Playing Ghost

"Everyone, open your textbooks to page 64. Today we will..."

At Suimi High School, the teacher in charge, Yuanzhu, recited the textbook he knew by heart.

The students below were either zoning out or openly playing on their phones. Only a sparse few were listening attentively and taking notes; everyone had long since grown accustomed to this.

Although the average university entrance rate for high schools in Tokyo was 69.6%, private high schools boasted a 98% rate, concentrating the offspring of the island nation's elite class; as a "statistically averaged" public school, the situation was easy to imagine.

It was much like the "Kobe and I combined for 83 points" meme.

While reading from the book, Yuanzhu's gaze swept toward the back row by the window.

Akihi Yu, who should have been considered a "good student," seemed rather distracted lately.

Well, it made sense. His parents had passed away, he was suspected of being bullied, and he had been interviewed by the police. Even an adult would struggle under such a barrage of blows; he just hoped the boy could pull himself together.

The teacher thought this to himself while continuing the lesson.

However, the reality was—

Akihi Yu was not immersed in "melancholy," but was instead manipulating a Paper Clone to practice ninjutsu.

"Ah, Mom, it's me."

In Itabashi Ward, inside an eighties-style detached house, a somewhat hoarse voice emanated from a telephone resting on a circular embroidered tablecloth from the previous century.

"Hm? My voice sounds off? It might be because my throat is a bit uncomfortable."

The middle-aged man's words on the other end of the line carried a hint of shame and anxiety.

"It's like this: I embezzled money from the company, and the inspection agency is coming down tomorrow. If I can't pay the money back before then, I'll be fired."

"It's not much, not much at all—could you help me prepare 2 million?"

"Okay, Mom, I will pay you back!"

"Yes, I'll have a subordinate come over to pick it up. Sorry to trouble you, but please hand it to him."

Not long after, a knock sounded at the door.

"Excuse me."

The old-fashioned wooden door was pushed open, and a young man in a suit and tie, sporting a side-parted hairstyle and radiating the aura of a "corporate drone," stood outside with a beaming smile.

"You must be Inoue-senpai's mother, right?"

"Yes, I'm here for 'that matter'."

After hearing the young man's words, an elderly, hunched woman in the room tremblingly took out an envelope.

Two million yen wasn't a fortune, but it certainly wasn't a small amount! Yet, for the sake of her son's future, the white-haired, thin-cheeked old woman didn't hesitate to take it out. As she handed it over, she couldn't help but ask.

"Is my son... doing alright?"

To the old woman's inquiry, the visitor merely bowed his head, reciting words he had become far too familiar with.

"Yes, please rest assured, I will definitely deliver this to your son."

The envelope changed hands—one pair young, ruddy, and strong; the other elderly, withered, and wrinkled.

"Goodbye."

With the money in hand, the young man nodded with a smile, even thoughtfully closing the door for her.

Too easy to fool!

As he turned away, the young man couldn't suppress the grin on his face.

AI-synthesized voices were realistic enough to pass for the real thing, and on social media, one could easily find a person's detailed information.

With just a few sentences, it was simple to extract money from these old men and women.

It was even easier than drug trafficking.

"I'm just helping the country get the 'pension money' circulating."

Perhaps it wouldn't be long before I could rise to become an executive in the organization, or even... become someone above others?

Mocking himself in a self-satisfied mutter, the young man pushed open the courtyard gate and bumped head-on into an old man walking his dog.

"Woof, woof, woof!!"

The Shar-Pei the old man was holding onto barked furiously at the young man, giving him a start.

"Ah, sorry."

Pulling on the leash, the elderly man spoke apologetically.

"It might be because you just came out of the Inoue residence; my dog thought you were a thief."

"Ah, how could that be."

The young man clutching his briefcase hurriedly waved his hands in denial; although he wasn't a thief, his profession wasn't exactly something that could see the light of day.

"I know, you're a salesman."

"But trying to sell anything to the Inoue household is completely useless."

?

"Why is that?"

Having just made a profit, the young man in the suit didn't mind chatting with this old gentleman.

"Sigh, because Mrs. Inoue has already 'died alone'."

"Died alone?!"

The young man in the suit was stunned.

The so-called "dying alone" was a natural phenomenon in this island nation.

In short, with the aging population and the impact of a declining birth rate, a large number of elderly people were left unattended. No one would notice when they died in their homes, and it was often only when community workers visited that they would discover a decomposed or liquefied corpse.

Elderly people who had almost no social connections were privately referred to as having "no ties," and those who died in such circumstances were subsequently called "lonely deaths."

"Sigh,"

The old man walking his dog was quite talkative, and his frame was still fairly sturdy.

"Mrs. Inoue's husband died long ago, and her only son works away and never comes home."

"She had a rather reclusive personality. When she was discovered last month, her body had already begun to liquefy. How pitiful."

??!!

"Woof, woof, woof~~~"

The Shar-Pei at his feet kept barking at the young man with the briefcase, interrupting the old man's words.

"It seems Ranmaru must have caught a scent on you. Farewell."

With that, the old man led his beloved dog away.

The young man, left standing there in a daze, had a gloomy expression on his face.

"What a weirdo."

"I just got money from that Mrs. Inoue, so what's this about her dying alone last month?"

Despite saying this, a knot had formed in the young man's heart. He decided to open his briefcase and take out the envelope filled with ten-thousand-yen bills.

?!

There were no banknotes in the envelope at all; it was completely empty!

It was as shriveled and flat as an old woman's hand.

A chill shot up his spine and into his brain, causing the young man to sway.

Impossible!

How could this be? He clearly just...

He turned his head abruptly, his gaze passing over the wall to see:

A "Vacancy" rental advertisement posted on the wall, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see a room that was completely empty!

"Huff, huff, huff, huff~~"

Stumbling as he ran wildly into the park, he took off his suit jacket and set his briefcase aside.

The young man slumped onto a bench and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his side-parted hair matted into a clump.

He took out his phone to report the situation to the "Company," and a response came quickly from the other end.

"Ah, that's right."

"The people living there are all dead."

The "Company" member in charge of intelligence laughed, their voice sounding heartless.

"Sorry, sorry, I made a mistake."

"Bu-but, I really received the money!"

The young man, his face pale, tightened his collar. Even though the sun was shining brightly overhead and he was drenched in sweat, he felt an inexplicable, bone-chilling cold.

"Even though when I checked later, both the money and the person were gone."

"Oh, oh, how scary~~"

The "colleague" on the other end of the phone replied perfunctorily.

"That's all then. If there's new work, I'll notify you."

With that, the other party hung up the phone directly.

"What the hell..."

Putting down his phone, the young man's expression grew increasingly grim.

Could it be that he was hallucinating?

Beep, beep, beep.

Just at that moment, the phone rang with an incoming call.

He picked it up and glanced at the screen. The caller ID displayed:

'Inoue'?

Does our organization—no, does the company have anyone with this surname?

His thumb swiped the answer button, and he held the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"My son. Are you doing well?"

An aged voice echoed in his ear, causing the young man to bolt upright.

What is this?!

It was the voice of that old woman from earlier!

His thumb pressed hard against the red hang-up button, and the young man's pupils contracted violently as a layer of cold sweat broke out over his entire body.

Impossible, impossible, this world is governed by science!

That's enough for today.

With his mind in chaos, the young man grabbed his suit jacket and briefcase, heading toward his apartment.

Hm?

Arriving at his apartment, he found a letter stuck to the front door.

Picking up the envelope and glancing at the sender's name, the young man froze.

Inoue—

Riiip, riiip, riiip.

Overwhelming terror washed over him, and he instinctively tore the envelope into shreds.

He fumbled for his keys and unlocked the door, rushing into his apartment. The familiar environment gave him a sliver of security, and he leaned his back against the door, gasping for air.

A ghost?

An evil spirit?

Or something else.

Ding-dong.

The sound of the doorbell suddenly rang in his ears.

It made the already terrified young man shudder, his eyes darting to the side.

On the doorbell monitor, a hunched figure flickered in and out of view, accompanied by that incessantly repeating phrase.

"My son. Are you doing well?"

Bang!

He rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a hammer, and smashed it heavily against the doorbell monitor.

Before the young man could even catch his breath, the landline in the living room began to ring on its own:

"My son. Are you doing well?"

He lunged over and yanked the phone cord out, yet the aged, questioning voice continued to ring out from outside the door, just like the murmur when the other party had handed him the money.

"My son. Are you doing well?"

"Ahhhhhhh!"

"Please, just let me go—!!"

Edogawa Ward, as one of the three lowest-income districts in Tokyo, is viewed by Tokyoites as a complete 'backwater,' much like Adachi Ward and Itabashi Ward.

If someone asks which ward you live in and you answer with these places, even the most composed Japanese person—while keeping their expression neutral—wouldn't be able to stop themselves from inwardly sneering: What kind of bumpkin dares to call themselves a resident of Tokyo?

The residents living here can only offer praise for the fresh air and beautiful scenery~~

Inside a detached house dating back to the eighties, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a cigarette between his fingers was watching television.

Ring, ring, ring.

The landline rang.

He picked up the phone, and the voice that came from the other end was:

"Son?"

"What are you doing? You haven't contacted home in so long, I'm worried sick about you!"

The middle-aged man put down the cigarette in his hand as he listened to the familiar voice, though the weak tone on the other end made him realize something was wrong.

"What's wrong with your voice? You sound like you're in terrible shape."

"Yeah, I've fallen ill."

A weak reply came from the other side of the phone.

"Cough, never mind that for now. The thing is, there's something I never told you before."

"Actually, I was fired from the company a long time ago."

Living in Tokyo is no easy feat.

Countless young people from across the island nation flock to Tokyo to chase their 'dreams,' and even the locals scramble to squeeze into the 'Core Six Wards.'

Yet, how could an ordinary person afford to live in the economically dominant Minato Ward, the Chuo Ward filled with major corporations, the Chiyoda district where countless bureaucrats gather, the school-dense Bunkyo Ward, or the hubs of entertainment like Shinjuku and Shibuya?

"Because I had no money, I got involved in a scam."

Hearing his son's frail words, the middle-aged man stood up abruptly.

"A scam?!"

"What the hell are you doing, you idiot! How much were you swindled out of?"

"Taking advantage of someone when they're down, damn them! If you were short on money, you should have talked to me—"

"That's not it, Dad."

The voice on the other end grew increasingly faint.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't the one who was scammed. I am the scammer."

The culprit!

The next second, an elderly voice suddenly cut through the phone line.

"Is my son... doing alright?"

???

"Hey, you idiot!"

"Are you okay? Answer me—"

The anxious voice of his elderly father drifted from the receiver hanging in the air, but the young man, his neck wrapped in coils of telephone wire as he hung in the room, no longer had the strength to answer.