Ethan waved a hand. “Alright, grab your things and get out of here.”

  More than a dozen dropouts filed out of Intelligence Class 1 in quick succession, leaving the once-cramped classroom feeling eerily empty.

  The same mass exodus was unfolding across the other seven Intelligence Classes, with students streaming out of the school gates one after another.

  John watched it all with a blank, unreadable expression.

  The upcoming exam was a life-or-death trial, true—but it was also a reward in its own right. After all, with a Ghostling by their side, their odds of survival would jump drastically. And anyone who lived through a real supernatural incident would be forever changed, forged stronger by the experience.

  Ethan looked at the remaining students with open approval and went on. “Let’s be clear—this class comes with enormous risks, but the rewards are just as great. I’ve got a little inside info for all of you.”

  “Down the line, the Intelligence Classes and Ghostling Classes are going to be merged and reorganized into mixed cohorts. In short, you’ll likely end up as classmates with Ghostlings—working on missions side by side.”

  A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd; most students lit up at the news. It meant their safety on every mission would skyrocket, for one thing. But more importantly, it meant they’d get to know Ghostlings, to expand their connections. In a world this dangerous, a Ghostling ally was a literal get-out-of-death-free card.

  And they weren’t worried about being cannon fodder on missions, either—ghosts attacked humans and Ghostlings alike, without discrimination.

  At the back of the crowd, though, John remained calm and unphased. He had no interest in befriending Ghostlings whatsoever.

  The only reason he’d stayed was to hunt and devour ghosts—safely, under the umbrella of the official organization. It also gave him access to first-hand supernatural intel and resources no one else could get their hands on.

  “Alright,” Ethan said, his voice steady. “Use the next two weeks to train hard. I want every single one of you to walk out of that exam alive.”

  ---

  That afternoon, the Intelligence Classes kicked off their physical training session.

  Harold, clad in a tight tank top, stepped in front of the group. His jaw was set, his presence so imposing it silenced everyone at once. “I don’t need to tell you how critical physical fitness is in a supernatural encounter.”

  In the crowd, John recognized him immediately—this was the man who’d overseen the Bound Ghost Awakening, the same one who’d handed him a stack of flesh ghosts not long ago.

  Harold locked eyes with John too, but he gave no sign of recognition, his face remaining impassive. “We’ll start with a warm-up—ten laps around the track.”

  A collective groan went up. Several students blanched and stared in disbelief. A lap was four hundred meters—ten laps was four kilometers. That was no warm-up.

  Harold crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze sharp. “Got a problem? Refuse to run, and you’re out of the Intelligence Program for good.”

  The threat snapped them out of their complaining in an instant. If they were brave enough to face supernatural horrors, a little running was nothing.

  Then John raised his hand, his voice calm. “Sir, I’d like to sit out.”

  With his current physical strength, running would do practically nothing for his training—it’d just be a waste of time.

  A hush fell over the group, and everyone turned to John, eyes alight with morbid curiosity. Harold was clearly a man with a short fuse, and someone was really gonna pick a fight with him?

  Sure enough, Harold’s face darkened. “You want to quit the program that badly?”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  John shrugged. “Sir, my physical condition’s more than good enough. I don’t see the point in running.”

  “More than good enough?” Harold’s eyes narrowed, then a cold laugh rumbled in his chest. “Fine, then fight me. Win, and you can sit out any training you want from now on.”

  “Deal.”

  John didn’t hesitate. To him, the morning’s theory class had at least been useful, but this physical training was meaningless. He’d rather spend the time on something worthwhile—like pounding more ghosts into pulp. If he didn’t speak up now, he’d just end up skipping training all the time anyway. Better to get it over with once and for all.

  “Come at me.” Harold’s expression turned deadly serious as he slipped into a tight fighting stance.

  John’s right hand curled into a fist in an instant, and he threw a punch—brutal, unrefined, straight for Harold’s chest. He held back most of his strength, though; Harold was just a regular human, and John didn’t want to seriously hurt him, or worse.

  Harold’s expression flickered, a faint prickle of danger skittering down his spine. This kid was far from ordinary. But he didn’t back down, curling his own right hand into a fist and throwing a full-force punch in return.

  Boom!

  The two fists collided with a sharp, resounding crack. Both men stumbled back several steps in unison. Harold’s face drained of color for a split second, but he masked the reaction almost immediately, his features hardening again.

  Before Harold could even catch his breath, John lunged forward, his fist raised for another strike.

  “Stop!” Harold’s heart skipped a beat, and he barked the order, holding up a hand.

  John blinked in confusion, his fist halting mid-air. “Sir? We haven’t finished the fight yet.” Harold’s calm exterior had made him think the brawl was still on, so he’d instinctively pressed his attack.

  *You’re actually trying to kill me here…* Harold cursed inwardly, sliding his trembling right hand behind his back where no one could see it. Aloud, he said, “Your strength’s more than enough. You can sit out training whenever you want.”

  He just wanted to scream: the school had a freaking one-man army in its ranks, and it wasn’t an exaggeration.

  “Thanks, sir.” John raised an eyebrow, then turned and sauntered toward the shade of a large tree by the track, settling in to relax.

  “It was that easy?” A murmur of surprise went through the group, and envy flashed in every eye. But envy was useless—they still had a run to do.

  Then a burly man, his muscles bulging beneath his shirt, stepped forward. “Sir, I’d like to sit out too!”

  Harold’s jaw twitched. *Goddamn it, this kid hits like a truck.* He was in no shape to fight anyone right now—he hadn’t even realized John had held back. He had no idea the boy had been trying not to kill him.

  *I can’t show weakness in front of the students. How else am I gonna keep them in line?* His mind raced, then a devious idea popped into his head. “Whoever can beat that kid can sit out training too!”

  All eyes snapped to John in an instant. They’d never dare fight Harold—he was clearly ex-military, maybe even special forces. But fighting John? A scrawny-looking kid who’d just beaten their teacher? They thought they stood a chance.

  “Is it really that simple?” The burly man at the front cracked his knuckles, his eyes glinting like a wolf’s as he stared at John in the shade.

  John sighed, seeing the eager, competitive looks on everyone’s faces. “Here we go.” He’d come to relax, not play drill instructor for the whole class. He shook his head, then reached out and patted the thick trunk of the tree beside him. “You all wanna fight me that bad?”

  Before anyone could ask what he was doing, John struck.

  His right hand curled into a fist, and he drove it straight into the tree trunk. This time, he held nothing back—no need to spare a tree. He poured every ounce of his superhuman strength into the punch.

  Crack!

  A deafening crash rang out. The massive tree shook violently, its branches swaying and leaves raining down. A web of jagged, visible cracks spiderwebbed across the thick trunk, splitting the bark open to the wood beneath.

  “What the hell?”

  “No way!”

  The crowd stared in stunned silence, their mouths hanging open and their minds going completely blank. The tree hadn’t split in two, but it might as well have. It was no scrawny sapling—this was a mature, thick-bodied tree, decades old at least.

  *What the actual hell is he? He’s not even human!* Someone swallowed hard, any thought of challenging John vanishing in an instant.

  *Holy shit, that kid’s a freaking monster.*

  Harold’s right hand was still trembling, his mind reeling. John wasn’t a Ghostling, yet he had a physique far beyond any normal human. He was practically inhuman.

  His gaze flicked to the burly man who’d stepped forward, and he nodded. “Go on then. Your turn.”

  The burly man took a deep breath, his face set with what looked like unshakable resolve. “Fine! I’ll do it!”

  Then he turned and bolted for the track, joining the rest of the class in their run without a single backward glance.

  The rest of the group stared at his retreating back, deadpan. No one was surprised. Fighting a monster like John? That’d be suicide.

  With that, any lingering complaints vanished. Everyone fell into step and started their run in silent, obedient unison.

  Harold shot John a glare, muttering under his breath, “Freak.” Then he raised his voice, addressing John. “Hey, John—if you’ve got nothing better to do, keep an eye on these clowns. I’ve got an emergency.”

  “Sir? What kind of emergency?” John called back, leaning against the tree.

  “You nearly split that tree in half,” Harold said, already backing away toward the school building. “I’ve gotta call the grounds crew—can’t have it falling on someone and killing them.”

  With that, Harold practically fled, pulling out his phone as he went and punching in a number. When the line connected, he said, his voice tight, “Hey, you at the hospital? Yeah, can you book an ortho appointment for a friend of mine? He’s got a broken bone—make it quick, alright?”