Chapter 13

In <Records of Dark Exploration>, entering a ghost story usually cuts off all data transmission and communication, leaving you isolated.

'A classic horror-story setup.'

But stories are more interesting when people can interact and clash.

To spice up that setup, I thought I remembered reading in one ghost story that certain teams at <Daydream Inc.> had single-use items that allowed emergency calls.

'Is that what this button is?'

Even as my mind raced to work it out, my mouth got straight to talking. Every second counted!

“Am I speaking to Team D's leader?”

[“Yes.”]

“I'm Kim Soleum, Team D's new recruit. I have an urgent report.”

Just hit him with the situation first!

“Everyone in Team D will be dead in thirty minutes.”

If that rattled him, so be it. This was efficient. I'd quickly calm him down and explain—

[“I see.”]

[“You have five minutes to brief me.”]

“...”

Why was he so calm?

Even if losing all your colleagues was an everyday occurrence in the Field Exploration Team... that was a little much, on a basic human level.

'Is there something wrong with his personality...?'

I nearly got sidetracked by bewilderment, but the situation was urgent, so I let it go. I gave him the shortest possible account of everything that had happened.

“An anomaly has occurred in the D-grade Tuesday Talk Show.”

The employees from another team who'd barged into the talk show. The quiz show's sudden cancellation. And the situation with the insane new choir show.

[“How many employees remain?”]

“Three out of seven. Everyone in Team D is alive, but at this rate, we'll all die as soon as the break ends.”

Team D's leader responded succinctly.

[“I see.”]

[“Try to stall for another thirty minutes.”]

“...”

You think that's possible?

“I don't think that will be possible.”

[“Then there is nothing to be done.”]

Apparently, he had a talent for pissing off a dying man in thirty seconds flat.

'I don't have time to waste on a conversation like this.'

There were quite a few employees with utterly broken morals or common sense higher up in this company's Field Exploration Team, but meeting one in person was infuriating beyond belief.

'Does he think his team members' lives are a joke?'

I'd just hang up and think of something my...

“...”

Wait.

“What would another thirty minutes change?”

Why had he told me to stall?

[“Yes.”]

[“If we have at least fifty-five minutes from now, I can obtain permission from the security team and rent the strongest weaponry and entry device they permit off-site.”]

His low voice explained matter-of-factly.

[“Even if I defer all the procedural work until afterward, that process will take around forty minutes. Entering the Darkness in question will take an additional fifteen to twenty minutes.”]

“... Are you saying that once that's done, you can rescue Team D?”

[“In terms of probability, yes.”]

“...”

A Field Exploration Team employee who could use special equipment to enter an A-grade Darkness alone and suppress its supernatural phenomena?

Someone capable of that...

'A Named Employee.'

The employee on the other end of this call had to be one I'd read about in <Records of Dark Exploration>!

'And one with a fairly significant or memorable role...'

Goosebumps rose along my back.

Several candidates flashed through my mind. At the same time, my brain spun at full speed.

“Stealing the security team's equipment... Yes. I suppose that's impossible.”

[“...? Correct.”]

For the ghost stories' narrative plausibility, the security team's operating range was restricted, and its security was extremely tight. That was indeed impossible within the setting.

'But if this really is one of the employees I know...'

That opened up possibilities...!

I swallowed and asked,

“... May I ask what sort of mask you wear, Section Chief?”

If he gave me a nickname I recognized...

[“A lizard.”]

“...”

Ah.

So it was you.

“Section Chief.”

Twenty minutes remained.

“... Based on what you've told me, I've come up with a plan.”

Let's go with this.

* * *

[“Ah, Mr. Roe Deer!”]

The break was drawing to a close.

I returned to the talk-show set carrying a bottle of water from the dressing room.

“Huuumaaans. Number two. Hu. Humans!”

With the two employees behind him looking ghastly after tens of minutes of exposure to the “choir practice,” the old-TV-headed host offered me a handshake.

[“Are you feeling better? Ready to give it your all and make this the best show possible?”]

“Yes. Thank you for being so considerate.”

[“Haha, contestants in good condition make for better television, don't they!”]

Even considering his behavior so far, his tone was exceedingly friendly.

The Smile Stickers still seemed to be working.

'Everything's going as expected so far.'

I selected my words from what I'd prepared.

“... You really pour your love and enthusiasm into the show, Host. That must be why you always make it so entertaining that we can't tear our eyes away.”

Maybe it was the extreme circumstances, but the flattery flowed effortlessly, shame be damned.

[“Such high praise! But a broadcast is something we all create together. You're part of it too, Mr. Roe Deer!”]

No, not that direction...

“I appreciate that, but I could never compare to you, the host leading such a major talk show.”

This was the direction I needed.

“Still, I never expected them to simply inform you that the show's format was changing...”

[“...”]

“They're using recorded sounds without an audience, the penalties are gone... And there are fewer band members, too.”

I recalled the black-and-white television posters in the dressing room.

They all depicted talk shows with live audiences, unfolding in real time through interaction.

If that room was the host's personal space, then...

'There's a good chance this host doesn't like the new format...!'

“Overall, I felt as though the changes were made to cut costs.”

If he mistook that for an insult to his talk show, my head might come off. But I'd die anyway if I did nothing.

Let's do this.

Pretending to glance toward the center of the stage, I barely managed to continue.

Toward the choir conductor with the dead pig's head.

“... Was the revamp perhaps because booking that guest cost an enormous amount?”

[“!”]

The emoticon vanished from the host's television.

But a smiling one soon returned.

[“That is not a contestant's concern.”]

“I'm sorry.”

Please spare me.

Honestly, I was too scared to even get a proper look at that dead pig's head.

“I'm such a fan of the Tuesday Quiz Show that I'd been looking forward to participating. I suppose that's why I spoke out of turn. I'm sad it's been canceled...”

[“Ah, that's very kind! But... show business is a cold world.”]

The host's television screen quietly turned black.

[“If viewers prefer this approach, being quick to embrace it is part of an entertainer's skill...”]

“I see.”

I swallowed.

“But don't we still not know how the viewers feel? ... At least, I liked it better before. The Tuesday Quiz Show, interacting with the audience in real time and showing us stories full of immediacy.”

[“...”]

“Changing things so abruptly and rudely, without even consulting the host... Ah, never mind. I'm sorry. I've gone too far with my personal opinions.”

I pretended to hesitate before adding,

“It's just... I had a much better time than I expected during the live broadcast earlier. It really got my heart racing, too.”

[“-”]

The host stood stock-still without a word.

Static seemed to crackle across his TV screen, and then...

RING-RING!

[“... Ah! Sixty seconds until filming resumes!”]

The emoticon flashed back as the alert rang through the set.

[“All right, everyone, let's give it our all right to the end!”]

[“You should head back to your podium too, Mr. Roe Deer.”]

“... Yes.”

[“Here we go! Ten, nine, eight...”]

The host counted down while looking into the camera as before.

But perhaps our conversation had left some impression. Somehow, he didn't seem to be staring into it as if entranced the way he had before.

'Good.'

I seemed to have laid enough groundwork.

I nodded to the host, then headed to my podium.

And a short while later...

[“Now! Mr. Badger.”]

[“It's truly time to give us your answer!”]

The show resumed.

[“Will Mr. Badger become a member of our glorious choir?”]

Supervisor Park Minseong seemed to have made his peace in the meantime. His expression was bitter and somewhat resigned.

I saw him quickly mouth something to me.

“Thank you.”

What was he saying? “Thanks to you, I had time to prepare my...” No, wait. Let me get a word in too.

I moved my lips.

What I was trying to convey was...

“Give the correct answer.”

“...?!”

The supervisor stared at me as though I were insane.

Well, understandable.

'Being incinerated is better than becoming a human instrument, nothing but a head repeating your last words before death...'

But it had to be this way.

Looking flustered, the supervisor shook his head, then looked at the deputy.

The deputy nodded.

[“Mr. Badger? I'll give you three seconds.”]

“Ah! Ummm, yes. I'll answer...”

The supervisor squeezed his eyes shut and shouted,

“Number four, burns!”

[“Ooooh!”]

As the recorded audience murmured, I finally saw it.

Something fluttered into view at an unlit podium in the corner.

A postcard.

It was the strange postcard we'd used to enter this place.

I recalled my recent conversation with Section Chief Lee Jaheon.

[“Section Chief, you're saying that equipment lets you access a ghost story through its medium, correct?”]

[“Correct. But the device I possess is for emergency supply deliveries. It can only pass small objects into a Darkness.”]

[“That's enough. Take it and...”]

I watched the postcard.

It fell silently to the floor between the pools of light, and then...

A small AAA battery shot out at a terrifying speed.

“...!”

Closing the distance to the ominous Conductor in an instant, the battery struck with monstrous force.

It hit one of the silver trays.

[“Throw it as hard as you can.”]

The thick tray crumpled as though the battery were punching through it.

Physical force that defied belief.

'Just as I thought.'

I recalled Section Chief Lee Jaheon's description in <Records of Dark Exploration>.

* * *

Employee D

Nicknamed Lizard. Last position held: team manager.

One of the Field Exploration Team's few combat operatives.

Used in the records with the gimmick of tackling all kinds of ghost stories—which mostly demand thought and ingenuity—with nothing but brute force.

???: “Isn't your brain suffering because your body's too weak?”

Conversely, when this character's strength proves completely ineffective, that's when you really feel how f***ed things are.

* * *

If we'd attacked the dead-pig-headed Conductor directly, I might have experienced that “f***ed” feeling firsthand.

But a single silver tray?

'His gimmick is “physical exorcism works even in a ghost story,” so I thought it might work...'

And I'd been right.

The tray was damaged so badly it had nearly been pierced through.

'In that case.'

Despite my cold sweat, I smiled in satisfaction.

[“Wonderful! Mr. Badger, you're correct!”]

Normally, this was where the person who answered correctly should have had their head torn off and joined the choir on another silver tray.

But the Conductor's response to its precious “instrument” being damaged was...

[“... Conductor?”]

The dead pig opened its mouth wide.

Its jaw bent at an unnatural angle, enough to tear apart all its rotting flesh.

The scheduled recording of audience applause played mechanically, then cut off in confusion.

[“... Well, it seems our guest is devising a new performance technique! What astonishing method could be in the works? My heart is racing!”]

The pig screamed.

Sound began to emerge from its torn snout—

[“... The contestant is waiting. Conductor, please welcome him into the choir!”]

A hor ri ble scream

Nausearoseinme. WhathorriblethinghaveIdonewhatridiculousthinghaveIstartedhaveyouseenamountainbugahIwanttosingwrongjudgmentchoiceofcourse

Praisetothethroneofpuresilverd ie

The band's music drowned out the scream.

“Gasp!”

Fucking hell.

DRIP. DRIP.

Red spots appeared on the podium.

My nose was bleeding.

But I had to cover my ears. Cover my ears... Ah, the band's music was fading aw—

[“You.”]

It cut off.

[“You have no respect for the show.”]

I looked up.

In the silence...

WHOOSH.

The great and ominous guest at center stage went up in black flames and turned to ash.

I'd seen that scene several times.

'Incineration.'

The host's unique authority, exercised at his own discretion. In the D-grade Darkness “The Tuesday Quiz Show,” it was the punishment imposed on contestants who disrupted the broadcast.

But now...

'Did a D-grade Darkness just... burn an entire A-grade Darkness to ash?'

Something was strange... Strange.

I'd only been aiming for the host to snap over the guest's unprofessional behavior and walk out, bringing today's recording to a halt.

[“Just as I thought, the essence of a show isn't flashy guests. It's staying true to the essentials.”]

I looked around.

The crew, the lights, the band, the recording equipment, the cameras.

All were burning to ash.

Only the host's old television shone, spitting out colors.

[“The pleasure of witnessing, the joy of communication, the thrill of not knowing what comes next, the anticipation...”]

[“You ■■■ producers don't understand any of it. You have no right to make a show.”]

[“But I! I can do it!”]

The host nobly raised both arms like a liberator.

He turned to me.

[“Mr. Roe Deer!”]

[“Thank you! You've given me a new vision!”]

[“My head is so clear. Ah... yes! From now on, I should accept contestants every day of the week.”]

The host peered at me.

[“I can tell. You have talent as a show creator.”]

[“I'd love for you to join the crew of my new talk show, Mr. Roe Deer!”]

This had gone wrong.

[“New people, a new set, new music, a new season... I'll invite you when we're ready to film!”]

But...

[“It's such a shame today's broadcast has been cut short... but your enthusiastic participation was most impressive.”]

[“Then I'll see you on the next broadcast!”]

It had worked.

I blinked.

Beyond my blurring vision, the waving figure in a suit with a television for a head disappeared...

And the next moment.

“...”

I realized I was sitting on a sofa in a bright, quiet office.

I turned my head.

The supervisor and deputy stared at me, looking dazed, blood running from their noses or ears.

And I realized.

I was alive.

“Woooooow!!”

“You brilliant little bastard, you lunatic!”

Amid the cheers and embraces showering down on me, I slowly slid down onto the sofa.

I was alive.

I'd escaped alive...!

“...! Your collector!”

And that wasn't all.

The deputy, who'd been hugging me, whipped something out of my suit's front pocket.

It was the Dream Essence Collector.

It was filled with golden liquid.

The color was different from last time, when I'd cleared an F-grade. This was...

“It's A-grade.”

“...”

“Roe Deer, you cleared an A-grade Darkness on your second day at work...!”