Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work-Chapter 98

‘I have no idea how I managed to get through the night after seeing that crack in the grip ring.’

The next day, sick or not, I dragged myself out to buy a new phone immediately.

Once I transferred the SIM card, I nervously attached the cracked grip ring and powered it on.

‘...It’s working!’

Thankfully, the wiki loaded, but... something was off.

The Dark Exploration Records / Ghost Stories section, particularly the entry for Hell-Surcharge Taxi, glitched.

It looked like an old, worn-out computer on its last legs, struggling and stuttering. The page eventually stabilized, but the ominous feeling lingered.

‘Yeah, merchandise can break too....’

I had been so used to carrying my phone everywhere like a part of my body that I’d forgotten the absurdity of this situation—how an item bought from a pop-up store actually worked in this ghost story world.

Why not just back up the wiki’s content somewhere else, you ask?

‘That would take over a month, minimum.’

The pages accessed through the Memorial Grip Ring couldn’t be copied or screenshotted. The only way to preserve them was to painstakingly transcribe everything by hand.

‘And who knows if the grip ring will even last that long.’

Still, there was no need to panic.

After all, the merchandise box provided items tailored for this ghost story universe.

Having built a solid foundation here over the past six months, I had other options now.

Either I’d find a new grip ring, or I’d secure a way to repair it.

Interestingly, both solutions required the same kind of connection.

‘The Disaster Management Bureau.’

That’s where this grip ring originated.

And I knew where items like this, including the silver badge, were made....

Of course, I also knew how to access the bureau, the passwords, and the necessary preparations.

Conveniently, I even had a temporary agent badge for the Disaster Management Bureau.

“......”

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I pressed my fingers against my temples, deep in thought.

‘I’m technically on sick leave for three days.’

Which means I can’t report to work or handle any follow-ups related to Death’s End Alley in my current state.

But since sick leave doesn’t mean being bedridden, as long as I can endure it, I can use this time for other things. After three days, my condition is guaranteed to recover.

‘The only restriction is that I can’t artificially alleviate the pain caused by the taxi fare.’

Since it’s a curse, even the strongest painkillers won’t help, and if I try to avoid the pain through supernatural means, the curse’s duration will increase proportionally.

The pain must be endured for it to count as payment.

So, unless absolutely necessary, I should save my ultra-strong painkiller, Happy Maker. It’s a last resort for situations where I’d need to extend the curse duration to survive.

Honestly...

“......”

Just remembering what I did with that in the nightmare makes me shudder.

‘I really wasn’t in any pain... it was almost too comfortable.’

If it hadn’t been for the Fox Counseling Office treating the corruption afterward, I might’ve grown addicted, haunted by the temptation every time things got tough.

I needed to be careful.

‘...Alright.’

No point in procrastinating. Better to prepare now while I still can.

I carefully removed the cracked grip ring from the phone, wrapped it securely, and stored it inside my tattoo.

“Braun. We’re going out again.”

"Ah, a wounded warrior! Such an inspiring interview topic. Truly, a testament to one’s passion for the industry, wouldn’t you agree?""But if it becomes unbearable, don’t hesitate to tell me. Your perfect companion, Braun, will always be here to help...."

That was both creepy and oddly reassuring.

“Thanks,” I replied.

After another quick shower to clean off the sweat, I put on a light hoodie and zipped it up. Then I grabbed the rabbit plush, now sporting a shiny bow tie, and tucked it into my front pocket.

"Looking sharp, Noru! So, where are we heading?"

Hmm.

“The place in Seoul where the young people gather most.”

***

I got off at Hongdae Station.

It was fascinating how there could be so many people here, even on a weekday afternoon.

‘And it’s not just near the station—it’s crowded everywhere.’

From Mangwon to Yeonnam, every street would be bustling with people out enjoying themselves.

Compared to the run-down alley I visited yesterday—Death’s End Alley, a gateway to ghost stories—this vibrant crowd felt like an entirely different world.

"Ah, so many people here! Bright, responsive, oh, how I’d love to invite them all to a show, offering them a once-in-a-lifetime thrill and shock!"

Ugh, no! Thankfully, Braun quickly got distracted, so I didn’t have to rein in his overly enthusiastic chatter.

"Ah, and the smell of coffee is delightful! Shall we have a cup, my friend? ...Oh dear! You’re wobbling. Do you need support?"

‘I’m fine.’

Carrying the curse of illness while wandering through both ghostly realms and Seoul’s lively streets was something I just had to deal with... oh well.

Still, the feeling of vibrant energy was refreshing.

A street filled with cafes, bathed in sunlight, and completely devoid of anything ominous. The idea of something mysterious or ghostly happening here in broad daylight felt absurd.

‘And that’s precisely why it’s safe.’

I thought back to the method of reaching the place where I could repair the grip ring.

The Disaster Management Bureau’s documents—painstakingly recreated as notes and stored in the wiki—contained everything I needed.

! Read carefully, then destroy.

Destination: A blue-roofed, unmarked cafe. A converted residential building with a buckwheat flower wreath hanging on the door.

There it was.

With Braun’s assistance, I masked my presence entirely and entered the blue-roofed building.

It was a bustling, large cafe packed with customers.

Despite it being daytime, the place glittered with all kinds of lights and decorations, and the staff moved briskly, taking orders and preparing coffee and drinks.

Instead of lining up to order, I discreetly stepped aside, ducked into a passageway leading toward the kitchen, and ventured deeper into the building.

After rounding a corner, I came across two doors.

[Staff Only]

Both doors were identical, painted yellow, but one led to an ordinary exit while the other...

‘That’s the one I need to open.’

Enter through the door on the right.

Never touch the door on the left. Once the left door is touched, access to the “location” through the right door will be permanently lost.

I carefully approached the door on the right and knocked in rhythm.

Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock.

It was a familiar rhythm, one ingrained into anyone who had gone through public education in this country.

Then, without drawing attention, I cracked the door open and slipped inside.

Creak. Thud.

“...”

The interior appeared to be an ordinary staff area.

A mix of hallways, storage, and break spaces.

There were worn-out sofas, desks, laptops, boxes of supplies, and even some out-of-season decorative items stacked in a corner.

Locate a structure that can be interpreted as a “home”—a house, an apartment, or a yurt.

Carefully sifting through the props, I found what I was looking for: a hanok model.

It seemed like it had been used as a Chuseok holiday decoration.

‘This must be it.’

I crouched in front of the hanok model, reached out, and grabbed its tiny gate.

The moment I opened the gate—