Delusion Home Shopping #4-168 Studio.
In the filming set where the lights had suddenly gone out and darkness and silence had fallen, the only thing ringing out was the pleasant male voice coming from the smartphone in my hand.
The host’s voice.
[Come to think of it, “Friend of the Talk Show,” you still don’t really know how the forced collection of broadcasting fees works, do you?]
When I raised my head, I saw the terror-stricken face of the Delusion Home Shopping show host.
It looked like a screaming ghost, with every hole in its features stretched wide.
[Shall we take a look? You’ll be able to watch it unfold in real time, right in front of you…]
[N-no, do—]
[First, there is the fee billed by the platform. Oh, the Late-Night Talk Show is transmitted through the venerable ■■■■■크. The price for a rival company’s program in the same time slot trying to piggyback on that transmission from such an isolated and remote place is…]
He explained kindly.
[Hm, about the amount of the rental deposit on this modest, shabby little studio.]
[No!]
I raised a hand.
My hand was trembling.
No.
The entire studio was trembling.
[It has begun.]
[Wait, stop—stop for a second!]
As though in answer to that scream, the studio began to lose its vitality.
“…!”
As though a lump of hot, freshly baked bread had gone cold, dried out, and turned into a moldy clump of grain, some lively quality that had made up the studio was being sucked away.
Up above.
Toward an indescribable, strangeandvastanddeepandfarandmoremultilayered dimension.
If…