Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work - Chapter 146

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Even If I Fall Into a Ghost Story, I Still Have to Go to Work Episode 146

When people are in a bad mood, they tend to walk while looking at the ground.

It’s less common now because of smartphones, but it’s something everyone has experienced at least once since long ago.

So everyone must have memories of casually staring intently at this thing on the sidewalk or road surface.

Manholes.

Gray circles you see everywhere on the streets.

Worker passages that can provide access to water pipes buried underground.

Everyone knows about them.

So looking at those round gray manhole covers, everyone must have imagined at least once.

Imagining a person suddenly emerging from there.

Or… imagining myself opening that cover and going inside.

Of course, it wasn’t easy to actually encounter in reality. Those covers aren’t light enough for anyone to open comfortably. They usually weigh over 100kg.

So normally it only happens in imagination, but…

‘When something you routinely imagine actually becomes reality.’

People momentarily become more curious and pay attention.

The ghost story I was looking for started from there.

“…”

I raised my head.

It was a dark alley.

Loud laughter, shouting, and music could be heard nearby. The flashing lights and noise seemed like they’d be audible just around the corner.

A bustling entertainment district that never sleeps.

But here was a musty alley where shadowy silence flowed.

And a single streetlight illuminated the concrete floor of the dirty alley.

The manhole cover was there.

In that manhole sitting casually in the middle of that silent light like any ordinary city street, there was something strange.

Slightly open with something sticking out.

A human hand.

“…”

Mysteriously, an arm protruding from the slightly shifted manhole cover.

Five white fingers swaying blankly under the streetlight.

As if asking for help.

It’s an extraordinary enough sighting to normally scream, hesitate, or report somewhere.

‘But if you’re intoxicated by alcohol or atmosphere, you might carelessly approach.’

Because it’s a ghost story that targets and lures people.

“…”

I slowly approached the hand sticking out of the manhole.

The hand swayed gently.

One step, one step. And when there was about my height’s distance remaining.

“Hoo.”

I turned around.

And rummaging through my backpack, I reached into the salt envelope I’d brought and grabbed a handful of salt.

I scattered it over my left shoulder.

Toward the manhole.

Kiiiiiiiek!!

An explosive sound burst from behind me. An unbelievable roar that couldn’t be from salt powder hitting something.

And also an acrid smell like burning filth.

‘Ugh…’

Smoke rose and drifted over.

But I absolutely don’t turn around again. Just enduring in place…

Soon both the sound and smell disappear.

“…”

Then I turn my head.

The arm has disappeared.

What remains is just the pitch-black manhole illuminated by streetlight.

Very slightly, with the cover open.

‘…Good.’

By driving away the ‘arm’ through Salt Purification, you can temporarily use that manhole.

I put salt in both pockets and approach the manhole. The relief patterns and letters on the manhole cover illuminated by the streetlight gradually become clearer.

Usually the outer circular part has the purpose and destination of this manhole engraved, and the center has the managing organization’s logo.

This manhole cover was the same, and looking closely, I could tell its ‘destination’ and ‘managing organization’…

Hell

This doesn’t lead to a sewer.

It’s an entrance to somewhere else.

“…Ha.”

I grabbed the cover with trembling hands and pushed it.

Heavy.

But as the black manhole cover slowly slides away, a pitch-black hole becomes visible below…

Thud.

Below where nothing is visible.

An unpleasant emptiness.

“…”

I confirmed I was properly wearing gloves, mask, and hat. Then after sprinkling salt all over my body, I stepped on the ladder and moved my feet downward.

Clack, clack clack.

I gradually moved away from the noise above.

Light and signs of people disappear.

Downward. Further down.

Just me alone.

‘…Maybe it’s because I’m alone, but it feels even scarier.’

My spine shivered, but I gritted my teeth and went down. I’m the person who endured four whole days in that insane mart just a few days ago…!

‘I can do this.’

I gritted my teeth and moved my feet.

After several dozen seconds, going down until the inside of my glove was soaked with sweat on one hand….

Splash.

My foot touches the floor.

Ignoring the strange squishy feeling as much as possible, I mechanically moved my feet.

A dark sewer where I couldn’t fully stretch my body stretched out before my eyes.

Strangely, there was no light, yet I could see that eerie passage.

‘This is really driving me crazy.’

Enduring the spine-chilling silence, darkness, and cold stench, I went in a bit further. Into a disconnected place where neither phone nor camera worked….

Then at some point.

‘… There it is.’

I finally discovered it.

“Phew.”

It was a rusted door that suited the sewer.

The circular door shaped like a moat was a dirty and heavy door that you’d only see at old industrial sites.

And the word carved in relief.

‘Hungry Ghost Realm’.

Ghosts who fell to hell due to greed and suffer from hunger. Or the hell where those ghosts exist.

And strangely, there was one hole on the left side of that door.

…From beyond it, I could hear the sound of flowing water….

“….”

I steadied my breathing, sprinkled salt all over my body once more, and grabbed the handle of the rusted door.

Then holding my breath, I opened it.

Creeeeak.

A space as wide as a plaza unfolded.

The space that seemed to have a dome-like hemispherical cover looked like a typical sewage treatment plant, but….

Aaaaah!

Countless hands filled those walls.

Dry hands with exposed bones, corpse-like blue hands, hands with strange tattoos on the back, hands wearing ceremonial gloves, hands with painted nails…

And all those hands were each gripping something.

‘I’ve arrived.’

Darkness Investigation Record Meeting Plaza.

‘Faceless Market’.

That’s right.

The arms stuck in here react when someone approaches and offers an appropriate item, snatching the item away.

In that process, they drop the merchandise they were holding in their hands, completing a barter exchange.

The category of ‘appropriate items’ is determined by the seller’s desires.

It was a strange marketplace that used the horrific phenomena of ghost stories that lure humans to steal their organs and create disappearance cases for trading purposes.

This was also a place I hadn’t come to for this reason.

‘When I’m already going into ghost stories constantly, why would I increase risk factors.’

When I had stable and good trading partners like the Alien Shop where you just need money, why would I go to such an unverified dangerous place where you might buy dangerous items.

But now… I don’t have money.

And even if problems arise, I can ‘reveal’ an identity that’s not Baekillmong Corporation.

‘Phew.’

I stepped inside.

While also recalling the ghost story-like restrictions.

However, if you stay in that space for more than 2 hours, the Manhole Arms you drove away will be waiting in front of the door.

I need to hurry.

Actually, when reading about it, this space had much more interesting elements than horror, but now that I’m actually here, the imagery itself was incredibly eerie.

‘It’s like I’ve entered a horror game….’

Some unknown liquid was flowing on the floor, but I tried not to be disturbed and ignored it as much as possible.

Because I wasn’t alone.

“….”

Several people were already walking around sparsely in this cavity.

Those checking the arms filling the walls were mostly covered from head to toe.

Occasionally there were people in ordinary clothes walking around with their faces fully exposed and smiling, but I avoided them as much as possible.

‘That’s real madness.’

Let’s not get unnecessarily involved.

I had specific trading partner candidates in mind.

Even if it’s anonymous, you only don’t know individual identities, but there were hints about which faction they belonged to.

Namely, the appearance of the arms.

Because there are strange characteristics befitting the ghost story worldview.

If you had sufficient knowledge, you could identify affiliations through sleeves, tattoos, accessories, etc.

‘It’s practically anonymous because there aren’t many people with such knowledge.’

But I have it.

And my first priority target also has distinctive physical characteristics. Specifically….

“….”

I stopped walking.

Among the tempting arms shaking and holding items, I saw a withered hand.

A hand missing its pinky finger.

What was placed on the palm wasn’t an item but a scrap of paper stained with blood.

It was gripped so tightly that I couldn’t even properly see the text inside.

It was unclear whether it was even put out with the intention of selling, to the point that passing people didn’t even glance at it.

But it was what I was looking for.

‘That paper.’

I approached that arm and reached out my hand…

“Ah, that thing’s been here for about 5 years already.”

My body froze.

“You don’t really know how things work here, do you? The arms here aren’t actually people waving their arms, but supernatural phenomena mimicking that.”

Someone grabbed my shoulder and rambled on.

“It doesn’t mean someone’s been stuck here with their arm plugged in for 5 years. They probably left 5 years ago and might even be dead by now.”

The problem was,

“How about it?”

It was a voice I recognized.

“…”

Instead of breaking free and running at full speed, I stiffly turned my head.

“Don’t you think it’s not a particularly attractive item?”

All I could see from the masked face were the curved eyes.

But I could recognize them just from those eyes and voice alone.

Because it was a face I’d seen just a few days ago.

‘…Agent Choi!’

The early named agent who had visited my hospital room was standing there.

‘W-wait.’

But he spoke to me?

Right now, I had deliberately filled the area around my missing right arm with a mannequin prosthetic and cotton stuffing, then covered it with a coat.

In this darkness, it wouldn’t be easy to notice that I was missing an arm.

Of course, a veteran agent from the Disaster Management Bureau might have enough experience to notice, but…

‘It’s not like I’m the only person who’s lost an arm in the ghost story world.’

He couldn’t be certain.

Running away would actually look more suspicious.

I barely managed to calm down and looked at him.

Maybe he was just making conversation to figure out what this item was.

“Ah~ Want me to give you one more tip? People don’t usually know this, but…”

Agent Choi glanced at the hand I had extended toward the ‘arm,’ then whispered to me intimately.

That was…

“The blood vessels in wrists have different patterns for each person?”

I got goosebumps.

“It’s almost like fingerprints, and if you remember this, it’s perfect for finding people you know. Even if people cover their faces, disguise their body shape, or burn their fingerprints, they can’t burn their blood vessels.”

“…”

“And don’t be careless. Just because you’ve covered everything up.”

I’m screwed.

“Junior. What are you doing here? No…”

Agent Choi grinned.

“Who told you about this place?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Team. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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