A rainy Monday afternoon.
The members of Field Exploration Team's D-squad were furiously writing up their situation report—finishing it at record speed, even submitting it under the squad leader's ID for approval.
The reason?
A rookie cleared a time-limited ghost story way too fast!
"Wasn't the time limit supposed to be three days?"
"It was."
Sitting across from the rookie on the sofa, Assistant Manager Eun and Supervisor Park laid out snacks scavenged from the break room. They exchanged glances and nodded—it was finally time to ask the question properly.
"So, how did you get out so fast?"
"Oh."
The rookie hesitated for a moment, then nodded as if he understood, and calmly answered:
"I sped up the time."
'He's saying that as casually as if he's talking about what he had for lunch…!'
Before anyone could react, the rookie slowly explained his method.
"Since there was a time limit, I thought there must be an event that signals the passing of time. I focused on that…"
He explained how he used the expiration date to trigger a 'time alarm'.
The superiors, who had been listening in silence, thought to themselves:
'He's a genius.'
'No way we're letting him quit.'
The rookie's instinct and logic were sharp enough to instantly grasp the essence of the ghost story. His abilities were perfect for the Field Exploration Team—they absolutely had to ensure he couldn't escape… no, that he would adapt well!
"I'm not one to be saying this, but welcome to the squad, Roe Deer-nim."
"You'll probably outrank me soon and get promoted to assistant manager."
"...!?"
This kind of rookie doesn't come around often!
"When you succeed, don't forget us… and when you get that Wish Ticket, make sure to come brag about it…"
The rookie looked a bit flustered.
"No, um… actually—"
"Hm?"
Then, as if confessing something serious, he added:
"I just wanted to get out quickly because I was scared."
"..."
Since when could someone escape a scary urban legend simply by being scared? It felt like the kind of mind-altering twist you'd only see in an escape room.
'Is this humility, or…!'
But the rookie remained firm.
"I'd appreciate a heads-up next time. I almost fainted from fear."
"You cleared it in an hour, and that's what you say?"
The rookie, now wearing a somewhat ambiguous expression, continued,
"I really thought I was going to die."
'Lies!'
No one who genuinely feared for their life would attempt a speed-run like a veteran employee! Even the most seasoned workers wouldn't dare set a record like that.
Still, they understood his sense of betrayal.
'To be fair, it was harsh.'
Even if it was considered "safe," being thrown alone into a paranormal phenomenon was not something to take lightly. They knew exactly how to comfort someone in that situation:
Workplace therapy!
Assistant Manager Eun sipped her coffee and asked,
"So, Roe, how much did you get?"
"Huh?"
"The money. How much did you make from clearing it?"
"Oh, right. I got 10 million won."
That's right—clearing this F-Class ghost story came with a cash prize. The company manual clearly stated:
– When clearing a graded Darkness (F-Class) ghost story with a completed manual, 50% of any additional income generated will be awarded to the employee as a bonus.
In other words, if you earn money in a ghost story using a fully documented manual, the company takes 50%.
However, rookies assigned to their first ghost story were exempt from this rule! Since they're placed in ghost stories proven safe through countless attempts, the company doesn't consider it hazardous enough to warrant hazard pay.
The rookie had already read the manual, but then…
"They're supposed to take it all, but… just keep it for yourself."
"…Pardon?"
Once you've been around long enough, you learn all the ways to bypass the system. Since he cleared it using a new method, they could claim it wasn't covered by the manual—there were plenty of loopholes.
Getting a huge bonus on your first day would make everything seem better!
Assistant Manager Eun and Supervisor Park exchanged knowing smiles, using a time-honored trick they had both experienced firsthand.
"C'mon, just keep it. We've got ways to handle this."
"..."
'Actually, it was 20 million won.'
Kim Soleum broke into a cold sweat, as he'd been planning to pocket half of it himself. Suddenly, he found himself with an extra 10 million won he couldn't explain, feeling both thrilled and a bit guilty. But he quickly got up to follow his superiors.
"Now that you've successfully completed the dark exploration, it's time to accumulate the most important thing."
"Accumulate… what?"
"Points."
Supervisor Park grinned.
"Employee welfare mall points!"
"Huuu."
It felt like pure bliss to be standing in the middle of a bustling city in broad daylight—even though I knew I'd struggle to sleep with the lights on tonight, that worry was far away for now.
'Maybe having 20 million won in cash in your pocket gives you some inner peace…'
No matter how terrifying the ghost story was, this was still 21st-century South Korea—a capitalist society.
I finally sat down at my assigned desk, turned on my computer, and accessed the company intranet. Under bright fluorescent lights and in a spine-supporting office chair, the ghostly events I'd just experienced felt like a bizarre lie.
On my desk, there were some surprisingly cute stationery items and a lizard plushie with big eyes.
'…This desk seems used, doesn't it?'
I could only hope the previous owner had left abruptly after winning the lottery.
Since the welfare mall was bookmarked, I quickly accessed it.
[Daydream Inc. Employee Welfare Mall]
After entering my employee ID to register, I clicked on the "Point Registration" tab—just as my superiors had instructed.
– Select the class grade of the ghost story you cleared, enter your name, and attach the PDF.
I did exactly that.
Five minutes later, the screen flashed:
[Employee Kim Soleum / Accumulated Points: 100P]
"...!"
Incredibly, the review process was completed at lightning speed, and my points were credited.
'So clearing an F-Class solo gives you 100 points.'
Despite the hellish experience, F-Class was still F-Class. I tried not to expect too much. Still, having earned points, I decided to check what I could buy with 100 points.
Then, right on the first page, I was surprised.
"…A robot vacuum cleaner?"
The available items were better than I expected. Most of the special discounted products were around 100 points, while high-end large appliances—like those for a new home—were around 500 points.
Moreover, Daydream Inc.'s undisclosed medicines were being sold for around 1,000 points, including advanced over-technology items like cornea regeneration potions. For context, their famous hair loss treatment, which costs around 500,000 won on the market, was available here for just 100 points.
'This is actually pretty good.'
Feeling hopeful, I scrolled through the products. Then, I sorted the "Company Products" tab by "Highest Price" to see the top item.
'Wish Ticket.'
The miraculous potion introduced as the ultimate employee benefit after surviving a death match. Its price was…
Wish Ticket: 500,000P
"..."
Is this a joke?
'Five hundred thousand?'
I had just cleared a ghost story and earned 100 points…
500,000 points?
'Theoretically… even if I cleared F-Classes every day by myself, it would take me 15 years.'
But, of course, it wouldn't be that simple.
'There's no way the company would let that happen.'
It wasn't realistic to clear F-Class ghost stories every single day; there would certainly be anomalies.
'It's likely that I'll be forced into higher-class ghost stories with squadmates.'
Wait—do they split the points between squadmates in that case?
I dug through the welfare mall's point registration tab to find the basic point system for each ghost story class:
F-Class: 100P
D-Class: 1,000P
C-Class: 2,500P
B-Class: 10,000P
A-Class: 100,000P
S-Class: Special Review Required
On top of that, there were additional bonuses based on internal assessments that considered urgency, lack of prior information, or extra dangers.
'So if three people in a squad clear a ghost story together…'
…You'd have to clear a B-Class 150 times to earn enough points for the Wish Ticket?
'Are they out of their minds?'
Even with a B-Class ghost story, the survival rate for a normal person drops to around 2%.
At that level, no matter what choice you make, you're either going to die or end up worse off than dead.
If someone were to enter that challenge 150 times, it would be a death sentence for a regular employee. In such an insane situation, you'd have to beg on your knees not to be sent in.
Speed-running higher-class ghost stories isn't a realistic option at all.
'So, to raise my survival rate even a little, I'll need to invest over 10 years.'
This isn't some tale of a nobleman seeking revenge…
Yet, if the Field Exploration Team is the fastest department, people in other departments have an even lower chance of getting their hands on a Wish Ticket during their career.
With so many other attractive products in the welfare mall, many employees in other departments have probably resigned themselves to that reality and settled for less.
But not me.
My goal is far more surreal and absolute.
Returning to my original world.
And they expect me to survive here for 15 years? I'd die of a heart attack from the stress before then!
'No chance in hell!'
I needed a plan—a strategy.
'I need to figure out which ghost stories I should enter and which ones to avoid.'
I had to balance safety and speed perfectly to gather 500,000 points in the shortest time possible.
Just as I was about to dive deep into serious contemplation, Supervisor Park gave me a friendly pat on the back.
"Hey, did you get everything registered? Is the computer working fine?"
"Yes. By the way, the personal items here…"
"Oh, that's the squad leader's desk."
"..."
No wonder it looked used!
"Just don't break the monitor. Feel free to use it today, no worries."
Is this company for real? Letting a new hire use the squad leader's desk for a day—is that something a sane company does?
'Come to think of it, nothing here seems normal.'
This is a company that churns out potions by throwing people into ghost stories. Holding this place to the standards of an ordinary 21st-century Korean workplace was bound to lead to shock after shock.
…Maybe a little bending of the rules wouldn't hurt.
"Hey, do you smoke, Roe?"
"No, I'm good."
I didn't join my superiors for their smoke break. Instead, I stared at the desk I was sitting at, took a deep breath, and flipped the keyboard over. As expected, there was a Post-it note stuck underneath:
[Squad Leader Lee Jaheon / 105105301]
ID: yongj1111
PW: dydajflgodks!111
It's hard to criticize the lack of security awareness when I've seen so much of this already at the company.
'If he's the squad leader… then that means he's probably a section chief.'
And actually, there's a certain website accessible only to section chiefs and above in this company…
It could really help with clearing higher-class ghost stories.
"..."
Now that I'd seen the absurd goal of 500,000 points, it felt like something I couldn't afford to pass up.
Alright.
'Let's do this.'
I resolutely logged back into the welfare mall—but this time, I didn't use my own ID.
ID: yongj1111
Password: dydajflgodks!111
I attempted to log in using the D Squad Leader's credentials.
"Incorrect password."
"Hm…"
No problem—I expected this minor setback.
I clicked the "Register" button to view the password requirements.
'A capital letter is needed.'
So, I capitalized the first letter of the password on the Post-it, changing it to "Dydajflgodks!111", and logged in…
Ding.
[Welcome, Section Chief Lee Jaheon]
'I'm in!'
I discreetly pumped my fists under the desk in triumph—a small celebration one can have in an office without drawing attention. Not that anyone was around right now, anyway.
Now, what I needed to find on this page was a kind of phishing link: the so-called "Alien Shop."
In
'They didn't mean any harm, but they sold things that were unsettling or dangerous from a human perspective.'
Still, these ghost stories leaned more toward being quirky and even somewhat heartwarming. And apparently, those aliens had a bit of a business mindset. They wanted to target potential customers, so they even embedded something like ransomware into Daydream Inc.'s intranet.
'Only section chiefs and higher can see the shopping mall's ad phishing link.'
I also remembered how to access that phishing link:
'While randomly clicking around in the welfare mall, if you hit the back button five times in a row….'
Click, click, click….
Beep.
Suddenly, a small green hand appeared in the corner of the welfare mall screen—a pixelated left hand, waving as if to grab your attention. A speech bubble floated above it:
First Anniversary Appreciation Discount! ~80%
Is your job boring? >>Click
Do you want to get stronger? >>Click
Want cool items? >>Click
'This is trash.'
It looked just like those old internet banner ads from back in the day.
But, surprisingly, if you click this clumsy thing, you'd be taken—like magic—from the intranet to an external site, abducted to an alien shop.
I was tempted to click it immediately, but…
'Hold on.'
Instead, I right-clicked, copied the link, then pasted it into an Excel sheet and took a picture of it with my phone.
'Company PCs record everything.'
I didn't want any trace left showing I had clicked on the alien ransomware link—especially not on someone else's account.
After a while, as my superiors returned from their smoke break, I greeted them with a nod as if nothing had happened.
"Roe~ Let's have a welcome dinner when the squad leader gets back from his field duty. It's on the company card."
"Yes. Thank you."
And then, I waited for quitting time.
That evening, after my monumental first day at work, my tasks still weren't over.
"Let's do this."
After depositing 20 million won, I went home.
Now, in my bedroom, I was copying the phishing link from the 'Alien Shop' I had photographed in my smartphone gallery using image analysis. After fixing a few unreadable parts, I opened a browser and pasted the link into the address bar.
"Huuuu."
Deep breath… Enter.
Click.
The browser navigated through the complex link, and a page appeared that resembled the layout of Daydream Inc.'s welfare mall—only to shatter and disappear.
Then, a new page opened. It looked like something from the early 2000s, with obvious underlines and outdated fonts.
※ Amazing items from outer space ※ ~!!
>>I'll take a look at the items
Boing Boing Boing—a little green spaceship rotated in the corner.
'This is so lame.'
But I couldn't let the tackiness fool me.
If you click "items" here, you'd see bizarre, supernatural products for sale… though the prices were just as outrageous.
The minimum started at one million won—a result of the overinflated imaginations of ghost story creators with massive egos who thought, "I need to use even more expensive items!"
That was me just yesterday—I wouldn't have been able to buy a single thing from this list.
But now…
'I've got 20 million won.'
My heart raced a little. The thought of being able to purchase items from a fictional world felt like a serious dopamine rush.
"Huu."
Finally, I clicked on the [Items] tab.
The screen loaded:
Items
Bloodsucking Cutlery – ₩14,999,999Wide-Range Walkie-Talkie – ₩4,999,999Alice Picnic Set – ₩11,999,999We Can Help! – ₩66,666,666※Discount!※ Silver Serpent – ₩4,999,999₩19,999,999
"...!"
I recognized most of these items. Finally, my luck was turning!
'Hell yeah.'
In my excitement, I quickly recalled the details:
Bloodsucking Cutlery:
A weapon set consisting of a small fork and knife that grows larger and sharper as it absorbs the blood of its victims. You could literally call it a "growth weapon."
Wide-Range Walkie-Talkie:
A toy walkie-talkie that enables remote communication with others—even within ghost stories. It would be very useful when you have companions.
Alice Picnic Set:
As the name suggests, it's inspired by Alice in Wonderland. It contains food items, including a drink that temporarily doubles the effect of items and cookies that halve them.
That was where my knowledge of the items ended. I didn't know about the other two, but "We Can Help!" was way out of my budget, so I ignored it.
'The Silver Serpent is on sale.'
Getting a discount always feels like a win.
"Hmm…"
I crossed my arms over my chest.
A weapon, a communication device, a buff potion, and a discount item…?
My budget was 20 million won.
What should I buy to get the best value?
"Alright."
I made my decision and clicked.
Even with a B-Class ghost story, the survival rate is dismal, and attempting higher-class runs is a death sentence for a normal person.
'So, to raise my survival rate even a little, I'd need to invest over 10 years.'
This isn't a tale of noble revenge—if the Field Exploration Team is the fastest, then people in other departments have an even lower chance of getting a Wish Ticket in their career. With so many attractive products in the welfare mall, many employees have likely resigned themselves to a lesser fate.
But not me.
My goal is far more surreal and absolute: returning to my original world.
And they expect me to survive here for 15 years? I'd die of a heart attack from the stress before then!
'No chance in hell!'
I needed a plan—a strategy.
'I need to figure out which ghost stories to enter and which to avoid.'
I had to balance safety and speed perfectly to gather 500,000 points in the shortest time possible.
Just then, Supervisor Park gave me a friendly pat on the back.
"Hey, did you get everything registered? Is the computer working fine?"
"Yes. By the way, the personal items here…"
"Oh, that's the squad leader's desk."
"..."
No wonder it looked used!
"Just don't break the monitor. Feel free to use it today, no worries."
Is this company for real? Letting a new hire use the squad leader's desk for a day—is that something a sane company does?
'Come to think of it, nothing here seems normal.'
This is a company that churns out potions by throwing people into ghost stories. Holding this place to the standards of an ordinary 21st-century Korean workplace was bound to lead to shock after shock.
…Maybe a little bending of the rules wouldn't hurt.
"Hey, do you smoke, Roe?"
"No, I'm good."
I didn't join my superiors for their smoke break. Instead, I stared at my desk, took a deep breath, and flipped the keyboard over. As expected, there was a Post-it note stuck underneath:
[Squad Leader Lee Jaheon / 105105301]
ID: yongj1111
PW: dydajflgodks!111
I couldn't criticize the lack of security awareness when I'd seen so much of this at the company already.
'If he's the squad leader… then he's probably a section chief.'
And indeed, there's a website accessible only to section chiefs and above—a site that could really help with clearing higher-class ghost stories.
"..."
Now that I'd seen the absurd goal of 500,000 points, it felt like an opportunity I couldn't pass up.
'Let's do this.'
I logged back into the welfare mall using the D Squad Leader's credentials.
ID: yongj1111
Password: dydajflgodks!111
I attempted to log in.
"Incorrect password."
"Hm…"
No problem—I expected this minor setback.
Clicking the 'Register' button showed the password requirements.
'A capital letter is needed.'
So, I capitalized the first letter of the password from the Post-it to "Dydajflgodks!111" and logged in…
Ding.
[Welcome, Section Chief Lee Jaheon]
'I'm in!'
I discreetly pumped my fists under the desk in triumph—a small office celebration.
Now, I needed to find the so-called "Alien Shop" link.
In
'They didn't mean any harm, but they sold things that were unsettling or dangerous from a human perspective.'
These ghost stories were quirky and even a bit heartwarming, and those aliens had a business mindset—they even embedded something like ransomware into Daydream Inc.'s intranet.
'Only section chiefs and higher can see the shopping mall's ad phishing link.'
I recalled how to access that link:
'While randomly clicking around in the welfare mall, if you hit the back button five times in a row….'
Click, click, click….
Beep.
Suddenly, a small green, pixelated left hand appeared in the corner of the screen, waving as if to grab your attention. A speech bubble floated above it:
First Anniversary Appreciation Discount! ~80%
Is your job boring? >>Click
Do you want to get stronger? >>Click
Want cool items? >>Click
'This is trash.'
It looked like those old internet banner ads from back in the day.
But, surprisingly, if you click it, you'd be magically taken from the intranet to an external site—an alien shop.
I was tempted to click immediately, but then…
'Hold on.'
Instead, I right-clicked, copied the link, pasted it into an Excel sheet, and took a picture with my phone.
'Company PCs record everything.'
I didn't want any trace showing that I had clicked the alien ransomware link—especially not on someone else's account.
After a while, as my superiors returned from their smoke break, I greeted them with a nod as if nothing had happened.
"Roe~ Let's have a welcome dinner when the squad leader gets back from his field duty. It's on the company card."
"Yes. Thank you."
And then, I waited for quitting time.
That evening, after my monumental first day at work, my tasks still weren't over.
"Let's do this."
After depositing 20 million won, I went home.
In my bedroom, I was analyzing the phishing link from the 'Alien Shop' I had photographed. After fixing a few unreadable parts, I opened a browser and pasted the link into the address bar.
"Huuuu."
Deep breath… Enter.
Click.
The browser navigated the complex link, and a page appeared resembling Daydream Inc.'s welfare mall layout—only to shatter and disappear. Then, a new page opened. It looked like something from the early 2000s, with underlines and outdated fonts.
※ Amazing items from outer space ※ ~!!
>>I'll take a look at the items
Boing Boing Boing—a little green spaceship rotated in the corner.
'This is so lame.'
But I couldn't let the tackiness fool me.
If you click "items" here, you'd see bizarre, supernatural products for sale—though the prices were outrageous. The minimum started at one million won—a result of overinflated imaginations of ghost story creators with massive egos who thought, "I need to use even more expensive items!"
That was me just yesterday—I wouldn't have been able to buy a single thing from this list.
But now…
'I've got 20 million won.'
My heart raced at the thought of purchasing items from a fictional world—a serious dopamine rush.
"Huu."
Finally, I clicked on the [Items] tab.
The screen loaded:
Items
Bloodsucking Cutlery – ₩14,999,999
Wide-Range Walkie-Talkie – ₩4,999,999
Alice Picnic Set – ₩11,999,999\
We Can Help! – ₩66,666,666
※Discount!※
Silver Serpent – ₩4,999,999
₩19,999,999
"...!"
I recognized most of these items. Finally, my luck was turning!
'Hell yeah.'
In my excitement, I recalled the details:
Bloodsucking Cutlery:
A weapon set of a small fork and knife that grows larger and sharper as it absorbs the blood of its victims—a true "growth weapon."
Wide-Range Walkie-Talkie:
A toy walkie-talkie that enables remote communication, even within ghost stories. It would be very useful when you have companions.
Alice Picnic Set:
Inspired by Alice in Wonderland, it contains food items—a drink that temporarily doubles item effects and cookies that halve them.
That was where my knowledge ended. I didn't know about the other two items, and "We Can Help!" was way out of my budget, so I ignored it.
'The Silver Serpent is on sale.'
Getting a discount always feels like a win.
"Hmm…"
I crossed my arms.
A weapon, a communication device, a buff potion, and a discount item…? My budget was 20 million won.
What should I buy to maximize value?
"Alright."
I made my decision and clicked.