"Other people bond with companion spirits and haunted objects... but I’m literally hosting the ghosts themselves."

  John looked down and chuckled. Then, a thought struck him, and his expression shifted into one of sheer, wide-eyed realization.

  "Wait, I missed a major point here. I bought this ghost."

  "Most Ghost-Users are stuck with one companion object for life. But who says I’m limited to just one? And what if the ghost I buy is the Ghost River itself?"

  His heart began to pound as he entered a full-blown daydream:

  He’d be lounging comfortably in his bed with a massive iron cooking pot bubbling in front of him. He’d activate the Ghost River’s hypnotic lure, and every spirit within a hundred-mile radius would wash themselves clean, season themselves, and jump head-first into the pot.

  "Damn. Now that is the ultimate life goal."

  A greasy, satisfied grin spread across his face.

  Just then, a flash of imagery flickered through his mind. High above the sea of blood, a female corpse in a tattered red dress stood upright. Hovering above her head was a string of digits representing her price in Ghost Coins.

  John snapped back to reality instantly. He hadn't caught the exact number, but the amount of zeros trailing at the end... was a lot.

  "Total racketeer," John muttered, his dream of owning the Ghost River momentarily deflated.

  If a Lesser Spirit cost a hundred coins, the price tag on a Calamity-class entity like the River was probably astronomical.

  "Slow and steady," he told himself. "A life goal shouldn't be reached in a day."

  Suddenly, his eyes caught the clock on the wall. "Wait, I’m late!!"

  But as he looked closer at the date, he froze. His voice went up an octave. "Hold on... I’ve been asleep for a week?!"

  His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He thought it had been a quick nap; instead, he’d been out cold for seven days.

  "Crap. I’m definitely getting expelled," he grumbled. He quickly suppressed his Spirit Power and bolted for the school.

  "Mr. Ron, is that expression really necessary? You look like you’re judging a murder trial."

  John stood in the office, his head hanging low in a performance of "deep regret."

  "What do you think?" Ron glared at him. "You don't pick up your phone, you don't show up to class... are you trying to 'graduate' early by getting kicked out?"

  Despite John’s overwhelming strength, his behavior was a nightmare for classroom discipline. If everyone started acting like him, the school would descend into chaos.

  "It’s not that bad, sir. I was just a little late. No big deal, right?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "You missed an entire week! You call that being 'late'?!"

  "Woah, take it easy, sir. No need to get all poetic with the rhyming."

  "??"

  Ron’s brain stalled for a second. Then he got back on track, his voice turning stern. "I need an explanation. Where the hell have you been for the last seven days?"

  "Sleeping. And training."

  "Excuse me?!" Ron looked baffled. "Since when are those two things part of the same sentence?"

  "Mr. Ron, don't get worked up. Let me break it down for you."

  John spread his hands. "Look, I sleep to get stronger. Other people train to get stronger. Therefore, if we convert the variables, my sleeping is effectively training. Simple math."

  "..."

  Ron stared at him, momentarily stunned by the sheer stupidity of that logic. Before he could argue, he caught the keyword.

  "Wait. You got stronger this week?"

  "Yep."

  Ron’s eyes narrowed. His Human Skin Glove manifested instantly. Without a word, he shoved a palm toward John. He wasn't the reckless teacher he used to be—to avoid another broken bone, he was using his companion spirit from the start.

  John didn't flinch. He coated his hand in his new Spirit Power and met the blow with a palm of his own.

  THUD.

  Neither moved an inch. It was a perfect stalemate.

  Ron’s heart hammered against his ribs. He looked John up and down in disbelief. "You have spectral power now?!"

  "No, wait... this isn't normal spiritual energy. This feels... different." Ron’s brow furrowed as he tried to analyze the sensation.

  "Of course it is," John shrugged.

  In this world, the power from companion objects and the power from wild ghosts were both called "spiritual energy." Ron recognized those. But the power from a human possessing and controlling a ghost directly? That was a category that didn't exist yet.

  "I call it 'Spiritual Energy: Premium Edition,'" John said.

  "..."

  Ron’s confusion only deepened. "Is this that 'Aura of the Wicked' again?"

  "I keep telling you, I'm a good guy! I don't have a 'wicked aura'!" John rubbed his temples. "Look, if you really need a name for it, call it 'Essence.'"

  "Essence?"

  "Yeah. The Essence of a Psychopath."

  "???"

  Ron’s eye twitched. He decided to stop asking questions. In this era, weirder things were happening every day.

  Suddenly, a strange, predatory smile spread across Ron’s face. He began scanning John with a look that made the boy uncomfortable.

  "Uh, sir? Can you stop being such a creep?" John took two steps back.

  "You're the creep, kid. You're getting stronger for no damn reason." Ron snorted. "Anyway, since you skipped a week of school, your punishment is simple: you’re coming with me on a mission tomorrow."

  "Supernatural?"

  "Obviously. I don't do 'normal' errands."

  "I’m in!" John’s eyes lit up with excitement.

  To get stronger, he needed medicine. To get medicine, he needed ghosts. He needed Ghost Crystals and Ghost Coins. Everything he wanted required hunting. He would happily accept a haunted encounter every day of the week—as long as it was something he could actually beat.

  "Mr. Ron..." John blinked innocently. "Honestly, you can punish me like this as much as you want."

  "..."

  Ron leaned back in his chair, recoiling. "And you still claim you’re not a freak?!"

  "No, I’m serious."

  John had joined the Ghost-User Class for two reasons: knowledge and access to incidents. This was exactly what he wanted.

  "Get yourself ready for tomorrow," Ron said. "Rogue Ghost-Users aren't easy to handle."

  "Wait, what? Ghost-Users?" John’s excitement vanished. "The mission is to deal with a person?"

  He looked bored instantly. He’d already tested it—you can’t eat a companion spirit. If he couldn't harvest the "loot," what was the point?

  "What, you think you're too good to fight Ghost-Users?"

  "No, it’s just... fighting people is a drag. No profit in it."

  "The reward from the higher-ups is five Ghost Crystals."

  "Oh?!" John’s posture straightened immediately. "See? Now I’m feeling the motivation again."

  "..."

  Ron shook his head. "I'll send the file to your phone. Read it."

  "No rush on the file. Let’s talk shop: how do we split the loot?"

  "Three for me, two for you. We'll finalize the details once the job is done."

  "Let's split it by 'contribution score' instead," John suggested with a sharp glint in his eye. "If you don't contribute anything, you don't get any crystals. Fair?"

  "Fair," Ron shrugged. "Though I doubt that’ll be the case."

  "Who knows?" John smirked, turned on his heel, and walked out of the office.