Taragan stood beside the new office desk Joseph had claimed at the back of the boutique.  

Now that the *Hundred Ghosts Boutique* truly belonged to a living man, the ghostly manager had already begun adapting, presenting reports as if nothing about the situation were strange.  

“Sir,” Taragan began smoothly, “I’ve gathered a list of available properties. Since the Collapse, many spirits can no longer sustain their territories. Some are open to negotiation.”

He extended a sheet of translucent parchment that glimmered with faint runes.  

“Here—one is a high-end automotive showroom, *Ghost-Steed Motors*; another, *The Lantern Hotel*; and a rather famous restaurant, *The Weeping Spoon.*”

Joseph leaned back in the chair, the GHOULLEX on his wrist ticking in reverse. “Cars, hotels, restaurants,” he said, considering. “Let’s start with the car dealership. You know the owner?”

Taragan nodded. “Personally. His name is Morvian Holt. He deals in speed, engines, and contracts. A cautious spirit, but he respects money.”

“Perfect,” Joseph said. “Call him.”

The manager pressed a sigil into his palm. Smoke coiled upward, forming a small mouth that spoke in static whispers. After a short conversation, Taragan glanced up. “He’ll send a driver immediately. It seems he’s heard of you.”

Joseph smirked. “Word travels fast.”

“Especially when you purchase an entire boutique overnight,” Taragan replied dryly.

---

Within minutes, a black sedan—sleek, half-transparent, and humming with low ghost-energy—slid to a stop outside. The chauffeur who stepped out looked almost human until he removed his cap; the absence of a jaw turned his polite smile into a gaping grin.

“Mr. Gates,” the driver rasped. “My master awaits.”

Joseph adjusted his coat. “Lead the way.”

The car’s interior smelled faintly of iron and perfume. As it glided through the ruined streets, Joseph watched the shifting skyline—the city half alive, half consumed by spectral fire. Traffic lights blinked between red and black. The air pulsed with whispers, and wherever the sedan passed, the shadows bowed.

After a few minutes, the vehicle turned down a wide avenue. The buildings here were tall, burnt, yet intact, their windows glowing with the dim light of other worlds. Ahead, a vast gate loomed—its metal warped, its sign shattered.

Then, before his eyes, glowing letters began to form across the ruined sign, drawn in liquid crimson.

**鬼馬車行 — Ghost-Steed Motors**

The words bled faintly, dripping down the steel like slow tears of blood.  

Joseph exhaled. He knew what that meant.  

*System recognition.*  

Every time a living human entered an area owned by spirits, the world itself acknowledged him—marking the scene, binding him to a new task.

Above the gate, faint lines of light shaped themselves into words only he could read:

> **Mission Triggered: Ghost-Steed Motors**  

> **Objective:** Evaluate the owner’s offer.  

> **Rule Notice:** The living must not idle; motion is life.  

Joseph smiled faintly. “So it begins again.”

The driver opened his door with a bow. “Welcome, sir.”

Inside, the air smelled of fuel and frost. Rows of vehicles lined the floor—spectral machines hovering inches above cracked marble. Some were sleek as blades, others stitched together with bone and metal. Each headlight burned with an inner fire, eyes of engines that watched their new visitor approach.

At the far end stood a man—or what looked like one—lean, tall, dressed in a black racing coat marked with old stains. His face gleamed with oil, and his eyes were twin tachometers, needles trembling at the edge of red.

“Mr. Gates,” the figure said, voice like an idling engine. “I heard a rumor that a living man bought the Hundred Ghosts Boutique.”

Joseph stepped closer, meeting the unreadable gaze. “Rumors travel faster than cars, it seems.”

The ghost-dealer smiled, metallic teeth flashing. “I wanted to see for myself. Few mortals walk these streets twice. Fewer still walk them rich.”

He gestured toward the showroom floor. “Since you came to buy, allow me to show you what we drive in hell.”

Engines awakened one by one, roaring like distant thunder. The floor vibrated, and somewhere above them, a faint red text flickered again across the cracked ceiling:

> **Evaluation Phase Initiated.**