What the ghosts wanted—or rather, the reason they were unionizing—was ridiculous.
"A bathroom?" Mikel repeated, just in case his ears were playing tricks on him.
All the ghosts nodded solemnly.
"Yes. The alliance doesn't need it, but we all have dignity, even after death," said Gregory, the Ghost Union Representative, tipping his crooked eyeglasses—despite them already being perfectly in place. "We demand that a toilet be included in the next round of construction materials."
Mikel opened his mouth, then closed it. His voice failed him. He leaned forward, elbow resting on the table, and pointed at himself.
"Do you think… I have a bathroom?" he asked, voice barely more than a breath. "I have to shower in a public bath. If that's not available, it's the sink in a public restroom. You think I'm living the dream here?"
Besides, he wasn't about to install a toilet just for a dozen ghosts to spiritually piss on it. The last thing he needed was a haunted house with a toilet shrine. Knowing his luck, they'd start worshipping the damn thing.
Gregory cleared his throat and glanced at the ghosts beside and behind him. They looked at each other, then shrugged.
"Very well." He raised his chin high. "About the other clauses—specifically, the cake. We demand one cake offering at least once a week."
Mikel arched a brow, scanning the crowd of ghosts behind Gregory, all nodding in perfect sync.
"You guys are dead. You don't need cake."
"But you promised," Gregory shot back without hesitation.
"It's not about the need! It's about the closure!" someone from the back yelled.
Mikel's face twitched. His mind drifted to his bank account balance and how much more unnecessary spending he could tolerate.
Did they think he was born with generational wealth?!
He bit the back of his index finger, which was poking out of his clenched fist.
"Fine," he exhaled.
The ghosts erupted in cheers—until he added, "But—"
"Aww…" a nearby ghost groaned.
Mikel ignored her. "You guys know the renovation budget is tight. Every penny counts. Cakes are expensive. I can afford to buy one cake a month—"
Their faces began lighting up again.
"—but only if I see clear progress on the renovation."
He added, "I can promise a cupcake or another dessert once every two weeks. Full cakes are earned."
"When is it earned?! Most of our contracts are only four days! The longest ones last two weeks!" a ghost wailed. "How are we supposed to taste cake before we crossover?!"
"Then you better make sure there's visible progress before your contract ends," Mikel snapped. "That's not my problem. I'll keep my word. It's up to you to make it happen."
"Tyranny—boo!" one ghost shouted, giving him a thumbs-down.
"Boo!" another joined in, and soon the chorus followed.
[Would you like to initiate Hostile Negotiation Protocol, Master?]
[Suggestion: Spiritual Riot Suppression.]
Shut up, Doom.
Mikel remained unfazed, staring straight at Gregory. "We're negotiating. You have your conditions—I have mine."
"Booo!" The booing persisted.
Gregory, however, looked around, then back at Mikel. He assessed the young man carefully. Mikel wasn't budging, no matter how loud the ghosts got.
"What do you think, Greg.?" Mikel asked, cocking his head. "I agreed to Sandalwood-tier incense and above. Hot offerings only—no more leftovers."
He leaned in slightly. "I can't get a broadband with faster Wi-Fi, but I can offer you a Bluetooth speaker at the shrine and play lo-fi music."
"Bo—" The booing trailed off.
"A Bluetooth with music?" one ghost repeated, intrigued.
They all glanced at each other, visibly tempted.
As for Mikel, he couldn't believe they were actually buying that crap.
"How about an afterlife dental plan!?"
"No," Mikel shut that down immediately. "I don't care about your dignity, but that discriminates against those who don't have teeth—or a head."
The ghosts frowned and instinctively glanced toward those among them with missing teeth… or skulls.
"Alright, no afterlife dental plan," Gregory said solemnly, adjusting his glasses with professional restraint. "But the Bluetooth speaker is a must."
He cleared his throat. "Moving on—we demand ceremonial recognition."
"…" Mikel tilted his head, cracking his neck slightly. "Ceremonial recognition… what the heck is that?"
"It's where we get recognized for our hard work," Gregory explained, as if this was common knowledge. "Specifically, for being the best employee of the day. Since our time in the construction industry is limited, a daily period would ensure fair chances."
"…Like 'Employee of the Month'?" Mikel asked.
"Yes, but in our terms, it's 'Employee of the Day.'"
"No." Mikel shook his head, triggering another wave of boos. "A day is too much. I'll approve it on a weekly basis."
"But—"
"Again, not my damn problem." Mikel cut in sharply, unmoved by the rising complaints. "The cake, this recognition thing—if you really want it, then make it happen yourselves."
He didn't actually care if the ghosts spent their extra hours giving each other paper badges or fake medals. But what he'd learned was that if he agreed too easily, they'd never stop demanding.
Originally, the offerings idea came from guilt—or remorse—or maybe manipulation, depending on how he spun it. Before that, they were already happy with just the promise of closure.
This mess? He opened that door himself. And he wasn't about to open more.
He had enough on his plate already.
The ghosts kept demanding more—each request more ridiculous and reeking of entitlement—but Mikel held his ground. He only relented on the few things he could manage without breaking his back… or his bank, both literally and figuratively.
In the end, they agreed on the following:
1. Hot, fresh daily offerings.
2. No cheap incense—because apparently, air fresheners had more soul than the ones he'd been using.
3. A weekly recognition ceremony.
4. And a cake—but only when it was earned.
The problem? They were still whining about their afterlife health benefits, and no one wanted to work tonight. So, Mikel bribed them with a cake. Just for tonight. Because apparently, baked goods were now ghost labor fuel.
So, Mikel had to make a late-night run to the nearest open coffee shop, grab a cake, and rush back to the site.
Back at the construction site, he placed a small cake box down near the shrine. With a sigh, he turned toward the hovering ghosts watching in anticipation. He clicked his tongue, pressed his palms together, and muttered a brief prayer of offering.
As soon as he finished, the ghosts swarmed the shrine like children on a sugar high.
Mikel stepped back, watching the chaos unfold. Gregory took the first bite, adjusted his reading glasses like a sommelier tasting holy wine, and said with a serene smile,
"Divine."
"I want to taste it!"
"No, I was here first!"
"What do you mean you were first?! I've been waiting since last week!"
Excitement dissolved into chaos. As others fought, some ghosts shamelessly slid their spectral fingers across the frosting and popped them into their mouths. Their eyes lit up with something close to joy—like the heavens had cracked open and poured sugar directly into their souls.
Eventually, order was restored. The ghosts passed the cake around, each taking a small bite like it was a sacrament.
[Congratulations, Master. You've appeased the labor force. For now. Also, that was your emergency ration.]
Damn… I hate this batch of ghosts.