Each horrifying cry cut through the air, detonation the primal terror in everyone’s hearts.

  In that moment, not a single student cared about the assessment anymore. Their only thought was fleeing this ghost-infested hotel.

  “Quiet down, all of you!”

  Ron stepped out of the bathroom then, roaring at the crowd. But the authority he held as their instructor was no longer enough to cow them.

  “Instructor, I quit!”

  “Me too! Let someone else take this stupid Intelligence Class!”

  They could accept death— but not this senseless slaughter, one life after another. And it was clear Ron, a trained Ghostling, was utterly powerless to stop this supernatural horror.

  If they stayed, not a single one of the hundred-odd students would be alive in three days.

  “Shut your mouths, all of you!”

  A thunderous shout rang out—from John, who’d stayed silent until now.

  But if they didn’t fear Ron, they certainly didn’t fear a fellow student like John.

  A man spat on the floor, sneering. “Who the hell do you think you are, kid… argh!”

  His words died in his throat as his feet lifted off the ground, his face flushing bright red, air choking off in his lungs.

  John had grabbed him by the throat with one hand, lifting him clean off his feet and slamming his back hard against the wall.

  The scene froze the crowd in their tracks.

  Holy shit. He’s not messing around.

  “Anyone who makes a sound gets killed.”

  A flicker of madness glinted in John’s eyes as his gaze swept the crowd. Every single person dropped their head, unable to meet his stare.

  His frame wasn’t burly or imposing, but in that moment, he exuded an overwhelming, suffocating pressure that made their blood run cold.

  “What in the world have I taught?”

  Ethan was in the crowd too, and he swallowed hard, staring at the vicious, unhinged John.

  The rest of the students felt the same chill, their minds screaming the same thought:

  Fuck. A vengeful ghost and a maniac. Is this even a life worth living anymore?

  “Stay right where you are. I’ll figure something out.”

  John paid no mind to their silent panic, dropping the man to the floor. He turned to Ron, his tone calm. “Instructor Ron, don’t worry. I have a plan.”

  Ron’s eyes narrowed, his lips parting to speak—then he fell silent, curious to see what this unhinged kid could possibly do.

  With that, John clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing the hallway, his brow furrowed like he was deep in thought.

  The students seethed with resentment, but cowed by his brute strength, they obeyed, standing frozen in place.

  Moments later,

  John stopped short, a look of triumph crossing his face—as if he’d just hit on the perfect idea. “I can keep all of you alive. But first, you have to pay the protection fee.”

  ???

  Every mouth fell open. They’d felt a spark of hope at the first half of his sentence—only for the second half to yank the rug out from under them.

  Are you serious? He’s trying to extort money from us now?

  For a long moment, no one could find a single word to say.

  John didn’t care. He turned to Ron, standing at the front of the crowd. “Instructor Ron, you’re the head proctor here. Why don’t you set an example for everyone?”

  “Huh?”

  Ron blinked, dumbfounded, pointing at himself. “You want me to pay a protection fee?”

  He wasn’t the only one stunned. The entire crowd stared at John like he’d lost his mind.

  Is this kid so desperate for cash he’s lost it?

  Daring to extort an official government Ghostling?

  John raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem with that?”

  “I—”

  BOOM!

  Ron never got to finish his sentence. John’s fist slammed into him like a speeding freight train, sending him flying across the hallway to crash hard against the stone wall.

  In that instant, every brain in the crowd short-circuited.

  Holy fuck. He’s actually doing this.

  “This is what happens when you refuse to pay the protection fee.”

  John’s face was calm, unreadable. “Instructor Ron. Will you set the example now?”

  “I— I will, just—”

  Ron’s words died as John lunged forward, moving so fast he was a blur, closing the distance in the blink of an eye.

  “Hesitating? Still refusing, I see.”

  John’s fists flew, slamming one after another into Ron’s head—blows meant to kill, no mercy, no holding back.

  “You crazy son of a—!”

  Ron’s mind screamed with rage, bitter resentment and helplessness boiling in his chest.

  What the hell did I ever do to you? You’re a straight-up maniac!

  He still had no idea what he’d done to deserve this.

  “Are you cursing me in your head?”

  John licked his lips, a hungry glint in his eyes, and his punches grew even more brutal, more ferocious.

  “John!”

  Ethan’s voice rang out, shocked and horrified, rushing forward to stop him. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?!”

  “Sorry, sir. It can’t be helped.” John replied, his tone casual—and his fists never slowed. “He won’t pay the protection fee.”

  “He’s a lunatic! A straight-up lunatic!”

  The thought echoed in every student’s mind, their eyes wide with disbelief. None of them had ever imagined they’d witness something like this—their classmate beating their Ghostling instructor to a pulp in the middle of a haunted hotel.

  Soon, Ron’s struggles weakened, his body going limp, all resistance gone.

  BOOM!

  John reared back and threw one final, devastating punch—slamming Ron’s head straight into the stone wall, the impact sending a shudder through the entire hallway.

  The sheer, unbridled violence of the act left the crowd trembling, their hearts in their throats.

  What the hell is he? A human monster?

  “Why… why…”

  Against all odds, Ron was still alive, even with his head crumpled into the wall. He whispered the words over and over, a broken, desperate mantra.

  The sight sent a jolt through the crowd.

  Are Ghostlings really this invincible?

  Ethan, though, frowned, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.

  Even like this—beaten half to death, his head crushed into a wall—Ron hadn’t summoned his Bound Ghost.

  There were only two possibilities: either he loved his students so much he’d refuse to use his ghost in front of them… or he had no ghost to summon.

  “Hmm.”

  John seemed to sense something too. He stepped back sharply, putting distance between himself and Ron, his fists falling to his sides—no more blows.

  “Why…”

  Ron’s head was a mangled, bloodied mess, his skull caved in, brains and blood oozing down the wall onto the floor. And yet, he still didn’t die. He just kept whispering that single word.

  John’s face was calm, his voice flat as he replied. “I already told you. You didn’t pay the protection fee.”

  That was the final straw.

  Ron snapped.

  His face contorted into a grotesque, inhuman mask of rage, his skin rotting away in an instant to reveal a decayed, blackened corpse beneath his instructor’s uniform. His eyes, hollow and filled with bitter, unending hatred, locked onto John like a vice.

  A bone-chilling cold washed over the entire hallway, a frigid aura that made the air itself feel thick and heavy.

  In that split second, the crowd stumbled back in unison, their eyes wide with unbridled terror, screams tearing from their throats.

  And in that moment, they finally understood.

  Ron—their protector, their safety net, the strongest Ghostling in the school—his true identity was something far more horrifying.

  He was a ghost.

  “Just as I thought.”

  John’s eyes narrowed, but there was no surprise in his gaze—only cold certainty.

  From the second they’d stepped into the hotel, every time a murder had happened, that warm tingle had flared on his chest.

  And without fail, Ron had been there every single time.

  Every victim’s face had been twisted with two emotions: pure, unadulterated fear… and utter, shocked disbelief, like they’d seen something impossible, something that defied all reason.

  What could be more shocking, more terrifying, than realizing the Ghostling instructor meant to protect you was the very ghost hunting you?

  Of course, those two clues had only fueled his suspicion—not proven Ron’s guilt.

  And when he’d paced the hallway earlier, pretending to think? He’d been testing his theory.

  Every time he’d moved away from Ron, the ghostly face in his chest had gone silent, no warm tingle, no reaction. Every time he’d stepped close, the tingle had flared to life, bright and clear.

  There was no such thing as coincidence—not like that.

  On one side: Ron, his instructor, the head proctor.

  On the other: the ghostly face on his chest, the one that fed him pills, the one that kept him strong.

  John had always prided himself on respecting his teachers.

  So naturally, he’d chosen to trust the latter. No second thoughts, no hesitation.