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'…' Thought
"…" speech
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I spent the last several minutes—minutes—trying to explain to Ging why bringing Willy the Worm back to Whale Island was, in fact, a terrible idea.
"But why not?" Ging whined, crossing his arms as he sat atop the now peacefully wiggling Willy. "He carried us all the way here! He's basically family!"
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "For the last time, Ging, he is a* giant, carnivorous worm**. What part of that screams 'friendly neighborhood pet' to you?"
"Uh, the part where he didn't eat us?"
"That's a pretty low bar for pet eligibility."
Ging patted Willy's head—or, at least, the spot where we assumed the head was. "Look at him. He's a good boy. Aren't you, Willy?"
Willy let out a low, guttural gurgle that sounded suspiciously like it was questioning all of its life choices.
I sighed. "Besides, what are we even supposed to feed him? Do you know what Genat Worms eat?"
Ging tilted his head. "Love and affection?"
"No. Meat. Lots and lots of meat. And do you know what Whale Island has very little of?"
Ging gasped dramatically. "Wait, is that why we don't have a McHunters?"
"That and basic infrastructure, yes."
He groaned. "Ugh, fine. I guess you have a point. But can we at least keep him until we're out of the cave?"
I sighed, taking one last look at Willy. Honestly, taming him had been shockingly easy—mostly thanks to Ging's absurd Hatsu, which, at this point, I was convinced was something along the lines of "uncontrollable chaotic energy that somehow works out."
That didn't mean we didn't put in some effort. There was a lot of yelling, near-death experiences, and what I can only describe as an interpretive dance battle to assert dominance. But in the end? We won.
And now we had to say goodbye.
"Alright, fine," I relented. "But no tears. We let Willy go, we move on, and we do not start a dramatic farewell monologue, got it?"
Ging huffed. "Joke's on you, I don't cry. I'm emotionally resilient."
I raised an eyebrow. "You literally cried last week because your pancake looked sad."
"THAT WAS DIFFERENT!"
Before he could start another impassioned rant, I pulled out my phone and snapped a selfie of the three of us—me, Ging, and Willy the massive murder worm.
"Alright, buddy," I said, giving Willy a pat. "Go on. Be free."
Ging sniffled. "Bye, Willy."
I shot him a look.
"I'M NOT CRYING, SHUT UP!"
With one last wiggly salute (probably), Willy slithered off into the shadows, leaving behind a group of stunned contestants who had, up until now, just been standing there watching us.
"Are you two done?" one guy finally spoke, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.
Ging stretched. "Yep! Time to go. Hey, who do you think is leading the race now?"
I checked my watch. "Everyone who didn't stop to tame a worm, probably."
"Ah. Right. So we should run, huh?"
"Yep."
"Alright then—"
And with that, we bolted past our still-stunned audience, leaving behind a group of people who would probably be questioning their career choices for a long, long time.
Five minutes later…
We finally caught up with the main group, led by the ever-stoic examiner. Somehow, despite all our shenanigans—including but not limited to taming a giant murder worm—we still had twenty whole minutes to spare.
"See? What did I tell you?" Ging grinned, elbowing me. "Plenty of time!"
"You also said bringing Willy was a great idea," I shot back.
"Okay, but—"
"—And that you had a 'foolproof' plan for getting him past security."
"Look, I'm an ideas guy, not a details guy."
Before I could argue further, the heavy clang of metal rang out as the cave exits began slamming shut behind us. One by one, the pathways we had just run through sealed off, making sure that anyone who wasn't here now wasn't making it here ever.
A silence settled over the crowd. Then, finally, Lark—the guy who always seemed way too enthusiastic about countdowns—cleared his throat.
"We have 144 left."
Immediately, the entire group exploded into motion.
"RUN!" someone yelled.
And just like that, we were sprinting again.
This time, the landscape had changed completely. Instead of a damp, rocky cave, we found ourselves charging across an open, grassy plain. The sky above was an eerie shade of violet, which would've been pretty cool if not for the fact that we were running for our lives.
"Hey, uh, quick question—" I huffed between breaths. "Does anyone know what we're running toward?"
The answer came when a looming, twisted mansion emerged from the mist ahead. It looked like someone had taken a haunted house and cranked up the nightmare factor by at least five notches. Towering spires bent at unnatural angles, the windows glowed faintly, and the entire exterior was made of mirrors.
Ging whistled. "Ooooh. Spooky. I like it."
"Of course, you do," I muttered.
Someone up ahead screamed as they got too close to the entrance—only for their reflection in the mirrors to move differently than them.
"…Okay, yeah. That's definitely cursed," I said.
"Should we be concerned?" Ging asked.
I looked around at the literal mob of people still sprinting at full speed toward the house.
"Probably," I admitted.
But at this point? What else was new?
Just as we were frantically trying to figure out whether charging into a cursed funhouse of doom was a good idea or just another terrible life decision, our examiner—who had so far been leading us—did the most examiner-ish thing possible.
He turned around and walked away.
"Wait—what?" I blinked. "Where is he going?"
Ging waved casually. "Guess he's got better things to do. Classic mysterious-examiner move."
But before completely disappearing into the darkness, the examiner did turn back to address us one last time.
"The next phase of the test is simple," he said, his voice as neutral as ever. "Inside the mansion, you must each find a room and sleep until sunrise. Those who remain asleep until dawn will pass. The examiner for the second phase will arrive in the morning."
Then, without another word, he vanished into the night.
A long, awkward silence followed.
"…That's it?" someone finally asked.
"Sleep? That's the test?" another voice echoed, dripping with suspicion.
"Sounds easy," I muttered. "Which is exactly why I don't trust it."
Ging, meanwhile, was grinning ear to ear. "Oh, this is great! A whole night's rest before the next phase? Perfect!"
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Ging. This place is a haunted mirror mansion. Nothing about this is perfect."
"Think about it," he said, gesturing grandly at the mansion. "How bad can it be? We walk in, pick a room, take a nap. Boom. Passed."
At that exact moment, a random contestant screamed.
We turned just in time to see his reflection in the mirrors grab him by the collar and yank him inside the glass.
The screaming stopped.
The mirror rippled once—then returned to normal.
There was no sign of the guy.
Ging slowly turned back to me. "...Okay, maybe there are a few minor risks."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?"
"Because we're best friends?"
"Because I have no other choice."
Meanwhile, the rest of the contestants were whispering nervously, watching the mansion like it might start walking toward us.
Then, out of nowhere, Lark—the weirdly enthusiastic guy who had been keeping track of numbers earlier—clapped his hands.
"Well, what are we waiting for? LET'S GO!"
And just like that, people rushed toward the entrance, because apparently, the only thing worse than getting eaten by a haunted mansion was being last.
I looked at Ging. "Do we run in with the crowd, or do we actually use our brains for once?"
Ging smirked. "We run in, obviously."
Of course.
With a sigh, I tightened my grip on my gear and sprinted into the mansion.
Once inside the mansion, we quickly realized that the rooms were weirdly high-tech for a haunted house. Each door had a circular slot—and, like the natural geniuses we were, we figured out that inserting our badges unlocked a room.
The moment someone entered, the door shut automatically behind them.
"Ah," I said, rubbing my chin. "So this is how they track who actually sleeps inside instead of running away like a coward."
Ging, naturally, had a different take. "Or it's a fancy way of making sure we definitely can't escape if something horrible happens."
A few unfortunate contestants tried to be smart—shoving a boot into the doorway or sticking their hand out to test if the door could be stopped. The mansion, of course, had zero tolerance for their nonsense.
One guy's shoe flew across the hallway as the door slammed shut. Another barely yanked his fingers back in time.
I turned to Ging. "Well, at least we know these doors mean business."
"I wonder if they lock from the inside too…"
"They probably do. Otherwise, this wouldn't be a very secure test."
"Good point," Ging nodded. "Guess I'll see you in the morning. Try not to get possessed."
"You too. Try not to make friends with a ghost."
"No promises!"
And with that, we entered our rooms.
Now, in most haunted-house scenarios, ghosts tend to be annoying. This place? No exception.
The moment I settled onto the suspiciously comfortable bed, the lights flickered, and the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees.
Then the whispering started.
"Ohhh, a neeeew gueeest… Heeellooooo…."
I sighed. "Great. I didn't even get a proper pillow-fluffing before the paranormal harassment started."
Then, the actual ghost appeared—some pale, hollow-eyed thing with floating hair and that typical I-died-tragically aura.
I didn't react.
It floated closer.
Still didn't react.
Then it went for the cheap jumpscare—lunging at me with a deformed, screaming face.
I blinked at it. "...Nice try, but I've seen Ging in the morning. You're gonna have to do way better than that."
The ghost froze mid-air.
"...Huh?" it mumbled, clearly confused.
And just like that, I had discovered the core rule of the test:
Ghosts can only touch you if you show fear.
Which meant all I had to do was not care.
Meanwhile, over the phone, Ging and I conducted some very serious scientific experiments.
"Okay," Ging said, "so, just to confirm—these ghosts actually can't do anything unless you're scared?"
"Yup," I said. "Tested it myself."
"Hah! Called it!"
"Wait—you knew this?"
"Of course! I mean, look at the setting. Haunted mansion? Nighttime? Classic fear-based scenario."
"...I hate that you're right."
"Don't worry," Ging said smugly. "You'll get used to it."
And so, with my new ghost-proof technique, I finally got some actual sleep—even if the spirits tried their absolute best to keep me awake with moaning, flickering lights, and the occasional floating furniture.
The Morning After
I was woken up by the blaring sound of a rooster.
A very loud rooster.
I bolted upright, heart racing. "WHAT—?!"
Then I realized it wasn't an actual rooster. It was some kind of alarm system.
Groaning, I got up, grabbed my badge, and headed outside.
I met up with Ging, who was already stretching like he'd just had the best sleep of his life.
Our badges had changed colors. Instead of the old design, they were now black with white numbers.
"Huh," I muttered, examining mine. "They inverted."
Ging twirled his badge between his fingers. "Looks cooler now. Very edgy."
We looked around.
There were... way fewer people than before. Maybe fifty at most.
"Guess a lot of people failed," I noted.
"Or got ghost-napped," Ging added cheerfully.
"...Very comforting. Thanks."
Before we could analyze things further, our next examiner arrived.
A woman dressed like a bird.
Now, I wasn't sure if she was supposed to be a rooster or a pigeon, but either way—she was definitely one of the Zodiacs.
She looked a lot younger than I expected.
And, because Ging is Ging, he immediately decided to annoy her.
"Hey, are you the one who woke me up like a rooster?" he called out.
The woman's eye twitched.
Oh no.
She turned slowly, fixing a dangerous glare on Ging.
"...Excuse me?"
Ging, utterly fearless, continued, "You do kinda have the whole rooster-vibe going on. Was it you?"
I sighed. "Ging. For the love of—"
The Zodiac cracked her knuckles.
Oh, this was going to be fun.