Chapter 12

A horrific stench spread through the studio.

Something with a pig's head walked on two legs into the center of the lights. Its body was skeletal. Blood streamed from the eyes of the enormous dead pig that served as its head.

["One moment, please. Our artist is a man of few words... Ah! Here comes his equipment!"]

Thirteen silver trays descended from overhead on wires.

The enormous round trays were intricately worked with bold ornamental designs. Screaming faces. Countless faces dangling like bunches of grapes.

["Now, shall we meet our enthusiastic contestants who volunteered to join the choir?"]

Each podium lit up, revealing the deathly pale humans standing at the six podiums.

["Recognize some faces from last week? Haha! Will our contestants, who secured their ninety-ninth consecutive victory, set their hundredth record in this new segment?"]

["Stay tuned! You'll find out shortly!"]

WOOO!

The audience seats were empty. Yet recorded cheers mechanically filled the studio.

["But the first honor should go to our first-time contestant, shouldn't it?"]

The host stood before an employee I didn't know. The employee in the mole mask hunched his shoulders.

["Here's your question."]

A flash.

["Which of the following creatures has the longest lifespan?"]

1. Pig

2. Human

3. Rabbit

4. Flea

"H-human. Number two, human...!"

["Correct!"]

Relief flickered in the eyes behind the mole mask.

Yes. In the original Tuesday Talk Show, cheers would have sounded and the turn would have passed to the next contestant.

But this new segment had an additional step.

["Congratulations on passing, Mr. Mole!"]

The Conductor with the bleeding pig's head raised a skeletal arm and swung his silver baton.

The mole mask was torn off, head and all.

["You'll make such beautiful harmony!"]

THUD.

The headless contestant's body fell to the floor below the podium like a puppet with its strings cut.

"...!"

The employee's severed head floated into the air and was put on display on a silver tray.

His mouth was still opening and closing.

["He'll awaken the talent best suited to each contestant. Oh, marvelous. Simply marvelous..."]

When the pig raised both arms, clear, pure screams suddenly began ringing out in musical notes from the employee's moving mouth.

"H-human. It's human, it's humaaaaan!"

It sounded as though someone were forcibly squeezing his vocal cords to produce a woodwind melody.

["At last, our first member has taken his place!"]

Choir practice had begun.

An endless repetition of the last words spoken before his head was severed.

* * *

The Sacrificial Canticle consists of one Conductor and the thirteen silver trays he summons.

The severed heads of talk-show contestants are placed on the trays. Selection is determined through that day's broadcast segment.

Each head fused with a silver tray produces a different sentence and instrumental sound, forming an a cappella ensemble.

The highest recorded number of heads is seven.

One head: induces mild headaches, anxiety, and sudden mood swings.

* * *

From the comfort of simply reading a ghost story, you might think: It's only one head so far. Aren't those effects fairly bearable, considering how terrifying the situation is?

But you wouldn't say that if you were actually caught in this madness.

Like that employee taking the full brunt of it.

"Aaaagh!! S-Siyeon, Si...!"

Incinerated.

The light over another podium went out. The corpse, reduced to ash, clung to the floor beneath it.

The mouth on the lone severed head continued singing its strange melody.

"H-human. Number two. Humaaaaan!"

["Next is... Ah, another new face. Mr. Jellyfish! Let's see whether you can create a wonderful choral harmony with our successful contestant!"]

["Now, the question..."]

"I don't know! The answer, I don't know it!"

The employee in the jellyfish mask, whose name I didn't know, shouted before the host could even read the question.

His instincts seemed to have told him that getting the quiz wrong and taking the penalty would be better.

["Unbelievable!"]

That was remarkable judgment.

... Pointless, though.

[Eliminated]

His head exploded.

Like fireworks, glittering mirror-ball light and a shower of flower petals scattered through the studio.

The recorded audience reaction filled the room, sounding like a mixture of disappointed groans and cheers.

["Oh dear, he failed! What a shame..."]

["He wasn't able to join our great choir!"]

"..."

Right.

'The penalty system is gone. Get a question wrong, and you're automatically eliminated.'

I blinked.

It didn't feel real. That half of us had died within five minutes of filming starting. And that there was no way out.

Three of us remained again.

Team D's deputy and supervisor.

And me.

["Shall we meet our next contestant? Oh, some familiar faces!"]

"..."

I remembered something I'd been avoiding.

... I'd never seen these superiors' names in <Records of Dark Exploration>, either.

Just like Go Youngeun, my fellow recruit.

I recalled what I'd thought when I heard her name.

-Either she'd handled the ghost stories relatively easily and quit early.

-Or she'd died early.

["Mr. Badger!"]

The supervisor was called first.

Park Minseong.

Standing at the podium farthest from mine, his exposed chin had gone deathly pale.

A death sentence. Soon, I would...

["It's your turn to give us the answer!"]

No.

'Get a grip!'

Hidden behind the podium, I punched myself in the stomach.

The pain cleared my head a little.

'Being a coward is no excuse.'

This wasn't a situation governed by that kind of fear.

'It's a disaster.'

The overwhelming feeling of witnessing a natural catastrophe right in front of you, so to speak.

I'd been swept up in an unforeseen natural disaster. Yes, that was it... If I panicked here, there would be no hope. I'd die even if survival was possible.

Don't forget. You're the one here with the best chance of surviving!

I had to think.

'Right.'

I had information. I had items.

["Mr. Badger, are you ready?"]

Wasn't there anything I could try right now, while the host and crew weren't looking at me? Really?

Desperately, I thought through everything I had on me. I frantically reviewed this ghost story's characteristics, too.

'I'm not asking for anything else.'

Just a way out.

I wasn't trying to get this insane talk show canceled or anything. Just stop it for a moment, just a moment...

Oh.

I raised my head.

The host's back was right beside me. He was about to give the supervisor his question.

["You seem ready! Excellent..."]

He was close.

'... In that case!'

I hid my trembling hands below the podium. Then I ducked slightly and took two things from the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

A cheap sticker with a smiling emoticon and a canned drink labeled 'Drink me.'

'Hurry.'

I opened the can.

Then I unwrapped the Smile Stickers and shoved them into it.

Hurry, hurry.

"... Ah. Before I answer, could I say something to the viewers?"

["Oh, of course!"]

Pretending to look at the camera, the supervisor looked our way.

At the podiums where the deputy and I stood.

"... I have a family member in the hospital. I'd appreciate it if someone could check on them after this filming is over! If possible."

["My, how touching!"]

["So, your answer?"]

The supervisor grinned, drenched in cold sweat.

"I don't kno..."

"One moment."

I raised my left hand.

"Host."

As I drew his attention, I reached out with my right hand and stuck three or four sodden Smile Stickers all at once underneath the old television that was his head.

"..."

A drop of liquid splashed onto the floor.

Had the camera caught it? Had he noticed?

No. If he had, my head would already have exploded.

["Oh, Mr. Roe Deer! Do you have something to say?"]

He hadn't noticed.

I swallowed.

When I turned, the supervisor was staring at me in bewilderment.

He seemed surprised that I hadn't been incinerated despite interrupting the flow and speaking to the host without permission.

It had certainly been a gamble.

'But I had a reason.'

Hadn't the host clearly said it earlier?

["It's even a recorded broadcast, so it'll be easier than before! Haha!"]

In other words, what we were filming now wasn't live.

'Then as long as I don't completely ruin the flow or act uncooperatively, it might not count as disrupting the broadcast.'

Not if all I did was raise my hand and make a personal remark!

["Mr. Roe Deer?"]

He'd let it slide.

"Yes."

I glanced beneath the host's TV, where the liquid had dripped.

Then I lowered my voice so only he could hear.

"Um, I'm terribly dizzy. Could I... rest for a moment?"

["..."]

What I'd just done was...

Smile Sticker

An item that induces a mild sense of affinity when attached to an intelligent being.

Alice Picnic Set / Canned Drink

I'd soaked the former in the latter, an item that doubled effects, and stuck it onto him.

... Of course, there was room for debate here, too.

-Could the host be considered an intelligent being?

The host clearly wasn't human.

But surely he did possess intelligence?

No, he had to. I'd staked my life on it.

And there was no turning back now.

What if I got incinerated for disrupting the broadcast? I was going to die anyway. A painless death would be better.

The back of my dress shirt was damp with cold sweat.

The host made a sound...

["Oh dear!"]

"..."

["Were you a little too enthusiastic about the show? Yes, that can happen. I understand... Hmm. You did work hard, Mr. Roe Deer."]

["Well, in that case."]

The host's monitor went black.

He raised his right hand...

["Cut! Let's take a short break!"]

The band stopped playing.

The crew murmured.

["Haha, sorry. My screen's gone cloudy. Makeup!"]

The camera lights hastily went out.

["Wipe it carefully, please. Hmm, excellent!"]

A faceless crew member carrying makeup tools rushed up and diligently polished the old TV screen until it squeaked.

Then the host stopped the makeup artist as they finished and turned to leave, pointing at me.

["Ah, I'd be very grateful if you could show that contestant to the dressing room on your way. He's agreed to fetch my water."]

Then he winked an emoticon eye at me from inside the TV and briefly displayed a message before erasing it.

[Have a Glass of Water and Take a Break!]

"... Thank you."

It had worked.

'That's something, at least.'

I immediately staggered down from the podium to follow the makeup artist.

Even though filming had stopped, the ominous, horrific pig-headed figure still stood motionless at center stage, moving only its baton.

Drawing a bizarre song from the human head on that grotesque silver tray.

'Bear with it.'

Don't look.

I crossed the middle of the stage on stiff legs...

["Filming will resume in thirty minutes!"]

As I passed the podium on the opposite side, the deputy standing there quickly pressed something into my hand.

"...!"

I glanced at her at once.

I saw her mouth the words.

-Check it. Alone.

What was it?

* * *

I was led straight to a door behind the stage.

Inside was a typical old-Hollywood-style dressing room.

Except for the eerily large number of black-and-white broadcast posters plastered everywhere like talismans.

"Thank you."

The makeup artist merely nodded in silence and swiftly disappeared.

CLICK.

"Whew."

... I was alive.

I'd postponed my scheduled death, even if only for thirty minutes.

'I have to do something in that time.'

And I had a new clue.

I immediately opened my hand to examine what the deputy had pressed into it.

The thing she'd been so determined to get to me in that desperate situation was...

"... A button?"

It was a button for a suit.

But it was also a button in the sense of something you could press.

There was space inside it, enough that it looked as though it would give when pressed.

"..."

There was only one way to find out, and I had no time.

'She gave it to me because she thought it would help.'

I pressed the button at once.

RING...

...

CLICK.

["Lee Jaheon speaking."]

"...!"

["Who is this? That's Deputy Eun Haje's call button."]

Section Chief Lee Jaheon.

Team D's leader, who was supposedly out on business, was on the other end of the button.