GSGW c221
Chapter 221
note: this chapter's kinda weird format wise
A dark, cramped editing room.
Towering editing monitors.
Among them, only one screen is powered on.
From that single source of light, a blue desktop background glows faintly.
And scattered across it are several video file icons.
Raw footage from variety shows.
The two Field Exploration Team employees, who had already discussed things beforehand, moved without hesitation.
—First, let’s check if it really is darkness.—Yes!
A verification step.
The hand holding the mouse moves, and the pointer glides across the desktop…
Click.
The selected icon spits out a video file.
The raw footage for MBS’s “Kind Karaoke,” Episode 26.
[Hahaha!]
[Wow, you sing really well!]
[You flatter me.]
In the brightly colored karaoke set, two guests and the MC sit across a table, laughing.
It’s a format popular with broadcast content trying to attract viewers on WeTube lately: a small-scale talk show with a luxurious guest and a humorous, non-aggressive host.
The cheerful interior, laughter, and the staff’s applause make the atmosphere lively.
“Hold on.”
The video pauses.
A passing cutaway shot of the karaoke interior.
The karaoke room door with a small, dark window set into it.
And inside that window—
There is a man’s face.
Looking directly at the camera.
“…Huh.”
Even in the darkness, it is visible. More twisted and conspicuous than the screenshot from Episode 36 in the post they had seen earlier.
Almost as if it were trying to catch someone’s eye beyond the camera.
Anyone who discovered this unexpectedly would likely freeze in terror or scream and run.
“Okay.”
But the two investigators quickly close the video and click another file.
Because they’re used to it.
Click. Click. Their hands rapidly open episode files from other variety shows that end in “6.”
…And then they realize something.
“……”
“……”
Modern variety shows rarely feature large crowds anymore.
Especially shows with big audiences or large reaction groups.
Which means there are no crowds.
So the Man in the Screen can no longer sit among people as if he were just one of them.
And so…
The man begins appearing in increasingly unnatural ways.
In a rooftop variety show where people sit on cushions and chat—a man stands outside the balcony, staring at the camera. In a fishing show by a river—a man presses his face close beside the cast, staring at the camera. In a talk show with an MC and an actor guest—a man stands stiffly behind their table, staring at the camera.
His expression becomes stranger and stranger.
His posture too.
Sometimes he even mimics the gestures of the guests or the MC.
As if he’s trying to imitate them—but the awkwardness and the sense of wrongness send shivers down your spine.
“……”
By this point, even someone who believed money could solve everything would begin to feel a creeping dread.
Kang Yihak swallowed and closed the footage.
But he didn’t hesitate.
“I’ll put it in.”
“Yep.”
Assistant Manager Lee Seonghae inserted the prepared USB into the editing machine connected to the monitor.
It was the simple procedure the company had provided.
Transfer the video data into a storage device that cannot play the files itself, then move it to an appropriate containment location. (Presumably.)
Given the pattern of this “darkness,” it was a reasonable method to try.
If people die after watching footage containing the Man in the Screen in the editing room, then the solution is simple: store all those videos separately, and shut down the editing room entirely.
If the videos cannot be played, the phenomenon cannot occur.
Unfortunately, the production staff would just have to work with the raw footage that hadn’t entered the editing room yet.
—So we just quietly move them into the USB without provoking it!
—Exactly.
Click.
As soon as the USB connected, Kang Yihak opened the removable disk. Then she grabbed every file ending in “6” on the desktop—along with the editing folder—and dragged them into it in one swift motion.
She'd done this so many times that the movement came naturally.
'Whew.'
As expected for such large files, a loading window appears. If they could just endure this transfer process…
Copying…
“……”
“……”
…Huh?
“Excuse me.”
Lee Seonghae spoke.
“Why are you holding your hand there?”
Kang Yihak looked down.
Her hand, resting on the keyboard out of habit, was pressing the Ctrl key.
…A habit.
If you drag files into a USB storage device normally, it counts as moving them.
Cutting them out.
But if you hold Ctrl while dragging—
It becomes a copy.
A reflex developed by any upper-year student used to managing countless assignments and external projects.
Backups.
“……”
Kang Yihak looked at the files still transferring to the USB.
Then she looked at the files still remaining on the desktop.
The ones containing the Man in the Screen.
At this rate, the originals would remain in the editing room.
But files being copied cannot be deleted mid-transfer.
'No.'
Her blood ran cold as she stared at the Copying window, waiting for it to finish.
The numbers climb rapidly. Please. 90… 92… 95… 97… 99…
Complete.
The instant it finished, Kang Yihak immediately slammed the delete shortcut.
Do you want to permanently
delete these six items?
Now!
She had to hurry. Her hand couldn’t slip. And it didn’t. But somehow—almost supernaturally—the mouse double-clicked, and instead of deleting the files, it clicked Play on one of the icons. And the footage began to play.
Your eyes met the Man in the Screen’s.
/tn. the following paragraph on the official website is like an image, white background with only words. irdk what to do so I gave it my best shot
Inside the cheerful scene of a variety show,
a pair of eyes sits alone, quietly,
beyond the camera—meeting yours.
Dilated pupils. Two dark, black eyes,
like holes carved into a face,
staring at you. It smiles,
baring its teeth.
It sees you.
Its mouth opens, and inside—
black emptiness, raw red gums, a writhing tongue—
frozen in place. Slowly, the mouth shapes words, telling you.
Don’t delete me
Eeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuueeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuueeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuu—
A warped, broken noise spills out. On the desktop, countless footage files begin playing at the same time. Sounds overlap. The system lags and stutters. Strange noises erupt. Playback positions jump wildly—videos close, reopen, switch again. The screen flickers. And from the screen,
something begins to emerge.
Eeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuueeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuueeeeuueeeeeeuuuuuueeeeuuuuuu—
The videos flash. Scenes from different variety shows change every second, zooming in—cutting closer—until the same figure appears in all of them. The common presence edited together onto the screen. It is—
the Man in the Screen.
His face.
The man
appears on the screen.
A close-up.
Getting closer. Closer. Closer.
Closer. Closer.
Closer.
You are looking at his mouth.
The man’s mouth—grotesquely round, gaping wide—begins to move.
Anyone standing before the editing monitor cannot help but see it.
Kang Yihak’s gaze is fixed.
Lee Seonghae’s gaze is fixed.
They cannot look away. They have no choice but to watch.
They are ready to listen to what he says.
He is angry.
After hearing everything he says, they will die.
He is—
Tap.
“……”
A sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Smoke.
Tap tap tap tap.
The carrier.
Mr. Employee.
“…!”
Kang Yihak bit her tongue hard until it bled, forcing herself back to her senses. Then she reached out immediately. Her hand touched the lock of the carrier beside her.
She releases the lock.
CLANG.
The iron bars opened.
But Mr. Employee did not come out.
Instead, thick black smoke, like fog, poured outward.
…and blocked the Field Exploration Team’s view
“…!”
Within the smoke, dozens of lights like yellow lanterns glowed, distorting the monitor’s light and shape. The Man in the Screen could no longer be seen.
Only lantern-like lights in the smoke.
“—Hah!”
One of the investigators, suddenly separated from the darkness, gasped and straightened up.
…Kang Yihak realized she had been leaning so close to the monitor that her nose was nearly touching the screen.
A chill ran down her spine.
The six videos’ distorted audio still echoed through the cramped editing room like screams.
Kang Yihak looked again at the thick black fog pouring from the carrier, and the yellow eyes within it. Assistant Manager Lee Seonghae was practically surrounded by the smoke.
"Mr. Employee!"
Kang Yihak made a quick, rational judgment.
“Could you wrap up the monitor really tightly and… and suppress that thing for a moment? Then we’ll resume the procedure right away!”
Isn’t that the Security Team’s job, after all?!
But the black smoke did not touch the monitor.
No—looking closer…it was avoiding direct contact with the monitor and editing equipment.
“…Huh?”
The smoke formed letters.
Concerns upon contact:
▶ Deletion of the Darkness
▶ Increased mortality risk for the two accompanying employees (Dolphin, Pony)
“…!!”
Reason: Irregular nature of a non-physical entity. Insufficient data.
Wait.
So just touching it might influence the editing-room ghost—possibly creating unpredictable variables—so it was deliberately holding back?
And one of those variables was the disappearance of the Darkness itself?
'How powerful is it?'
A strange thrill ran down Kang Yihak’s spine, but her mouth spoke calmly.
“Then if we want to continue the operation…”
And the task the Mr. Employee proposed was extremely simple.
Do not stare into the Darkness.
“…Of course! That’s a perfectly reasonable instruction.”
But without using your eyes, human accuracy and efficiency drop dramatically…
And especially when the task is something delicate—like constantly closing the insane flood of footage pop-ups and locating files on the desktop to permanently delete them.
“Still, someone probably needs to keep watching.”
And Mr. Employee kindly answered that question as well.
Observer: Me
At that moment—
Dozens of yellow eyes that had sprouted above the black fog turned toward the monitor.
“…!”
…Black background. Yellow eyes.
“…Wait.”
Kang Yihak felt something stir in her memory. But before she could finish the thought—
“Yes.”
At the same time, Assistant Manager Lee Seonghae began to move.
She had just finished speaking quietly with the black smoke while crouched down.
Expected outcome if start is delayed:
▶ Failure to collect the Darkness
▶ Casualties
They had received the signal.
Tap.
The elite team member slid smoothly into the black smoke and positioned herself beneath the desk where the monitor sat.
As the smoke slightly withdrew—as if making room—Seonghae stretched out only her right arm, grabbed the mouse from the desk, and pulled it down to the floor where she was sitting.
“…!”
That’s right.
'Even if the mouse is under the desk, it still works…!'
Most equipment these days uses Bluetooth mice with strong connections, so it was possible.
Seonghae placed the mouse on the floor to steady it.
Then she gripped it firmly and dragged it sharply toward the bottom right.
'...! That guarantees it goes to the bottom-right corner.'
She was aligning the invisible cursor position on the unseen screen.
After lining it up like this, she nudged it slightly upward—Right there. The bottom edge of the monitor. The “Show Desktop” button.
She clicked.
“…!”
“Did it work?”
Tap.
But it lasted only an instant.
Uuuaaaahhh—aaagh—uuugh—aaah—eee—aaaahhh—uuuuuueeeeeggggggg—ghhaaaaaaasssssaaaa—eeeeeeee—aaaaaaahhhh—
"Ghk—!"
The footage windows reopened, and grotesque sounds filled the dark editing room.
The Man in the Screen was still there.
“Ha…”
For once, cold sweat slid down the back of Kang Yihak’s neck from sheer dread. She forced a smile.
One of the yellow eyes in the black fog turned toward her.
Input Devices
▶ Mouse (Dolphin)
▶ Keyboard (Pony)
Damn.
“Got it!”
Of course—you earn money by working!
Kang Yihak rushed forward, grabbed the keyboard, and crouched beneath the desk, almost lying on the floor.
The Bluetooth keyboard worked just fine.
“I’ll bring up the desktop—Dolphin, please select the files for deletion!”
Kang Yihak began repeatedly pressing Windows + D.
Again. And again.
Sometimes the videos popped up first and the cursor missed the icons. Sometimes the desktop appeared but vanished again before the delete prompt could trigger.
And the sound became clearer. Distorted. Warped.
Eeeee—rrrraaaaoooo—uuuuuu—iiisshk—zzz—uuu—eeeeeeee—haaaajiiii—uuuuuu—aaaaa—eeeeeeee—aaa—uuu—
Sweat made both of Kang Yihak’s hands slippery.
But Lee Seonghae moved calmly. Relying entirely on instinct, she controlled the cursor without seeing the screen, gradually learning the signals from Mr. Employee and reducing the amount of errors.
They couldn’t simply select all desktop icons with the keyboard. Because that would include the Recycle Bin.
They had to manually select the correct files with the mouse—excluding the bin.
Then Kang Yihak would press the key for permanent deletion.
They waited for the moment.
Before it was too late.
Again. And again.
Eeee—deleeete—eeee—diiieee—eee—zzz—aaa—eeeeeee—aaa—uuu—uuu—haaa—eeee—uuu—aaa—eeeeeee—aaa—uuu—
They repeated the cycle—until they could precisely target the same files Kang Yihak had grabbed earlier.
And trigger the delete shortcut at the exact moment.
Then—
Tap.
“…!”
Seonghae knew.
“…Ah.”
Kang Yihak had pressed the delete key at the exact timing.
And Seonghae imagined the popup that Mr. Employee could see—but she could not.
Do you want to permanently
delete these six items?
Correct?
Tap.
Correct.
Seonghae immediately placed her hand on the keyboard Kang Yihak held and hammered the Enter key repeatedly.
Then she slammed the mouse she was holding against the floor—smashing it.
So it couldn’t accidentally double-click and start playing a video again.
Next, she destroyed the keyboard too.
CRACK.
Heavy breathing filled the silent editing room.
…
……
“Did… it work?”
Mr. Employee still surrounded them with black smoke. They couldn’t see the monitor. Did they need to do something else?
Tap.
At that moment—a hand wearing a black glove emerged from the smoke and pointed at the editing computer.
Ah, the USB.
“…!”
Kang Yihak practically crawled to the machine and yanked the USB drive out.
Only then did the black smoke surrounding them withdraw.
“…Phew.”
Their vision cleared. When Kang Yihak stood and looked at the editing monitor again—only the blue desktop background remained.
No footage. No man. No strange lag or voices.
It was over.
They had contained the Man in the Screen phenomenon inside the USB.
“Ha!”
Kang Yihak collapsed onto the floor.
She survived. And she made money.
Dopamine flooded her brain, her heart racing wildly. This was happiness…
But in the next moment she jumped up and smacked her head.
“Ah—sorry about that. I accidentally left the original files on this computer earlier and wasted some time!”
Better to mention mistakes properly in moments like this. That way things usually pass more lightly later.
'Still… we handled it well.'
She rolled a small magnet in her left hand.
A piece of equipment she obtained with the free perk from her promotion to Supervisor. Its ability where once per day, with a 50% chance, it immediately unlocks a lock.
If a lock was impossible to open by hand no matter how long she tried, the device wouldn’t open it either—but it was still very useful.
It had helped again this time.
'If I hadn’t opened the carrier immediately… would we have died?'
Whew! High profit really does mean high risk.
“Still, finishing this quickly… it’s thanks to working with capable people. And we even earned extra income. I’m glad everything ended well!”
At that moment—
Mr. Employee, who had been silent inside the carrier, responded.
Tap tap.
A negative.
Kang Yihak swallowed.
“…Wait… are you saying the extra income wasn’t enough?”
Tap tap.
“……”
“……”
Then that meant—
What the Special Security Division’s employee had denied was—
“The job… isn’t finished.”
……
“Did we misunderstand something?”
Lee Seonghae’s calm voice sent a chill down Kang Yihak’s spine.
“We missed something, right?”
Tap.
“…!”
Before Kang Yihak could even ask what she meant—
“Back in the old days… these were filmed on tape, right?”
“Huh?”
“Variety show recordings. Until the mid-2000s they sometimes used film.”
Seonghae spoke while looking at the USB.
More precisely—at the data inside it.
“Even if not, the footage data probably never left the editing room back then. Real editing could only be done there.”
“Hmm. That’s true.”
Seonghae raised her head.
“But now… it’s outside.”
“….”
Kang Yihak understood immediately.
They had just experienced it.
The Man in the Screen reacted to the act of deleting him.
So if the trigger wasn’t the editing room itself—but the act of editing footage. Then—
-During editing… urgent stuff happens here during the day if equipment is needed, but otherwise we do it in studios outside the station or from home
On the personal computers of every editing staff member in the PBS variety department—
the Man in the Screen existed.
As they left the broadcasting station, they began frantically calling the Security Team.
note: ok yall. This might be the end of the road for me (unless I change my mind). I might go back and translate the beginning of part 2 (c209+) if I have the time after midterms. I hope you all enjoyed my translation! <3
I checked out the other version written by I_Love_Kim_Soleum on webnovel and the translation is not too bad, although there are some discrepancies. Go check it out if you want to! If you won't, I will >:) -> Even If You Fall Into A Ghost Story, You Still Have To Go To Work
May you all continue to enjoy this series either with me or I_Love_Kim_Soleum <3
- UglySunfish
Thanks for the chapter!
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