My muse

The soul

All of Chally’s mind and strength disappeared; fear engulfed and tormented him in the endless darkness.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but Chally felt as if he had become a weightless bubble.

“Fiff! Fiff!”

Chally’s vision was blurry, like covered by layers of dust—it took a while before he could see clearly. In front of him was a tattoo parlor filled with unique designs, and the buzzing sound of needles hitting flesh echoed around.

A cold-looking guy with striking red hair was lazily lying on a sofa. Only when someone called out did he slowly sit up.

“Fiff! Your wife is looking for you outside!”

As if something had triggered him, the man called Fiff rushed out. He ran straight toward Chally. Chally was frightened, instinctively wanting to dodge, but it was too late. He thought they were going to collide but no, Fiff passed right through him!

As if Chally didn’t exist!

That hollow feeling surged up even stronger.

Utterly confused, Chally hurried after the man.

But then, he realized something terrifying—his feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. No, it was like his entire body was disconnected from this world.

He quickly moved toward a mirror. The surface reflected the other customers and tattoo artists chatting in the back, but his own reflection was completely absent.

Clearly, he could see his own hands, the wool sweater he was wearing… It seemed only he could see himself he now resembled a ghost.

This was too horrifying for Chally. He had to find Rid! Yes, all of this surely started with that cursed album, and Rid Calivet would know what to do to fix this mess.

Rid Calivet was a damn bastard! Though, in truth, all of this might have been caused by Chally’s own stupid confession at the wrong time. He didn’t want to admit it, but Rid was the only salvation he could think of now.

The problem was… where was Rid?

And this tattoo parlor—Chally was certain a place like this didn’t exist in his town.

“Everything is going horribly wrong!” Chally stormed out of the parlor.

The autumn sky was painted with a sorrowful shade of red—awful—and he hoped he wouldn’t end up cursing it.

“Gotcha!!”

What?

A voice filled with excitement rang out. Before he could process what was happening, Chally found himself trapped inside a glass jar.

Now he was definitely cursing himself.

He couldn’t escape. The wooden lid smacked his head every time he tried to pass through it, sending a sharp pain through him.

Tiny like a fairy in a fairytale—and miserable.

Chally looked up, and the golden gleam from a monocle stunned him.

Rid?

And that outfit? That messy hair with some strands sticking up? He looked like a homeless man wandering the streets—or perhaps an old artist roaming through the snow-covered streets of Paris in search of inspiration.

It didn’t matter.

Thinking so, Chally shouted, “You bastard! Damn it! Rid! Let me out! What the hell is this mess?”

The man, presumably Rid, frowned. His nose twitched, as if sniffing something. “Huh! A pure soul!”

“Hey! Are you listening? Rid!”

To Rid, Chally now looked like a chattering monkey bouncing around, causing the jar to tremble.

Chally’s buck teeth scraped against the glass, leaving faint scratch marks.

“Rid” leaned in to examine him. “Hmm? Looks like you’re trying to say something?”

Chally stared at him in hope. But a moment later, the man slipped Chally into his coat pocket.

“Hey! Rid! You jerk! Let me out!”

The noise gradually faded into silence.

“Hey…” Chally was finally taken out of the pocket after a terrifying moment in the dark.

“Rid” placed him on the table, then shrugged off his worn-out coat and laid it on the chair.

Chally quietly observed everything through the glass.

The room was full of books, a poster of Sherlock Holmes taped on the wall, a tobacco pipe lying carelessly on a shelf still filled with ash, and an open book next to Chally—Hercule Poirot: Five Little Pigs.

Chally began to doubt… who was this man?

After sitting down on the sofa and taking a puff from his cigarette, “Rid” finally approached Chally.

He lifted the jar up to eye level. “Got something to say?”

Chally blinked.

“Rid” opened the jar.

Chally’s head spun. When he regained focus, he was sitting on the table, his legs dangling comfortably in the air—after all, he had gotten used to being weightless.

“Rid! Please fix whatever this weird mess is!” Chally tried to grab the man’s collar, but his hand passed straight through Rid’s body.