Unsolved Case
Han Suho stared blankly into empty space. It was far too lofty a philosophy lecture for a guy who'd just been run over by a truck, died, and come back to life.
'So... you're saying that the nonsense rumors people whisper around eventually turn into real monsters?'
It was half-graspable, half not. But the principles of ghost stories weren't what mattered right now. He was a small-minded everyman. A guy whose own immediate survival trumped the truths of the universe.
"Excuse me, boss? Could we skip the theory lesson for later? So what the hell do I have to do to stay alive?"
Voice let out a low, mocking chuckle at his materialistic response.
You've temporarily gained a body by contracting with me.
But it's like a toy without batteries. To keep this body running, you need fuel.
Sell ghost stories to dungeon bosses and bring back their 'material rewards.'
Offer them to me, and in exchange, I'll extend your lifespan.
In summary, that was it. He wasn't resurrected—he was living on a prepaid phone plan, forced to top up his remaining life like minutes. If he didn't pay on time, service cut off immediately.
He checked the system window floating in front of him again.
Remaining: 168 hours (7 days)
"Ha... a week."
A chill ran down his spine. Even now, the time was ticking away second by second. If he didn't make sales within a week, he'd die again. No— he'd cease to exist entirely.
Terror surged through him. But at the same time, a strange resignation welled up. This was a life that had already ended under truck tires anyway. Vanish now or struggle and die later—it was all the same. Thinking of it as bonus time actually calmed him down.
"...Fuck it, let's do this. First time in sales, but whatever."
He rubbed his dry face, steeling himself. Then a nagging doubt crossed his mind.
"Wait a sec. Selling stuff to monsters... doesn't that mean helping them kill hunters in the end?"
He asked cautiously.
"Am I siding with humanity's enemies? Do I have to always take the monsters' side? Even so, helping kill fellow humans feels a bit..."
Voice snorted derisively.
Whether you save or doom humanity is none of my business. Side with monsters or hunters—do whatever you want.
I only care about the 'sales proceeds.' What does nationality or species matter to a merchant?
Pure capitalist mindset. That coldness actually reassured him. It meant he didn't have to play the villain. Just let a few more hunters die and close some good sales—as a business partner, that was all.
I've seeded your startup capital for business.
As soon as Voice finished speaking, new knowledge imprinted in his mind.
"Powers window."
Ding.
He scanned the powers window carefully. Knowing the manual was key to survival.
'Trade' is straightforward—selling ghost stories to monsters.
'Language' means he can talk to any being in the world, not just monsters.
'No need for language classes.'
The standout was Indestructibility. No damage from monsters in dungeons. Sure, he couldn't attack them either, but that meant he could stroll through monster dens unscathed. At least he wouldn't end up as fodder while peddling wares.
The tricky ones were the other two.
'Collection and Materialization...'
No clue. He spoke up cautiously.
"Boss? What are collection and materialization? I don't have to source the goods myself, right?"
Voice answered instantly.
Go find rumors, urban legends, and ghost stories floating around the world yourself.
Then 'materialize' them by meeting their conditions and 'collect' them. That's the merchandise you sell.
He was speechless. So he had to hunt down haunted houses and capture ghosts himself?
"You've got to be kidding. I thought they came pre-loaded! Merchants get starter stock to do business!"
An indignant whine escaped him unbidden. Voice snorted in disbelief.
Thinking you'd get it for free?
Thief's mentality.
"...No, that's not it."
He shut his mouth. The boss was tyrannical. What could the underling do?
As he pulled a sour face, Voice tsked.
Cheer up. Even a ruthless boss doesn't send you to war empty-handed.
Ding.
2x 'Basic Ghost Stories' granted.
The most fundamental items. Use them to close your first deal.
Relief washed over him at the message. Not totally starting from zero, then. Still, his stomach churned. Truth was, he was a huge scaredy-cat. Horror movie posters alone made him jump. And now he had to go ghost-hunting?
'This is insane.'
Just imagining it made his legs shake. Dim abandoned schools, bloodstained bathrooms, unidentified noises... His heart tightened at the thought.
But.
Remaining: 167 hours 52 minutes
Seeing the timer dwindle in the corner of his vision crushed the fear under something bigger: survival instinct.
'Scared to death by ghosts or vanish when time runs out.'
Dying was dying either way. Might as well stare down a specter before going out—not so bad. Humans adapt, after all. Desperation to live overpowered the terror.
He let out a wry chuckle.
'Never thought awakening would happen after death.'
Hunter awakening was his lifelong dream. Fantasies of flashy skills, smashing monsters, heroic glory. Reality? Scavenging ghost stories to hawk to monsters like a peddler.
Life was unpredictable.
Weee-ooo! Weee-ooo!
Then it hit—a piercing siren shredded his eardrums. In the distance, an ambulance's red lights flashed as it approached. Someone must've reported the accident.
Screech!
The ambulance halted, paramedics leaping out in a rush.
"Sir! Are you okay? Stay with us!"
One spotted him and yelled. He waved reflexively.
"Ah, I'm fine! Totally okay!"
"Huh? What do you... oh my god."
The paramedic's face twisted in horror as he reached him. His gaze swept Han Suho's clothes. Blood from the truck impact soaked his shirt and pants. Anyone would peg him for imminent death from blood loss.
"Hey! You're gushing blood—how are you fine? Lie down now! You're going into shock!"
The paramedic grabbed his arm urgently.
"Uh...?"
The arm felt fine. No—better than before, full of vigor. He pressed a hand to his chest.
Thump, thump, thump.
His heart pounded strong. Unlike his blood-drenched clothes, his body was perfectly restored. Warm body heat intact.
He wasn't a zombie. He was a living human.
But explaining? Impossible. Saying "I died and respawned with a fresh body" would land him in psych ward straightaway.
"Ah, well..."
"Don't talk! Heavy bleeding! Prep for transport!"
More paramedics rushed with a stretcher. He considered bolting but lay down obediently. Resisting wouldn't help. Parading blood-soaked through streets would summon cops too.
'Better wash up at the hospital and slip out quietly.'
He squeezed his eyes shut. Ambulance doors slammed, red lights bathing his face.
The scene was chaos. Red and blue police lights swept erratically over the asphalt.
"Senior, you need to see this."
Detective Choi furrowed his brow, offering a tablet PC. Detective Oh, smoking outside the tape, turned irritably.
"What? Got the hit-and-run plate?"
"Nah. Secured CCTV... but it's fucked."
"Fucked how? Cars hit people and bail all the time."
Oh grumbled, peering at the screen. Roadside security cam footage played. Late-night crosswalk. A man darts into the road. Massive dump truck barrels after.
BOOM!!
Impact shook the frame. Instant death, no question. Truck didn't brake, plowed right through.
But.
"...Hey. Where's the rest?"
Oh's cigarette dropped from his lips.
"That's it. Collision's there, but nothing after."
"What? Cam cut out?"
"No, cam's fine. But that truck—no sign it left the scene."
Choi pulled up a map.
"CCTV everywhere around here. To escape, it'd hit another cam for sure. But... nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Yeah. Scoured every cam in a 1km radius. Entry footage exists, but zero exits. Alleys, main roads, lots—nowhere."
Oh let out a hollow laugh. A multi-ton dump truck vanishing? Like a needle? Absurd. But the data said 'none.' Erased clean like with an eraser.
"Tire marks?"
"Gone too. No hard braking, no tracks, no debris. Road's spotless."
Oh rubbed his face. Truck vanished, no traces. A real head-scratcher.
"Victim? How's he?"
"That's crazier."
Choi paused the footage. Man sprawled, blood pooling.
"Paramedics say he was covered head to toe when they found him. That blood loss? Should've been shock-dead."
"But?"
"Perfectly fine."
"...What?"
"When loading him, no wounds. Not even a scratch, let alone fractures. He insisted it wasn't his blood... but the clothes had human blood, confirmed."
Oh's eyes narrowed. Truck hits and evaporates. Man unscathed. Blood everywhere, no injuries. Nothing added up logically. Felt possessed.
"This ain't just hit-and-run."
Oh ground out his butt underfoot. Veteran instincts screamed. Something rotten here. Real stinky.
"Victim ID?"
"Got it."
Choi swiped to show a standard ID photo and details.
"Han Suho. 23. Unemployed. Note: fired from convenience store part-time today."
Oh stared hard at 'Han Suho's' face. Mild features. Average joe anywhere.
"Han Suho..."
He stroked his chin, murmuring the name. Bizarre accident, vanishing truck, fine victim. Wanted to grill him at the hospital now, but no cause.
Victim's okay—what grounds for cops to harass?
"Shelf it for now."
"Huh? Close it?"
"Hold, not close. Truck flew to sky or sank to earth—who knows? Nothing we can do now."
Oh glared at the empty road once more. Case in fog, no path visible.
"But memorize that name."
"Han Suho?"
"Yeah. Feels like we'll meet again."
Oh turned away, unease lingering. That day's incident filed away in police DB as an unsolved case, quietly buried.