Haru had always considered himself a skeptic when it came to ghosts. The idea of spirits floating around, unseen but felt, never seemed real to him. As a kid growing up in Japan, he'd seen plenty of horror movies—those little films with ghostly apparitions, flickering shadows, and eerie whispers. He'd often hide behind a sofa cushion, trying to convince himself the scary scenes weren't true. His older cousin would tease him, insisting ghosts were just stories to scare kids or folklore meant to teach lessons. Haru would roll his eyes and tell himself that belief in such things was for naive children, superstitious old ladies with incense sticks in lonely country shrines, and cult members chasing strange visions. That sort of thing belonged strictly to fairy tales, legends, not his reality.
Yet, now, he found himself lying upside down amid the wreckage of a twisted car frame. The world around him looked strange and quiet, only broken by the faint, dull gray glow of a morning sky peeking through a cracked windshield. He stared upward, his head pounding, narrowed eyes struggling to focus. And somewhere deep inside, a quiet, persistent whisper echoed. It was almost like a voice, soft but insistent, whispering: You're not alone. It wasn't loud enough to be a voice, nor subtle enough to be a thought. It felt different, like a presence that pressed against his mind—heavy, strange, almost physical. He felt it sitting on the edge of his consciousness, pressing down like someone sitting right beside him on the bed, watching and waiting.
That thought, or that feeling, was incredibly weird. The odd part was that he wasn't even in a hospital bed yet. No IVs, no nurses rushing around. Just a heap of metal, broken glass, and a thick silence that seemed to settle over the wreckage. It made him question what he was feeling—or what was feeling him.
Before all this chaos, just a few hours earlier, Haru had been drifting off in the backseat of his family's old, battered white van. His hoodie was zipped up all the way to his nose, muffling any sounds around him. His earbuds were half-dangling from his ears, playing music so soft he could barely hear it. His head was heavy, and sleep was trying to take him. Outside, the radio was quietly humming with a trot song his mom liked—a cheerful, upbeat tune that somehow clashed with the tired look on her face. His dad was busy arguing with the GPS voice, which was trying again to give directions in Korean. The GPS chirped with a calm, robotic voice, "Turn left in 200 meters," but Haru's dad shook his head.
"That's a lie," his dad muttered, flicking the steering wheel. "This thing doesn't know Korean roads."
His mom responded softly, almost giggling, "You say that every trip. And every time, we end up lost."
His dad huffed. "We're not lost. We're discovering new routes."
His mom just smiled sweetly, "Discovering the inside of a convenience store to ask again."
Haru listened to their banter, a faint smile on his face. It was the usual chaos—Dad getting confused, Mom teasing him, their endless jokes. Usually, he'd feel annoyed or tired. But this time, he felt a rare sense of comfort. These moments, simple and messy as they were, reminded him of home. He liked the chaos. It made him feel like he belonged.
Moving to Korea had been tough. New school, new language, new friends—and none in sight. He'd felt out of place at first, struggling through lessons where he barely understood the words. Everything sounded different, even the simplest conversations became confusing. Still, his parents had been trying their best to keep everything normal. Today was meant to be a small escape, a day out somewhere peaceful. A drive to see the cherry blossom roads his mom kept mentioning, images from Instagram she couldn't stop talking about. A quiet slice of nature, away from the noise of city life, they said.
They didn't get far before everything changed.
It all happened so fast that Haru barely registered it. In a flash, a blur of silver streaked across the street. The tires screeched like nails on a chalkboard. His dad yelled, voice frantic, trying to react. His mother's hand shot out instinctively toward the passenger seat, probably trying to steady herself or pull him back. And then—impact.
The car shook violently, metal crunching against metal, chaos erupting in a second. Haru's world spun, everything seemed to blur together—noise, flashes of color, the sudden jolt of force. The last thing he remembered was the sensation of being thrown forward and then battered by the wreckage. His ears rang with the sound of shattering glass, the crunching of metal, the scream he couldn't fully recall. A sharp pain shot through his arm as if his bones had broken, and a bitter taste of blood filled his mouth. The blood trickled down his chin, sticky and metallic. His mind raced to process what had just happened. Then, amid all this chaos, he felt a strange weight settle on him—an overwhelming presence that did not belong to the physical wreckage. It was heavy and strange, pressing against his senses. It pressed inward, silent but unmistakable, whispering simply: You're not alone.
He opened his eyes and immediately knew he was in the hospital. It had been a long, confusing day, and now everything felt foggy around him. His head was wrapped tightly in soft white bandages, covering the area where the pain was worst. His left arm hung in a sling, unused and slightly stiff. An IV drip was taped to his hand, delivering fluids and medicine steadily into his bloodstream. He almost felt like his bones had been filled with a thick pudding—a strange, heavy sensation that made moving feel awkward and sluggish. Every breath he took reminded him of all he had been through, from the sharp pain in his head to the faint ache in his limbs.
Sitting beside his bed was his mom. Her face was streaked with tears, and she kept dabbing her eyes with a tissue, trying hard to stay strong for him. Her shoulders trembled a little every time she took a breath. Her trembling hands looked so gentle, so worried. She watched him even more closely once she saw his eyes flutter open, like she was making sure he was really awake and okay.
His dad was nearby, standing near the window with his back partially turned. He was staring out at something only he could see—probably the gray sky or the distant buildings—trying not to panic or look overly worried. But Haru could tell. His dad's shoulders were tense, and he kept shifting slightly as if fighting the urge to rush over to him.
"Oh, my baby," his mom sniffled, rushing forward as soon as she saw him move. She was quick to grab his hand, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and fear. Her tears spilled over again, even as she tried to keep her voice steady.
"I'm okay," Haru mumbled, voice barely more than a whisper. His throat felt raw and dry, but he wanted to reassure her.
His mom's face softened, but her eyes still shone with sorrow. "You scared the life out of me! I kept telling your father to slow down, to drive safely, but he just..."
"You were the one distracting me with your snack bag," his dad interrupted, a hint of amusement flickering behind his worried eyes.
"I was feeding you," she said defensively, her voice muffled with emotion. "How could that be a distraction?"
"You threw shrimp chips at my face," Haru added meekly, hoping to diffuse their arguments.
His parents paused and looked at each other for a moment, hesitation flickering between them. Real concern shadowed their features now. They hovered on either side of his bed like two caring vultures, both eager to fuss over him but unsure how to act.
Just then, the door swung open. A nurse stepped inside, her calm expression professional but gentle. She moved efficiently, checking his vital signs—his pulse, blood pressure, temperature—and noting everything down on her clipboard. She gave a polite smile and then asked a list of routine questions, all designed to make sure he was stable and on the mend.
Yes, he remembered his name. Yes, he knew it was Tuesday (though the day felt oddly hazy in his mind). No, he didn't feel dizzy. No, he didn't see anything strange—except for what happened next. That is, he didn't think he saw anything, but he definitely did. Because that night, while lying there staring helplessly at the ceiling tiles, trying not to cry or think about his injuries, he saw her.
A girl. Not a ghost or a scary figure, just… her. Standing near the door. She was perfectly normal, with no blood or wounds. She didn't look threatening or scary. Instead, she shone faintly, as if she had a soft glow around her. Her hair was big and styled into buns, and she wore a hoodie covered in sparkly K-pop band logos. A lightstick in her hand flickered softly, like she was part of some concert or festival.
She waved. Very casually, as if this was something she did every day.
"Hi," she said gently. Her voice was light, almost musical.
Haru blinked. Once, twice. Three times. He thought maybe he was dreaming or still half-asleep, but she was still there, standing firm, smiling at him like an old friend.
His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Was this a hallucination? Did his mind finally crack from the pain? Or was this some kind of ghost—something he wasn't prepared for?
"Oh good," she said cheerfully, giggling a little. "You can see me." Her words made him freeze. It was like she was happy to be noticed, happy she wasn't invisible.
Haru's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He blinked again, then tried to speak, but his voice felt thick and unfamiliar.
"Am I hallucinating?" he finally managed to whisper, his voice faint and uncertain.
She stepped forward, floating slightly above the floor, her expression kind but curious. She peered at his face in a way that made him feel both embarrassed and oddly comforted.
"Nope," she said quietly, her eyes sparkling. "I'm real. Well, kind of. Ghost. But still real." She paused, then added with a giggle, "Wow, your eyes are really brown."
That comment made him feel even more bewildered. He stared at her, heart pounding, unsure of what to say or do next. The whole room felt a little less quiet, more unreal than before.
Without thinking, he did what anyone in his position would do—he promptly passed out. His eyelids fluttered, and his body relaxed suddenly, surrendering to the overwhelming mystery of her presence.
When Haru opened his eyes again, the morning light streamed softly through the window. The world outside was waking up, but what caught his attention was not the usual scene of chirping birds or the buzzing of cars. No, instead, he saw the ghost girl sitting calmly on the windowsill, her legs swinging freely through the wall as if gravity didn't exist there. She was sitting cross-legged, her expression relaxed, almost amused by the world around her, completely unbothered by the normal rules of reality. The sight of her brought a strange mix of comfort and confusion.
"About time," she said lazily, her voice echoing as if it traveled from far away. Her bright, playful tone was almost teasing. "You faint like a drama heroine. I like that. Adds flair," she added with a grin, clearly enjoying her moment of mischief. It was as if she didn't think the situation was serious at all, even though moments earlier, Haru had been unconscious on the floor from what he guessed was a concussion.
"I have a concussion," Haru muttered weakly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the pounding in his head. His body ached, and his limbs felt heavy, but the ghost girl's presence somehow made everything feel surreal and almost bearable.
"Maybe," she said nonchalantly, shrugging a little. "But I'm still here." She looked at him with an unwavering stare, her eyes shining with mischief. Her words seemed to suggest that her existence or presence defied the normal rules of life and death—like she was deliberately challenging reality itself.
Haru couldn't help but stare back at her, a mix of curiosity and disbelief twisting inside him. His mind scrambled to make sense of this strange moment. He felt a flutter of fear, confusion, and a strange curiosity he couldn't quite explain.
"Why?" Haru finally managed to ask, finally breaking the silence. The question spilled out before he could second-guess himself. Why was she still here? Why was she sitting so casually like she belonged there, like she was waiting for him to understand something crucial?
Her smile widened, lighting up her ghostly face with a bright, innocent expression that seemed almost too innocent given the bizarre situation. "Because you're going to help me debut as an idol!" she announced cheerfully, making it sound like the simplest plan in the world. Her tone was playful, but there was an underlying seriousness to her words.
Haru blinked, stunned. The idea hit him like a flash of lightning. "An idol?" he repeated, voice flat with disbelief. The strange girl's words echoed in his mind, leaving him unsure whether to laugh or panic.
She nodded enthusiastically, as if her master plan was perfectly clear. "Yeah! You. Me. K-pop stardom," she declared, hands thrown up in the air. "You're alive, and I'm dead. Together, we're unstoppable," she added, her voice meeting hers with unwavering confidence.
Haru stared harder, trying to process the words and the scene unfolding before him. The girl's words sounded wild, impossible even, but her conviction was unshakable. How could a ghost want to be a pop idol? The idea was so outlandish it almost seemed like a joke. Almost.
"You're insane," Haru finally managed to say, broke and uncertain. His mind raced, trying to fit everything into some kind of logical explanation.
She chuckled brightly, a giggle that didn't quite match her eerie appearance. "Not anymore. That ended when I died," she said softly, her smile fading just a little. "Now I'm just a ghost with big dreams." Her stance was playful, yet her words held a strange sense of finality.
Haru's mind spun in circles. "This is a dream," he muttered under his breath, convinced that everything he was experiencing couldn't be real.
"Then explain how I just changed your TV channel without touching the remote," she challenged, her face lighting up with mischief once again.
Haru glanced toward the TV, half expecting her words to be a joke. To his astonishment, the screen flickered once and then changed to a different channel. He stared, eyes wide, trying to process what had just happened.
He opened his mouth to scream but couldn't find words. The world seemed to tilt and spin. His senses felt overwhelmed, and suddenly, terror gripped him tight.
By the time his parents burst into his room, Haru was trembling, covered in sweat and wide-eyed with panic. His shaking finger pointed helplessly at the window. "GHOST. GIRL. THERE," he managed to gasp, voice trembling with fear and disbelief.
His parents blinked in confusion at the empty space outside the window. The girl was nowhere to be seen. His mother moved closer, her gentle voice trying to calm him. "Sweetheart," she said softly, "there's no one there. It was just your imagination."
Haru's mind raced, desperately trying to hold onto the truth of what he'd seen. "She was just—she waved—she talked—" he stammered, his eyes darting around, seeking something that wasn't there.
His dad leaned in, squinting at the empty yard beyond the glass. Then he asked casually, "Did she look cute?"
"Not the point!" Haru snapped, frustration bubbling over.
His mother gently patted his arm, trying to soothe him. "Maybe you're just stressed. You've been through a lot lately." Her voice was patient, but her words only added to Haru's confusion.
"Yeah," his dad nodded, trying to be supportive. "The brain can mess with you. Once I saw a talking watermelon when I had the flu."
"You saw that?" his mom asked, a flash of concern crossing her face.
"Uh… never mind," his dad said quickly, realizing how bizarre it sounded.
Haru groaned loudly and sank back into his pillow, his hands trembling. It was all too much. Nothing made sense anymore.
Suddenly, through the wall, the ghost girl reappeared, unnoticed by his parents. She grinned mischievously, waves of invisible energy radiating from her.
"Okay, so maybe don't tell everyone right away," she whispered, almost conspiratorial.
And that was the start— a start filled with chaos, with madness, and with the kind of bizarre friendship that no one ever expected or understood. It was the beginning of endless nights filled with glowing lightsticks, passionate monologues about dreams, accidental dance practices that made everyone laugh, and way too many karaoke sessions that stretched into the early morning.
It was also the start of the strangest, loudest friendship Haru would ever have — a friendship that defied all rules and reason. With a ghost named Minju. A ghost who wanted to become an idol, just like those stars in the videos he'd watched countless times, but now, somehow, she believed she could. And surprisingly, Haru found himself caught up in her crazy dreams, unknowingly stepping into a world more chaotic and colorful than he ever imagined possible.