Chapter 18: The Ghostly Paparazzi

Joshua's insane strategy of "fighting fire with a pop-music flamethrower" goes into immediate effect. Yui, who sees the marketing potential in "conquering your literal demons," secures the Ghoul-axy Idols their first major media appearance: a guest spot on the wildly popular late-night talk show, 'Late Night with Kenji'. It is a massive opportunity. It is also a logistical nightmare that makes my soul want to crawl out of my body and retire to a quiet monastery.

"A live television broadcast?" I ask, my voice unnervingly calm as I stare at Yui and Joshua in the living room. "You want to take our four newest ghosts, one of whom is a punk who hates authority, one is a valley girl from the 90s, one is a tyrannical class president, and one is so shy she occasionally becomes invisible, and put them on live television. In a studio. Surrounded by mortals and high-definition cameras."

"The exposure will be incredible!" Yui says, scrolling through analytics on her tablet. "Kenji's show is the number one trend-setter for their demographic."

"The risk of literal exposure will be incredible!" I counter, my voice rising. "What am I supposed to do? What happens when Nana decides the host is 'the man' and tries to smash her spectral guitar over his desk? What happens when Mika's 90s slang confuses the entire nation? What happens if Shiori has a panic attack and phases through the guest couch?!"

"You'll handle it," Joshua says with a confidence that I find both infuriating and, against my will, a little bit encouraging. "You're the Mage-Producer! You'll just whip up some new talismans. Easy peasy."

It is not easy peasy. The week leading up to the show is my own personal talisman-crafting hell. My workshop looks like a conspiracy theorist's office, with scrolls, charts, and half-finished charms covering every surface. I have to push my skills to their absolute limit, inventing solutions for problems no talisman maker in a hundred generations has ever had to consider.

For their general stability, I create a set of 'Anti-Phasing Field Emitters.' I design them to look like chic, modern belt buckles, small silver discs inscribed with microscopic runes of permanence. They project a low-level field that reinforces their corporeal forms, hopefully preventing any accidental transparency under the hot studio lights.

For the cameras, I develop the 'HD-Ready Corporeality Seal.' This is a complex charm that I have to sew into the lining of each of their stage outfits. It’s designed to fool digital sensors, bending light in a way that makes their spectral nature appear as a sort of high-quality, shimmering stage effect rather than evidence of the afterlife. It’s the magical equivalent of a really good Instagram filter.

The day of the broadcast, the mood in the van on the way to the studio is a tense cocktail of excitement and sheer terror. The girls are wearing the outfits Yui designed - a sort of punk-rock-meets-school-uniform aesthetic that somehow works. I do a final check on all their hidden talismans, my hands buzzing with the energy I’ve poured into them.

"Okay, remember the rules," I say, sounding more like a worried mother than a producer. "Reiko, you handle the talking points Yui gave you. Mika, try to keep the 'as ifs' and 'totallys' to a minimum. Nana, please, I am begging you, do not call the host a 'corporate pig'. And Shiori," I look at the librarian ghost, who is clutching her spectral book like a shield, "just breathe. You'll be great."

The backstage area of the studio is a whirlwind of frantic energy. Crew members with headsets rush past us. The air hums with electricity and nervous energy. The Ghoul-axy Idols look completely overwhelmed, their spectral forms flickering slightly despite my talismans.

The interview segment is a beautiful, slow-motion train wreck. Kenji, the host, is a slick, handsome professional who is clearly not prepared for them.

"So, Ghoul-axy Idols!" he begins with a charming smile. "Your debut has been explosive! Tell us, what's the secret to your unique, edgy sound?"

Reiko, as planned, takes the lead. "The secret is a disciplined adherence to a structured rehearsal schedule and a synergistic approach to creative output," she says, her tone more suited to a shareholder meeting than a talk show. Kenji blinks, his smile faltering for a second.

Before he can recover, Mika leans into her microphone. "It's, like, totally about the vibes! Our vibes are just, like, so radical, you know?"

The interview goes downhill from there. Nana just glares at Kenji for a full minute before he asks her a question, to which she replies, "Music should be a weapon, not background noise for your vapid chatter." Shiori, when asked what her favorite book is, gets so nervous she just holds up her spectral book, which is, of course, completely blank to everyone else in the room.

I am watching from the wings with Joshua and Yui, my soul dying a slow, painful death. But the weird thing is, the studio audience is laughing. They are not laughing at them; they seem to be laughing with them. They are charmed by their bizarre, unfiltered honesty.

Then, The Critic makes its move.

It can't manifest fully here, not in a building filled with so much electricity and so many people. But it can interfere. The first sign is a key light above the stage starting to flicker erratically. Then, the teleprompter that Kenji is reading from suddenly flashes with a new message: "YOUR JOKES ARE HACKNEYED AND YOUR GUESTS ARE A SHAM."

Kenji stumbles over his words, his professional cool finally cracking. From the wings, I see the tell-tale shimmer of dark energy coalescing around the main broadcast cable. The Nox is trying to hijack the feed.

"I need a diversion!" I hiss to Joshua.

He doesn't hesitate. He grabs a nearby tray of complimentary water bottles and "accidentally" trips, sending them crashing to the floor with a loud clatter. Every crew member in the vicinity turns towards the sound. In that split second of distraction, I slap a hastily drawn 'Signal Purification' charm, scribbled on the back of a catering receipt, onto the main cable. The dark energy sizzles and dissipates. The teleprompter returns to normal.

The final segment is their live performance. They take the stage, and as the opening riff of the 'Anti-Silence Anthem' rips through the studio, they transform. All the awkwardness and tension melts away. They are electric. Nana’s guitar playing is furious and tight, Mika’s energy is infectious, Reiko’s commanding presence makes her a natural frontwoman, and even Shiori seems to come alive, her quiet harmony a perfect, haunting counterpoint to the noise.

But The Critic isn't done. As they hit the final chorus, the audio feed for the broadcast begins to crackle with static. A low, humming sound starts to build, threatening to overwhelm the music. It's the Nox, trying to impose its silence.

I am out of tricks. My talismans are all preventative, not reactive. I can only watch in horror.

Then, something amazing happens. On stage, Nana hears the static. She glares out into the darkness of the studio, as if she can see the Nox herself. A sneer spreads across her face. She steps forward, leans into her microphone, and with a primal scream, she plays a guitar solo so loud, so raw, so full of pure, defiant energy that it physically shakes the room. Her 'Harmonic Distortion Field' talisman flares, glowing brightly through her leather jacket, pushed to its absolute limit. The wave of sound she unleashes doesn't just counter the static; it obliterates it. The audio feed clears instantly.

They finish the song to thunderous applause from the studio audience. Kenji, looking both terrified and thrilled, declares them the most exciting new band he has ever seen.

On the ride back to the mansion, the van is buzzing. The girls are on a high, laughing and replaying every moment of the show. Their performance is already trending online. The technical "glitches" are being hailed by critics as "a brilliant piece of edgy, unpredictable performance art." They are a massive hit.

I am slumped in my seat, utterly drained. Every ounce of my magical and physical energy is gone. But as I watch them, a feeling swells in my chest that pushes back the exhaustion. It is a fierce, undeniable pride.

Joshua slumps down in the seat next to me, looking equally exhausted but incredibly happy. "We did it," he says, his voice quiet. He bumps his shoulder against mine.

"You mean they did it," I correct him, but there is no anger in my voice. "And I just prevented multiple international incidents."

"Same difference," he says with a tired grin.

I lean my head against the cool glass of the window, the city lights streaking past. I still regret becoming an idol manager. I regret the lack of sleep, the constant stress, the fact that my life is now a series of increasingly impossible paranormal crises. But watching Nana’s guitar solo obliterate a piece of an ancient shadow entity on live television… I have to admit, that part was pretty fun. The regret is still there, but now it has a killer soundtrack.