Got Dropped into a Ghost Story, Still Gotta Work

The Moonlight Tattoo Shop I returned to was darker than before.

It felt warm here before, but unlike last time, it felt somewhat eerie.

Maybe it was because I slipped in through the back door? Or…

‘Because the moonlight is too weak?’

The round beam of light, coming down to the massive procedure machine in the center of the room, cast a crescent shape today.

‘…I don’t think it’s business hours.’

……I’d never read a record about that.

I crept forward, one careful step at a time… and locked eyes with the dark counter.

“…!”

The curly‑haired tattooist, neck covered in dense Hangul tattoos, stood behind it.

The shop’s owner.

She looked at me with even darker eyes than before, then lifted a single notice.

[Guests with fur are requested to don a gown before entering.]

Oh.

I quickly spat out the stamp I’d been holding in my mouth. As my body grew, I shifted back into human form, albeit that of a child. As soon as my mouth returned to human shape, I hurriedly spoke.

“Um, I’m sorry for entering through the back door—”

My face was grabbed.

“…!!”

The tattooist, wearing black gloves, clenched my face in one hand and stared at me from every angle. Front, back, left, right.

Her black eyes drilled into me.

Dilated pupils. Black. So jet‑black that it felt wrong. Humans usually had visible whites of the eyes, right? Why couldn’t I see any white?

The tattooist towered over me. Growing larger by the second. Her deep‑green curls lengthened, filling the air like seaweed.

The small, cozy, professional interior I’d remembered felt alien now, an unfamiliar space of incomprehensible techniques and styles.

‘What? What is this?’

My mind spun with confusion and blaring alarm bells as I realized I was trapped in the ghost story itself…

No.

“Um.”

I forced my mouth to move.

“Could I… be in my cat form?”

……

Thud.

The tattooist released my face. I shoved the stamp back into my mouth without even pausing to process the disgust, and my body shrank, returning me to feline form.

“……Meow.”

Everything returned to normal. I was once again in a small, cozy, professional tattoo shop, facing a kind, characterful tattooist.

“Is this… okay?”

And I spoke in a child’s voice.

“…!”

No, I really spoke in a human voice.

“Uh… yes.”

The tattooist rifled through the counter and pointed to another notice.

[Comfortable communication guaranteed]

“……”

Now that I think about it…

‘The Moonlight Tattoo Shop owner never speaks a word.’

And the sign I’d seen before coming in…

‘…It wasn’t written in Hangul.’

Yet I’d read it perfectly. I mean, if not for this disquieting feeling, I’d have assumed it was in Korean all along.

Even the tattoos I’d thought were Hangul on her neck might not be…

“……”

Indeed. A strange, ghost‑story twist.

‘Stay on guard.’

The owner’s lack of malice applies only to tattooing—nothing more. I’ve got to remember that.

But her reaction just now confirmed something.

“…You inspected me because I came in as a child through the back door, right? …Children are more vulnerable once infected.”

!

The tattooist lifted her head.

Of course.

‘This shop accepts only sea‑related items as payment.’

And there’s the Mermaid Grave connection. Eyewitnesses even mentioned a back door.

A back door is usually ‘staff‑only’, after all…

“…Ms. Owner.”

I very carefully extended a forepaw.

“…I found this back door in the ruined underwater city.”

The tattooist’s eyes swirled.

“Um… Was this shop here originally?”

Silence.

“Are you from that city?”

Silence.

“Why did it end up like that? Children are being deceived and dying…”

Sadness filled the tattooist’s eyes. Instead of the usual swirl, they shimmered with moisture.

I wet my parched muzzle and spoke,

“There are still children there now. Is there any way those children could leave through this shop’s front door…?”

Thunk.

The wall vibrated as the tattooist slammed her pen down. Thick pen strokes trembled, carving out enormous letters in earnest.

N O

“I see. I understand.”

My heart felt like it would burst, but my lips moved smoothly.

“…Because they’re infected, it won’t work? If so, perhaps…”

Please.

“About the source of infection, the strange clusters of flesh… could you tell me about them?”

……

The tattooist picked up her pen again.

With a trembling hand, she tore a memo pad’s sheet from the counter and began to write.

Tiny characters pressed firmly onto the paper.

Two strokes. I could see the pen’s movement carving each line.

Finally, she flipped the note around and showed me the completed word.

■■

“……”

Huh?

I didn’t understand its meaning, but I could still pronounce it.

So… then…

“■■!”

<j>A shock shattered my mind. Images whipped by. StrangecreaturesrisingfromtheglowingsurfaceSilentmitesclingingtoedgesbitingandregrowingandburrowingevenifyoupickthemoffandpickthemoffandpickthemofftheygrowagainandinvadethecityofgreatwavesResearchersstudiedsuicidedeathfromsubterraneanlabsspreadingcontaminationScreamsEscapeattemptsThefinalark’ssinkingTheconch’slamentNOContaminatedchildrenChildrenSeverinfectioncordsScreamsBewarethechildrenItishellRemovetheconchDonottrustTheinfectionrunsrampant…</j>

“Cough—”

Blood burst forth. Not just from my mouth, but my nose and eyes, from every mucous‑lined orifice. The shock made them bleed.

The tattooist gasped and hurriedly poured a lemon drink into a bowl, offering it to me. I didn’t know if cats could even drink it, but I drank deeply.

Focusing on the taste of the sour, bloody lemonade on my tongue, I forced the images from my mind…

Bitter as it was, inspiration struck.

‘Just now.’

An explosion of meaning lay buried in those two symbols.

Was that the true language of the Mermaid Grave? I wasn’t sure I’d fully understood. If I could, I wouldn’t be human.

But one thing I knew for certain.

‘The tattooist originally came from the Mermaid Grave ghost story.’

And for some reason…

‘The conch.’

That Angel’s Sigh item was deeply tied to this crisis…

Strangely, two utterly opposite images were fused in that conch.

‘Healing and death.’

It was spine‑tingling.

…If seen through a child’s eyes, what would the conch look like?

“…Tattooist-nim.”

I swallowed the sour, bloody taste.

“Could you tell me… what you thought of the conch‑shaped object you remembered?”

The tattooist’s lips moved, revealing only the shape of the word. I read it.

Filth.

Disgust. A sense of uncleanliness and unease. Even knowing it posed no rational threat, the horrific imagery left a powerful, repellent after‑image.

The space around the tattooist shimmered again…

“I see. Understood. …Thank you.”

Was that it?

Having calmed her, I began to piece together all the clues I’d gathered so far.

“……”

My vague grand plan finally began snapping into place with these finer puzzle pieces.

Even if it was my own hypothesis…

‘If this is right.’

By pushing things to the very limit, there was something worthwhile to attempt.

‘Good.’

My mind cleared.

What I needed now were the conditions to support this plan, and the abilities to satisfy them.

And, by a stroke of luck, I had just entered the very shop where I might purchase those abilities.

“I’d like to talk about tattoos now, if that’s all right…”

The tattooist nodded in understanding and quickly held up another notice.

[Procedures on underage individuals require a guardian’s consent.]