The girl was covered in blood, slumped motionless against the wall with her eyes closed.

  The beam of light from my flashlight shone directly on her face, but she showed no reaction at all, as if she had passed out.

  For a moment, I was stunned.

  Was the ghost haunting this abandoned construction site in the dead of night actually a teenage girl?

  No, aside from being "covered in blood," this girl had absolutely nothing in common with the ghost stories I'd heard through the grapevine.

  So, she was a living, breathing human? But why was she so badly injured, and why was she wearing a hospital gown in such a remote, deserted place?

  This wasn't the time to ponder that. Since she was a severely wounded person, what I needed to do next was obvious.

  I hurried over and crouched down in front of her, using my amateur knowledge to check her vital signs while pulling out my phone to call for emergency help.

  At the same time, I took a closer look at her appearance.

  She looked about thirteen or fourteen, probably still in middle school. Though her cheeks were smeared with bloodstains, it was clear she had a neat, youthful beauty, with skin so fair and delicate that it gleamed under the light. Her head tilted pitifully to one side, her medium-length black hair cascading over her shoulder.

  The blue-and-white striped hospital gown she wore was badly torn in several places, with deep red blood seeping through. This wasn't the kind of injury you'd get from a simple fall on the street or tumbling down stairs—it was clear evidence of brutal, deadly violence. There had to be a cold-blooded thug armed with a sharp weapon involved.

  The blood was fresh; she must have been hurt nearby.

  The attacker was close by!

  I scanned my surroundings and listened intently, but I didn't detect any sign of a third party. Still, I didn't let my guard down.

  It seemed I'd have to call the police too, after this.

  But I never expected that I wouldn't even get the chance to dial for help. Just as I was about to press the call button, the girl suddenly raised her arm with a strength that didn't match her delicate appearance and grabbed my wrist holding the phone.

  She weakly opened her eyes, her consciousness seeming foggy, as if she wasn't even sure if she could see my face clearly.

  "Don't call the police..." she whispered faintly.

  With that, her eyes closed again, but her hand stubbornly clung to my wrist. No matter how I called out to her, she wouldn't wake up.

  Don't call the police? Why?

  I couldn't comply with that request. Whether I called the cops or not, I had to get her medical help—I wasn't heartless enough to leave a stranger to die. And once the hospital saw her condition, they'd contact the authorities anyway.

  That's what I thought at first.

  But soon, I realized I might not even need to call for an ambulance.

  I pried her hand away, and as I did, her hospital gown shifted from the movement, revealing the skin beneath the tears.

  It looked completely unharmed.

  I immediately sensed something was off. Ignoring any concerns about propriety between men and women, I checked the wounds under her clothes.

  I hadn't expected this, but as I examined her, I encountered another serious issue—through her top, I felt something utterly unfamiliar, hard, and cold. Lifting the hem to look inside, I found a menacing object tucked away.

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  The chill of its aura shot straight to the top of my head like nothing I'd ever felt.

  It was a handgun!

  In disbelief, I pulled it out and inspected it over and over. Even as an amateur, I could tell this was the real deal!

  And if my check of her body was accurate, she was completely uninjured now.

  If that was the case, why was she in a coma-like state, as if she'd lost too much blood?

  She couldn't just be tired and wanting a nap, right?

  Whose blood was on her, then? If it wasn't hers, could it be animal blood? Come on, someone carrying a real gun—how could I believe the blood drenching her was fake?

  I had to revise my initial assumption: At first, I thought a crime had occurred here and she was the victim, but the truth might be the complete opposite of what I'd imagined.

  I needed to call the police.

  Even assuming she was innocent, a gun shouldn't be loose in civilian hands—that was the most ethical and conscientious thing to do.

  However, on this enigmatic girl, I couldn't help but sense a tantalizing allure, something far beyond my everyday experiences—a unpredictable, extraordinary dramatic potential I'd never encountered.

  A mysterious bloodstained beauty collapsed in the ruins—in all my life so far, I'd never had an encounter more surreal than this.

  In that moment, my curiosity overpowered my sense of morality.

  I was going to take her home.

  No sooner said than done.

  Once I'd made up my mind, I quickly took off my jacket and wrapped the oversized garment around her to cover her up, then scooped her up in my arms.

  I didn't have much luck with the opposite sex usually and had little resistance to them, so holding her soft body made my mind wander uncontrollably. Normally, just physical contact with a girl wouldn't send my thoughts racing like this. But right now, this unknown beauty had a fatal, poison-flower-like charm.

  She was so mysterious and dangerous, harboring the potential to shatter my life as I knew it.

  Did I really need to take her home? Even if I followed her plea and didn't call the police, I could just leave her here. But I was so curious—desperately curious—about why she was barely clothed and soaked in blood, why she was illegally carrying a firearm, and what unbelievable story lay behind it all. I had to find out.

  I carried her out of the abandoned construction site.

  The rental apartment I lived in off-campus and this site had one thing in common: both were near the university I attended, Saltwater University. The distance from here to my place wasn't far.

  The issue was that while I could take back roads for the first half to avoid prying eyes, the full route would inevitably expose me to passersby or surveillance cameras, and the security guard at the community entrance might stop me for questions.

  So, halfway there, I first hid the girl in some nearby bushes, then rushed back to my apartment alone to grab the large suitcase I'd used for moving luggage before, and hurried right back.

  On the way back, I was incredibly anxious, terrified that she'd woken up and left while I was gone, or that my luck had run out and someone had stumbled upon her in that short time.

  Fortunately, my luck wasn't that bad.

  I lifted her out of the bushes. She was petite, so curling her limbs up to fit her into the large suitcase wasn't hard. I'd worried it might be wishful thinking, but she actually fit.

  Heaven help me! When I bought this suitcase, I never imagined I'd one day be transporting an underage girl in it like some pervert from an adult thriller.

  My heart pounded, my thoughts raced wildly, but more than any sleazy ideas, what thrilled me was this utterly unconventional experience—and the version of myself taking such unconventional actions.

  Yes, this was definitely bizarre, definitely not something that happened in normal everyday life.

  What would happen next?

  I entered my residential community and glanced back at the security booth as I passed.

  The guard was idly scrolling on his phone, not even sparing a look at this suspicious guy dragging a suitcase back and forth in the middle of the night. None of the people I encountered along the way paid me any attention either.

  No matter how extraordinary this night was for me, to everyone else, it was just another ordinary day.

  I dragged the large suitcase back to my apartment.

  Thank goodness I was a college student living alone off-campus; otherwise, I wouldn't know how to explain this to my parents.

  I lifted the girl out of the suitcase. Clearly, the inside wasn't a comfortable ride—even in her deep coma, she frowned uncomfortably in her sleep.

  I was lucky the bumps along the way hadn't woken her. No matter how indifferent the people on the road and the guard were, if a cry for help from an underage girl had suddenly come from this suitcase, I'd have been in deep trouble.

  I tried once more to wake her, but as expected, it failed; she wasn't coming to anytime soon. So, I'd let her rest for now.

  I carried her to my bedroom and laid her flat on the bed.

  It wasn't ideal from a hygiene standpoint to leave her in those bloodstained clothes—the sheets and blankets were getting soiled too—but I had no intention of changing them for her myself. I'd let her do it when she woke up. If she still hadn't by tomorrow, then I'd handle it.

  For tonight, I'd sleep on the living room sofa and give her the bedroom bed. It wasn't out of some chivalrous impulse, but because if she slept in the living room, she might slip away without me noticing. With me in the living room and her in the bedroom, she'd have to pass by me to leave, which would definitely alert me.

  Just in case, I carefully balanced an empty soda can on the outside doorknob of the bedroom. It wasn't a round knob but a lever-style one, so the can sat steadily without any external force. But if she turned the knob from inside, the can would fall and make a noticeable clatter.

  Was she a witch who would bring ruin to my life, or something else? As I left the bedroom, I looked at her sleeping face, unable to suppress the heat rising in me—I could even feel the vigorous pulse in the veins behind my ears.

  I couldn't wait to see what tomorrow would bring.