Chapter 107: The Archive Room

Chapter 107: Chapter 107: The Archive Room

Haruki expected answers.

That was his first mistake.

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The second mistake was arriving early.

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People who arrived early usually expected progress.

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Progress implied logic.

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The leak investigation had shown very little interest in logic so far.

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At 9:12 AM, Haruki entered Tachibana Media’s headquarters.

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The building looked expensive.

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Not flashy.

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Confident.

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The sort of confidence money developed after surviving several decades.

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Haruki disliked it immediately.

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Which probably meant it worked.

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Suzune met him in the lobby.

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Coffee in one hand.

Tablet in the other.

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The natural state of editors.

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"You look terrible."

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"Good morning to you too."

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"That was good morning."

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Fair.

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Probably fair.

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The elevator carried them upward.

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Neither spoke.

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Not because the atmosphere was tense.

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Because both were thinking.

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Different problems.

Same direction.

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Eventually Haruki showed her the message.

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The employee is innocent. Tomorrow, ask Suzune about the archive room.

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Suzune read it once.

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Then again.

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Then sighed.

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A long sigh.

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The kind produced by people whose workday had just become worse.

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"You know where the archive room is?"

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Haruki blinked.

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"No."

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"Good."

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That sounded concerning.

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Very concerning.

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The elevator doors opened.

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They entered a quiet section of the building.

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Fewer people.

Less movement.

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Older floors.

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The atmosphere changed subtly.

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Modern offices became storage areas.

Storage areas became records departments.

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Eventually Suzune stopped before a locked door.

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Archive Management.

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Interesting name.

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No.

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Still banned.

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Suzune unlocked the door.

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The room stretched farther than expected.

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Shelves.

Boxes.

Documents.

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Years of industry history.

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Some digital.

Some physical.

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Most forgotten.

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"Why are we here?"

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Suzune looked around carefully before answering.

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"Because somebody shouldn’t know this room exists."

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A pause.

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"Yet your message mentions it."

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That mattered.

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A lot.

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The assistant editor walked deeper into the archive.

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Haruki followed.

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Dust.

Old paper.

Silent air conditioning.

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The atmosphere felt strangely detached from the rest of the company.

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Like a place forgotten by time.

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Eventually Suzune stopped beside a row of older filing cabinets.

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Then pointed.

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"These."

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Haruki frowned.

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"What am I looking at?"

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The answer surprised him.

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"Creator project records."

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A pause.

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"Cancelled ones."

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Something tightened in his chest.

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Not because of Ghost Project.

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Because cancelled projects felt dangerous to creators.

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Every creator imagined failure.

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Very few enjoyed looking directly at it.

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Suzune opened one drawer.

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Folders filled the space.

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Dozens.

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Hundreds.

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Years of abandoned ideas.

Failed launches.

Industry casualties.

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The sight felt heavier than expected.

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Then Haruki noticed something.

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One section sat partially empty.

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Not full.

Not organized.

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Missing.

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Several folders were gone.

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The labels remained.

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The files didn’t.

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Suzune noticed his expression.

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"Exactly."

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The word arrived quietly.

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No drama.

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No mystery music.

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Just concern.

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Haruki stepped closer.

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Several project names remained visible.

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Most unfamiliar.

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One wasn’t.

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Ghost Project.

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The folder slot existed.

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The folder didn’t.

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Silence.

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Actual silence.

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Because for the first time, Ghost Project became tangible.

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Not a rumor.

Not a conversation.

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A missing file.

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A physical absence.

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That somehow felt more real.

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Haruki looked toward Suzune.

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"What happened?"

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The assistant editor folded her arms.

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Then gave the least satisfying answer possible.

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"We don’t know."

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Of course.

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Naturally—

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No.

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Not saying it.

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The file disappeared years ago.

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No record of removal.

No digital transfer.

No archive request.

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Nothing.

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The explanation sounded impossible.

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Yet there it was.

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An empty slot.

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Evidence of absence.

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The worst kind of evidence.

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Haruki examined the labels nearby.

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Several names appeared.

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Old creator collaborations.

Industry initiatives.

Publishing experiments.

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Then something caught his attention.

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A familiar name.

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Kuroda.

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Not Ghost Project.

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Another file.

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A completely different project.

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Still present.

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Still intact.

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Haruki reached toward it.

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Suzune stopped him immediately.

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"No."

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Fast.

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Very fast.

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The reaction surprised both of them.

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Suzune looked away.

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Then sighed.

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"Not today."

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The answer created more questions than it solved.

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Again.

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The industry apparently specialized in that.

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A phone rang somewhere behind them.

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Then another.

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The quiet atmosphere cracked.

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Reality returned.

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Work continued.

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Life interrupted.

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Good.

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Very good.

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The interruption prevented another neat revelation.

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Exactly what this arc needed.

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As they left the archive room, Haruki’s phone buzzed.

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System Notification.

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Hidden Quest Updated

Creator’s Crossroads:

Completed

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New Hidden Quest:

Missing Pages

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Objective:

Identify why records disappeared.

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Progress:

3%

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Warning:

Curiosity and usefulness are not the same thing.

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The notification vanished.

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For once, Haruki disliked the quest.

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Not because it was mysterious.

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Because it felt distracting.

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The manga remained struggling.

The public criticism remained active.

The contract remained unfinished.

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And now another mystery wanted attention.

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Dangerous.

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Very dangerous.

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Back downstairs, Suzune stopped beside the exit.

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Neither spoke for a moment.

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People moved around them.

Meetings continued.

Phones rang.

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Normal business.

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Eventually Suzune asked:

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"How’s the Chapter performing?"

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Not the leak.

Not Ghost Project.

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The Chapter.

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The work.

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Haruki almost smiled.

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Almost.

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"Bad."

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The answer came easily.

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"No improvement?"

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"Not really."

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Suzune nodded.

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Then surprised him.

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"Good."

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Not again.

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Please.

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The assistant editor ignored his expression.

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"If you’re still worried about the work, you’re looking in the right direction."

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The statement wasn’t profound.

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Which made it useful.

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Before Haruki could respond, another email arrived.

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New message.

Unknown sender.

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Subject:

You Found The Wrong File

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Haruki stopped walking.

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Opened it.

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One sentence.

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Ghost Project isn’t what disappeared.

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The message ended there.

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No explanation.

No signature.

No context.

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Just another push.

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Another nudge.

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Another attempt to steer him somewhere.

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The pattern finally became obvious.

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Someone wasn’t hiding information.

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Someone was guiding him toward it.

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And that realization felt far more dangerous than any missing file.

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Because manipulation required intention.

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And intention meant somebody still cared what Haruki discovered.

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The question was why.

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Unfortunately, that question followed him all the way back to Chapter Twenty-Eight.

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Which remained unfinished.

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Waiting.

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Patiently reminding him that mysteries weren’t the only things demanding attention.