Early the next morning, Stein and Antonio came down from the second floor, discussing while holding their heads as if they had lost their memory from the night before. They even forgot how they had gotten back.
Upon arriving on the first floor, they were shocked to see me lying on the recliner.
"What the hell, Little Boss, what… happened to you? Who beat you up like this?"
"Mr. Roger, what on earth happened last night? Who did this to you? I'll settle the score with them."
Looking at me—my face bruised and swollen, bandaged up like a mummy—both of them were furious, but they could barely remember the events of the previous night, only vaguely recalling what had happened before the ghost possessed them.
I waved my hand, signaling them to drop the subject. I didn't dare to bring it up again. That damn woman Stella—her hands were seriously heavy. She nearly paralyzed me. Wasn't it just taking a little advantage? I was forced into it! If I hadn't made it look real, do you really think ghosts are that easy to fool? I'd better avoid messing with her in the future—I still want to live a few more decades.
When I refused to explain, Antonio and Stein guessed that I must have harassed some female classmate on campus and gotten beaten up for it.
I couldn't be bothered to deal with them. Last night, despite being seriously injured, I still dragged the two of you back—was that easy for me? Everyone else woke up later, but these two useless idiots wouldn't stir. When the security guards came, I had no choice but to improvise. Next time, I'm not bringing them along.
One of them should focus on attracting customers, and the other should just mind the shop's reputation—stop causing trouble for others.
In the afternoon, Stella brought Harper again. Harper looked terrible, seemingly in an extremely foul mood, and she didn't say a word when she saw me.
Instead, it was Stella who sneered at me: "Wow, you're pretty tough—not dead yet."
"Thanks to your concern, miss. I'll live another eighty or a hundred years." I shot back sarcastically.
"Oh? Bandaged up like a mummy, but still got an attitude, huh?" Stella crossed her arms and reached out curiously to lift my bandages, but I smacked her hand away.
"Alright, what's the matter today?" I was too tired to argue with her—the longer this went on, the worse it'd be for me. I really didn't want to end up paralyzed.
Stella pointed at Harper. "Get her tattoo removed. I admit you were right—the tattoo sings, and it's a real killer. Thank God nothing worse happened last night."
"Sorry…" Harper muttered to us. It seemed Stella had already told her about the previous night—how evil the tattoo was. I guessed both she and Stella had witnessed it by now.
Harper's only hope was gone, so of course she couldn't be happy. She might never be a singer for the rest of her life, but there was no way around it—it was her fate. We'd done everything we could.
I helped her completely remove the Ghosts Performing Opera tattoo and refunded her money. This time, it was my turn to be unhappy—and in extreme pain. That was a whole $100,000! A perfect example of the cooked duck flying away.
Even with the money returned, Harper remained just as miserable. Her last hope was shattered, leaving only endless despair. But she was still young, decent-looking, and came from a good family. There were plenty of other things she could do in the future.
Stella kept comforting Harper, but Harper finally said, "I won't give up. Singing is my lifelong dream. I'll persevere to the end, and I'll definitely cure my voice."
Her expression was firm, almost defiant. I couldn't help but worry for her—people like this often went off the deep end. Who knew what she might do?
Being too obsessive wasn't a good thing.
When Harper left, she didn't go with Stella. Their sudden parting ways made Stella a little uncomfortable, but she just shrugged helplessly and headed back to school. Harper went the other direction—no one knew where she intended to go. Stella had wanted to follow her, but Harper refused, and Stella gave in.
That afternoon, Hames called with good news. Before, he'd always called me little old me, but now, over the phone, he addressed me as Master—because my tattoo had worked.
Hames said that last night at the nightclub, he'd felt much better. While in his office, the club's beautiful manager suddenly came in to talk to him. Somehow, Hames got the urge and, without a word, pushed her down onto the couch. To his surprise, he performed normally—three times in a row—without any issues.
Hames thanked me profusely, calling me a true master. He said all those other quacks he'd consulted were just a waste of money, completely useless. From now on, if I ever needed anything, I could count on him. He loved making friends with unusual people like me.
Now that's how a real boss acts—one word from him, and things get done. Some luck just can't be envied.
Hames might have been hiding things from me, but Christoph said he was righteous and well-connected. Since he wanted to be friends, I had no reason to refuse. Connections like these—the more, the better. Extra hands in critical moments never hurt.
After hanging up, I felt much more relaxed. At least the Five Poisons tattoo hadn't caused any accidents—congratulations were in order. With Hames's background, he could handle a lot of my troubles. Even though he was the one who'd insisted on the tattoo, outsiders wouldn't know that!
Vervecity Tattoos has inked so many Gods and Ghosts tattoos. Harper's case was an accident - the others have no problems. Those who met bad ends brought it upon themselves, either through greed or wickedness.
I squatted in the shop all day, but no new customers came knocking. This couldn't continue, so I drove Stein out to solicit customers. This guy couldn't slack off, or my business would never improve. I couldn't support him for nothing.
At night, I suddenly heard someone knocking on the window. Too lazy to move, I sent Antonio to check. If it was intentional troublemaking, I told him to catch the person so I could give them a proper beating - probably just some bratty kids. These damn undisciplined children - if their parents won't teach them, I'll help out. That's glass - what if it gets broken from the knocking?
Antonio hadn't even been gone five minutes when I heard a "Wow!" Suddenly he came stumbling back through the window, looking terrible, as if he'd seen something horrifying.
I asked what was wrong. He was panicking - was that window knocker actually a ghost?
Antonio stared at me wordlessly, his expression frozen. "No way? Am I right?" I asked.
Antonio nodded, not even daring to blink as he stared toward the window.
"Tell me exactly what happened. Don't give me this mysterious act. Was it really a ghost knocking?"
Antonio said when he went to look, he suddenly saw a child hanging on the window - like a shadow, but its eyes met Antonio's through the glass, looking utterly evil!
The child hanging on the window was smiling, its grin reflected in the glass, looking somewhat ghastly.
Antonio cursed, demanding to know whose child it was and telling it to get down, threatening to catch and beat it if it kept messing around.
The child ignored him, continuing to hang there. Enraged, Antonio tried opening the window to shake it down. But when he yanked the window open, the child's head gurgled and rolled down like a ball to Antonio's feet, grinning up at him with a strange laugh - while its body remained hanging in the window, still waving at Antonio.
Antonio shivered, his scalp tingling as he demanded who this kid was and why it was knocking.
At least Antonio had some courage - if this were Stein, he'd probably have fled in terror.
The child didn't answer, just screamed "Wow!" at Antonio, its mouth full of blood with rotten worms crawling between its teeth - utterly horrifying.
Antonio couldn't take it anymore and stormed out.
"What the hell? If this is true, then my tattoo parlor really is haunted! But we shouldn't have provoked any supernatural entities either!"
I hurriedly dragged Antonio back to the window to verify his story. Strangely enough, there was no child to be seen. I even went outside and circled the building, but couldn't find the child Antonio had described. However, beneath the window, against the corner of the wall, there was a row of bloody footprints.
Judging by the size, they were clearly a child's footprints. Though I didn't find the child Antonio mentioned, he wouldn't lie about something like this. It seemed my shop was indeed haunted - as if some special "presence" had come visiting.