Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work-Chapter 121

A dark office.

The sound of typing.

Someone sits alone, typing steadily at a keyboard.

The glowing monitor displays a draft.

Report Draft

Author: Lee Jaheon

Subject: Eyewitness accounts of the containment process for a Grade-C anomaly in the Mokpo-bound high-speed train on January 2, 20XX, and the presumed death of Supervisor Kim Soleum.

The typing continued, producing sentences with unwavering rhythm and clarity, as if the timeline were already perfectly outlined in the typist’s mind.

Eyewitnesses: Employee A, Employee C, Employee F (Initials represent team designations for ease of reference.)

Employee A: "Are we doing this interview again? Feels like it’s pointless."

Employee A: "Anyway... yes. I boarded the train for a business trip, and suddenly, it was running over the sea."

Employee C: "The containment went really smoothly, y’know. Supervisor Soleum took charge and handled a lot of things. It was impressive to see him trying to minimize harm to civilians!"

(Employee A asked whether the anomaly’s occurrence was deliberately orchestrated by the company but was informed by the research team that it was "pure coincidence" – see details in the third round of interviews.)

The elite team of three successfully contained the anomaly and confirmed the collection of Grade-C solution.

At this point, the train transitioned fully from an anomaly-affected space to a normal, physical reality—this was a consistent statement from all eyewitnesses.

Employee C: "Supervisor Soleum was the first to confirm the solution and said he was going to the bathroom. Yes, that bathroom."

After the train departed, Supervisor Kim Soleum left his seat, stating he was heading to the bathroom. He was out of contact for 15 minutes.

At the 17-minute mark, Employee F, who was seated in Car 3, approached the elite team’s seats.

The stated reason: “To say hello.”

Employee F: "As I’ve mentioned before... I was on leave, Supervisor."

Employee F: "Getting caught up in the anomaly was a surprise, but I stayed calm and assisted the team as best as I could. It’s what any employee of this company would do."

Employee F: "After everything was resolved, I went to greet the supervisors, only to find out my colleague wasn’t at their seat, so I went to look for them."

Employee C: "Oh, they were heading the wrong way at first, so I pointed them in the right direction—toward the bathroom!"

It seemed Employee F had reflexively gone in the direction of their original seat before being redirected by Employee C.

Following Employee C’s guidance, Employee F moved toward the bathroom.

There, they found an unconscious man outside the door.

There was no blood, but his hands and feet were missing, and the severed areas were coated in fine ash.

Medical professionals diagnosed it as instantaneous incineration caused by extreme heat.

(Source: Somang Medical Center, a subsidiary of Daydream Corporation.)

Employee F: "Something felt very wrong. But the bathroom door was locked. I knocked, but there was no response."

Employee F: "Not to brag, but I’m good with my hands... so I managed to unlock the door and open it. And I succeeded!"

Employee F: "But then..." (sound of deep breathing)

At the 21-minute mark, the bathroom door was opened.

Employee F: "The bathroom was... silent."

Employee F: "There was no one inside. Just a pristine high-speed train bathroom. Which made it all the more unsettling. So I started backing out, but..."

Employee F: "Suddenly, things started falling out of thin air... along with blood."

The typing paused briefly.

The writer moved the mouse, navigated to a folder labeled “Incident Photos,” and attached several images to the document.

Photos of the blood-soaked interior of the bathroom next to Train Car 7.

The walls and floor were covered in blood, with items strewn across the floor, all equally bloodied—

a mask, an employee ID badge, a briefcase, and a dream-collection device containing Grade-C solution.

Except for one clean, untouched area.

A small, tub-shaped section of tile was entirely free of blood.

As though something had been taken from there.

Employee F: "And then... a giant hand suddenly appeared—ugh! Ack! It shoved me! Flashing lights everywhere! And then... Good evening, dear audience, welcome to tonight’s delightful entertainment! Your friendly host greets you live from... ugh..." (Interview interrupted)

Employee F exhibited contamination symptoms and PTSD. Referred to Fox Counseling Services after the seventh interview session.

Subsequent statements from the fourth interview were cited.

(Fourth Interview)

Employee F: "A hand appeared, but there was a glow—no, a hazy light—no, wait... never mind."

Employee F: (deep breath)

Employee F: "It picked up the strange tub lying on the floor. A small tub with a checkered pattern and golden legs. Blood poured out during the process, along with... some kind of black ribbon scrap."

Employee F: "The hand grabbed the ribbon too. And then... it wrote something on the mirror."

The typing stopped again.

The writer picked up a photograph already printed and tacked onto the board beside the desk, staring at it.

A message, scrawled in blood on the bathroom mirror in elegant cursive.

Supervisor Kim Soleum

will now begin work

somewhere else. :)

The research team theorized that the message was related to the anomaly on the Mokpo-bound high-speed train.

(This theory, deemed highly plausible, was included in official internal records.)

Key points cited included Supervisor Kim Soleum’s leadership during the containment, the unusual ethical approach he took, and the potential irregularities that arose as a result.

Speculation varied:

The message implied an invitation to the unknown space referred to as “Tamna.”Supervisor Kim Soleum was chosen as the final sacrifice for the Tamna-bound train anomaly.Tap.

The typing ceased once more.

Not because the writer was out of ideas.

"Supervisor."

"Deputy Eunha."

A visitor had arrived in the darkened office.

Manager Lee Jaheon looked up.

At the doorway stood Eunha Je, arms crossed and leaning casually against the frame.

"Enough of this."

"......."

"How many interviews are you going to conduct? Even the executives are losing interest."

Eunha stepped further into the office.

She glanced at the report draft, her tired eyes sweeping across the empty seat once occupied by a colleague.

"It’s been a month now."

Eunha stood before the desk of the now team-less D-Team leader.

"People should know when to let go after a month of nothing. Writing reports isn’t going to bring the dead back."

"......."

"Even the dream-collection records confirmed it—contaminated or deceased. That’s what they filed, isn’t it?"

It was true.

The recordings from the dream-collection device included faint groans and mutterings—like, "Shall we?"—indicating mental deterioration.

Statistical analyses suggested deep contamination or an over-80% probability of death.

And according to company policy, if no significant developments were reported within 30 days of a dream-collection device’s return, the individual was automatically marked as deceased in the system.

It was over.

"He’s already on today’s resignation list, Supervisor."

Kim Soleum (Employment terminated due to death)

Usually, that meant the person was definitively gone.

Eunha ran a hand over her face before speaking.

"The company’s not going to support this anymore. You know they won’t waste time or money on the dead."

So far, all the repeated reviews and investigations had been a "justified investment" because of Kim Soleum’s exceptional skills and unique qualities.

But there was no clear manual for how the anomaly on the Tamna-bound train manifested. Nor had it reoccurred in the past month.

"Do you think there’s any point to this? Don’t you think it’s time to stop?"

"Yes."

"......."

"You think there’s still meaning in this, and you don’t think it’s time to stop?"

"That’s right."

"Why?"

"Because Supervisor Kim Soleum isn’t dead."

"...!!"

Eunha’s eyes widened.

Manager Lee Jaheon was not one to speak of hope lightly.

Which meant... he genuinely believed it.

And Lee Jaheon was not the type to believe without evidence.

There had to be something.

"Why do you think that?"

"There’s a hint."

Jaheon recalled a seemingly unrelated incident from late last year.

A minor episode that now appeared connected.

Please take care of this.

Supervisor Kim Soleum had entrusted him with a small item before entering the anomaly.

A plush toy.

A toy that spoke in an antiquated, peculiar tone.

Jaheon hadn’t responded to it. He had a reputation to uphold as a modern professional.

But that tone...

It was familiar.

Just like the handwriting on the mirror at the scene of Kim Soleum’s disappearance.

"Compare this."

Jaheon held up a photograph of the mirror message and an old postcard retrieved from storage after weeks of effort.

Eunha’s eyes widened further.

"Is this...?"

It was a postcard from a prior anomaly—a broadcasting-themed one.

An anomaly where the D-Team had narrowly escaped after a devastating incident during exploration.

The postcard read:

Quiz Show Application

The handwriting matched perfectly.

"Supervisor Kim Soleum is there," Jaheon said confidently.

"In some form or another."

***

The dazzling lights of the studio.

Thunderous applause and cheers erupted from the audience, flooding the stage with energy.

"Thank you! Thank you!"

The host, seemingly overwhelmed by the adoration, placed a hand over its chest in mock emotion.

"Oh my, with this kind of response... Haha, should we start from the beginning again? You’re watching Brown’s Late Night Talk Show and—oh, my!"

The audience’s deafening cheers interrupted the host, prompting its TV screen to display a wide, smiling face. It quickly resumed speaking.

"Sadly, before our enraged sponsors come running, we must part ways with hearts full of sorrow. But don’t despair too much! We’ll meet again tomorrow!"

The show’s house band launched into a lively finale, filling the studio with celebratory music.

The host stepped to the center of the stage, bowing deeply, its TV head tilting forward in a polite gesture.

"To our viewers watching tonight, whether you’re crying in repentance underground or tuning in through the E-Pub viewer, thank you for joining us!"

"We’ll see each other again tomorrow at 11:33 PM. Have a wonderful night!"

As the music swelled to its peak, the host raised both hands high, basking in the audience’s roaring applause.

And then—

"Cut!"

The show ended.

Click.

Everything went silent in an instant.

The audience disappeared, the blinding lights dimmed, and a soft glow from backstage filled the empty seats. Staff members swarmed onto the stage, cleaning up and resetting the set.

I was among them.

To be precise—

"Soleum!"

I was being congratulated by the host.

"Come here! You were marvelous! Your knack for choosing topics and guests is truly intriguing. You always pick just the right people... every time."

Hmm. I felt a little embarrassed.

It’s all thanks to The Records of Darkness Exploration, anyway.

This talk show, Brown’s Late Night Talk Show, always reminded me of a playful version of the exploration records. The only difference was how vivid and thrilling it felt.

Because here, we didn’t just talk about the strange inhabitants of ghost stories—we interviewed them.

The show blended supernatural briefings, recent anomalies, and comedic banter. It even included risky stunts from oblivious guests who thought it was all a dream. Watching their peril unfold from a safe distance brought just the right mix of suspense and humor.

Lately, it seemed guests were being invited through more than just postcards.

To be honest, I only suggested a few interesting ghost stories once or twice a week, yet every time, I was showered with praise for my "brilliant research skills."

It’s surprisingly easy...

Had work ever been this fun and effortless?

"A whole month of joy, Soleum! And it brings me immense pleasure to share this news..."

The TV host’s screen displayed a glistening, teary smile.

"Our show has set another viewership record!"

"...!"

"A staggering rise in the ratings! So, tell me, Soleum—did you find it enjoyable and fulfilling?"

Beneath the confidence in its tone lay a subtle tension. It made me chuckle.

I nodded with a grin. "Yeah, it was fun."

"Wasn’t it?"

"Of course, this legendary host already knew. This is the workplace you’d find most satisfying, Soleum."

The TV screen beamed, and I found myself smiling in return.

There was nothing to fear here.

Nothing threatened me.

I created the content; I didn’t have to experience the ghost stories myself!

Working here meant I no longer had to constantly watch my back. Sure, there was pressure to perform, but wasn’t that the kind of stress that kept life meaningful?

This kind of thing...

"Though I must say, I’ve noticed something lacking. Just a moment..."

Brown placed a hand on my shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially.

"The show seems to be hitting a plateau. The segments are feeling a bit too repetitive."

Ah.

"Why not try something more daring and provocative, Soleum? Without the constraints of investors and producers, you’re free to create anything on this independent talk show... and."

Thump.

The host’s hand gripped my shoulder firmly.

"For the past month, your dedication has been outstanding, your adaptability remarkable, and your results extraordinary."

"You can absolutely do this."

I tensed slightly but nodded.

I should work harder.

But then, the host said something entirely unexpected.

"So... I think it’s time."

"...!"

"Time for you to step out from behind the scenes and stand beside me as part of the cast."

"What?"

"With all my heart, I’m saying you’re ready. Oh, Soleum, my dear friend. Let’s share stories and bring joy to the audience together."

"A fresh face would be an exciting addition for our viewers, don’t you think?"

"No, I... I’m not comfortable being in front of an audience..."

"Oh, Soleum, don’t say that so quickly! It wounds my heart! Just give it some thought..."

The hand on my shoulder tightened.

"In my opinion, you’ve got great showmanship. That’s a talent."

"Remember how you played both prophet and cult leader on that train above the sea? Only those with natural charisma can pull that off. That’s you."

"But if my dear friend feels too nervous, we could start with just a few minutes—or even seconds—on air."

"Think about it, won’t you?"

...

Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Come to think of it, I didn’t feel entirely incapable of doing it.

If you work, you should deliver results.

Eventually, I nodded a little awkwardly.

"Alright, but only for a small role."

"That’s the spirit! Wonderful."

The TV screen displayed a delighted smile.

"How humble, just as I’d expect from the MVP of our show! Isn’t that right?"

"Since you joined, there hasn’t been a single dull day!"

Had it really been a month already?

Time seemed to pass in a blur.

Busy, fulfilling, and enjoyable.

Even the staff are unexpectedly kind.

I nodded in gratitude to a coordinator handing me water and, almost absentmindedly, asked Brown a question.

"By the way, why do all the staff here have no faces?"

"Oh, it’s their thoughtful consideration for the show. To avoid accidents like screams, coughs, or unexpected noises during live broadcasts, they made that choice themselves."

"That’s... professional. Wait, does that mean I’ll have to—"

"What nonsense, Soleum!"

Oops.

"Anyone on stage must have a face and expressions! Emotional nuance is the essence of entertainment!"

"Though, if you insist... there’s an alternative. Hold on."

The sourc𝗲 of this content is frёeωebɳovel.com.

Thump.

The host grasped my chin and studied my face like an artist assessing a canvas.

"Hmm. I could remove your face... and replace it with a very stylish... mask."

That...

"Let me think about it."

"Of course! Haha! This face is far too valuable to lose."

The host released me.

I chuckled along with Brown’s cheerful expression.

"Ah, I must prepare for the next broadcast. Tonight’s audience... Oh, they’re office workers. We must bring joy to their weary hearts."

"So... will you be joining me on stage tonight?"

"I’ll do my best."

"Splendid! Absolutely splendid. This will be a remarkable debut for you, Soleum!"

I hope it will be.