Game 14: Rizzing Up a Dead Woman
Han Tae-yang (한태양) was dying.
Like, not in the "oops, I stubbed my toe" way. Not even in the "my landlord saw me walking home with fried chicken and I still owe him rent" way. No, this was the big one, the life force leaving, soul-detaching, spine-chilling kind of death.
He panicked internally. Of course he did.
His brain screamed at him with the urgency of a car alarm:
"Bro! BRO! We're about to flatline in a haunted house! I didn't even finish my anime backlog! I didn't kiss anyone yet! I didn't even clear the browser history on my PC, my sister will see everything!"
His hands twitched against the sheets, body frozen by invisible fingers. He tried to move his lips, but only a strangled sound came out. His lungs burned, each breath thinner than before.
The room stayed silent. Dead silent. (Pun intended.)
Tae-yang's brain did what all desperate men's brains do when faced with inevitable doom: it spat out the dumbest possible plan.
If brute force couldn't save him… maybe romance could.
"Uh… h-hey," he croaked into the air, eyes darting to the empty, shadow-soaked corners of the room. "I, uh… I know you're here. My future wife. My, my ghost bride."
The temperature in the room dipped further. The pressure on his chest paused. Not gone, but paused.
"Oh-ho!" he whispered, forcing a grin. "So you are here. Listen, I'm single, twenty-one years old, top gamer, no kids, no debt, well, technically some debt, but it's spiritual debt, not financial, point is, I am prime husband material, baby."
Nothing.
He swallowed. His throat was as dry as stale ramen noodles.
"Look, don't play hard to get. I can see it, you're already into me. You're literally on top of me draining my soul. That's basically a kiss in ghost culture, right? First base?"
Still silence. But the weight pressing down on him didn't tighten again.
Han Tae-yang's eyes darted side to side. Sweat ran cold down his temple. He kept talking, because if he stopped, he was sure she'd finish sucking him dry like a Capri Sun.
"Listen, my beautiful bride-to-be. I've got dreams, okay? Big ones! I still need to get rich, buy a house in Gangnam, eat fried chicken every day without checking the price. I need to take my sister to a real hospital, get her cured so she stops worrying about me like I'm some dropout loser. You can't drain me yet!"
His voice cracked. His chest trembled. But he kept going, words spilling like cheap poetry.
"I'll be loyal! I'll even learn how to fold laundry properly. I'll stop eating cup noodles at 3 a.m. and burping in my sleep. I'll treat you right, candles, flowers, Netflix subscriptions. Just… just let me live, okay?"
The air shimmered faintly in the corner of the room, like a veil of mist gathering.
Tae-yang's eyes widened. "Oh-ho. She's considering it. My rizz is working."
Minutes stretched. His lungs ached. His vision swam. And then.
A whisper. Thin as silk. Cold as winter rain.
"…Marriage… will not save you."
Tae-yang's grin froze. "…Eh?"
The whisper grew clearer, dripping with frost.
"Even if we wed… I will still drink you… until you are nothing."
His stomach plummeted. His throat bobbed like he swallowed a brick.
"Wait-wait-wait, hold up! What's the point of marriage then?! At least let me write a prenup! Or, or can we do one of those modern open relationships where you don't fully kill me on the first night?!"
But the voice didn't laugh. It didn't soften.
Instead, the pressure lifted. For a moment, he thought he won.
Until.
Something icy and soft brushed his lips.
A kiss.
But not warm, not sweet, not gentle. It was a vacuum. A pull. A floodgate ripping open as his life force surged out of him faster than ever before.
Han Tae-yang's eyes bulged. His body arched. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
"No, no-no-no, WAIT" he screamed in his head, but no sound escaped his throat.
The ghost bride's lips clung to his, draining him, drinking him, pulling him deeper into her abyss.
And in that instant, the only thing he could think was:
So this is my first kiss? With a dead woman? Figures.