Behind Clair, the last of the guests were being seen off, their silhouettes fading into the gentle dark. The celebration had finally wound down, the lanterns above them flickering out one by one, as if the night were quietly reclaiming its space.

“Take care, Marianne,” Clair said softly, her voice gentle beneath the night air. “Be careful on your way home.” Then, with a small laugh and a glimmer of teasing mischief, she added, “Don’t worry—ghosts aren’t real.”

Marianne chuckled, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—fear, thinly veiled beneath a layer of fatigue. Resignation, maybe.

“I’m too old to be afraid of ghosts,” she said, nudging Clair lightly on the arm, playing along.

But then she sighed, and the playfulness drained from her voice. “Besides, there’s one place I need to stop by tonight. I’ve got a report due tomorrow.”

Clair’s smile faltered, her brow knitting. “You’re going there tonight?” she asked, confused. “Where is it?”

Marianne didn’t answer at first. Her gaze drifted past Clair toward the distant coastline, where the last lights of the estate didn’t quite reach. The sea breeze had picked up again, brushing cool against her cheeks, bringing with it the scent of salt—and something colder beneath.

“Someplace I don’t like visiting,” she finally said, keeping her voice light. Too light. “But it’s… necessary.”

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Clair asked, concern creeping into her tone.

“I’m an adventurer, remember?” Marianne replied with a strained smile. “I’ll be fine.”

But she couldn’t stop her eyes from flicking once more to the shadows beyond the lantern glow. There was something about nights like this—too quiet, too empty—that made her feel watched. She told herself it was superstition. Old fears. Ghost stories clinging from childhood.

But then why had she installed steel bars on her windows? Why did she still double-check her locks every night, and toss salt across the threshold whenever the wind howled too hard?

Clair didn’t know any of that. And Marianne didn’t plan to tell her.

“Well… don’t stay out too late,” Clair said, sensing the tension but letting it go. “You’ll catch cold wandering off alone.”

“I’ll let you know when I get home.” Marianne gave her one last smile—thin, tight, but sincere. “See you at the next tea party.”

With that, she turned and headed down the path toward the road. Her steps were small and hesitant, her shoulders tense, as if every step away from the light dragged at her will. She didn’t want to go, but she had no choice—the darkness waiting ahead was unavoidable.

Clair watched her go, arms crossed and lips pursed. She didn’t know where Marianne was going. She didn’t know why she seemed so uneasy. But something about the night felt off.

And in the stillness that followed, the darkness pressed in, silent and waiting.

***

Knowing she was far enough to be unseen, Marianne clapped her cheeks firmly, trying to steel herself—but a heavy sigh still escaped her lips.

“If only I’d done it earlier, I wouldn’t have to come there at night. I really don’t want to meet them—especially her,” she muttered, her voice low and tense as she strode toward the edge of the coast.

The moon cast a silver glow over the restless waves, and after a few minutes of walking, a silhouette emerged from the darkness—a ship, weathered and eerie enough to be called a ghost ship. Its timbers creaked with the wind, and the faint sound sent a chill down her spine.

Marianne hesitated for only a moment before stepping aboard, her mind so clouded by fear that she failed to notice the silent footsteps creeping up behind her. Each footfall she made echoed through the hollow deck, her heart pounding as every creak made her hair stand on end. I hate this, she thought, swallowing hard against the rising panic.

A cold silence hung in the air, broken only by the soft whistle of the wind through the rigging. Shadows seemed to shift and lengthen around her, as if the ship itself were watching.

Then, from the darkness deeper inside the hull, a group of figures suddenly circled her. One stepped forward, throwing back his cloak with a theatrical flourish.

“Arwan,” Marianne muttered involuntarily, her voice trembling.

Arwan’s laugh was cold and sharp. “Now that your little B-rank is no longer with you, you’re in real trouble. What was his name again? Rydan?”

Marianne shuddered, a flicker of fear running through her—but not because of the man before her.
She’d been trembling nonstop from the start.

Arwan, mistaking the cause, curled his lips into a cruel smile.
“Obviously, you can only get by with a party full of other F-rank losers.”

The others joined Arwan, their laughter rising in ridicule—until a voice they didn’t recognize laughed along with them.

At that, a dark, mocking laugh echoed from the shadows. “Grun, did you hear that? That kid actually said we’re worse than Rydan.”

From the darkness, two imposing figures emerged. One tall and broad-shouldered, the other a stout, muscular dwarf. Both radiated an intimidating aura, like predators sizing up their prey.

Arwan’s bravado faltered, his voice cracking slightly. “Who the hell are you guys?”

The tall man grinned wide, savoring the moment. “Who am I? Just the F-rank loser you’re talking about.”

Arwan shook his head, incredulous. “Liar. No way you’re F-rank.”

The tall man’s grin deepened. “Then it won’t be a problem if an F-rank handles you, right?”

He pointed a finger lazily at one of the guys holding a worn dossier. “You. Find the party named Monkey Business.”

Then he turned to face Arwan, his tone sharpening. “It won’t be a problem if you deal with her, right?”

The follower’s eyes darted across the records, fingers trembling as he whispered, “Monkey Business… Strix—A rank, Grun—B rank, Marianne—F rank… and—wait, another F rank… Lucy?”

Arwan stepped up beside him, peering over his shoulder at the parchment. His brow furrowed, voice sharp with disbelief.
“Lucy? That child? An F rank? You’re joking.”

The follower swallowed hard, voice shaky. “No joke. That’s what it says here.” He hesitated, eyes flicking back to the image again, a strange unease settling over him. There was something off—something almost creepy—about the way her eyes seemed to stare right through the paper, cold and unreadable, like they belonged to someone not quite... human.

Arwan’s gaze shifted sharply to Marianne, who visibly tensed at the mention of Lucy’s name—Arwan arrogantly assumed it was because of him. A bitter laugh escaped him as he pointed. “If she’s all you’ve got, I don’t mind taking both of your Rank F’s if you like. This’ll be easier than I thought.”

Strix chuckled darkly. “If you’re ready, look up.”

All eyes turned upward.

There she was—a small child standing on the ship’s railing, clutching a doll with eyes that mirrored their faces in one hand and a butcher knife glinting with red sheen in the other. Lucy.

Marianne, not the intended target, shrieked and fell backward, tears welling in her eyes.

Strix laughed, amused. “Come on, when will you get used to her?”

Lucy hopped down and landed right in front of Arwan, whose face drained of color. He turned to flee but stumbled as the doll’s tiny hand clutched his ankle, sending him sprawling face-first onto the deck.

The doll let out a maniacal laugh. Lucy’s laughter echoed, chilling and wild. Strix joined in, their voices mingling in a sinister chorus.

Arwan tried to get up, but his legs wouldn’t stop shaking, eyes wide, sweat beading on his forehead. “W-What kind of party is this?!”

His follower dropped the dossier, visibly shaking. “F-F-Rank? That thing is F-rank?! Are you kidding me?!”

“Welcome to Monkey Business.”

***

Strix lit his cigar with a snap of his finger, embers flaring to life at the tip. He took a slow, thoughtful puff, letting the smoke curl upward like lazy ghosts before speaking in that casual, gravel-rough voice of his.

“The report’s in the drawer.”

Marianne followed his gaze and reluctantly stepped forward. Her heels clicked against the warped wood of the ship’s floor, each step echoing faintly in the dimly lit cabin. She stopped in front of the dusty drawer, hesitated, then reached out.

“You know,” she said, pulling it open with a creak, “you could’ve just dropped this off at my place. There was no need for me to come all the way here.”

Strix leaned back in his chair, still grinning, the cigar hanging loosely between his fingers. “And miss the pleasure of your company? Don’t be cruel. I get lonely, you know. Especially Lucy—she’s been asking about you.”

Marianne stiffened. Her eyes slid toward the far corner of the room where Lucy sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by her latest… "toys." A doll’s head spun on a string like a pendulum while something red dripped slowly from a cracked tea cup. Lucy giggled to herself, whispering nonsense to the lifeless toys as she made one wave at Marianne.

A chill skittered down Marianne’s spine, but she swallowed it and spoke anyway.
“If she kills someone, you’ll be the one held responsible.”

Strix just giggled, brushing it off like it was nothing.
“She’s just playing with them, see?”

Marianne didn’t dare look back. Doing so would only guarantee another sleepless night.

Inside, her stomach turned. ‘Why me? Of all people, why assign me to supervise him? If the court’s too scared to let him roam free without someone watching over him, maybe—just maybe—he shouldn’t be free at all.’

As if sensing her thoughts, Strix suddenly rose from his chair and crossed the room in two casual steps. Before she could move away, his heavy arm dropped across her shoulders like a beam. His mechanical fingers clinked softly as they brushed against the fabric of her jacket.

“Relax,” he said, voice low. “It’s a give-and-take, Marianne. We don’t bite... unless provoked. Nothing bad’s going to happen to you—as long as you stay on our side.”

The smell of ash and smoke clung to him, thick and cloying. Marianne instinctively held her breath, her jaw tightening as she ducked away from his arm and took a hurried step back. She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

She turned on her heel and made for the exit without another word. The moment she stepped out of the cabin, the sharp, salty breeze of the night air hit her like a blessing. She inhaled deeply and didn’t look back.

Strix watched her go with a crooked smirk, cigar glowing dim in the dark. He tapped the ashes onto the floor and muttered, “Still playing hard to get… I like that.”

Then, glancing sideways at the dwarf seated beside him, he added with a lazy grin, “You like ’em difficult too, right, Grun?”

Grun let out a long, tired sigh, resting a calloused hand on his forehead as if silently begging to be left out of this particular conversation.

Strix laughed. “That’s a yes.”