Midnight Plastic Surgery - "For You, Whom God Failed to Finish" (1)

Montelli's outskirts, in the residential district where the elite gather. I gape at the building before me.

"Whoa..."

This is supposed to be a hideout? A fancy word for a safehouse, but this rivals any major mansion. Brass pipes coil around red brick walls, massive gears turning ceaselessly. The blend of antique manor and rugged machinery stirs a man's deepest fantasies.

"Our customer's loaded..."

True enough—even fallen royalty carries that air. Impressive.

First things first, time to message.

'...One second?'

The reply took barely a second. Like she'd been glued to her phone all ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠day, waiting for my call. How desperate must she be? A strange feeling stirs in me.

Moments later.

Hiss-.

A heavy burst of steam echoes as the iron gate's lock disengages.

Creeeak.

The door swings open automatically.

I pocket my MaPhone and step inside.

The first thing to greet me is a nose-assaulting floral scent.

"...Holy."

A garden sprawls before me. Flowerbeds blanket the front yard, bursting with blooms.

But every single one is a rose. Red roses, white roses, black roses—even rare blue ones. Colors vary, but the species is singular.

'Living up to the nickname.'

Noble Rose, indeed. Who fills their yard with nothing but thorny flowers? Unique taste.

I head straight for the entrance.

The front door opens, and inside unfolds a scene far stranger than the exterior suggested. Tangled pipes, ticking gauges. The wind-up clicks from antique furniture evoke a massive clock tower's innards.

Then, sharp heels echo from the central staircase.

"You're here?"

I look up—and freeze.

"..."

Serria descends the stairs, clad in something far from her auction attire. A blood-red dress. The issue? It's aggressively revealing. Shoulders bare as standard, cleavage plunging perilously. Each step flashes pale leg through the high slit.

'...Gonna lose it.'

My heart pounds. Succubus or not, does she lounge like this at home? Or did she dress up for company?

I mentally belt out the national anthem, schooling my face before speaking.

"Heading out right away?"

"Yes. Follow me."

Serria answers curtly and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leads. Click-clack, click-clack. I ignore the swaying red hem and trail her.

The basement stairs are narrow, dim. We descend far before a vast chamber opens up. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Empty, no furniture. Only a massive magic circle on the floor glows faintly blue.

"This connects to my dungeon," Serria says, pointing. "Coordinates are fixed—just step on. I'll handle the mana."

I comply without protest. She takes position opposite. Eyes closed, she chants. The circle erupts in brilliant light.

Vrrr-!

Air vibrates, ears ring. Vision whites out. A rollercoaster plunge surges through me.

Pop-!

Light fades; hard floor meets my soles. I blink open my eyes.

Lofty ceilings, ornate arch pillars—like a 19th-century British palace transplanted wholesale.

But.

"Cough. Cough."

I stifle coughs, pinching my nose. Each step puffs ancient dust from the carpet.

"..."

Up close, it's dire. Chandeliers dangle precariously, creaking. Massive wall mirrors are cracked or shattered, left grotesque. Worst: battle scars everywhere. Pillars smashed, walls charred and bloodstained.

Not neglected—practically a ruin.

"...No time for cleaning. No funds for dungeon upkeep either."

Serria mutters beside me, face flushed, excusing herself. The haughty princess is gone; she looks like a broke student caught with a messy room.

I survey silently. Eerie chill. A haunted vibe where ghosts could pop out any second.

'Feels just like a ghost house.'

That's when.

"Princess... you've returned..."

Shadows slither from the dark—succubi, like Serria.

But.

"..."

I suck in a breath. Their outfits are a sight. Barely-there bikini armor—or lingerie-level sheer dresses. The dungeon's decadent air worsens with their states.

'...Does this pass review?'

Adult-rated visuals. Eyes dart awkwardly as a tsk sounds in my ear.

'...'

The brutal facts snap me alert.

'Hang on, I wasn't even a merchant to begin with.'

No time for grievances. I steel my expression sternly.

Meanwhile, Serria approaches her minions.

"Everyone okay? Sorry, took too long."

"No, Princess. We're the ones who..."

"You must be exhausted from Montelli."

The succubi look rough too. Flashy outfits torn and singed, bodies dotted with wounds. Serria strokes their injuries, pity on her face.

"Just hold on a bit longer. This time, I got the real deal."

Their gazes snap to me.

Eyes narrow.

"...A human? Smells human."

"Princess, who's this guy? Not a hunter, right?"

Open hostility. Ready to pounce.

Serria blocks them hastily.

"Misunderstanding. He's a demon. I brought a 'professional' to help us."

"A demon?"

"Yes. He'll install something very useful for dungeon defense."

Her endorsement melts their suspicion instantly. Wariness flips to curiosity.

"Oh, a demon."

"Sorry. You smell so good, I just..."

One sidles up, pressing breasts slyly against my arm.

"Up close, you're kinda cute."

"Nice build too."

Another prods my shoulder, smiling seductively. Sweet scent assaults; soft skin chills my spine.

'...!'

I stiffen like a statue. First time facing such blatant seduction. Sweat beads as Serria's icy voice cuts in.

"Enough."

"..."

"No time for games. Don't be rude to our guest—restrain yourselves."

Her sharp warning sends them retreating reluctantly.

"So, how do you install the ghost story?"

Serria crosses arms, urging.

I reply evenly.

"First, may I summon my employee?"

"Employee?"

She looks puzzled but nods.

"Fine. Call your minion if needed."

"Thank you."

I squeeze my scant mana.

"Summon."

Vrrr-.

A red magic circle forms; a monster emerges.

Hob Goblin.

"Krr, kek! You called, boss?"

He strikes a pose, scanning around—then his eyes bulge at the scene.

"Eek! Wh-what's all this! Titties... no, hotties everywhere!"

Drool dribbles as he leers at the succubi, eyes gleaming lewdly.

I sigh.

"Employee. Eyes up."

"...Gulp!"

He straightens. I introduce him to Serria.

"My employee. New hire. Rough look, but sharp mind—runs errands flawlessly."

Hob Goblin clears his throat, adjusting imaginary collar.

"Ahem! Elite employee, Hob Goblin. Honored to serve."

Seamless shift from drooling goblin. But Serria ignores him, turning to me.

"So, when do we install the ghost story?"

No more delays, her tone demands.

I glance around.

"Got a suitable spot? Wide space to trap invaders reliably. The ghost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠story's large-scale."

"Space..."

She ponders, then beckons.

"Follow. Got the perfect place."

We trail her. Not the dungeon's depths—quite the opposite.

"Here."

A massive arched gateway. The dungeon's entrance.

"Install it here."

"The entrance?"

"Yes. Bind their feet the moment they enter. Can't let them push inside—too much damage."

I eye her, surprised. Bosses usually fortify their lairs deepest in, using minions as fodder while commanding safely from rear.

Side-eye Hob Goblin—he averts gaze, guilty. The guy who'd ordered kin to guard the entrance while holing up in a bunker.

'Not all bosses are cowards like Hob Goblin.'

She prioritizes minions over self. True leadership. Service to clients like this feels rewarding.

"Then, let's install."

Serria swallows hard. I close eyes, activating.

Power: Materialization.

Air shudders wildly with the system alerts.

Vrrr-!

Earsplitting ring; gray mist surges from the floor. Surroundings tint gray in seconds.

"Kyaa! Wh-what's this!"

Succubi scream as the world flips. Red carpet becomes cold marble tile; gilded pillars pale white walls.

Moments later, vision clears—a new space.

"..."

Endless corridor. Pungent disinfectant stings the nose. A hospital.

But no ordinary one.

Creak, scritch.

Patient-garbed figures and nurse-uniformed ones wander halls. They mimic humans at a glance—but grotesque up close.

Patients' faces smeared like road-rashed asphalt, raw flesh exposed. Nurses' hair writhes like black tentacles, groping air.

Worst: the ceiling. Twisted red-veined membrane blankets it, pulsing like living guts.

Throb, throb.

"Hii, hiik...!"

Succubi pale, backing away. Ma realm monsters, yet unaccustomed to this visceral horror.

Hob Goblin trembles, clutching my clothes.

"B-boss... this too intense? Mannequins were just dolls—these are real... ugh, nightmare fuel, damn it!"

I nod inwardly.

'...Fucking terrifying.'

The prior "Watcher" was tame—stiff mannequins, merely creepy. This? Gore flick, 19+ horror game level. Writhing tentacles and mashed faces churn my gut.

"...Wh-what is this?"

Serria asks, voice quavering, hand over mouth, staring at the monsters.

I answer calmly.

"A ghost story. What Ma realm calls heteromorphs."

"Heteromorphs..."

She eyes a tentacle-headed nurse with disgust and fear.

"Definitely hideous... but can these stop hunters?"

Fair doubt. No mana waves from the monsters. Visually foul, but they'd shred like paper against hunters. Physically weaker than low-tier mobs, obviously.

I nod at the tentacle nurse.

"Ghost stories kill hunters not with 'strength,' but 'rules.'"

"Huh?"

"Once hunters enter this space, mandatory 'rules' apply."

"Rules?"

"Yes. Break them..."

I pause, locking eyes.

"No hunter, no matter how strong, escapes death. That's a ghost story's absolute power."

Serria gulps at my firm words.

"Th-then... us? Do we die if we break rules?"

One succubus asks, terrified.

I smile reassuringly.

"No worries. This ghost story only attacks customers who haven't paid their 'treatment fee.'"

I grin.

"Allies get free treatment, by the way."