A slow, loud clap brought the ghosts' activity to a halt. Every ghost working on the roof, those mixing cement, and the assistants turned their attention toward the sound.
There, standing atop the rubble, was Mikel.
"Everyone, attention," he raised his voice, waiting until every ghost on the site was looking at him.
Confusion quickly appeared on their faces—at least for those who still had faces or heads. Arthur, standing nearby, furrowed his brows.
"Mikel, what's going on?" Arthur asked.
Mikel's mouth stretched into a forced smile. "I know I bailed on you guys early last night, and first, I want to apologize for that."
Some of the ghosts chuckled, while others showed their appreciation for Mikel's honesty. A very few didn't share their sentiments.
"Don't worry too much about that. As the only living being in this renovation, the physical strain must have been too much," Arthur said aloud, his tone polite. "Don't beat yourself up for that."
"Arthur already told us what happened last night!" another ghost yelled from the roof. "You should rest more, boss! Staying up late for a kid will stunt your growth!"
"Boss is already tall, though," another ghost remarked, while a headless ghost raised a thumbs-up in agreement.
"Don't apologize, boss," the old engineer chuckled. "We're just glad you gave us a chance to resolve our regrets and unfinished business."
Arthur's daughter skipped toward Mikel, clutching her stuffed bunny close. She held out a piece of paper, showing him her drawing.
It was a simple stick-figure sketch, portraying the broken house and everyone working on it as if they were just ordinary people—not headless ghosts or wandering spirits, just… normal folks.
"Big brother is good," she said, her eyes brimming with gratitude and innocence.
With her sweet voice, every ghost smiled and nodded. Even those without faces managed to express their appreciation for the young teen who had given them purpose and hope. Despite their initial skepticism, things weren't that bad.
But what they didn't know was that their gratitude weighed heavier on Mikel than he could bear. It felt like a boulder pressing on his back, grinding him bit by bit.
Mikel forced a smile, concealing the burden of their grateful hearts, just as he always did with every weight that threatened to pull him under.
"Well, that's kind of you," he mused. "But since I left early last night and managed to get a very—very—long sleep, I used the extra time to do some reading about… you."
His words replaced their smiles with puzzled looks.
"What I'm saying is… I heard that while ghosts might not feel hunger, you can still enjoy food," he explained, gesturing to a makeshift altar he'd built, laden with takeout foods the dead might like.
Incense burned softly on the altar, surrounded by offerings of fruit and snacks he'd read were favored by spirits, and an offering prayer for them.
One by one, surprise overtook the ghosts' faces as they stared at the altar. Slowly, they gathered around it, curiosity flickering in their faded eyes. Most seemed skeptical—until—
The little girl, Arthur's daughter, reached out and picked up a grape. Nothing happened physically, but everything had a spirit in this world. And because this altar was meant for them, they could take whatever was offered.
"Papa!" She turned to Arthur and held the grape up to him.
Arthur smiled faintly, crouching down to her level. "You should eat it, sweetheart. Papa can't—"
His words stopped as she gently shoved the grape into his mouth. His eyes widened in surprise. The sweet and slightly tart flavor filled his senses, real and refreshing.
The little girl giggled before taking another grape and flashing the other ghosts a bright smile. "It's sweet! Papa likes it!" Then she popped the grape into her own mouth, nodding happily at her father.
The rest of the ghosts exchanged looks, then rushed toward the altar, grabbing whatever they could—peeled oranges, grapes, anything.
As they tasted the offerings, their faces shimmered with faint life. Every bite seemed to awaken a long-forgotten sensation of taste. Their dull eyes flickered with something almost alive.
They could taste it all—the sweetness, the tinge of sourness, the burst of juice, everything.
Mikel stood apart from them, his jaw secretly clenched tight. A bitter taste burned at the back of his tongue as he watched the scene he'd created. An act of salvation and sin; a banquet for the dead, a bribe for his gnawing conscience.
If feeding guilt with goodwill counted as redemption, then tonight's spontaneous ghost banquet might just earn him a halo. Too bad it came with a side of exploitation.
[Mercy and manipulation in one act. Efficient as always, Master.]
Shut up, Doom. The moment I find a way to hurt you guys… you're first in line.
As he watched the scene unfold, a chuckle caressed his ears.
"Haha!" The ghost engineer laughed, approaching Mikel with his hands clasped behind his back.
His face was deeply wrinkled, a testament to his claim that he had died of old age. "Look how happy they are."
Mikel didn't respond at first, though he quietly agreed. "Sir, aren't you going to join them? Or… are the offerings too little?"
"Little? Haha. No," the ghost engineer chuckled, his gaze soft as he watched the excited ghosts. It was the first time he'd seen a group of spirits so lively.
"That's more than enough, I believe. It's just… I've had plenty of offerings in my resting place. I'm full," he explained with a shallow laugh, casting Mikel another knowing glance. "You're a kind soul, kid. Maybe that's why you were given that gift."
Mikel's brows lifted slightly in surprise. For some reason, the old engineer's words struck a part of him he didn't even know existed.
"I haven't been a ghost as long as the others," the old man continued, his smile softening. "But what you're doing… makes things a little tolerable."
Mikel pressed his lips into a thin line, saying nothing.
"And… I think rebuilding this home as my last project is more memorable than all the ones I built when I was alive," the ghost engineer chuckled. "Funny, isn't it? The irony of it all."
He turned his gaze back to the other ghosts, who were lost in jubilation, savoring the fleeting gift of taste.
Mikel watched the old man's side profile, his faint smile slowly fading. His eyes shifted to where the ghosts gathered: Arthur and his daughter laughing as they shared a meal, ghosts cheerfully dancing as they tried more, and a few arguing over who took the last piece of orange.
He quietly clasped his hand in a tight fist, his jaw tightening, his shoulders trembling with immense pressure. The bracelet on his wrist glowed faintly, clasping tighter around him as if pondering, "Which one tastes more like regret?"
[They adore you, Master. That makes it easier, doesn't it?]
Mikel's gaze flicked to the screen hovering at the edge of his vision. He swallowed hard, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of his neck. Snapping his attention back to the ghosts, his eyes sharpened with silent resolve, leaving only one question lingering:
What would he become?
And somehow, the slight grip on his wrist and its burning warmth on his skin gave him a silent answer.