After dinner, the house started emptying out.
One by one, the maids left.
Yeah—they don't live here.
This isn't a drama.
No one sleeps in hidden corners waiting for screen time.
Only the driver and the gate man stay overnight.
Even Mrs. Hana leaves.
She has a real home. A real family. People who actually wait for her.
I turned off the living room lights and headed upstairs.
The house got quiet again.
Big. Expensive. Quiet.
My favorite combination.
I dropped onto my bed, my oversized shirt practically swallowing me whole. If I disappeared, the shirt would probably still be there like nothing happened.
I reached for the book beside me and flipped it open.
Horror. Mystery. My thing.
Usually, it doesn't scare me.
Usually.
Tonight… felt different.
It was about a girl being hunted by the ghost of her lover—the same lover she killed.
Romantic. In a very I will never date again kind of way.
I was actually getting into it when—
Click.
The lights went out.
I froze.
"…Seriously?"
I sat up, looking around.
"We're rich. Like—annoyingly rich. Did we forget to pay electricity?"
Right on cue—
Click.
The lights came back on.
I blinked.
"…Okay?"
Then—
CRASH!
Something shattered downstairs.
I went still.
Then slowly got off the bed.
"…Of course it's downstairs," I muttered. "Why would anything scary ever happen in a convenient location?"
I walked down carefully, every step louder than it should be.
The sound came from the kitchen.
I stepped in and stopped.
Plates.
Broken.
All over the floor.
The cupboards—open.
All of them.
I blinked slowly.
"…Cool."
I crouched down, starting to pick up the pieces because apparently my survival instinct includes cleaning.
Then—
I paused.
A glass of water.
Floating.
I stared.
It moved.
From the counter… slowly… to the sink.
The tap turned on by itself.
Water poured in.
I stood up immediately.
"Okay—nope."
My voice came out calm.
My brain?
Not calm. Not calm at all.
The glass filled, then—
It floated away.
Out of the kitchen.
Toward the living room.
The lights there flicked on.
I followed. Slowly. Because apparently I make bad decisions.
The glass hovered near the couch.
I swallowed.
"…Who are you?" I asked.
Pause.
"What are you?"
Nothing.
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "You know, it's kind of rude not to answer when someone asks politely."
Suddenly—
The glass shot toward me.
"HEY—!"
I dodged—barely.
It missed my face by this much and slammed into the wall behind me—
SHATTER!
"Be careful!" I snapped automatically. "That could've—"
I stopped.
Right.
Floating glass.
Priorities, Min-Jun.
"Who are you?" I asked again, more serious now.
The lights flickered.
Windows burst open. Then slammed shut.
Again.
Again.
Things around the room started shifting—books, cushions, small objects lifting slightly like they were testing gravity.
A voice echoed.
Low. Distorted.
"I am… the spirit of a ghost…"
I blinked.
"…That's… not very specific."
A pause.
"…Whose ghost?" I asked.
Silence.
Then—
"Niran Wongchai."
Everything in me froze.
"…Niran what?"
"The one who died."
I stared into the empty air.
"…Yeah, I got that part."
A beat.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
The voice answered immediately—
"What do you think? I'm here to hunt you."
I blinked.
"…Hunt me?"
"Yes."
"…Why?"
Another pause.
"…Duh."
I frowned slightly. "That's not an explanation."
Silence again.
I looked around.
Nothing.
No figure. No shadow.
No dramatic ghost reveal.
Just… air.
"…I can't even see you," I said flatly.
Another pause.
"…Oh."
Suddenly—
He appeared.
Right in front of me.
I froze.
Niran Wongchai.
Pale—more than before—but not in a sick way.
In a… glowing, almost unreal way. His black hair fell messy over his forehead, soft and careless like it always had been—but better.
Of course even as a ghost, his hair still had more personality than me.
He looked… good.
No—too good.
Which would've been fine if not for the blood.
His white shirt—stained.
Dark red, spread across the fabric like it belonged there. A little on his face too.
His jeans were black, same as that night.
The exact same clothes.
The exact same way he died.
My throat tightened.
"…Niran," I said quietly, my voice cracking just a little.
He nodded once, like we just bumped into each other at school. Then casually placed his hands behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels.
"Won't you welcome me home, Lee Min-Jun?"
I blinked.
"…Home?"
He ignored that, tilting his head slightly.
"There. Now you can see me."
He paused, like he forgot what he was saying mid-sentence.
"…Where was I?"
I stared.
He snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes."
He raised his hands dramatically—
"I came to hunt you, Lee Min-Jun—"
His voice suddenly dropped deeper, echoing, distorted—like he was auditioning for a horror movie.
I squinted at him.
"…Can you not?"
He stopped.
"…Not what?"
"That voice. It's a bit much."
A pause.
He slowly lowered his hands. Crossed his arms.
"…You're not scared?"
I swallowed.
"Of course I am."
He raised a brow.
"But not of you," I added quickly. "I'm scared of the situation."
He stared at me.
"…That's insulting."
"Sorry?"
"You're supposed to fear me. I'm the ghost."
"Well, you're doing it wrong."
He looked genuinely offended.
I rubbed my face slightly. "Why are you here?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he just… turned.
Started walking in a slow circle around the living room, looking at everything like he was house-hunting.
"…Nice place," he muttered. "Very rich. Very empty. Love the emotional damage."
I blinked. "…Thank you?"
He stopped. Looked at me.
"Where's your room?" he asked suddenly.
"…Upstairs," I said slowly. "Why?"
He nodded once.
Then—
He ran.
Upstairs.
Fast.
"—HEY!" I shouted, immediately chasing after him. "Come back!"
He took the stairs two at a time.
I followed, nearly tripping.
"WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?!" I yelled. "YOU'RE A GHOST!"
His voice echoed back casually—
"I like the thrill!"
"THERE IS NO THRILL, YOU'RE ALREADY DEAD!"
"Exactly! Nothing to lose!"
"…THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS!"
He laughed.
Actually laughed.
I ran after him anyway.
Because apparently, this is my life now.