The Ghost of the Gallery
From one day to the next, a strange rumor began to circulate.
“There’s a ghost, they say.”
At a coworker’s words, a curator who had been about to head downstairs frowned.
“…Excuse me?”
“You know, the gallery on the fifth basement level.”
“Ah, yes. I know it.”
How could he not?
“The piece I was just assigned is down on B5 as well.”
Access to the Collector Guild’s gallery was restricted to its owner—Guildmaster Bi Sa-beol—along with roughly three hundred curators and the guests who came to purchase works. The gallery spanned five floors in all. Each level housed a different kind or form of collection, and the final fifth floor held only those pieces Bi Sa-beol loved most.
For the record, Bi Sa-beol’s affection for a work was directly proportional to its danger. The fact that the piece this curator had been given was on the fifth floor meant exactly that.
“What happened on the fifth floor? It’s one of the most carefully managed levels because of how dangerous the pieces are.”
His coworker answered,
“I already told you. They say a ghost appears.”
“…It’s not as if I’ve never heard that rumor at all. What I’m asking is which incident or accident gave rise to it.”
The curator gave an awkward laugh and, as if by habit, absently rubbed his neck.
“We’ve already had ghost scares in this gallery more times than I can count.”
Bi Sa-beol’s gallery, stuffed with every bizarre and beautiful work the world had to offer, had always been prone to accidents. Because Bi Sa-beol collected anything treated as “art,” he paid no mind even if the true identity of a piece was, in practical terms, a monster. And until now, most of the ghost disturbances in the gallery had been caused by monsters.
“Which piece’s monster is it supposed to be? Calling it a ghost makes it sound close to humanoid, at least.”
“They said it was human.”
“That makes even less sense. Are you telling me a humanoid monster has gotten into our gallery?”
In a situation like this, anything that could be called “human” could only be a humanoid monster.
“Why would a monster that dangerous be in a gallery instead of a dungeon? Especially a humanoid—those usually have high intelligence and strong pride.”
Humanoid monsters were not merely rare; on average they possessed intelligence greater than a human’s, and their hatred toward the world outside the dungeon was intense. Equipped with both intellect and power, humanoid monsters typically ruled their own dungeons and toyed with any hunters who visited.
“If that were true, why would the guild building still be this quiet? It would’ve already stormed out and slaughtered everyone…”
“That’s exactly why it’s strange. Every situation we can grasp is full of contradictions.”
The coworker continued.
“We’ve already received seventeen complaints.”
“Seventeen?”
Curator Yu Seong-un had first heard the rumor about the “ghost” two weeks earlier. If seventeen complaints had come in within a mere two weeks, it was hard to dismiss as empty gossip.
“That’s quite frequent. At that rate, it shouldn’t have stayed a mere rumor.”
“HR is controlling the information. As you know, there’s nothing good about word getting out that something’s gone wrong in the Guildmaster’s gallery.”
“True enough. If word spreads that there’s trouble at the Collectors—the ones holding the purse strings of the entire Republic of Korea—the president himself would come running.”
“It doesn’t sound like a joke, so I can’t laugh. Fortunately the scale of the incidents themselves is small, so containment hasn’t been difficult.”
The HR staffer let out a sigh.
“But the fact that people are filing formal complaints with me means this isn’t something we can just brush aside.”
“Curators aren’t the kind of hunters who scare easily. If even they’re filing complaints…”
“It means they judged they couldn’t handle it on their own.”
“This is getting troublesome.”
Unlike ordinary curators, those who held hunter licenses were walking encyclopedias. Even if their raw combat power was not especially high, their ability to appraise and respond to monsters and items far outstripped that of average hunters. Bi Sa-beol had hired the finest talents in the world among them. That those talents could not resolve the matter themselves and had instead filed complaints with the HR assistant manager standing in front of him meant this incident was no small thing.
“…Well, then…”
At this point, Curator Yu Seong-un thought he understood why HR had called him over.
“What do you need me to do?”
“I’m sorry to bother you when you’re already busy.”
“No—when an incident occurs, I’m obligated to respond as well.”
He was one of the curators Bi Sa-beol had hired personally, and his competence had been recognized. As a hunter he was already A-class, and he held countless certifications related to alchemy and barrier arts. Yu Seong-un was frequently summoned whenever extra work of this kind appeared. Being saddled with tasks like this was familiar.
“Reassuring to hear.”
The HR coworker continued in that characteristically cool voice.
“We’d be grateful if you would take overall charge of management, Mr. Yu Seong-un.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but that’s a bit…”
Yu Seong-un shook his head.
“Doesn’t it look strange for a former Association researcher to take on general affairs as well?”
“I seem to recall you weren’t just a researcher—you were a research team leader.”
“Exactly. Do you know how many dirty looks I got when I left the Association? I have no intention of standing out.”
“If you feel that strongly, I won’t press any further.”
“Yes. Thank you very much.”
Scratching his neck, Yu Seong-un asked,
“Anyway, if it’s already happened seventeen times, doesn’t that mean the monster side has no intention of hiding itself?”
“……”
“If it were a monster with enough concealment ability to pass our guild’s inspections and be safely exhibited in the gallery, it could have hidden itself as much as it wanted.”
As if he had been waiting for exactly that, the HR staffer nodded.
“I was just about to brief you on the information we have regarding this ghost.”
“Welcome news.”
“Well, it’s a phenomenon witnessed seventeen times. We couldn’t afford to be negligent about gathering intel.”
The staffer went on.
“The other curators may not be quite on your level, Mr. Seong-un, but they’re capable people, so fortunately we were able to hear quite a few accounts about the ghost.”
The HR staffer handed Yu Seong-un a file.
“You’ll see when you read it…”
“There’s an illustration?”
“We added a sketch based on the witnesses’ testimony.”
“Hmm.”
As Yu Seong-un studied the sketch, the HR staffer explained.
“Across all seventeen sightings, the ghost’s attire never changed. It wore a large black cloak that completely covered its face and body, and the clothing underneath was said to be a black shirt and suit. Its height was around 188 cm—quite tall for a humanoid.”
“So its build was on the sturdy side?”
“The oversized cloak made detailed confirmation impossible, but most assessments were that it was at least not a thin build. No one ever described it as burly, either.”
“If they couldn’t check the inside that thoroughly, no one would really know whether what’s underneath is actually humanoid. It could be undead-type. Why conclude it’s a humanoid monster?”
“There was exactly one curator who saw its face.”
“Oh.”
“To describe it…”
The HR staffer continued.
“They said it was handsome. And this was a curator with high standards.”
“……”
“…It may sound absurd, but if someone who scrutinizes the opposite sex’s appearance that carefully calls it handsome, then its features must be truly sharp and well-proportioned. And we defined that as human.”
“No—handsome or not, what about distinctive traits?”
Yu Seong-un asked with a dubious expression.
“Hair color, the shape of the eyes, skin condition, whether there was a mole somewhere… traits like that. You didn’t include a facial sketch, so were there no testimonies on that point?”
“Unfortunately, it was only a fleeting glimpse, so even that curator said they couldn’t properly confirm any distinctive features. They only recalled thinking ‘handsome’ in that brief instant, and even that only after they’d fled and recovered their senses. So I have nothing I can tell you regarding external features.”
The assistant manager added,
“For some reason, everyone said it was hard to meet its eyes. That’s a major reason we can’t describe the face. If you can’t look at the eyes, of course you won’t know what the face looks like.”
“It might have an eye-related skill, or the eyes might be its true form. Then what about the hands or feet instead of the face?”
“Fortunately I can speak to that.”
The HR staffer nodded.
“They said its skin was extremely pale. White as someone who had never once been in the sun, so it stood out starkly against the all-black clothing—that’s the testimony we received.”
“Is that so? Then it might be a monster with a story… It could have drifted in from some dungeon.”
“And they said it was barefoot.”
“To avoid making noise?”
At Yu Seong-un’s murmur, the HR staffer firmly denied it.
“That’s not it.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because all seventeen curators testified in unison: ‘When the ghost walked, it made no sound at all.’ Even barefoot there should be some sound, so there was no need to take off its shoes.”
“Then the lack of sound when walking is simply an individual trait of the monster.”
In cases like this there were usually two possibilities.
Either a monster with a skill that can suppress sound, or a monster so light that it simply makes none…
Since it had been judged humanoid, the former was more likely.
“……”
Yu Seong-un soon furrowed his brow.
“Have you reported this to the Guildmaster? If it’s truly a humanoid monster, it’s not just news material—it’s research material.”
“We already reported on that matter, but all he said was to confirm it internally without letting word get out as much as possible. He said he didn’t want the Hunter Association snatching it for research data.”
“…I understand what you mean. That’s very like the Guildmaster.”
Yu Seong-un nodded. The words “What if someone dies?” never left his mouth. In this day and age, the life of someone who died on the job was treated about as lightly as a pebble by the roadside.
Still, Bi Sa-beol is someone who dotes on his own employees, so I can trust he’s taken measures on that front. He’s not the kind of boss who blindly assigns dangerous work…
Just then the HR staffer spoke.
“Starting next week we’ll begin enhanced safety training for the curators. Artifacts will be distributed to every trainee, so please be sure to collect yours as well, Mr. Yu Seong-un.”
“Ah.”
So that was it. He understood.
“As expected, our guild really works hard. Knows how to value human lives.”
“Kind of you to say. Though of course these are all the Guildmaster’s directives.”
The HR staffer continued the briefing.
“The first sighting of the ghost was fifteen days ago, at 4:32 a.m.”
“Four in the morning—quite a sparsely populated time. Even our gallery, which never sleeps, is quiet and empty then.”
“Correct. It’s one of the ghost’s characteristics as well. Whether it’s conscious of people’s gazes or whether there’s some condition involved, it usually insists on the early hours when few staff visit.”
“Sounds like either timid or cunning…”
Yu Seong-un flipped through the documents and tilted his head. Material that should have been there was missing. It didn’t seem like an accidental omission.
“…Zero casualties.”
Uncharacteristic of a humanoid monster.
“……”
No—uncharacteristic of a monster, period.
…No matter how skilled at schemes humanoid monsters are, spending two whole weeks just watching people is definitely unusual. Even if it were using some mental-type skill for a delayed-fuse attack that detonates later… there’s no way we wouldn’t notice that in a guild with security this tight.
Which meant this “ghost” really had spent two weeks doing nothing but watching people.
“There’s no such thing as a monster without hostility, is there?”
As a former Association researcher, Yu Seong-un knew just how deep the hostility monsters held toward Earth’s living beings ran. Even the most intelligent humanoid monsters could not endure that level. And even if they could, monsters had zero knowledge or understanding of humans. Even if they approached with goodwill, it could never have a positive effect.
So that’s why they called it a ghost.
At the very least, a ghost would have a high degree of understanding of humans.
As Yu Seong-un thought that to himself, the staffer’s explanation reached his ears.
“The locations of the sightings have been drawing steadily closer to the surface as time goes on.”
“…Mm…”
“Starting from the first sighting, it circled B5 for a total of seven times, then the fourth floor four times, then the third floor twice, then the second floor twice, and once on the first floor. Climbing one floor at a time.”
“…Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”
“But the final sighting—the seventeenth account—was set on B5 again.”
“Ah, so it went back down?”
“And for the five days since, no further sightings have come in.”
“In that case…”
“It appears to have finished exploring.”
“What a headache.”
Finding a monster that had already hidden itself in its own nest was even harder.
“Any other peculiarities? Behavioral patterns and the like. Monsters of this sort usually set their own rules and try to force other humans into that frame. And if it’s humanoid, it’s even more likely to have personal rules.”
The staffer nodded.
“As you said, there was something peculiar.”
“What is it?”
“Apparently it gives gifts.”
“……”
I haven’t lived that long, yet I’ve lived long enough to hear that a monster gives gifts.
…The gallery’s pieces sometimes show that kind of behavior, but if that’s the case, it becomes a little hard to define this thing as a simple monster…
Having ordered his thoughts, Yu Seong-un asked again.
“…Gifts, you say?”
“……”
As if sympathizing with the pure disbelief in Yu Seong-un’s voice, the staffer made a subtle face, cleared his throat once, and returned to a blank expression.
The staffer continued the explanation.
“When people first encounter the ghost, it approaches while pretending to be human.”
“Who would buy that…”
“Perhaps it truly believes itself to be human. In any case, next it requests a conversation with the employee it meets. What’s your name. How old are you. What do you do. Where is this place. Why are you here.”
“……”
“The content is mostly everyday and nothing special. It doesn’t dig into deep personal information, and if the other party is reluctant to reveal their identity, it doesn’t press further. Once the conversation is successfully completed to the end, the ghost gives a gift.”
The HR staffer gestured for him to turn the page. With a dubious look, Yu Seong-un flipped the document, and photographs of the “gifts” the employees had received came into view.
“…This is…”
“Yes, as you can see—food.”
“What kind of domestic monster is this?”
The photos showed snack foods easy to pop into the mouth—cookies, chocolate, candy. Looking at the neat, modest wrapping, no matter how he thought about it, these were handmade. Handmade snacks made by a monster—if it came out as an article, people would curse it for spinning outrageous lies.
“Did you run a component analysis?”
“By the Guildmaster’s order. The results came back a week ago.”
“Poison or…”
“No—on the contrary, medicine. Types like anemia remedies, digestive aids, painkillers, fever reducers, antidiarrheals.”
“……”
“How ordinary cookies or chocolate could take on medicinal properties like that is something even the research team couldn’t figure out. Both the taste and the composition were completely ordinary snacks.”
Yu Seong-un flipped through the documents as he asked,
“Then how did you detect the medicinal effects?”
“As you know, under the Guildmaster’s full support…”
“Dragged more people out of the prisons, did he. All things considered, that’s the cleanest option.”
“It’s a place packed with convenient experimental subjects.”
“True enough. But for research that had the prisons’ help, it was still unusually quick.”
“For some reason the Guildmaster just happened to have prisoners prepared.”
In an age when even the lives of perfectly healthy employees were treated like pebbles, the human rights of criminals were nonexistent. The Guildmaster of the Collectors was someone who exploited that fact extremely well, so Yu Seong-un could roughly guess that this experiment had used such criminals as well.
The HR staffer continued.
“What’s even more surprising is that the gift was exactly the right medicine for the employee.”
“…So to an employee with indigestion it gave a snack with digestive properties, and to one with a fever it gave a snack with fever-reducing properties?”
“Exactly.”
“……”
Yu Seong-un dragged a hand down his face.
“That means it also has appraisal skills that can be used on living beings. In that case its rank is going to be quite high.”
“A troublesome opponent. Especially since it’s showing goodwill toward us.”
“A rampaging monster would be easier. This one we can neither subdue nor coax.”
Letting out a long sigh, Yu Seong-un soon nodded as if accepting the fate of the extra work that was about to land on him.
“I’ll take it. This is my specialty, after all.”
“Thank you. And there’s one more thing I should mention…”
“What is it.”
“The date when the incidents began.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“They started after the Guildmaster exhibited Ji-oh’s Portrait in the gallery.”
“…Ah…”
At Yu Seong-un’s soft exclamation, the HR staffer sent him a look of pity.
“……”
“……”
And no wonder—because Ji-oh’s Portrait was the very piece Yu Seong-un had newly been assigned to oversee this time.
“…Overtime again, is it.”
A hollow laugh escaped him on its own.
“Hang in there.”
“I’ll have to.”
He was already exhausted.
(To be continued)