Substitute-Chapter 120

Son Geonwoo was possessed by ghosts again.

Because of that damn drug. The one he should’ve taken but didn’t—and the one floating through the air—had driven him completely insane, restored him perfectly to the version of himself he used to hate.

Now the world around him was crawling with ghosts.

He’d been right on the verge of climax when they appeared—dozens, hundreds, thousands of them—and the sight killed any desire to keep fucking. The guy pinned under him shot him a puzzled look, like, “Why’d you stop halfway?” but Son pulled out without answering.

“Not much fun, huh? No flavor, right? See? All you perverts are the same—no taste. Just like you.”

His father’s ghost, the one he’d beaten to death, followed him around whispering in his ear.

“If you’re gonna suck cock, might as well eat shit. Kill him.”

“That one there—he just brushed your shoulder, didn’t he? Kill him.”

“And that one? Half his dick’s gone. Useless freak—kill him.”

The father’s ghost gave him a reason to kill every person his eyes landed on.

“Kill them all. That’s the only way you’ll even touch the gates of Heaven.”

“Shut up. I said shut the fuck up.”

Son growled under his breath, pacing side by side with the ghost of his father.

The heat was suffocating, his throat dry. No matter how much water he drank, the thirst never eased.

Fine. Then I’ll just get in the water.

He ran toward the pool, about to dive in—when the water turned pitch black.

From beneath the surface, water spirits lifted their heads all at once.

Goosebumps rippled down his back.

They were genderless, their long hair loose and drifting. The pool looked like it had been filled with a mass of black seaweed—filthy, unsettling. Yet the crew members, oblivious, splashed and played. They didn’t see the dark hair strands slipping into their mouths, their noses, even their eyes.

Tsk. Son clicked his tongue.

No—his father’s ghost clicked it.

“They’ll all burn in Hell.”

The ghost snickered.

“Fuck. Be quiet already.”

Son turned his head toward the “those bastards” the ghost was talking about—the ones down there sucking each other off.

“Those fuckers are going to Hell. Just like you. How many times did I tell you—men with cocks don’t fuck other men?”

Ck, ck. The father’s ghost opened his black mouth and laughed.

No—Son Geonwoo laughed.

As he walked, he saw Kim Jiwon. Seeing the guy he’d tried so hard to ignore made him boil with petty rage.

That fucking bastard was still lost in ecstasy, fused with Number 3 like they were one body.

Barely thirty minutes ago, Son had been desperate because he hadn’t gotten to fuck Jiwon. Now, the sight of him made him sick enough to puke.

“Ugh, I’m scared. That one scares me the most.”

His father’s ghost pointed at Jiwon and shuddered.

“You were normal once. If not for him, you’d have stayed normal.”

The ghost dug up the past.

Son had realized he was drawn to other boys when he was thirteen.

His first love had been a guy three years older than him at church. Come to think of it, Kim Jiwon was three years older too.

Anyway, even if it hadn’t been that guy, he would never have been “normal.” But his clueless parents blamed that boy every time. They cried that the boy had corrupted him, that he’d sold his soul to ghosts because of him.

“My God—that’s him. Don’t you recognize him?”

His father’s ghost sounded shocked.

“It was him. The bastard who sold you to the ghosts. No wonder he reeks of filth.”

The ghost kept raving.

In that instant, the face of that boy overlapped with Kim Jiwon’s.

Identical. Kim Jiwon was that boy.

Son gasped.

“Kill him.”

Son nodded without realizing it.

“What do you do to make ghosts disappear?”

the father’s ghost asked.

“You beat them to death.”

Son answered with confidence.

“That’s right. Exactly that.”

Heehee—his father’s ghost, who’d died by his own hands, laughed.

No—Son Geonwoo laughed.

From that moment, Son began following Kim Jiwon, waiting for the chance.

****

“Ugh.”

Son woke to a stabbing pain.

Why’s everything so damn wet?

The first thing he saw was soaked dirt and leaves.

Fuck. Where the hell am I?

He tried to turn his head—and realized something was wrong with how his body moved.

Both hands and feet were tied behind his back. A full hogtie.

Someone had bound him and covered him with branches.

Drenched to the bone from the rain, Son struggled to break free, twisting and thrashing, but he couldn’t loosen the knots, let alone untie them. All he managed was to scatter the branches covering him, exposing himself directly to the downpour.

Panting, Son buried his face in the wet soil.

The rich smell of earth and grass filled his nose, sharpening his mind.

He must’ve been left out here for quite a while—the chills were setting in.

Slowly, Son retraced how he’d ended up like this.

He’d been having sex on the rooftop when the siren blared. The announcement °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° that Hide-and-Seek had begun. He’d run back to his room, chased by guards. Following the speaker’s orders, he changed into the wetsuit, grabbed a flashlight, and headed straight out.

When the Emcee said to hide well, the first place that came to his mind was the iron gate. The last threshold into Paradise—and the first gate out.

He couldn’t explain why, but the image came to him on its own.

So Son ran for the iron gate.

On the way, he met someone... didn’t he?

He tilted his head.

No—he definitely did.

Then he saw someone.

Who?

Who the hell was it?

There was a huge hole in his memory.

A hole he couldn’t fill no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he spat.

Was the game still going on?

Anxiety prickled him. With rain like this, maybe the game had been suspended. Maybe everyone else had gone back to the lodging, and he alone had been left here in the woods.

Just then, a sharp crackle from the speaker, and then a fanfare burst out.

[Even in this dreadful weather, our seeker has caught another runner! Applause!]

The Emcee’s cheerful voice rang out.

[The twentieth runner—found hiding inside a fountain! Incredible, right? A perfect use of the weather for camouflage. Now, even in the pouring rain, what do we do? That’s right! We keep playing! Everyone, gather in the center! Time for the whipping punishment! And soaked whips on soaked bodies—ouch, that’s gotta sting. Aiyah!]

At the Emcee’s exaggerated tone, Son chuckled.

The game was still on.

Which meant they’d come looking for him soon.

That meant he needed to move somewhere easier to find.

He twisted his body and crawled forward, dragging himself by his stomach. Every inch ached, but now wasn’t the time to care.

Thanks to the slick grass, he moved more easily than expected.

How far had he gone when—of all things—he ran into a puddle. Small, but hard to get out of.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

Son yelled.

But his shout was drowned out by the screams of the crew being whipped.

He decided to wait until the speakers went quiet. Even with the rain loud as it was, if someone was nearby, they’d definitely hear him.

To save strength, he pressed his face to the ground and took deep breaths.

That’s when it happened.

Suddenly, fierce pressure hit his bound wrists and ankles, flipping his body over in one violent motion.

“You little shit, where you think you’re going?”

Someone climbed on top of him and started shoving handfuls of wet leaves into his mouth.

He tried to resist but couldn’t.

There were two of them. No—three.

Once his mouth was stuffed full, they gagged him with a piece of cloth, silencing him completely.

Then they dragged him somewhere. The ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles scraped raw, but they didn’t care.

Where are you taking me?

He tried to ask, but it came out as nothing but muffled noise.

Exhausted, Son looked up at the faces looming over him.

Park Geonwoo, Kim Yunho, and Kim Jiwon.

‘See? I told you to smash his skull in with a rock.’

As his father’s voice echoed in his head, Son’s memory snapped back into place.

The hole sealed completely.

Ha... fuck.

Son gave a bitter laugh.

He muttered nonsense about how he should’ve listened to his father after all.