The dull-headed man stares into the darkness ahead of him…
A ghost story about a mysterious, brilliant bridge that was deleted from the wiki. But it exists here. That means…
“…Is it because it still exists, even as a deleted record?”
Once, this ghost story met the number of recommendations to be listed on the wiki, but it was later removed for failing to meet the registration criteria. These are the kinds of tales known as “deleted ghost stories.”
So then…
Is this story really a creation of the Unknown Chanrangyo?
Or…
Was it deleted because it was something unrelated to the Unknown Chanrangyo?
What kind of world is this… that summoned me with this bizarre body…?
Confusion spreads slowly through his broken mind.
Smoke trembles in the air.
“…Are you okay?”
A voice reaches him.
The speaker is wearing a badger mask.
Their gaze peeks into the bathroom from outside.
They seem to want to talk.
Wait.
But he needs to make a judgment.
If a ghost story, possibly related to Mumyo Chanrangyo, falls into the hands of Baekilmeng Co., Ltd., what kind of impact or side effects would that have…?
Does it matter?
No. It doesn’t.
It’s meaningless for him to worry about the origins, essence, or contradictions of ghost stories.
His only task is to complete the job.
That’s the purpose of his employment contract—nothing more.
He has one job:
To verify whether this “darkness” is suitable for production by Baekilmeng Co., Ltd.
The three reference points:
1. Can it be cleared in a way that allows dream collection?
2. Can it increase the probability of survival and return, based on the manual?
He thinks to himself:
Maybe the key method of clearing this story is:
“Never come into contact with the rainwater and endure until the rain stops.” The lingering feeling of a rainy day…
Since this is a ghost story that entices rather than kills directly with violence, there’s a chance of survival as long as you keep calm and lock the doors.
If enough exploration records are collected, the entity’s behavior patterns can be deduced.
Items 1 and 2 are satisfied.
Now, the third and final condition:
3. Is it easy to contain or quarantine?
He gazes at the bathtub filled with rainwater and taps his chin thoughtfully.
He makes his assessment.
And reaches a conclusion:
All conditions satisfied.
This is a suitable case of darkness.
Then—
He begins the containment process.
“Is it Noru… now…?”
He covers the rainwater in the bathtub with a mist.
What’s hidden by the mist will now return to its original form.
All unnecessary descriptions and records are deleted—
Leaving only the true, original appearance behind.
[Rainwater Echo]
On rainy days, it lures in victims who approach the puddle in question by imitating the appearance and voice of those who were previously sacrificed there.
It doesn’t just stop at that—it uses letters, notes, or even drawings to broadly and deliberately distort the meaning of “starting a conversation.”
It traps the victim in a dilemma—forcing them to decide whose words to believe—mimicking the typical “two-choice horror” format. However, in truth, no matter what they choose, it’s always a trap that ensures the victim’s doom.
It twists human psychology by making them believe that choosing the right person could save them, only to betray that hope in the end.
[Rainwater Spirit – Meari]
1 On rainy days, it lures in victims who approach the rainwater drain by imitating the appearance and voice of those who were previously sacrificed, relying on their appearance and voice to attract people.
Not only that, but also through letters, notes, or drawings, etc., the meaning of “sending a message” is overly and broadly applied in various forms.
It places the victim in a dilemma, making them question whom to believe, following the format of a forced choice-type horror tale, but in reality, it’s a trick where anything you choose is a trap, meant to deceive the victim.
It pretends that if the right person is chosen, survival is possible—a twist that manipulates human psychology.
Ah ah ah!
<
The screams and pleas of the horse come out of the bathtub and the toilet is ringing.
The scream of a person whose existence is erated.
It resembles the screams of the victim.
After learning the process of luring food for quite a long time, this method is much more
sophisticated than the perstition.
‘You learned to be deceived.’
The dead victim becomes a new bait, mixing truth and falsehood and making up plausible options
to call another victim.
Disguise, imitate.
It’s a two-way fool.
Listen to one side and doubt, listen to the other side and doubt.
At that time, it was literally already ‘late’.
Every time you realize the sense of dishonesty and the truth, the prey that becomes more and more mentally weak will soon choose one side and follow the words. Whichever you choose, the end is in this rainwater.
This time it was just the child’s handwriting of the couple and sketchbook.
But that’s the end.
[Rainwater Spirit – Meari]
1 On rainy days, it lures victims who approach the rainwater drain by imitating the appearance and voice of those who were previously sacrificed, relying on their voice and appearance to attract people.
Not only that, but also through letters, notes, or even drawings, the concept of “sending a message” is applied in an exaggerated and broad manner in various forms.
It places the victim in a situation where they are tormented over whose words to believe, imitating the typical binary-choice horror format, but in reality, it’s a trap no matter what is chosen, deceiving the victim.
It pretends that one can survive by choosing the right person— a twist that manipulates human psychology.
The rainwater covered with smoke is now spitting out the corpses it consumed—endlessly.
Ah!
Thud.
Thump, thump.
The sound of corpses being pushed out of the bathtub echoes across the bathroom floor.
The tile floor is full of bodies.
Ah, ah, ah!
They keep piling up.
I repeated the process—covering, collecting, and covering again—watching until the smoke thinned at last.
The pit of rainwater, having finished its work, began to boil and vaporize.
Delete.
Until everything lost its identity and collapsed.
Until it became like me.
Until everything was broken down beyond the point of no return…
“Roo!”
!
“Noru, stop!”
…
…
I withdrew the smoke.
I could hear the person wearing the badger mask panting behind me.
“…Sorry.”
There was no need to apologize.
That’s right.
If a ghost story loses its identity, it can no longer be used as “darkness.”
I exhaled the smoke again and swallowed it back. My collapsing form slowly began recovering…
I saw the gummy-eyed gaze of the badger-mask wearer shaking as they stared at the pile of corpses.
“…How… How were you able to do this?”
I don’t know.
I don’t want to know.
The important thing is the next task.
Prepare the mobile storage unit.
…
The person wearing the gas mask brought in the mobile containment cabinet without a word.
I confirmed that there was enough room inside, aside from the space that I’d fill.
So…
Oh.
I could feel the rainwater clinging to my hand when I reached into the bathtub, a flicker of fear surfacing.
I calmly placed the bathtub full of rainwater into the mobile storage.
Thunk.
The sound of the iron door closing echoed.
“…Confirmed.”
It’s complete.
Just need to roll out the mobile unit and exit the bathroom.
…
The silence gently wrapped around the house.
Rain still tapped against the windows, but the mood had changed—calm now, no longer anxious or sorrowful.
The sound of the rain was just that: ordinary rain.
“…Ah.”
The caller from the sales team, who had been under the security team leader’s supervision, also seemed to notice the shift.
A hint of hope spread across his face.
“Is it… is it over?”
Confirmed.
“Ha…”
The employee sat down again—not from fear this time, but in relief.
Soon, the lanterns lit up inside the house once more.
The lights shimmered.
And the house looked just as it did before, like nothing had ever happened.
“I will return.”
Other security team members also began the debriefing, reporting that the area had been cleared of the ghost story.
Meanwhile, the relieved salesperson stood up, smiling faintly.
“Thank you…”
There was no need for thanks.
One step remained:
Cost settlement.
“…Huh?”
Because everything comes at a price.
[Settlement completed.]
[The expected cost will now be charged.]
“…?”
The salesperson blinked at the voice from the dead boss’s wireless communicator. “…Um… how much is it going to be?”
[The person in charge will be assigned shortly.]
[30 seconds remaining…]
“W-Wait! Hey, what?!”
Suddenly—
A realization passed through me.
Anyone who visits this house repeatedly on rainy days is bound to be possessed, just like the employee’s dead boss.
But…
Did Daydream Co., Ltd. not know?
That the couple who regularly bought “special potions” had long since become ghost story characters?
That they’d already been receiving those potions as residents of a ghost story?
That sales team employees could get caught up in it, too?
Does it even matter?
Maybe it doesn’t—as long as payment is secured.
Or maybe… that’s exactly what matters.
…
…
It wasn’t a decision for the security team.
“…Let’s go back.”
“Wait… Hey…!”
The security team returned to the company.
The signal from the wireless communicator once again enveloped them like a shadow.
I was also escorted to the transfer room and then down to the isolation chamber beneath the main building.
But the memory of that caller’s face stayed with me—the expression that had said “I survived” was slowly twisting into something else.
A crumbling pile of fragmented mosaic.
“This is incredible. This is exactly the kind of talent our company needs. No—should I call you a god? Haha!”
“I didn’t expect you to suppress it so quickly!”
Excited voices echoed.
I could hear Kwak Je-gang, the researcher in charge of receiving the work report, flipping through the paperwork with glee.
“The grade… Hmm… I’d say it’s at least a D or higher. Honestly, even a C wouldn’t be surprising. This is a type of darkness that could yield a rich variety of exploration records.”
“It’s a rainy-day whisper!”
…
“Well, the two security team members assisting in the field should thank the staff, right?”
“This reminds me of the old days. It was really fun pretending to be the field investigation team!”
The man in the badger mask clenched and released his fist, as though accepting something quietly.
…
I submitted one more tally of completed tasks to the researcher.
Then I asked a question.
“Of course, ask whatever you’d like—”
Question: The specific cost charged to the caller.
At that moment:
“…You’re curious about that?”
The researcher’s voice softened, as if pleased or intrigued.
“Of course, I’ll answer. But… this is the first time you’ve asked something not directly related to work. Isn’t there something else you’d like to know?”
“Anything at all…”
As if hoping I’d chase after some personal curiosity.
“…Why not ask something more casual? It doesn’t need to be about work!”
…
I stuck to my original query.
Cost inquiry: Work-related.
1 Concern: Efficiency issue. “…Huh?”
Point: How business performance might change depending on the cost.
1 Concern: Possibility of a caller becoming aggressive or acting unexpectedly due to the charge. “…Yes?”
I attached an example for clarity. Example phrase: ‘Pay with money.’ After a brief pause—
“…Ah.”
“…Right. So that’s what you’re asking…”
The researcher, slightly embarrassed, let out a small chuckle.
“Well… Most calling staff don’t really know about the costs. So they usually don’t ask much.” “And most of the time, the cost isn’t monetary.”
“…It’s labor.”
…
“This caller will likely be assigned to work at a branch office for several years.” Branch office?
The local branch of Daydream Co., Ltd.—a vague setting not specifically detailed on the wiki. “Well, it’s not so bad, is it? I get a work allowance for being out in the countryside too.”
For a moment, something like concern or curiosity stirred in my mind.
But it was quickly drowned out by the hardened, automated thoughts I’d grown used to. The work hour chime rang in my head.
—Your working hours have ended. Your working hours have ended. Your working hours have ended…
“…Oh my. Already? Then see you tomorrow, staff!”
The speaker clicked off.
The room became silent.
…
I sat quietly on the bed.
No more training videos played.
The space was lifeless—just a replica of a company dorm. There were a few books on the shelf, a laptop on the desk—but they were all props. Non-functional.
Nothing here could be interacted with.
I couldn’t work again until the next shift.
Quietly—
Knock, knock.
…!
“Hey… Is it okay if I come in?”
I turned to look at the iron door.
Someone was standing outside.
Not only were they standing there—the iron door gently opened.
Security team.
The person in the badger mask. The squad leader.
My team member.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to clean up first.”
Outside, the other agents from the security team closed the gate behind them.
But they didn’t leave.
“…You know.”
The person sat down across from me.
In their arms was a thick, rectangular object.
“I got permission to bring this in. The supervisor said it was fine, so… yeah, it’s okay.” It was a book.
’12 Must-Read Books for Youth.’
“…I figured you might get bored.”
…
I accepted it.
The others seemed to smile warmly from across the room.
“And, uh… you know…”
Their voice trembled slightly.
“I was thinking… Could I call you ‘Roe deer’ even when we’re not on duty?”
…
“You said you’d take the supervisor position…”
“Yeah… If it’s not working hours, we can talk informally…”
…
Confirmed.
“…! Yes.”
I heard a laugh from behind the mask.
They sat beside me.
“…This was your first mission as a security team member. You did great, Roe.”
…
The hand that reflexively reached toward my head stopped midair.
Because there was nothing to pat—no hair, no shape for it.
…
I raised both hands.
“Are you Roe deer?”
A faint, dull desire stirred within me.
A desire I hadn’t felt since I first signed the contract.
It rose up from deep inside—faint and clumsy.
I wanted to have a form like theirs.
I wanted to interact the way they did.
A feeling like: “I want to try being like that, too.”
“Wait—hey!”
I covered myself with smoke.
But I didn’t know how to make the shape.
Just like you don’t learn how to breathe, something I used to do naturally now felt unfamiliar and out of reach.
I fumbled at my face—bone, rubber, silhouette… but no throat. Candy from nostalgia I couldn’t consume…
…
Nostalgia.
Request.
“Huh?”
“…What kind of request?”
I completed the sentence.
Request: Nostalgia Candy.
“…!!”
Both security team members sprang to their feet at once.
Because they understood what it meant.
“Wait—what? Class leader?!”
But the leader was already leaving through the iron door.
And returned astonishingly fast—ignoring checkpoints and distances as if they didn’t matter.
With my request in hand.
“…Here.”
A red string dropped into my outstretched hand—from fingers protruding like bone.
The item: Nostalgia candy.
It had previously been used to rescue Park Min-sung, the director who had become contaminated in the ghost story “Hungry Hangman.”
Effect:
When worn, it restores the wearer to the healthiest physical and mental state from the last 10 years.
The worse the mutation, the faster the restoration.
I accepted Nostalgia candy.
And wrapped it around my neck.