The man slumped at the foot of the dormitory steps, gasping for breath. In his mind, safety began the moment he crossed out of the ghost’s territory.

“How did *you* get out?” Catching his breath, he looked up—and froze. The novice boy from earlier stood nearby. Dim moonlight blurred his features, but the clothes confirmed it was him.

“I came out after finishing,” the boy murmured, stepping slowly closer. His silhouette sharpened in the dark.

“You’re lucky—only one ghost.”

“Oh… what about the girl who was with you?”

“She… she didn’t make it. I couldn’t… save her! I’m useless!” The man choked out the words, feigning grief. Only he and the ghosts knew the truth of the fifth floor.

“Really? Then who’s *behind* you?”

“What!?” A cold dread shot down his spine. He stiffly twisted his head.

*Crack… crack… crack…*

The sound of tearing flesh—the woman’s death cry—now slithered from the pitch-black dorm entrance, drawing nearer.

A shape dragged itself along the ground. Limbs stretched grotesquely long, joints bent at impossible angles—less crawling, more writhing. It lifted its head. A familiar face. Eyes glowing crimson with hatred, locked onto him.

“No—! Wait! You’re *dead*!” Screaming, he scrambled backward on hands and feet until he bumped into the boy.

“I… said… even as a ghost… I’d never forgive you…”

The venomous whisper swirled from every direction. Desperate, he clutched the boy’s leg like a lifeline.

“Hurry! You’ve got talismans—use them!”

Silence. He looked up.

Where dark pupils should be, only ghastly white filled the sockets. The boy’s handsome face tilted down, lips curled in an eerie smile.

“AAAAAAAAAAAH————————!”

The scream tore through the silent campus. Unheard. Unseen. By dawn, renovation workers arrived—finding nothing. As if nothing ever happened.

————————————

“Screwdriver, hammer, wrench. That’s enough.” Besides the essentials—the jar holding the ‘young lady’ spirit—he needed tools.

Unlike past indoor jobs, this was a moving bus. No escape if things went wrong. Jumping while speeding? Suicide.

“My first mission’s safety rests entirely on you, oh great one,” he muttered to the jar.

Every time he held it, the memory flashed: the Crimson Robe Malevolent Ghost looming by his bedside, hiccuping from overeating.

*Cough… cough…* “Man, this job needs thermal wear. Why’s it freezing *everywhere*? Can’t spirits try a new schtick?”

Shivering under the midnight bus stop, Dr. Chen wondered how he hadn’t caught pneumonia yet. Every ghost encounter dropped temps by dozens of degrees. Normal people would’ve collapsed.

*Sincerely hoping ghosts diversify their horror tropes.*

“At this hour… would *anyone* deliver takeout?” Scrolling his phone, he found open restaurants—but delivery fees were absurd.

Still craving hot tea, he hesitated… then tapped *Order*.