I Became A Ghost In A Horror Game-Chapter 89: Pinocchio

Pinocchio opened his eyes in a dark void.

If his memory hadn't been tampered with, then this was likely the aftermath of Alice’s peculiar ability.

“Where... am I?”

Darkness.

He couldn't see a thing, but he could tell that the space around him was completely empty.

He needed to analyze what had happened.

The gears in his mind began to turn—

But they felt rusted.

Instead of thought, something ached within him.

An emotion... interfering with his logic?

But he had no emotions.

He had never had them.

Alice must have done something.

"..."

He started walking.

Every step produced an irritating metallic clatter, as if his body had been damaged.

He wandered aimlessly through the void.

And then—

A scent.

Cherry blossoms.

"Cherry blossoms..."

Pinocchio followed the fragrance, drawn forward as if entranced.

He walked for what felt like forever until he arrived at its source—

A fully bloomed cherry blossom tree.

The sight was almost welcoming.

"Alice. What is it that you’re trying to show me?"

He stepped closer.

And then—

His foot landed on something.

Something soft.

A human hand.

Most people would recoil at the sight of a severed hand.

But Pinocchio only felt shock.

Because he knew this hand better than anyone.

"...My hand."

It was the hand he had before he became a demon of the Story’s Demons.

The hand of his human body.

A rough yet fragile hand.

Weak.

His gaze followed the hand—

To the roots of the cherry blossom tree.

The hand was protruding from the ground.

That meant...

Beneath this tree, buried within its roots—

Was his own corpse.

Pinocchio knelt down to confirm it.

And there it was.

His human body.

His human face.

Twisted with sorrow and rage.

"...Why was I making that face?"

Instinctively, he reached out.

Something told him that if he touched it—

He would find his answer.

His mechanical hand, made of wood and metal, overlapped with his human hand, °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° made of flesh and bone.

And in that moment—

His mind was filled with memories.

Like a film reel unraveling before his eyes.

I was a factory worker.

To afford medicine for the man I called "father"—

I dropped out of school at a young age and began working.

Repetitive, mind-numbing labor.

Most people would have quit immediately.

But I didn't mind.

Because I had learned how to empty my mind while working.

How to stay focused and avoid making mistakes.

People in the factory called me "machine-like."

"Machine."

I liked that nickname.

Because machines were useful.

When my shift ended, I sat on a bench during break time.

A coworker approached me.

I had never seen him before.

"What do you want?"

"Oh wow, your tone is so stiff. Did I offend you?"

"No. Just asking."

He chuckled.

I simply stared at him, expressionless.

Then, he looked me up and down and muttered—

"You don’t seem like the Alice type."

I tilted my head in confusion.

Alice?

What was he talking about?

"Ah, my bad. It’s just that your tone doesn’t match your appearance."

"I picked it up from my guardian. I was raised by him. If you need me to be polite... I can do that."

"Hahaha! Nah, that’s fine. But you always look so blank, even when working. Don’t you get bored?"

"...Not really."

When I worked, my thoughts and emotions faded.

I never felt bored.

"I see. Well, at least try this. It might be fun."

I don’t know why, but—

I followed his suggestion.

I downloaded the game onto my phone.

I didn’t have a reason.

It just felt... natural.

The game was about a blacksmith who crafted and sold weapons.

I had never played games before, so it felt strange.

But I got used to it.

It wasn’t addictive or anything.

Just... a little enjoyable.

Because creating things was familiar to me.

And best of all—

It didn’t require money to play.

I didn’t have much to spare.

So I continued my routine.

Working at the factory by day—

Playing the game by night.

Until one day—

I came home to find him collapsed on the floor.

The man I called "father."

I panicked.

Or...

Did I?

I wasn’t sure.

In the memory, my face was blurred—like I was wearing a mask.

I dropped the eggs I had bought from the market.

They shattered on the floor.

But I ignored them.

I carried him to the hospital.

And there—

I learned the truth.

He had a terminal illness.

The medicine he had been taking was just delaying the inevitable.

I knew he had been sick.

But I thought he just couldn’t afford surgery.

I thought if I worked hard enough, I could fix everything.

But it was never a matter of money.

He had already been doomed from the start.

And yet—

He had lied to me.

"Why did you lie to me?"

"..."

He didn’t answer.

I waited.

And then—

As I stepped outside the hospital room—

I heard him crying.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"Useless... Useless..."

"..."

Was he talking about me?

I wasn’t sure.

But I felt like he was.

Because, in the end—

I was useless.

No matter how much money I earned at the factory—

I couldn’t cure his illness.

All I could do was pay for hospital treatments—

Hoping, at best, to extend what little time he had left.

The next day, I went to work as usual.

I watched the machines run.

And I had a thought—

"If only he were a machine."

Machines don’t get sick.

I watched the assembly line.

I saw a man with a prosthetic leg.

I saw machines that made life easier for people.

They were useful.

So why... wasn’t I?

The nickname "machine-like person" felt undeserved.

Why had he lied?

Did lying make the sickness disappear?

He died.

In the memory, I saw myself—

My head pressed to the floor.

I looked like I was grieving.

But was I?

I couldn’t tell.

Because my face was covered by that same, blank mask.

There was a disconnect between the "me" watching this memory—

And the "me" inside it.

If these were my past memories, then I should remember why I reacted that way.

But I didn’t.

Not at all.

"......"

I kept watching.

The next day—

I went back to the factory.

I was like a cog in a machine.

A spinning, rotating cog.

Thoughtless.

Moving only because that was what I was supposed to do.

Earning money...

But for what?

I had worked to pay for medicine—

But now, he was gone.

Did my actions have any meaning?

The labor was endless.

The products I assembled—

What did they matter to me?

I came to a conclusion.

They didn’t.

No matter how many things I made—

Nothing changed.

The unassembled parts rolled by on the conveyor belt.

And I felt like one of them.

Waiting to be completed.

But there was no one here who could complete me.

I quit the factory.

The next day—

I locked myself inside my house.

And I played the game.

Because it was the only escape I had.

I skipped meals.

I played until exhaustion made me pass out.

And then—

I woke up inside the game.

"Where... is this?"

I opened my eyes to find myself in a snow-covered village.

People were laughing and chatting as they passed by.

In the game, there had always been snow—

But never a town like this.

Never people.

"Inside... the game?"

I stood inside my workshop.

The same workshop where the player crafted weapons.

It had been generated alongside me.

Everything functioned as it did in the game.

The ability to create materials.

The simplified crafting mechanics that even someone like me could use.

And—

The fact that I couldn’t leave.

Because in the game, the screen never moved beyond the workshop.

I was trapped.

For several days, no one came.

Then—

The village elder approached.

I recognized him immediately.

His white hair. His frail posture.

In the game, he had been just a pixelated character.

But he was distinctive enough for me to know who he was.

He was the NPC who gave quests and advice.

And he was my first customer.

"The dining table in my home broke. Can you make me a new one?"

I remember... being a little surprised.

Because this was a weapon-crafting game.

Why had I assumed that the people in this peaceful village would need weapons?

This world was similar to the game—

But also different.

I crafted the table.

A simple one.

After giving it to him, I thought—

Maybe if I complete every request the villagers give me...

...I can leave this place.

And so, I devoted myself to crafting.

Unlike at the factory, where my work was mindless and repetitive—

Each request was different.

Each one required me to think.

And strangely—

It didn’t feel... bad.

"Make me this!"

"...Alright."

A little girl from the bakery came to me.

She wanted a wooden bear.

I had never carved before—

But with the game’s assist features, it wasn’t difficult.

"What’s its name?"

"Cashy!"

I made it for free.

She ran off, hugging the bear tightly, eager to show her friends.

I stared after her.

It was heavy, but she carried it easily.

I wasn’t sure what expression I was making behind my mask.

My chest... ached.

"Would you like to try this dish? I made it while thinking about you!"

A chef from the village restaurant handed me a sandwich.

It was decorated almost too beautifully.

I didn’t understand why—

But in return, I crafted him a wood-and-metal ornament.

He accepted it happily.

The sandwich was delicious.

"You made Cashy’s doll, right?! Make me something cool! But not a doll!"

"...Alright."

This boy was Cashy’s friend.

He often fought with other kids.

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But he wasn’t a bully.

He mostly protected Cashy from troublemakers.

His name was Tom, I think.

A wooden sword should be fine.

I made one and handed it to him.

He was thrilled.

He ran off to show Cashy.

I watched them go.

Watched them without thinking.

But—

The version of me in the memory...

It looked alive.

"Nice to meet you. The watering can you made is working great!"

A woman greeted me.

Her name was Fram.

She liked gardening.

She also liked nagging me to start growing plants, too.

I refused.

She pouted.

And I—

Didn’t know why I found that slightly amusing.

"That strange woman trying to grow cherry blossoms in this freezing village needs to leave my workshop immediately."

I showed her not even the slightest hint of sympathy.

Fram, however, only pretended to leave.

Instead, she threw a pot, some fertilizer, and a handful of seeds at me—before running away.

"The black seed—some weird guy insisted I give it to you. If something weird grows, it's not my fault~"

The me in the memory immediately tossed the seeds and the pot into the black hole.

(The trash bin.)

After that, I continued taking requests.

Barem, the merchant from next door.

Bell, the distant fisherman.

Kall, the street magician.

Friedel, the recluse who rarely left his home.

...And then, again, the village elder—Gepetto.

He regarded me with a satisfied expression.

"You look much better these days."

"Do I?"

"Oh, absolutely. When I first saw you, you looked like you could drop dead at any moment. And when I tried to have a conversation, you always cut me off and pushed me away. It was a little hurtful, you know?"

"...Is that so?"

I didn't remember.

But I supposed it must have been true.

"Even the other villagers used to be startled when they saw your face... but now, you seem much different."

"I wouldn’t know."

It was possible.

Maybe that was why the villagers had been hesitant to speak to me at first.

"Hmm... Well, how about a quiz?"

"...What?"

"Here, tell me—who is that person over there?"

He pointed at someone walking down the street.

I knew him.

"Hupno. He runs a rivalry with Berrian."

"And her?"

"Erin. She's constantly breaking things and comes here often."

"Last one. Who’s that?"

"Pekka. That brat’s a delinquent. I don’t like him."

The quiz continued until I lost patience.

"What are you trying to say?"

Gepetto smiled.

"Do you remember what I said to you when we first met?"

"...You asked me to build a table."

"Not just that."

"..."

I couldn’t remember.

I shrugged.

Gepetto sighed.

"I told you to talk to the villagers.

"Because speaking with good people can help heal the mind."

"..."

"You completely dismissed it back then, telling me not to treat you like you were mentally unstable.

"And yet, here you are, knowing the names and habits of nearly everyone."

"...That doesn’t mean we’re close."

As I denied it, Cashy suddenly appeared and waved at me.

...And I found myself returning the wave.

Gepetto smirked as he watched.

"Hmph."

"Hehehe... Well, it's getting dark. I should be heading home."

Lately, unsettling rumors had been spreading around the village.

Maybe that was why he was being cautious.

Gepetto turned to leave.

And then—

I noticed something off.

"Wait—your leg."

Gepetto was limping.

"Ah. I tripped the other day. Something jumped out from the woods—it reeked of the sea. I didn't see it clearly, but... probably just a wild animal."

"Wait here."

I quickly crafted a cane.

"Don’t overwork yourself at your age."

"How much?"

"It’s free. Consider it a gift."

"Then, as a return gift—"

"I already know."

I had heard.

From Tom.

That Gepetto had been going around promoting my work.

"Why? Why are you looking out for me so much?"

Gepetto chuckled.

His eyes were gentle.

The warmth of a father gazing at his child.

—Again, a pang of something I couldn't explain.

"I simply praised good craftsmanship. That’s all.

"And, well... you seemed lonely."

"You’re still young. Don’t act like an old man who’s lost everything he once held dear."

I could hear it.

His own pain in those words.

Gepetto himself had lost people.

And in me—

He saw the same emptiness that he carried.

An empty hole where someone precious used to be.

And the only way to fill it—

Was with new precious things.

Even if the hole was never completely filled—

The effort to fill it was what mattered.

I wouldn’t admit it outright, but—

His interference had helped fill my hollow space.

"Your meddling was... not entirely useless."

"Hahahaha!"

Gepetto laughed heartily as he walked away.

I began cleaning up.

Unusable wood and scrap metal needed to be disposed of.

I threw them into the black hole.

The same system from the game.

A disposal bin that accepted only items.

Not people.

...That was reassuring.

I had been here for a long time.

Yet I still hadn’t found a way back.

I thought that by fulfilling requests like in the game, I would eventually see an ending.

But...

Maybe—

I had to craft weapons.

All the weapon recipes in my mind were going to waste.

But this village was peaceful.

There was no danger.

Then why—

Why had the game required so many weapons?

That thought—

I should have paid more attention to it.

"KYAAAAAH—!!!"

"BELL! BELL IS DEAD!"

It happened without warning.

Creatures crawled out from the sea.

Their tentacles writhed as the stench of salt and rot filled the air.

The village was under attack.

People screamed.

Those without weapons were ripped apart by the spears of the sea-dwelling horrors.

The town guard fought desperately to protect the others.

In the distance—

I saw Gepetto.

Charging forward—

With nothing but a farming tool.

"I’m sorry to ask this of someone who hasn’t been in our village for long—

"But please! Stay here and forge us weapons!

"People are dying!"

—No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Why is this happening?!