In an instant, Ron herded everyone back to Class 1, Senior 3.

  “Never thought luck would fall into my lap like this…”

  John sat in his classroom seat, mentally tallying just how much potion the ghostly face might cough up for him.

  A single Flesh Wraith fragment was nowhere near as potent as the feeble wraith the face had devoured before.

  But quantity beats quality, right?

  Nine fragments combined were far more powerful than that one lone wraith. This was guaranteed to yield a far stronger potion!

  He was lost in his daydreams when Harold and his group filed back into the classroom.

  “Hm?”

  John’s brow twitched, his gaze snapping to Ron, the man leading the pack.

  Ron wasn’t burly like Harold and the others—his aura was nothing like their brute strength—yet he exuded a deadly, unshakable eeriness that sent a prickle down John’s spine.

  Harold spoke up first. “John, give it another try.”

  “This is the one?”

  Ron’s eyes narrowed as he sized John up, slow and deliberate.

  “No pressure. Just try again.”

  With that, he pulled a Flesh Wraith fragment from his briefcase.

  Unlike the writhing lumps before, this one was completely still—lifeless, like a chunk of raw meat.

  Ron had clearly suppressed its power.

  “A specialist,” John thought, instantly piecing together Ron’s identity.

  He hesitated for a split second, then reached out again to take the fragment.

  “Don’t tense up. Don’t resist it.”

  Ron’s right hand landed on John’s shoulder in an instant.

  A bone-chilling cold seeped into John from Ron’s fingertips, and he stiffened almost imperceptibly.

  His expression remained calm, but he flicked a glance at Ron’s hand from the corner of his eye.

  It was deathly pale, a stark, unnatural contrast to the rest of his skin—as if he wore a glove made of human flesh.

  Sensing the danger, the ghostly face stayed hidden deep within John’s body, daring not to show itself.

  Without the face’s influence, the fragment in John’s hand lay completely inert. A far cry from its violent thrashing before.

  “What?”

  Harold’s jaw dropped, utterly dumbfounded by the sight.

  He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, opening his mouth to speak but finding no words.

  After a long moment,

  Ron’s brow furrowed. He pulled his hand back and shook his head. “What a shame. No Bound Wraith.”

  The words sent a collective jolt through everyone inside and outside the classroom. Stunned silence fell, every face etched with pure shock.

  All that commotion, all that fanfare… and John was just a regular kid?

  This was ridiculous.

  “You don’t seem surprised,” Ron noted, his eyes flicking to John with a hint of astonishment.

  Any normal person would be crushed with disappointment.

  Had he known all along?

  At the question,

  John’s calm facade shattered. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles whitened, threw his head back, and let out a dramatic roar. “WHAT?! I DON’T HAVE A BOUND WRAITH?! NOOOOO!”

  “???”

  Everyone in the room stared at him, their foreheads twitching with exasperation.

  What the hell is wrong with this guy?!

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Then, in the blink of an eye, John’s expression shifted—faster than a chameleon’s. He turned to Ron, calm and composed, and said, “Life’s full of ups and downs… mostly downs, really. All we can do is accept it with grace.”

  “……”

  Ron’s mouth twitched. After a long pause, he managed, “You’ve got a remarkable temperament.”

  “Can I get a few more Flesh Wraith fragments as a reward, then? My hands are itchy, I wanna squeeze ’em for fun.”

  “No.”

  Ron shot him down at once. Wishful thinking.

  The Flesh Wraith could be cut into more fragments, but its power wasn’t infinite. He wasn’t about to hand them out like candy.

  Ron’s gaze sharpened as he asked, “I am curious, though. How did you manage to crush these? I can’t even break them myself.”

  “Guess I just have a strong grip.”

  “……”

  Ron shook his head, choosing not to press further.

  The world was twisted and strange these days—oddities like John were to be expected. But without a Bound Wraith, he’d never amount to anything in this new era.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Harold, then added, “Time to start the awakenings for the others.”

  Moments later, the group left Class 1, Senior 3, writing John off completely.

  The onlookers scattered too, their faces a mix of confusion and amusement.

  All that trouble, and it had just been a big misunderstanding.

  “Boss John…”

  William stepped forward, hesitant, worried John might be broken up over the letdown.

  “I’m fine.”

  John shook his head, his expression perfectly calm.

  He might not have a Bound Wraith—but he had a real, live vengeful wraith inside him.

  “That’s my guy!”

  William gave him a thumbs-up. “No Bound Wraith doesn’t matter! We can work our way up another way.”

  “You’re right about that!”

  John nodded, his face serious as he declared, “I’m gonna go home and pop some pills. Chug ’em like water!”

  With that, he stood and left the classroom, eager to get home and wait for the ghostly face to deliver its potion.

  “Huh?”

  William froze, a flicker of worry crossing his face.

  Was he actually losing his mind?

  That night,

  John sat alone in his house, waiting for something.

  William, now a proud owner of a Bound Wraith, had been whisked away by government agents—his new status making him a priority.

  “Healer, you gonna hand over the goods yet?”

  John was wide awake, his eyes fixed on his chest.

  Seconds ticked by, minutes stretched into hours.

  Finally, midnight struck.

  John’s eyes snapped open, jolting out of his half-asleep state.

  “It’s time!”

  He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling a searing heat building beneath his skin. He tore off his shirt in a hurry.

  There, on his chest, the ghostly face materialized—twisted, grotesque, and utterly terrifying.

  A surge of excitement shot through John, but it was quickly followed by a stray thought: the time he’d gone to a psychiatrist, and the doctor had asked him a simple question—Are you alone?

  These days, John wasn’t so sure how to answer that anymore.

  But honestly? It didn’t matter. All that counted was surviving, getting stronger.

  Besides, he couldn’t get rid of the face even if he tried.

  If you can’t fight it, might as well enjoy the perks.

  John’s mood was light, so light he found himself wiggling his hips and humming a silly tune: “Pills! Pills! Pills! Check it out!”

  “……”

  The ghostly face seemed to freeze for a split second, as if dumbfounded by just how unhinged its host was.

  But the moment passed, and John’s consciousness was pulled into the familiar pitch-black void once more.

  “Hm?”

  John blinked in surprise. The void was the same as always—empty, endless, dark.

  But the single blood-red orb floating above him was gone. In its place were three.

  “What’s this mean?” he muttered, stroking his chin in thought. “Are these the vengeful wraiths you’ve devoured?”

  Before he could ponder it further,

  a massive white tablet plummeted down to land right in front of him.

  “Yes! The potion’s here!”

  John didn’t waste another second thinking. He threw his arms around the tablet, hugging it to his chest like it was the most precious thing in the world.

  Everyone else had Bound Wraiths. But he had pills.

  And these pills made him stronger.

  Moments later, he was pulled back to the real world, the tablet in his hand.

  The ghostly face vanished without a trace, as if it had never been there at all.

  “Time to level up my body again.”

  John licked his lips, his eyes shining with anticipation.

  The tablet was huge—four decimeters across, four times the size of the last one. Its power had to be four times as strong, too.

  No hesitation. John dove in, tearing into the tablet with ravenous hunger, his face twisted in pure bliss.

  He looked less like a human and more like a rabid beast—even a wraith would’ve been scared of him right then.

  It didn’t take long. In minutes, the tablet—big enough to be a small pizza—was gone, devoured entirely.

  “So sleepy…”

  A wave of exhaustion crashed over John. He stumbled to his bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep at once.

  The next morning,

  John woke up right on time, a faint glint of power flickering in his eyes as he blinked them open.

  He stretched his body, and a series of loud cracks echoed through the room—bones popping, muscles shifting, his whole frame rearranging itself into something stronger.

  “Fuck, that feels good.”

  John clenched his fists, feeling an endless surge of power coursing through his veins. His body was far stronger than it had been the day before—unrecognizable, almost.

  He had no workout equipment to test his new strength, though, so he’d have to wing it for now.

  “If I keep getting stronger like this, I’ll be a superhero in no time,” John muttered, stroking his chin. “Then what? Save the world? Or be like Homelander?”

  He was lost in his superhero daydreams when his stomach rumbled—loud, ferocious, demanding food.

  His enhanced body needed far more energy than his old one. He was starving.

  John threw on some clothes, splashed water on his face, and bolted out the door, on a mission to find breakfast.

  “Uncle! Gimme thirty egg and sausage sandwiches—wholesale!”

  “Thirty WHAT?!”

  Moments later, John left the diner with an armful of egg pancakes, plus a mountain of other breakfast treats—he’d practically cleaned out the entire street’s morning vendors.

  He walked away, grinning like an idiot, as the locals stared after him in shock and disbelief.

  “That kid actually meant wholesale…”

  They watched his retreating back, dumbfounded.

  John hurried home and dug in at once.

  He’d been scared of being labeled a monster if he ate like this in public, but at home, there were no rules.

  In just half an hour, every last bit of food was gone—pancakes, sandwiches, pastries, all of it. It was impossible to believe one person could eat so much.

  He was practically inhuman.

  “Just barely full.”

  John licked his lips, still craving more, tempted to head back out for a second round.

  Then he thought about his wallet—and the tiny amount of cash left in it. He sighed and pushed the thought aside.

  “If I keep eating like this, my few grand in savings won’t last a week.”

  John mulled over his money troubles as he left the house, heading for school.