Chapter 78: Saiki Kusuo Feels Mentally Exhausted

Saiki Kusuo could, of course, instantly teleport everyone out of this mess. However, the others, completely caught up in the unfolding drama, clearly hadn't even considered this possibility. They just stood there, frowning worriedly.

"Honestly," Abel admitted with a wry smile, "you all keep talking about this 'female ghost,' but the truth is, I still haven't actually seen what she looks like."

Regarding the ghost's appearance, aside from Pietro, no one had gotten a clear look.

As the only eyewitness, Pietro felt he had the most right to speak. "Didn't I just tell you I ran into her?" he began, puffing his chest out slightly. "Seriously though, that ghost was ugly as sin. Not only was she always wearing the same set of outdated white clothes, but she was totally cross-eyed! Oh, and she has a nasty temper. I offered a tiny bit of constructive criticism, and she flipped me the bird!"

The rest of the group: "..."

"Wait," Lin, the fashionable woman, suddenly interjected, realization dawning on her face. "You said she wore white, was cross-eyed, and gave you the middle finger?" She looked at Pietro urgently, seeking confirmation.

"Yeah, that's right," Pietro nodded, then added jokingly, "Why? You know her?"

Lin shook her head. "No, I don't know her personally. But your description... I definitely remember seeing her face somewhere! The lounge? No... a guest room? No, that's not it either... The reception hall! Yes, that's it! When the manager first brought us in, I glanced over at the registration counter, and there was a photo sitting there – a woman who looked exactly like you described! I remember thinking at the time, 'Wow, the owner of this hotel has some weird taste. Is this photo supposed to ward off evil spirits or something?'"

"If her photo was displayed prominently like that," Abel deduced quickly, "she must have been close to the owners, the couple who ran this place. Eight or nine times out of ten, she's probably family. Let's go! We should check it out; maybe we can find some clues."

"Exactly!" Joan added excitedly. "And if she's family, maybe we can find out her birth date and time or something! Then Mike's book method might actually work!"

"Alright then, let's go find it!" Pietro declared to the group. And with that, the small troop headed somewhat grandly towards the downstairs reception area.

Saiki, momentarily left behind or perhaps just choosing to observe, couldn't help but complain internally. (Didn't you literally just say that method looked completely unreliable? What's with the sudden burst of enthusiasm?)

The "group" heading downstairs, it turned out, consisted only of Abel and Saiki's foursome (Saiki, Peter, Pietro, Wanda). Abel's two mistresses, Lin and Julian, had flat-out refused to leave the relative safety of the lounge. Abel had tried scaring them ("The ghost will come for you once we leave!"), but the Black rapping man confidently declared the lounge a designated "safe room," impervious to ghosts, just like in horror games. Saiki, reading the rapper's thoughts, confirmed the man was indeed approaching this entire situation as if it were a survival horror game.

Unable to convince the women otherwise, and clearly not trusting the "useless straw bag" rapper to protect them, Abel reluctantly left Ryan and Joan behind to stand guard. Ryan looked distinctly unhappy with this arrangement, opening his mouth as if to argue, but after glancing nervously at Peter and Pietro, he clamped his jaw shut and slumped onto a stool resentfully.

Once downstairs, the search party found the reception area drastically changed from when they first arrived. The place had been thoroughly ransacked, furniture overturned, papers scattered everywhere. Strangely, none of them had heard any commotion; it must have been the ghost's doing. Fortunately, the photograph Lin remembered was still sitting on the counter.

The photo depicted a young woman, likely in her early twenties. Her style screamed rebellious youth—nose ring, lip ring, heavy smoky eye makeup. She was sticking her tongue out defiantly at the camera while simultaneously flipping it the bird. Beneath the photo, a date was scrawled: June 7th, 20XX – a little over six months ago.

Pietro reached out to pick up the photo frame. Suddenly, a hand, grotesquely scarred and pale, shot out from beneath the reception counter, clamping onto his wrist with surprising strength.

He looked down. The female ghost was emerging, head tilted back, staring up at him with eyes burning with venomous hatred and a clear warning.

Abel yelped in fright and instinctively tried to kick the apparition, but the ghost was faster. Her other hand darted out, grabbing Abel's ankle in an icy grip.

THUMP!

Abel lost his balance and crashed hard onto the floor. The ghost loomed over him, mouth opening wide, emitting a series of disturbing, guttural clicking sounds, like wet pebbles rattling in a jar.

Now what? Saiki deadpanned internally. Finished cosplaying Sadako, are we moving on to Kayako now?

Compared to Abel, Pietro, having encountered this ghost before, remained remarkably calm. He shot a disdainful look towards Peter and Wanda, who were both visibly startled, his expression clearly conveying, 'Seriously? Getting all worked up over this at your age?'

The ghost's lower body seemed partially phased through the floorboards, giving her a translucent appearance, yet Pietro knew from experience that she felt disconcertingly solid to the touch. With his free hand, he reached down and planted his palm firmly on her forehead. Exerting his superior strength, he forcibly shoved her head down, pushing her deeper into the floor.

Seeing her struggling face trapped within the floorboards, looking up at him with rage, Pietro paused for a moment, seemingly considering his options... then promptly sat down hard right on top of her head.

"OW!" He immediately leaped back up, clutching his backside and yelping in pain. "You bit my ass! You shameless woman!"

(Honestly, who's the shameless one here?) Saiki thought, exasperated. (Just how desperate for physical contact are you, Pietro, that you'd even stoop to sitting on a female ghost?)

As Pietro furiously admonished the ghost, she let out an ear-splitting shriek – "AAAAHHHHHH!" – abruptly releasing both Pietro's wrist and Abel's ankle. With a sound like rushing air (swoosh!), she vanished completely.

Saiki knew exactly why she'd fled. She felt violated, defiled by Pietro's... unique counter-attack... and had retreated in a state of pure, humiliated rage. (Pietro, Saiki concluded grimly, truly a man as fundamentally terrifying in his own way as Nendou.)

Pietro rubbed his stinging buttock, already imagining the teeth marks the ghost must have left. He fumed silently. If that weird book method actually works, I'm definitely biting her back. Having made this solemn vow, he glanced over at Abel. The man was still sitting on the floor, eyes wide with shock, pointing dumbly at the spot where the ghost had disappeared, his mouth trembling uncontrollably.

After a long, silent moment, Abel finally managed to choke out, "Holy... shit! It really is a ghost!"

Pietro rolled his eyes. "What did you think?" He stood up, brushing himself off, and retrieved the photo from its frame. The date beneath confirmed what they'd seen. He turned it over. There was writing on the back:

In memory of Clarice's 23rd Birthday.

(This is...) Saiki began to internally critique, (...absolutely! Con! Trived! Even Pietro and the others, as caught up in this nonsense as they are, surely won't fall for such an obvious—)

His internal monologue was abruptly cut off by cheers from the group.

"Okay, the person in the photo looks a bit different from the ghost," Peter admitted, "but I'm sure that's her!"

Wanda nodded eagerly. "Yes! This is great! We have a name!"

Saiki: "..." Alright. Clearly, I overestimated their collective intelligence. Furthermore, didn't Pietro just physically grapple with the ghost? Why are they still fixated on that completely unreliable, disgusting folk remedy from the book? Where is the basic logic?! Feeling increasingly like a detached observer stuck on the periphery of a game he couldn't properly join, Saiki Kusuo felt profoundly, mentally exhausted.

Sometimes, he mused sadly, being too smart was its own unique form of helplessness.

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