warn that? Oh, it's fine with this suit. Keeps you mostly safe. Ah ha, that's why? Haha!"
"And for someone surviving this Ghost Story Apartment long-term, your mental state looks suspiciously healthy."
"Hahaha. Gotta force a smile to stay sane. Oh man, it'd be nice if I had girlfriends like yours—wouldn't have to live here all alone and lonely."
"...A-hem!!"
"G-Girlfriends!? How frivolous!"
"Right! We're not Teacher's l-l-lover, we're his students!"
Far from upset, he cheekily teased back, flustering the group. He was quite the smooth talker.
"If you read my diary, you'd know. Did it mention even one line about monsters mimicking humans in the halls?"
"...No. Nothing like that."
Right. The diary had no such entry. Not a single line.
That was the most damning proof. Unable to argue further, I asked one final question.
"Go ahead. Won't change anything—I'm human, after all."
Shin Jong-min beamed.
"Then lastly... you."
As I posed my question, he was still grinning.
"How are you talking to our students? They're speaking in the Hifnia common tongue right now."
In that instant, Shin Jong-min—no, it—lost all expression. What remained was a mannequin of rubbery clay mimicking a human.
It was right, after all. The diary had no line about human-mimicking monsters.
Not with ordinary ink.