No one could’ve predicted it—not in a million years.

  A Ghostling and a former special forces operative, both with broken bones, at the hands of the same student, on the same day.

  And John, the man responsible for it all? He couldn’t have cared less.

  He was stretched out comfortably in the shade of the big tree, licking an ice cream cone like it was the most natural thing in the world. A stark contrast to the rest of the class, sweating bullets and gasping for air as they ran laps under the blistering sun.

  After his recent bouts of fighting, John had a pretty good grasp of just how strong he’d become.

  Turned out, regular humans didn’t stand a chance against him.

  “No wonder that Foot Ghost screamed so bloody murder the other day,” he mused.

  Any normal person—even with rooster blood as a medium—would’ve struggled to land a serious blow on a vengeful ghost, let alone beat one to death outright.

  “These ghost meds hit different.”

  John licked his lips, his gaze drifting down to his chest, his anticipation for the pill made from the Foot Ghost growing by the second.

  “Boss John!”

  A voice called out from the distance. William came jogging over, his hands cupped carefully in front of him, like he was holding something priceless.

  “William.” John raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

  “Boss, your Ghost Cores.” William held out his hands, and resting in his palms were two small, perfectly round crystals—clear as pure water, glinting in the sunlight.

  “So this is a Ghost Core? Ten grand a pop?” John took them carefully, his fingers brushing the cool, smooth surface. Instantly, he felt a frigid, ghostly aura wrap around his hand, similar to that of a vengeful ghost—but there was no warm tingle from the ghostly face on his chest, a clear sign these weren’t fragments of a malevolent spirit.

  “Yep.” William nodded firmly. “According to the official docs, you just swallow ’em, and they boost your Spiritual Energy reserves.”

  “Alright. I’m heading to the bathroom.”

  “Uh… what?” William froze, his face twisting into a look of pure bewilderment. “The bathroom? That’s not exactly a five-star restaurant, boss.”

  “We’re kinda disrespecting the Ghost Cores here, if I’m being honest.”

  John fell silent for a beat, then sighed, explaining, “There’s some stuff I don’t want you to see.”

  With that, he turned and headed straight for the school’s restrooms, leaving William standing there, dumbfounded.

  “Stuff he doesn’t want anyone to see… in the bathroom.” William muttered to himself, his eyes wide.

  Did all powerful people have weird, secret kinks?

  John couldn’t have cared less about William’s confused thoughts. He was practically bouncing on his heels with excitement as he locked himself in a stall.

  “Chow time, buddy.”

  He held the Ghost Cores up to his chest, waiting for the ghostly face to awaken and devour them—like it did with every other ghostly thing he’d fed it.

  But nothing happened. The ghostly face didn’t so much as flicker to life.

  “It’s not eating ’em?” John blinked, stunned. “You’re really that picky? Only going after vengeful ghosts and nothing else?”

  He grumbled to himself, a twinge of disappointment settling in his chest.

  The ghostly face wanted nothing to do with the Ghost Cores, and for John himself, swallowing them would be a waste. He was still a regular human—he had no Spiritual Energy to boost in the first place.

  “William, I’ll sell you these Ghost Cores.”

  Defeated, John returned to the track and held out the crystals to William.

  “Really?!” William’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he snatched the Ghost Cores up, tucking them safely into his pocket like they were gold. “Boss, I’ll get my folks to wire the money tonight—twenty grand for both!”

  “Aren’t your parents gonna flip their lids?” John raised an eyebrow. Twenty grand was no small sum. Even for a family with money, that kind of cash would make anyone flinch.

  “Nah, they’ll be stoked to pay!” William waved a hand dismissively, his tone full of certainty.

  His parents had long since realized just how deadly the supernatural world was—and when they’d found out their son was a Ghostling? They’d practically cried tears of joy. They’d spare no expense to train him, to make him stronger. After all, his power was a matter of life and death for the entire family.

  “Good.” John nodded. With twenty grand in his pocket, he wouldn’t have to worry about food or rent for a while.

  “Now I can focus on pounding more ghosts into paste.”

  As he was lost in thought, William spoke up again. “Oh, boss—you got a bank account? I’ll have them wire the money over. Safer that way, with the world the way it is now.”

  “Hmm.” John paused, then said, “I’ll go open one right now. Text you the info once it’s done.”

  “Now? What about training?”

  “The instructor can’t beat me. So I don’t have to go.”

  William’s mouth fell open, then he shook his head, a look of realization dawning on his face. If John could beat a vengeful ghost to death with his bare hands, a former special forces guy was nothing.

  “Alright, I’ll head back to class then.” William waved, then added, his voice serious, “Thanks, boss. For real.”

  Ghost Cores were priceless these days. Only the official organization had access to them—you couldn’t buy them with all the money in the world, no matter how rich you were.

  John nodded, then left the school alone.

  At the mall,

  “Might as well get a new phone while I’m at it.” John muttered to himself. The thirty grand Joe and the guys had scraped together for him was more than enough for a nice one.

  He’d just stepped into the phone store when a man stormed out, slamming his phone into his pocket and cursing a blue streak, his face purple with rage.

  “Someone’s got a stick up their ass.” John raised an eyebrow, but didn’t think much of it.

  When he reached the counter, the sales clerk was slumping against it, letting out a heavy sigh, a look of utter defeat on his face.

  “What’s the trouble?” John asked, curiosity piquing. He’d never met a good piece of gossip he didn’t like.

  “Kid, you wouldn’t believe it.” The clerk shook his head. “That guy who just left? Bought a phone an hour ago, and now he’s demanding a refund.”

  “Isn’t that normal? If the phone’s broken, why wouldn’t he return it?” John was firmly on the customer’s side here.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  A flicker of wariness crossed his mind. Was this a shady shop with bad customer service?

  “Of course we refund broken phones!” The clerk saw his expression and hurried to explain. “But his reason for returning it is insane.”

  “Oh?” John’s eyes lit up. Now he was really interested.

  “He says some stranger’s been sending him text messages every single night, so it must be our phone’s fault. Refused to listen to reason, just screamed and demanded his money back. Can you believe that?”

  John’s jaw twitched. Yeah, that was pretty weird.

  “By the way—what do the texts say?”

  “Says it’s the same three words, every night at midnight.” The clerk paused for dramatic effect, then said, “I’m coming.”

  John’s casual expression vanished in an instant. He spun around, glancing toward the mall’s entrance—but the angry man was already gone.

  “You’re sure it’s midnight? Exactly?”

  “That’s what he said.” The clerk sighed, still looking defeated. “Tell me that’s not the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. What’s that got to do with our phones?”

  John nodded slowly. “He’s probably being haunted by a ghost. Nothing to do with your store.”

  “Finally, someone with common sense—wait. Did you just say he’s being haunted by a what?!”

  The clerk’s body stiffened, a look of pure terror flashing across his face.

  “Nothing.” John shook his head, turning back to the counter. “I’m here to buy a phone.”

  “You absolutely said a ghost! You can’t take that back!” The clerk’s face had gone pale, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re joking, right? That’s a joke?”

  “Would I joke about that?” John smiled, his tone calm and cold. “Though it might be someone playing a prank on him. Or it might be a real ghost.”

  His words sent a shiver down the clerk’s spine, and the temperature in the store suddenly felt like it had dropped ten degrees.

  “Relax. I was just messing with you.”

  The clerk’s jaw twitched. Messing with me? How am I supposed to relax after that?

  Ten minutes later,

  John left the store with a brand new phone, then headed to the bank next door and opened a checking account in record time. He shot William a text with his account info, then slipped the new phone into his pocket.

  “Finally, some real money in the bank.”

  He strolled down the street, his hands in his pockets, watching the people rush by. For a moment, he felt a strange sense of disorientation.

  If the world hadn’t gone to hell with ghosts and supernatural horrors, a kid like him—just a regular student—would’ve never laid his hands on this kind of cash. Not in a hundred years.

  “Now I just need to find more ghosts to eat.” John muttered to himself, a weight lifting off his shoulders. Life suddenly felt a lot easier.

  To everyone else, vengeful ghosts were a nightmare, a death sentence. But to John? They were a feast. He couldn’t wait for the next one.

  That night,

  John returned to his apartment complex—now fully unlocked, thanks to the Foot Ghost’s death.

  “Nothing beats being home.” He stretched his arms over his head, then flopped down on his bed, his gaze drifting to his chest every few seconds, like he was waiting for something.

  He muttered to himself, like a man possessed, “I want the pill. I need the pill. C’mon, give me something good to eat.”

  If anyone had seen him, they would’ve thought he’d lost his mind.

  And then, midnight struck.

  The Healer’s here.

  John’s body tensed, a warm tingle spreading across his chest—familiar, welcome.

  In an instant, the ghostly face flickered to life on his sternum, its features identical to John’s own, but twisted with a feral, insane rage that sent chills down the spine. It was not human. Not even close.

  The ghostly face’s eyes blazed with blood-red light, and in the blink of an eye, John’s consciousness was pulled away from his body, into the familiar black void of the spirit realm.

  “Right on time.” John’s mind was calm, unshaken. He looked up at the sky—or what passed for a sky in this endless darkness.

  Six blood-red orbs floated high above him, their faint glow pushing back the blackness, illuminating the empty space around him.

  His gut told him those orbs were important. He just didn’t know how—yet.

  Someday, he would.

  As he stood there, lost in thought, a massive yellow pill came hurtling down from the blood-red orbs, slamming into his outstretched hand with a soft thud.

  “It’s the new pill!” John’s heart raced, excitement flooding his veins. He’d never been so happy to hold a pill in his life.

  The moment his fingers touched the pill, his consciousness snapped back to his body, the yellow pill clutched tightly in his hand. At the same time, a flood of information burst into his mind—instructions, explanations, everything he needed to know about the new pill.

  “Boost my body’s Spiritual Affinity?” John blinked, stunned. He read through the information carefully, his heart pounding faster with every word.

  A few moments later, his eyes blazed with pure, unadulterated joy.

  The problem he’d been stressing over for weeks—solved. Just like that.

  According to the information in his mind, Spiritual Affinity was one of the most critical attributes a person could have in the supernatural world. It determined two things: whether your physical body could touch a ghost’s ethereal form, and whether you could resist the curses of a Cursed Ghost.

  It was the exact same function as a ghostly medium—rooster blood, holy water, silver. All of it.

  In other words, as his Spiritual Affinity rose, John would no longer need any mediums to fight ghosts. He could just walk up to a vengeful spirit and punch it square in the face. With his bare hands.

  Theoretically,

  the more pills he took, the stronger his Spiritual Affinity would become. His body would transform into the ultimate medium—better than any rooster blood, any silver knife, any holy water in the world.

  “I don’t have a Bound Ghost,” John whispered, realization dawning on him, his heart filled with hope for the first time in a long while. “But my body can be just as strong as one. Maybe even stronger.”

  Regular humans had limits. Ghostlings had to train for years, fight tooth and nail to push their limits further.

  But John? All he had to do was take the pills.

  That was it.

  Eat the pills, get stronger, pound more ghosts.

  His path was clear.