Fog pressed against my skin like cold breath, curling over an endless road lined with houses. Each one was the same—ancient, painted black, glowing faintly with warm light from inside. Shops stood open, lanterns burned, but no one walked the streets. It was alive and empty all at once, like a dream that hadn't decided if it wanted to be real.
I hugged my arms tight around myself. Where… am I?
The elevator should have opened to my lobby. Instead, here I was—on a road that shouldn't exist.
"Hey."
The voice brushed my ear. I spun so fast I nearly tripped. A girl stood behind me, maybe twelve, sleeves flowing, her hanfu too graceful for someone her age. She tilted her head and smiled, calm in a way that made my pulse race harder.
"Did I scare you? Sorry if I did." Her voice was soft, almost kind.
I swallowed hard. "Wait—am I… dead?"
She shook her head. "No. You're not dead."
"Then where am I?" My voice cracked, a pathetic mix between panic and begging.
Her smile deepened. "Don't you remember? You answered the call."
The call.
My chest tightened as the memory stabbed through me.
I hadn't planned this. I hadn't even wanted to play the stupid game. So how did I end up here?
....
It started last night.
Our group chat had ended in chaos—everyone screaming about the café opening, Kai acting like he was commanding an army, Lian swearing we'd be on time. I, as usual, just went along with it. Typical.
By morning, Lian was calling me with way too much energy for someone who definitely didn't sleep enough.
"Yumei, are you ready? I'll be there in five, so hurry!"
"Okay—wait. It's Friday." I groaned, staring at the door. "It might take me a while to get down."
She went quiet, then muttered a guilty little "…oh."
She knew exactly what that meant.
Fridays themselves were fine. The number thirteen was fine. But when Friday and thirteen shook hands? Disaster. And I, unlucky owner of a 13th-floor apartment, knew better than to tempt fate. My only rule: keep it simple, keep it safe, and survive.
Except, of course, the universe laughed at that plan.
The lobby guard stopped me at the stairs. "Miss, you can't use the stairway today. Someone spilled oil. Dangerous. Please use the elevator."
The elevator. On a Friday. The last time I took it, it trapped me for thirty minutes and I swear my soul floated up toward the vent. But with the stairs blocked, I had no choice.
I pressed G. Counted down the floors like a prisoner on death row.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
Ding. The doors opened, and I staggered out alive.
"Wait—no way. You actually took the elevator on a Friday?"
Lian was waiting, grinning like she'd just caught me in a crime.
"I didn't plan to! The stairs were a death trap."
"Okay, fine. Just checking you're still alive." She shrugged. "Let's go."
That was why she was my best friend—zero sympathy, just efficiency.
The café was called Mysterious Café. Neon sign, crowded tables, coffee that instantly forgave all my suffering. We laughed, played UNO, argued like a sitcom cast, until Lian groaned, "I'm bored. Let's play something else."
Kai's eyes lit up. Dangerous. "There's a number. If you call it, and it calls back, you must not answer. Or you'll be pulled into their world."
Cue the dramatic "oOoOo" noises from everyone.
"It's fake," Luhan scoffed. "That's not even a real number."
Kai just smirked. "Let's test it."
My stomach twisted. "Maybe not today…"
"Relax, Yumei," Lian nudged me. "It's just a dumb game."
But peer pressure and I were terrible enemies. I dialed it too.
The robotic voice chimed: The number you are dialing isn't registered.
Relief washed over me. Nothing happened. We laughed, we left.
But all the way home, that number sat in my call history like a seed waiting to sprout.
Back to the Elevator
I don't even remember pressing the button. One moment I was zoning out, the next—I was in the elevator again, standing like a lost potato.
Then my phone buzzed.
I tried to answer, coins spilling out of my bag, fumbling like an idiot.
"Hello?" Silence.
"Hello??" Nothing.
And then I looked. No number. No contact. Just a blank screen, the call timer ticking.
A voice sang through, cheerful, sweet.
"Hehe… WELCOME."
The call cut. The elevator dinged.
The doors opened.
And I stepped into this place.
**Present**
The girl's eyes shone in the fog, still smiling, still too calm.
"Please," I begged, shaking. "I didn't mean to pick up! Send me back. I just want to be in my apartment, under my blanket, eating ramen, not—" I waved helplessly at the glowing houses. "—here."
Her smile finally wavered. Almost pity.
"There's no way back," she said softly. Then her voice hardened. "Unless you kill him."
I stared, numb. "Kill who?"
"The Masked King. The ruler of this world."
She stepped closer, her voice like a secret.
"They call him… the King of Souls."
And in that moment, I knew: Fridays weren't cursed by coincidence. Something had been waiting for me all along.
Meilin walked ahead, her long sleeves swaying gracefully. "Let's go," she said.
I trudged behind her. "How far is it?"
"Five minutes," she replied casually, as if five minutes of wandering in a creepy soul world was no big deal.
I hesitated, curiosity chewing at me. "So… do you know anything else about this so-called King of Souls?"
Meilin sighed dramatically. "Hmm… I died when his great-great-great—" she waved her hand, "—whatever-grandfather ruled this world. Since then, I've been trapped here. People tried to kill the king, but nothing works. When a new king is born, the old one leaves the throne. Killing him?" She smirked. "Not a piece of cake. No one has ever succeeded."
Chills prickled down my arms. "Okay… but what happens to the past kings? Their souls? Where do they go?"
"No one knows," she answered flatly.
I chewed my lip. "Anything else?"
She turned, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "He always wears a mask. No one knows his name. Everyone calls him King. Oh—and he's single." She giggled like it was the juiciest gossip ever. "Also… he's not old like us. Maybe thirties."
"Thirty?" My eyebrows shot up. "Seriously? So, what—like, a modern king?"
"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "A modern king."
I muttered under my breath. "Great. Stuck in Soul World with a 500-year-old child guide and some mysterious thirty-year-old masked bachelor."
We finally reached the town. Bustling streets, shops glowing with lanterns, voices drifting through the air. Souls everywhere.
Meilin tugged me toward a shop and handed me a dress. "This one. Blood-red with black trim. Perfect for you."
I slipped it on. Fabulous. At the age where I should've been shopping with a tall, handsome guy, here I was with my centuries-old ghost grandma. Living the dream.
Meilin left to do something mysterious, ordering me to "wait here." Naturally, I didn't. Standing still in a soul town? Not happening. I promised myself I'd be back in ten minutes. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Wrong.
I wandered the market, trying on hair clips I couldn't pay for, until—bam—I tripped over someone. "Sorry!" I stammered, but they walked away without a word.
Before I could breathe, a shout split the air: "Clear the way! The King will arrive in minutes!"
The crowd scattered like spilled marbles.
A child nearby dropped his fruit basket, desperately grabbing at rolling apples. My instincts betrayed me—I rushed to help. "Don't cry, I got this—" I bent down, reaching for the last piece when—
Thunk!
An arrow slammed into the ground, inches from my hand.
My breath hitched. Slowly, I looked up.
There he was.
The Masked King.
Mounted on a black horse, clad in dark Hanfu, surrounded by soldiers in tight formation. His mask was white, painted with a single red flower blooming across it. His long black hair spilled over his shoulders, sharp against the lantern glow.
His presence alone silenced the street.
Act cool, Yumei. Act. Cool.
I held up the fruit like an idiot. "Umm… hey. I was just… picking up apples. Nothing else. Totally harmless."
His gaze pinned me in place. I couldn't see his face, but through the eyeholes, one sharp eye burned into me. My stomach twisted like I'd just eaten expired ramen.
Then chaos exploded.
The screech of metal rang out behind me. A blade. I whipped around just as someone in the crowd hurled another arrow toward the King. Soldiers blocked it instantly. The would-be assassin was dragged down, and in the confusion, a soldier pressed a sword against my neck.
"You planned it, didn't you?" he snarled.
"Wha—no! No, no, nooo!" I squeaked, frozen like a deer. My eyes crossed, trying not to move against the blade. My life flashed before me—mostly embarrassing karaoke nights and instant noodle dinners. Fantastic.
"Leave her."
The voice was deep, steady. The King's voice.
The soldier froze, then lowered his sword.
I staggered back, clutching my neck like I'd just escaped a guillotine. "Thanks," I croaked, forcing a smile at the masked man on the horse. "Not that I thought you were gonna let me die or anything. Totally had faith. Yep."
The King didn't reply. He just looked at me. Unreadable. Silent. And somehow, that was worse than the sword.