Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work - Chapter 377

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Even If You Fall Into Ghost Stories, You Still Have to Go to Work — Episode 377
The containment room for the Ghost Story Qterw-C-348.
A place where red lighting illuminates a solitary chair.
“…….”
I stared straight ahead.
The wooden puppet lay in the shadow beneath the chair.
The earth lay half-excavated, the puppet’s neck and arms twisted and jutting outward into the open air.
…I’d definitely buried it completely in the soil before.
Instinctive terror bloomed in my chest.
Worse than when I first saw it. Because of last night.
‘Phew.’
I wiped away cold sweat, watching this wooden figure ‘half-buried in earth’ like the ghost I’d witnessed. The image was almost as if….
‘…it had struggled to claw its way out but ultimately failed to escape.’
Burying it in earth was indeed an effective measure.
[Yes. You can bury it in the soil again.]
So I intended to follow the researcher’s instructions to the letter.
And on top of that… I was thinking of doing something additional.
“…….”
I dug out a new soil pit with both hands at the spot beneath the chair, thinking about this ghost story.
‘The reason I specifically buried it in soil on the first day was….’
An element that appeared in the document but was absent from the puppet before my eyes.
The enclosed
talisman
allowed identification that this was entity Qterw-C-2554.
The talisman itself.
Specifically… the writing inscribed there.
The talisman was severely damaged and defaced. After restoring and interpreting the text, I confirmed it contained incantations for the Sumanggut Ritual dedicated to the
Drowned Person
who died
in water.
A crucial hint.
‘The fact that the talisman was enclosed while damaged… normally means it either failed to exert its full power or became contaminated and produced an entirely wrong effect.’
A broken talisman. A cliché of ghost stories.
…Though I’d actually experienced a similar case at some high school once.
To phrase it another way….
‘Normally, the Breaking Method would be to restore the talisman to its original state and perform the ritual.’
But if I did that, the darkness would be ‘terminated.’
‘That’s the Disaster Management Bureau’s way. Not Daydream’s.’
This company ‘manages and operates’ darkness.
‘Even if I’d suspected it, I wouldn’t have used it.’
I didn’t remove the talisman for nothing.
They were surely seeking a method for staff to ‘clear’ it without terminating it entirely.
So my task was simple.
‘Find Daydream’s clearing method.’
I needed to search for cases of people who survived relatively long after contact with the puppet, or rarely survived at all.
But more than half of those had contexts that were either too personal or lacked sufficient detail.
For instance, a survival case like this one.
Contact with puppet, then visited a temple. Two days later, took refuge as a
Buddhist Nun.
The explorer’s Four Pillars of Destiny was confirmed to
lack water.
There’s nothing I can do about that.
‘I can’t change my own destiny, and there’s no situation where I could take religious refuge.’
From the start, the puppet is a ghost story that manifests in ‘varied, non-standardized forms.’ It’s difficult to discern rules; it shows only tendencies and ambiguity meant to inspire fear.
So I narrowed it down.
‘Classify the exploration records.’
Find one clear tendency category that I could identify with certainty.
Something I’d already determined.
The incantations for the Sumanggut Ritual dedicated to the
Drowned Person
who died
in water
—confirmed to be written on the talisman.
The Sumanggut Ritual!
‘I just need to pay close attention to descriptions of cases where they performed actions similar to ritual procedures.’
Not to the extent the story would be terminated, but actions touching on similar context.
Of course, unlike some specialists in rituals from the Disaster Management Bureau, I couldn’t know the concrete procedures and methods in detail.
But the crucial point wasn’t the minute details—it was the core elements.
And so I extracted two things.
First.
Burying the puppet in earth in its original state.
Exploration Record #5
A civilian (male, twenties) discovered the puppet at the ■■ seaside in Pohang, posted about the discovery online, then experienced hallucinations. After visiting a shaman and following their advice,
buried the puppet back in its original location.
Found dead 41 days later. Mud, water, and ■■ were discovered around the mattress beneath the deceased’s bed.
Burying it in soil drastically delays the timeline.
‘Probably it wasn’t crucial that I put it back where it was originally; the act itself was likely a form of ritual performance.’
It had contextual impact.
So on the first day, I imitated that scenario unconditionally to buy time.
And….
‘Find the ritual.’
Performing an ancestral rite over the puppet.
The exploration records containing those incantations.
‘Many people harbored the hope that shamanic or superstitious methods might work.’
Even if they couldn’t decipher the talisman, it’s natural psychology—people end up seeking out shamans or temples.
‘When someone sees hallucinations of ghosts, what they do is all much the same.’
They burned paper money, chanted incantations, sought divination, performed ancestral rites, lit incense, created graves, and poured alcohol.
But only a handful of these methods had any effect.
Specifically….
Seeking divination.
Performing an ancestral rite.
Creating a grave and pouring alcohol.
These three.
And these three share a commonality.
Did you notice?
‘Food.’
When seeking divination, they threw rice.
When performing an ancestral rite, they arranged offerings.
The alcohol poured over a grave was also food.
‘So the core procedure of the Sumanggut Ritual inscribed on the talisman was….’
Offering food.
So I prepared too.
Rice and alcohol.
“…….”
I pulled out the instant rice and beer I’d bought from the convenience store yesterday.
Then I opened the instant rice lid and placed it before the freshly dug soil pit.
After a deep breath.
“…….”
I retrieved the puppet from beneath the chair, half-buried in earth….
and pulled it out.
The puppet was intact.
Every joint I’d broken had been reattached, as if nothing had ever happened. Yet I knew.
This wooden puppet remembered me.
No—
this Drowned Person remembered me.
Ha—
…breath audible at my ear.
Goosebumps crawled up my neck.
[distorted sound]
I moved the wooden puppet regardless, my hands trembling. Thump—I dropped it into the freshly dug pit and covered it with soil. Earth crumbled from my grip and fell. I moved fast.
The moment the puppet vanished completely beneath the cover.
‘Done….’
Thump.
Cold water dripped onto my head.
…….
…….
I raised my head.
A face hung from the ceiling, suspended above me.
[distorted sound]
Pat-pat-pat-thump—
Water drops fell across my face, and a fishy-blood smell vibrated through the air. A flattened face with caved-in eyes and mouth twisted open, arms stretching from both sides to grab me.
Its mouth moved—
[distorted sound]
I see.
[distorted reversal sound]
It was playing backward….
The tape-reversed mouth moved, twisted upside down, distorted sounds cascading—
Your mouth moving—
[distorted sound]
I understand it.
[endless distorted reversal]
Ah.
Ah.
I understood.
This was….
Ha—
playing in reverse….
Like a tape played backward, the mouth hung upside down moved, moving still.
I hear—
it
you too
quickly
wished I were dead
Flesh stopped my facial openings.
You—
you—
come—
here—
Ha—
And.
“…….”
I shouldn’t have understood.
I shouldn’t have, understood…!
“Urgh—”
Something salty-bitter poured from my mouth.
“Ugh-ugh-ugh—”
Silt. The thick, waterlogged soil from the depths of that seaside, salted and sticky, mixed with my saliva and poured downward in thick chunks. No—was it saliva? Or breath? Was it breath or mucus?
You come here—
“Hik—”
The agony, terror, cold, and solitude of drowning turned my vision a sickly blue. My throat tightened. I couldn’t lower my head—caught. I barely pulled the beer can from my pocket. My hand trembled as if flailing in water, reaching for the can, the can….
I seized it.
Click.
A brief sound, and foam from the violently shaken beer spilled over my fingers and cascaded downward.
Quickly—
My vision shook. A face caked in flesh and matted hair pressed against my forehead. I couldn’t lower my head—my hand trembled and…
wished I were—
I poured the can upside down.
“…….”
Glug-glug.
The sound of liquid flowing.
Liquid that wasn’t water flowing down onto where I’d buried the puppet.
Alcohol.
“…….”
I lowered my head.
The Drowned Person that had hung from the ceiling was gone.
What remained was the red-lit interior of the containment room.
The solitary chair, placed listlessly.
And only the empty instant rice container rolling beneath it.
…….
…….
“Hrgh—”
Done.
‘Nearly died there….’
I nearly suffocated from sheer terror.
I forced myself up from where I’d nearly collapsed onto the ground.
My legs were genuinely shaking.
‘It’s been so long….’
The sensation of stepping into this hell and then escaping…!
[…Z999?]
“…Yes.”
Right—of course they couldn’t hear inside.
[Z999, can you see the door and wave your hand?]
I obliged readily.
[Ah….]
A faint note of astonishment colored the researcher’s voice.
The damp, eerie pressure that had weighed on my skin in the containment room had already vanished, and I….
was unharmed.
[Come out for now.]
Gladly.
“Phew.”
I took a deep breath and headed toward the open containment room door.
[Wait, don’t move! Stay still!]
As I exited the containment room, a security staff member arrived at the researcher’s instruction and immediately retrieved the armband attached to my wrist.
‘Okay.’
After that, no one reported to me what was inside or what results emerged.
Yet I knew.
‘What I did was certainly a clear by the Headquarters Field Investigation Team standard.’
Qualitatively distinct from other operators who merely sampled ghost stories for a few hours in the morning and left.
So I was certain.
Wiping away cold sweat, I thought.
‘I must’ve gotten C-Grade.’
This is a rank that workers used disposably at branch offices could almost never extract by chance.
Certain.
That afternoon.
[Z999, you’re being called.]
Before I’d even finished lunch, I was summoned separately and, under security escort, subjected to persistent questioning by the researcher in a space called the ‘Work Communication Room.’
Mostly questions eager to manualize things.
Statements that could be summarized as ‘Why on earth did you do that,’ to which I offered straightforward answers.
Simple.
“Well… I seemed hungry, so I thought I’d share some food….”
[…So you gave instant rice to a wooden puppet, is that what you’re saying?]
“Yes….”
There was no reason.
Just ‘I was hungry, so it seemed hungry too.’
When I mentioned seeing a ghost and thinking it looked hungry, the researcher’s audible teeth-grinding was followed by more relentless follow-up questions.
[Why did you bring beer?]
“I had to repay a water debt… and they told me to repay it twofold.”
[What?]
I relayed the story of the two operators who’d threatened me in a tone devoid of any sense.
“Everyone seemed to like beer… so I thought the puppet would like it too.”
[…….]
Yes.
I was going to push forward entirely with the concept that ‘none of this was intentional.’
As if a person of diminished capacity’s actions had simply happened to align perfectly.
And this was actually a rather tricky and interesting subject for a ghost story researcher to handle.
[So basically… you’re not sure, and just… it worked?]
“Yes? Yes….”
That’s luck.
An element handled delicately because it’s hard to measure.
Some might argue scientifically it’s merely a statistical case, but in the ghost story worldview, it’s meaningful.
Perhaps even the most necessary talent.
‘Lucky people are the ones with the most survival exploration cases.’
Because I frequently encounter situations where I must trust only luck to navigate something I logically cannot comprehend.
And exploration records with distinctly lucky outcomes are always a favorite subject of Darkness Investigation Records.
‘They’ll definitely want to research it.’
Even if that voice-only researcher has no particular interest in research and only obsesses over points.
‘Maybe they can extract more high-grade Dream Essence Solution—they’ll want to test me in various ways.’
Meaning they’d want to keep using me longer, and I’d be managed somewhat better.
Now I should apply slightly more pressure.
“Uh….”
I deliberately emphasized that my physical condition was genuinely terrible.
[If you’re not well, go to the Medical Room.]
“I can’t spend money… I need to save….”
[Ha….]
Frustration and irritation mounting, the researcher sighed.
‘But “voluntary” also means refusing ends it.’
And they probably don’t want to foot the bill themselves.
‘Looking at this branch, they’d likely have to pay from their own pocket.’
You can’t expect that from someone with a Daydream researcher’s personality.
Instead, another option occurs to them.
Something they can do arbitrarily without spending their own money while maintaining the condition of this ‘promising-looking’ worker.
[Go on. Z999.]
“Yes…?”
[Something good’s going to happen soon, so don’t forget who to thank.]
And so that very evening.
“Huh….”
“Sp-special transfer?”
I escape Z999.

* * *

Just before entering the company cafeteria, a notice was posted in the work area.
Special Reassignment
Z999 → Y492
Hastily printed on A4 paper and lacking any care, but the impact it granted me was definite.
“Z999?”
“That’s the last number.”
“Who is it?”
“Why, that weird bastard who’d collapse if you punched him once… eek!”
They’re here.
Murmuring like ‘Wasn’t that one already dead?’ stopped instantly. And I felt their gazes shift—watching me like specimens.
Slightly mocking, reluctant to get involved, or convenient to vent on—that particular gaze at something at the bottom of the social hierarchy changed subtly.
-How did you pull that off?
It could be summarized that way.
Confusion and mild bewilderment.
‘Looks like troublesome stuff’s about to happen.’
Once they get their heads straight, they’ll start sniffing around to see what they can pick off me.
‘Two X-Grade guys were enough trouble….’
I stuck to my persona, grabbed my meal before those people could figure out how to use me, and ran.
And in the process, I felt a small sense of satisfaction.
‘Wow, crazy.’
From Y-Grade up, there’s actually a half-decent meal box service!
“Y492….”
Moreover, the menu was almost moving.
‘It’s pork cutlet….’
Fresh, hot fried pork alongside rice and pickled radish.
Unlike the diet of cold rice with a few anchovies, this was normal food—I nearly teared up. The cutlet seemed like prepackaged goods fried at a rest stop, but so what.
I accepted the precious meal and bolted to the break room. And I moved quickly before the others who’d been watching could follow, arriving back at the break room.
“Whew.”
At least that went smoothly.
By the way, the sticker on my neck wasn’t replaced in this process.
‘Probably because it was a rushed reassignment to fill a gap in Team Y, so that wasn’t reflected yet.’
-Once this week’s shift ends, it’ll be adjusted more formally, but if you work harder, you could end up in a better place.
Recalling that subtle hint, the researcher probably harbored mild hopes for the original effect of enhancing voluntary work motivation.
‘Sorry, but with a livable environment now set up, I’m just going to last two weeks like this.’
Actually, I’m not sorry at all. The Daydream researcher’s… personality seems obvious enough.
I recalled a certain researcher from Headquarters and fell silent.
In any case, a livable bedroom awaited now, which made my heart flutter slightly.
And fresh, steaming pork cutlet even more so!
“Let’s hurry and get set up.”
I quickly gathered my belongings from Z999’s quarters, the dreariest worker break room.
Not much to gather, really.
I had nothing.
‘I’ll grab the diary just in case.’
I picked up the notebook left by the dead operator 993, some candy and chocolates I’d hidden around the mattress, and water.
The moment I lifted the mattress slightly.
‘…Huh?’
Squelch. The end of the muddy-water-soaked mattress tore.
“…!”
Something seemed to have caught on a spot that poked out onto the floor.
‘What is it?’
I immediately checked beneath the mattress.
From when I was grasped by the ghost last night and thrashed around, and from the mattress being wet, the floor directly underneath was worn.
And beneath that, where concrete used to be, clumps of soil now sat densely.
‘…Did the concrete turn into soil?’
It seemed part of this room’s floor had transformed to earth because of the water ghost puppet ghost story. I shuddered.
But within that soil, something glinted faintly.
‘…A handle?’
I shook off more soil.
The outline that became clear looked like part of a door handle or safe handle.
‘Was it embedded in the concrete?’
Conscious of the surveillance camera likely in this room, I pretended to tidy the mattress while extracting it from the soil.
Just the handle fragment came loose in my hand like a discarded object.
“Mm.”
This felt like… ceramic shards or a screw piece you’d occasionally find digging in old playground soil.
But discarding it outright felt odd.
A handle fragment in the concrete here?
Specifically… at a Daydream branch.
I recalled the structure of this place, which had felt like a sealed cave.
Daydream had deliberately established a branch here and created isolation facilities.
‘The odds are high that this place itself is somewhere with… supernatural significance.’
But a handle fragment like that being hidden in the floor suggested something meaningful regardless.
It almost felt like a symbol of escape.
Or perhaps something being stored away.
“Hmm.”
I examined the fragment more carefully.
No peculiar material properties, strange inscriptions, bloodstains, or sudden panic and murderous urges from holding it.
‘Okay.’
First pass. I’ll take it with me.
I quietly placed the handle fragment in my work clothes pocket. With the resolve to discard it immediately if anything seemed off, of course.
That settled my move.
‘Let’s switch quarters and eat first…!’
I wondered if anyone in the Y490s rooms might try to cause trouble, but everyone should be at the cafeteria now.
“Good.”
I grabbed my belongings, checked outside, confirmed no other workers were around, and moved immediately.
And I finally enter the Y490-range room….
Click.
Opening the door, I saw a fairly spacious space.
‘Wow.’
A living room finished roughly like a crumbling apartment but with linoleum, two room doors—probably divided by gender. And I could see a lock…!
‘I’m about to cry.’
It finally feels like a place where people live.
Just before I could savor the small happiness of having separated living quarters—
“…!”
Looking beneath the sofa in the living room, I froze.
Someone lay collapsed.
A worker with disheveled black hair, completely in disarray.
‘Could it be another corpse…??’
Good grief.
But fortunately, they moved.
‘Phew….’
Yet I soon realized their condition was far from normal.

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