Surviving Bad Customer Service is Easy, Really (2)

In the world of the supernatural, knowledge is survival. And the first thing you learn in this field is how to measure Ghost Stories (Urban Legends). We classify such things (anomalies, spirits, curses, whatever you want to call them) into a strict ranking system based on their lethality, range of influence, and conceptual density.

Ranks go from 1 to 10.

Ranks 1 through 3 are classified as "Low-Ranking". Residual souls, weak phenomena, or newly formed grudge spirits. They possess simple patterns and low intelligence, and can influence their environment to a certain extent. An unlicensed practitioner, a shaman with basic training, or a freelancer like me can exorcise them without much risk. Even civilians, if they have some basic knowledge of such beings, can survive them.

Ranks 4 through 7 are "Mid-Ranking". This is where most Ghost Stories stay. As entities with intelligence, they can create domains, make traps, and deceive people. Dealing with a Mid-Ranking threat requires a licensed Master with proper equipment. If an amateur tries to handle a Mid-Rank without preparation, they can easily die.

Ranks 8 through 10 are "High-Ranking". These are disasters. They often are curses and folklore. When a High-Ranking Urban Legend manifests, individual exorcists are useless. It requires the intervention of major organizations with a full team of exorcists.

And then, there are those above Rank 10. "Unrankables". Living calamities. Concepts so ancient and powerful that they cannot be "killed", only sealed or appeased. They are old gods and legends. They require joint operations between all factions to be contained.

...But a ranking is just a number. To truly understand a Ghost Story, you must understand its nature.

Ghost Stories are not biological creatures. They are conceptual entities. They are born from rumors, fear, and collective belief. Because they are concepts, they are not unique.

Just as there are thousands of convenience stores in Korea, there are thousands of iterations of a "Haunted Convenience Store" story. They are copies.

However, not all copies are equal.

Ghost Stories grow by two methods: Consumption of Fear, and Cannibalism.

If this convenience store manages to kill me, the fear generated feeds the legend, making it denser. Furthermore, if a Ghost Story encounters another Ghost Story operating within the same territory or concept, they will devour each other. The victor absorbs the loser's existence, climbing the ranks.

A Rank 1 "Haunted Store" is a small-fry.

A Rank 9 "Haunted Store" is a city-wide calamity.

However, there is an absolute law that governs them all. A law that I, Lee Yeon-Woo, have exploited for years.

The Law of Constraints.

Power comes with a price. In the realm of the supernatural, "Rules" creates "Power".

The more restrictions a Ghost Story places on itself, the more powerful it becomes.

Think about it. If a powerful spirit could kill anyone, anywhere, at any time, humanity would have gone extinct long ago. But they don't. They can't.

A Ghost Story is defined by its narrative. Its identity is built upon a specific sequence of events.

If a Ghost Story begins to attack humans indiscriminately, ignoring all rules, it ceases to be a "Story". It loses its distinct traits. It devolves from a specific concept into a simple, shapeless lump of malicious energy.

To maintain a high level of existence, a Ghost Story must adhere strictly to its "Setting".

A [Hide-and-Seek Ghost] cannot kill you until it finds you.

A [Drowned Ghost] cannot kill you far from water.

A [Shadow Ghost] cannot kill you in broad daylight.

By imposing strict rules upon itself, the Ghost Story gains the authority to impose absolute rules upon its victims.

Take this convenience store, for example.

If this clerk were a common vengeful spirit, it would have just lunged at me the moment I entered. But it didn't. It waited, scanned the items, and followed the procedure of a "transaction".

By binding itself to the concept of a "store" and the rule of "exchange," it gained the supernatural right to demand my "lifespan" as a legitimate currency. It cannot kill me unless I fail to pay. It cannot take my arm unless I agree to the transaction.

If I try to run, I become a "thief".

If I attack him, I become a "robber".

The more rules it binds itself to, the more rules it can impose in their domain.

Therefore, the stronger the Ghost Story, the more obsessed it is with its rules.

"Wait."

I raised my hand, interrupting the clerk.

"I just realized I forgot to pick up something. You don't mind if I browse a bit more, do you?"

The clerk tilted its head. Even without a face, he clearly looked confused.

"Browse...?"

"Yes. Browse. The customer hasn't finished selecting items yet. You won't force a customer to pay without finishing browsing, will you?"

I turned my back to the clerk without waiting for an answer.

"Grr..."

A low growl came from behind, but the clerk didn't attack.

Why? Because I am a "customer" who is currently "shopping".

I strolled down the aisle, humming a soft tune as I checked the items.

This specific Ghost Story is known as the [Man-Eating Store].

It's a very common, low-tier Ghost Story that plagues urban areas. In fact, it's so common that you can find at least one in every district of Seoul. In the grand scheme of things, it's a bottom-feeder. A scavenger that traps drunk businessmen or lost students.

The structure of this story is simple.

First, the store is a living organism. The walls, the shelves, and the floor are all part of its stomach.

Second, the inventory. The items on the shelves are processed from previous victims.

'Rank 2. Maybe Rank 3 at best.'

I diagnosed the situation as I picked up a carton of strawberry milk and turned it around.

Usually, humans can't read the true labels. They just see "Strawberry Milk" and pay the price the clerk demands, which is usually a body part or their soul. But to the eyes of an Onmyoji, or anyone with high spiritual sensitivity, the truth is obvious.

[Product: Crushed Eyeballs Fluid - Strawberry Flavor]

[Origin: Human Male, 30s]

[Expiration Date: 2021.02.20]

"Aha."

I smirked behind my mask.

"As expected."

In [Man-Eating Store], the expiration date isn't about freshness. It marks the time of death of the victim.

I put the milk down and picked up the Spicy Lava Chicken noodles I had brought to the counter earlier. I checked the bottom of the cup.

[Product: Minced Intestines - Spicy]

[Expiration Date: 2015.07.13]

"Wow~ This one is vintage."

I shook the cup of noodles, listening to the rattle of the dehydrated intestines inside.

"Selling expired goods... Tsk, tsk. If the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety knew about this, they'd shut you down."

I put the cup back down and crossed my arms, looking around the aisles.

Usually, the [Man-Eating Store] is considered a trap for the unwary. Once you enter, the door locks. The rule is absolute: You cannot leave without making a purchase.

And since the currency is your body or soul, most people panic. They try to break the windows (which are unbreakable), they attack the clerk (which triggers the "robber" flag, allowing the ghost to kill them instantly), or they just grit their teeth and choose the cheapest thing to pay the lowest price.

However, I am a professional. And more importantly, I am a broke professional.

Checking my pocket, I felt the thin texture of a generic "fire" talisman.

I could just burn this place down. It would take me about three seconds. A single talisman to the clerk's forehead, an incantation, and poof.

But talismans cost money. High-quality paper isn't free, and cinnabar ink is getting expensive these days. Using a 3,000 won sheet of paper to kill a Rank 3? In this economy?

'Besides...'

My stomach growled again, louder this time.

'If I play my cards right, I can solve dinner for free.'

I gathered the items back into my arms (the noodles, the Soju, the Triangle Kimbap, and the newly added Strawberry Milk) and approached the counter.

The faceless clerk silently watched me. The mouth on its face was still open, drooling slightly in anticipation.

"Did... you... finish...?"

"Hey, you punk."

Bam!

I slammed the cup noodles onto the counter with a loud thud. The clerk flinched.

"Do you think I'm easy because I'm young?"

"..."

The clerk tilted its head.

"Pay... ment..."

"No, look at the date!"

I pointed an accusing finger at the bottom of the cup.

"2015. July. 13th."

I picked up the Strawberry Milk.

"2021. February. 20th."

I pointed at the Triangle Kimbap.

"2019. November. I demand fresh stock! Bring me something that was killed today! Right now!"

I shouted, glaring at the clerk.

"Fresh...?"

The clerk hesitated. Its head twitched as it looked around at the empty store, and finally at the window where the morning sun was hovering.

Then it looked back at me, shuffling its feet.

"Stock... no... stock..."

"What?"

"To... day... no... cus... tomers..."

"Ha."

I crossed my arms, looking down at the monster with absolute disdain.

It was currently around 7:00 AM.

The [Man-Eating Store] mostly catches drunkards late at night or students studying until dawn. But now? It was the dead hour of the morning. The drunks were asleep and the students were at school.

There were no new victims.

I clicked my tongue loudly.

"Tsk, tsk. This place is going downhill. I should leave a bad review."

Then I sighed, acting as if I was being incredibly generous.

"Haa... Fine. I'm a busy woman, so let's make this quick. Since you failed to provide the requested product, and since you tried to scam a customer with expired goods, I am confiscating these as compensation for my emotional distress."

"Com... pensation...?"

"Yes. It means I'm taking them. For free."

I grabbed the plastic bag from the counter and began shoveling the cup noodles, the milk, and the kimbap into it.

"Wait... Pay... ment... Must... Pay..."

"Hey. Let go."

I glared at the thing's hand gripping the bag.

"I said, this is compensation. Do you want me to call your manager?"

"Man... ager...?"

The clerk trembled. Even for supernatural entities, the mention of the hierarchy of retail was effective. The grip on the plastic bag loosened.

"Good choice."

I yanked the bag free.

"Now, the receipt."

I tapped the receipt printer on the counter.

"Rec... eipt...?"

"Yes. Proof of transaction. I need it for my household ledger. You aren't trying to commit tax evasion on top of selling expired goods, are you?"

"..."

The faceless clerk looked like it wanted to cry. Reluctantly, its pale, trembling hand reached out and pressed the [Print] button.

Whirrr.

A slip of paper slowly curled out. The clerk grabbed it, hesitating to let go.

"Give me."

I grabbed the other end of the receipt, but the clerk didn't let go.

"I said, give me."

I tugged. The paper didn't budge.

"...What terrible customer service."

I sighed, shifting my grip. I jammed my thumb into the pressure point between the clerk's thumb and index finger, a spot that hurts like hell even for the living, but disrupts the flow of Yin energy for the dead.

"Kiek?!"

The clerk's hand spasmed open.

Swoosh.

I smoothly took the receipt from the clerk.

"Thank you for your patronage~"

The sound of heavy locks disengaging came from the front door.

I stuffed the slip of paper into the heavy plastic bag, then walked towards the exit.

"Cus... tomer..."

Ding-dong~

I pushed the glass door. It easily opened, and the cool, fresh air of the morning hit my face.

The moment I stepped on the sidewalk, the food changed. The "Minced Intestines" turned back into a normal Spicy Chicken Noodle cup. The "Blood" became normal strawberry milk.

"Score."

I grinned, patting the plastic bag.

"Cheat... Thief... Robber..."

"Ah, right. Almost forgot. I can't just leave a scammer in business, can I? That would be bad for the neighborhood."

I stopped just as the glass door was about to swing shut behind me. I wedged the heel of my sneaker into the gap, keeping the store open, then turned around.

"Pay... ment..."

I then raised my right hand. My index and middle fingers straightened into a sword-finger gesture towards the inside of the store.

Usually, an Onmyoji acts as a medium, borrowing power from the gods through talismans. But when you are broke, you learn to cut out the middleman. I focused the Yin energy in my body, compressing it into a single point at my fingertips.

"All things have a shape, all shapes have a limit—"

"You... YOU...!!!"

The clerk leaped over the counter, its mouth now tearing its entire face into two parts, a snake-like tongue extending out.

"The false vessel breaks, the spirit scatters—"

The clerk was airborne now, its maw inches from my face.

"—[Shatter]."

Crack.

The clerk froze in mid-air. Its maw was wide open, an inch away from my face.

"Ki... ek...?"

From its egg-like face, cracks spread through its body. Face, neck, suit, pants... As more cracks appeared on the monster, the store itself had cracks spreading across its walls.

"A Ghost Story that fails to uphold its own rules is nothing more than an illusion."

I lowered my hand and tucked it back into my pocket.

"Goodbye."

Crash!

With the sound of a thousand glass shards, the story crumbled.

Whoosh...

A gentle breeze blew past me.

As the dust of broken glass washed over my shoulders, drifting harmlessly into the morning street like scattered sand, the convenience store turned back to normal. Inside, I could see a female clerk looking bored as she played with her phone by the counter.

The [Man-Eating Store] was gone.

I brushed a speck of dust off my shoulder.

"Messy."

I looked down at the plastic bag in my hand.

Inside, the Spicy Lava Chicken noodles, the Strawberry Milk, Soju, and the Triangle Kimbap sat innocently.

"..."

I poked the milk carton.

Because the transaction had been completed before the store was destroyed, the items had successfully transitioned from "conceptual objects" to "real objects".

"Hah. I really am a genius."

I grinned beneath my mask.

It was the perfect crime. The victim (the ghost) was dead, the crime scene (the store) was erased, and the perpetrator (me) had a full stomach.

"~♪ ~♫"

In a good mood from getting a free dinner, I hummed as I walked back home.

Surviving bad customer service is easy, really.