A shabby book about family traditions turned me, a scumbag of folklore scholars, into a problem solver for strange stories about rules. During the Night Walk of One Hundred Ghosts, I relied on the wisdom of my ancestors to fix bugs, write down rules, and exchange lives for lives, but I found that the biggest strange thing was myself. The female detective who pointed a gun at me and scolded me for "acting like a ghost" later became my only reason for not believing in the rules. I became the rule itself, but she became the crack in the rule - there is a crack so that light can penetrate, and she is hotter than the light.
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