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

People tend to walk looking at the ground on days when they’re not feeling well.

Though it’s less common now due to smartphones, it’s a common experience that everyone has probably had at least once.

So everyone must have idly observed this on the sidewalk or road surface at some point.

A manhole.

A grey circle commonly seen on the side of the road.

It’s a passage for workers, allowing access to buried water pipes underground.

Everyone knows this.

So, looking at the round grey manhole cover, everyone must have imagined it at least once.

Imagining a person suddenly emerging from it.

Or… imagining myself opening the lid and going inside.

Of course, it was not easy to encounter it in reality. The lid itself isn’t light enough for anyone to open easily; it usually weighs over 100 kg.

So, it’s usually just something that exists in imagination…

‘But if what you’ve routinely imagined actually happens in reality.’

People instantly 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, shouts, and music could be heard nearby. The flashing lights and noise seemed audible just around the corner.

A bustling downtown, alight all night.

But this was a shadowy, silent, musty alleyway.

Location of occurrence: Concrete ground near entertainment districts bustling with excited crowds late at night, such as pubs, clubs, and university towns.

And a single streetlamp illuminated the dirty concrete ground of the alley.

The manhole cover was there.

In the center of that quiet light, a manhole, casually placed like any ordinary city street, had something strange about it.

It was slightly ajar, with something sticking out.

A human hand.

“……”

Inexplicably, an arm extended from outside the slightly moved manhole cover.

Five white fingers dangled motionlessly, illuminated by the streetlamp.

As if pleading for help.

Shapes of arms witnessed so far:

An elementary school student with nail art, a sanitation worker’s uniform, a knit sweater, old school uniform, a suit, a military uniform from the 19██s, an old man’s hand with warts, a fingerless hand covered in a ■■■ tattoo.

It was an unusual sighting, enough to make one scream, hesitate, or call someone.

‘But if someone is drunk or caught up in the atmosphere, they might thoughtlessly approach it.’

Because it’s a ghost story that preys on that, luring people in.

“……”

I slowly approached the hand protruding from the manhole.

The hand swayed gently.

One step, then another. And when I was within my height’s distance.

“Phew.”

I turned around.

And rummaged inside the backpack I was wearing, reaching into the salt bag I had brought, and grabbed a handful of salt.

I sprinkled it over my left shoulder.

Towards the manhole.

Kiiiiiiieeeeek!!

A piercing sound erupted from behind me. A roar so loud it was unbelievable that it came from salt particles.

And an acrid smell, like burning filth.

‘Ugh…’

Smoke billowed up and drifted over.

But I never looked back. If I just held my ground…

Soon, both the sound and the smell vanished.

“……”

Then I turned my head.

The arm was gone.

All that remained was the pitch-black manhole, illuminated by the streetlamp.

Its lid ever so slightly ajar.

‘…Done.’

By driving away the ‘arm’ with a salt cleansing, the manhole could be temporarily used.

I tucked salt into both my pockets and approached the manhole. The embossed patterns and letters on the manhole cover, illuminated by the streetlamp, became increasingly clear.

Typically, the outer circle of a manhole indicates its purpose and destination, while the center bears the logo of the managing authority.

This manhole cover was no different; upon closer inspection, one could discern its ‘destination’ and ‘managing authority’…

Hell

Ghost

This doesn’t lead to the sewer.

It’s an entrance to somewhere else.

“…Ha.”

I gripped the lid with trembling hands and pushed it.

It was heavy.

But as the black manhole cover slowly slid away, a pitch-black hole appeared beneath it…

Thump.

Nothing visible below.

An unsettling emptiness.

“……”

I made sure I had my gloves, mask, and hat properly on. And after sprinkling salt all over my body, I stepped onto the ladder and moved my foot down.

Clank, clatter.

I gradually moved away from the noise above.

Light and signs of human presence vanished.

Downward. Further downward.

All alone.

‘…It’s scarier because I’m alone.’

A shiver ran down my spine, but I gritted my teeth and descended. I’m the person who endured four days in that insane supermarket just a few days ago…!

‘I can do this.’

I gritted my teeth and moved my feet.

After several tens of seconds, until one of my gloved hands was soaked with sweat…

Splash.

My feet touched the ground.

Ignoring the strange squelching sensation as much as possible, I mechanically moved my feet.

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

Eerily, the eerie passage was visible even without light.

‘This is driving me crazy, seriously.’

Enduring the spine-chilling silence, darkness, and chilling stench, I went further in. To a disconnected place where neither phones nor cameras worked…

Then, at some point.

‘…There it is.’

I finally found it.

“Phew.”

It was a rusted door, fitting for a sewer.

The circular door, like a moat, was a dirty, heavy door that looked like it belonged in an old industrial site.

And an embossed word.

Starving Ghost

‘Agwi’ (Starving Ghost).

A ghost fallen into hell due to greed, suffering from hunger. Or the hell where such a ghost resides.

And strangely, to the left of the door, there was a hole.

…Beyond it, the sound of water flowing could be heard…

“……”

I took a breath, sprinkled salt all over my body again, and grabbed the rusted doorknob.

And holding my breath, I opened it.

Kiiiiiieeeeek.

A space as wide as a plaza unfolded.

The dome-like, hemispherical covered space looked like a typical sewage treatment plant, but…

Aaaaaah!

The walls were filled with countless hands.

Emaciated hands with exposed bones, corpse-like blue hands, hands with strange tattoos on their backs, hands wearing ceremonial gloves, hands with manicures…

And all of those hands were clutching something.

‘I’ve arrived.’

The Dark Exploration Record’s Meeting Plaza.

‘Faceless Market’.

———————=

Dark Exploration Record / Special Area

[Faceless Market]

: A small-scale special area derived from a ghost story appearing in <Dark Exploration Record>.

A strange space accessible by using the ‘Manhole Arm,’ which travels between the living world and the afterlife, luring and devouring people.

By merely inserting an arm here, one can lure others with an item in their palm, just like the ‘Manhole Arm’.

It is also an anonymous marketplace for those involved in ghost stories, highly favored for its accessibility from anywhere and the ability to trade without revealing one’s identity.

It’s a pleasure to read about the interactions of various factions that would never normally meet, creating unimaginable combinations.

———————=

That’s right.

The arms inserted here react when someone approaches and offers a suitable item, snatching it.

In this process, the item held in the hand is dropped, and a bartering exchange takes place.

The type of ‘suitable item’ is determined by the seller’s desire.

It was a strange market that used the terrifying phenomenon of a ghost story, which lured humans to extract their organs and create missing person tales, for trading.

In the case of Oneiroi Inc., they have many hostile groups due to their nature, so if their affiliation is revealed, they might be refused trade or attacked. Considering their personalities, it might be natural. It’s interesting to see such special records.

This was also a place I hadn’t come to for such reasons.

‘Why would I increase risk factors when I’m already constantly entering ghost stories?’

Especially when there are stable and good trading places like alien shops that only require money, why buy unverified, dangerous items from here?

But now… I don’t have money.

And if a problem arises, I can ‘hint’ at a different identity than Oneiroi Inc.

‘Whew.’

I stepped inside.

Recalling the ghost story’s restrictions.

However, if you remain in this space for more than 2 hours, the Manhole Arm you expelled will be waiting at the door.

I had to be quick.

In fact, when I read about it, the space seemed much more intriguing than frightening, but actually being here, the image itself was utterly eerie.

‘It feels like I’ve stepped into a horror game…’

Some unknown liquid was flowing on the floor, but I tried my best not to be perturbed and ignored it.

Because I wasn’t alone.

“……”

Several people were already sparsely walking around in this cavernous space.

They moved about, checking the arms that filled the walls, mostly covered from head to toe.

Occasionally, there were people in normal clothing, with their faces fully exposed, walking around and laughing, but I tried to avoid them as much as possible.

‘That’s true madness.’

Let’s not get involved unnecessarily.

I had specific desired trading partners in mind.

Even if it was anonymous, I didn’t know the individual identities, but there were hints about their affiliations.

That was the appearance of the arm.

Because, fitting for a ghost story world, there were peculiar characteristics.

With enough knowledge, one could identify their affiliation by sleeves, tattoos, or accessories.

‘But there are few people with such knowledge, so it’s practically anonymous.’

But I have it.

And the top priority I was looking for also had a distinctive physical characteristic. Namely…

“……”

I stopped walking.

Among the tempting arms holding and swaying objects, a very thin hand was visible.

A hand missing its little finger.

On its palm was not an object, but a piece of paper stained with blood.

It was gripped so tightly that the writing inside was barely visible.

It was so hard to tell if it was offered for sale or not that passersby didn’t even give it a second glance.

But it was what I was looking for.

‘That paper.’

I approached the arm and reached out my hand…

“Nah, that’s been here for like five years already.”

My body stiffened.

“You don’t know how things work here, do you? These arms aren’t actual human arms waving; they’re supernatural phenomena mimicking them.”

Someone grabbed my shoulder and prattled on.

“It’s not like someone has been sticking their arm here and holding out for five years. They might have left and passed away five years ago.”

The problem was,

“How about it?”

It was a familiar voice.

“……”

Instead of shaking him off and sprinting away, I stiffly turned my head.

“Doesn’t that seem like a rather unattractive item?”

From the masked face, only the rounded corners of his eyes were visible.

But I could recognize him just from those eyes and his voice.

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

‘…Agent Choi!’

The early-named agent who had visited me in the hospital was there.

‘W-wait a minute.’

But he spoke to me?

I had deliberately padded the area where my right arm was missing with a mannequin prosthesis and cotton, then covered it with my coat.

It shouldn’t be easy to notice a missing arm in this darkness.

Of course, a veteran agent of the Disaster Management Bureau might recognize it due to their extensive experience, but…

‘There aren’t just one or two people who lost an arm in the ghost story world.’

He couldn’t be certain.

Running away would only make me seem suspicious.

I barely managed to calm down and looked at him.

Perhaps he had approached me to find out the nature of this item.

“Oh~ want another tip? People don’t usually know this, but…”

Agent Choi glanced at my hand, which I had extended towards the ‘arm,’ and then intimately whispered to me.

It was…

“The pattern of blood vessels on your wrist is different for each person, too?”

A chill ran down my spine.

“It’s almost like a fingerprint, and if you remember it, it’s perfect for finding someone you know. People can cover their faces, fake their body types, and burn their fingerprints, but they can’t burn their blood vessels.”

“……”

“And they let their guard down. Thinking they’ve covered everything.”

I’m screwed.

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

Agent Choi grinned.

“Who told you about this place?”