The hallway outside the storage room felt colder than before. The once flickering lights now stayed dim but steady, casting a yellowish hue across the perfectly polished marble floor. The air had a strange, sterile scent—like a place cleaned thoroughly but recently vacated by something not quite human. Aaron's footsteps echoed sharply as he made his way back toward the main hall.
He turned a corner—and froze.
Leah.
She stood halfway down the hall, her back to him. Dressed now in the same crisp black-and-white server's uniform, she seemed almost statuesque for a moment. Then she turned—eyes wide with a mixture of fear and urgency—and upon recognizing him, immediately looked away. Her lips pressed into a tight line. She didn't say a word. Instead, she quickened her pace, almost jogging past him, barely brushing his shoulder as she vanished into another corridor.
Aaron blinked. What the hell happened to her?
She looked like she'd seen something—or worse, understood something the rest of them hadn't yet. But there was no time to ask. Not here. Not now.
He shook it off and pushed forward.
---
He reached the main hall just as Eli was stepping nervously from another corridor. His uniform hung awkwardly on his lean frame, and his hands fidgeted constantly at his sides.
"Looks like we were both assigned to Hall No. 2," Eli said, nodding toward the massive double doors ahead of them. A small metallic plate engraved with curling silver letters read:
Restaurant No. 2
Aaron's eyes scanned the surroundings. A total of five such doors lined the far side of the hall—five separate dining areas, each larger than most entire houses. He could barely fathom the scale of this place. How many guests did they serve?
A glowing digital screen beside the door suddenly flickered to life, text appearing in a crimson hue:
---
Welcome to Service Protocol Phase 1
Assigned Servers: Aaron, Eli
Opening Time: 00:02:13
Additional Staff: 4 Ghost Servants Assigned
Instructions: Prepare the dining area. All utensils must be polished, tables aligned, and candles lit. Disobedience will be punished.
---
Aaron exchanged a glance with Eli.
Without a word, they pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into Restaurant Hall No. 2.
---
The dining room was breathtaking in a haunting sort of way. White tablecloths so clean they gleamed under the chandeliers. Golden candleholders flickered with waxless flames. The air was laced with faint perfume—rose, lavender, and something older… decay barely masked by civility.
But what truly drew Aaron's attention were the four figures moving between the tables.
They wore the same uniform. They polished silverware, straightened place settings, and bowed gracefully.
At first glance, they looked like ordinary workers.
Then Aaron saw their eyes.
Too bright. Too still. And their movements, while precise, lacked life—automated like puppets strung on invisible cords.
One turned toward them, its smile fixed.
"Welcome, colleagues," it said.
Aaron and Eli barely managed a nod before a bell sounded.
From the far side of the hall, a door opened with an eerie creak.
A tall figure stepped through—a man in a sleek, tailored black suit, crisp white gloves… and a giant bunny mascot head that sat absurdly atop his shoulders. Its expression was a permanent, grotesque smile stitched across its cartoonish face.
He clapped his gloved hands.
"Attention, servers!" he said, voice muffled through the bunny head but clear enough to be heard. "You are about to serve our most esteemed guests. Please remember the following mandatory rules."
A scroll of dark parchment unrolled from mid-air, blood-red letters glowing with an eerie light:
---
Restaurant No. 2 – Guest Service Protocol
1. Always smile.
2. Never address a guest by name unless they tell you to.
3. Do not refuse a request unless it violates reality.
4. If a guest offers you food, accept it and eat it with thanks.
5. Do not touch the guests.
6. Do not speak unless spoken to.
7. Never look under the tables.
8. If a guest cries, do not acknowledge it.
9. If a guest bleeds, clean the area—do not react.
10. If you hear footsteps that do not match anyone visible—close your eyes and count to ten.
---
"Failure to follow these rules may result in retraining… or removal," the manager said with an exaggerated tilt of the bunny head.
Eli leaned close to Aaron, whispering, "What does removal mean, exactly?"
Aaron didn't answer.
Because at that moment, the timer on the wall hit zero.
00:00:00
DING.
The side doors to the restaurant creaked open—and the guests arrived.
They floated rather than walked, dressed in worn evening clothes from a dozen different eras. Some glided silently; others dragged their feet with a soft scraping noise. One left a trail of black ash. Another left faint bloody footprints. Not one made eye contact. They simply took their seats—with the grace of royalty and the coldness of corpses.
Aaron moved with practiced calm, mimicking the ghost servants—pouring dark wine, setting plates, offering silent nods.
Everything was going smoothly.
Until the manager returned.
He stood directly behind Aaron, gloved hands clasped neatly in front of him.
"You," he said. "Table Six. Seat One. A private guest. Serve them. Personally."
Aaron's chest tightened.
He turned—and saw the table in question. Far in the corner, partly veiled by red silk curtains. Only one figure sat there, unmoving.
A woman, dressed in black. A veil covered her face, hands folded in her lap.
Aaron approached cautiously and placed a glass in front of her.
She didn't respond.
Seconds passed.
Then, she lifted her head—and raised a single hand, pointing at him.
"Your name," she whispered.
Rule 2: Never address a guest by name unless they tell you to.
She hadn't given hers—but she was asking for his.
Aaron hesitated. His real name? In a place like this?
No.
"Leo, ma'am."
A lie.
A deviation from truth.
A violation.
The air thickened like syrup. A low hum pierced his skull.
His pendant pulsed, and a flickering light emerged.
A tiny humanoid AI appeared on his shoulder—the Rule Breaker System.
> "Violation detected: bending truth in the presence of a Named Specter."
"Destiny's Shield activated. Penalty redirected."
"Damage absorbed. User unaffected."
Aaron felt a cold rush as something tried to claw at his spirit—but it passed, diverted, erased.
The ghost woman let out a raspy laugh.
"A liar. Good. I like liars."
Then her hand dipped beneath the table.
Aaron instinctively stepped back.
One of the ghost servants hissed from nearby, "Don't look."
He didn't. Not even when something wet slid across the floor past his boot.
"Refill my glass, Leo," the woman said sweetly.
Aaron obeyed, his hands trembling as he poured the black-red wine. Then he turned and walked away without looking back.
But before he reached Eli, he risked a glance toward the woman—only to see that behind the veil… was nothing.
No face.
Just darkness.
---
Eli looked like he'd aged ten years in ten minutes.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
Aaron nodded once. "Fine."
But his hands were still shaking.
Because just behind them, the bunny-headed manager stood perfectly still, head slightly tilted—as if amused by what he'd seen.
And in the corner, the faceless woman laughed softly, the sound echoing long after it should've faded.
The real game, Aaron realized, had just begun.