"Five grand..."

  The sum made Old Luke’s eyes light up. That kind of money would cover his expenses for a whole month, no sweat.

  "I can give it a shot," he said cautiously, not wanting to oversell his skills. "No guarantees it’ll work, though."

  "But first, I need to ask you a few questions."

  "Of course, Master. Go right ahead."

  "Have you taken the child to the hospital?"

  The woman nodded vigorously. "We ran every test imaginable—nothing was wrong with him physically."

  "The doctors just said he’s under too much stress and told us to talk to him more."

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "Nearly a week now."

  "What exactly are the symptoms? Has he been hurt? Or tried to hurt anyone else?"

  Luke was thorough, leaving no stone unturned in his questioning.

  Ten minutes later, he nodded firmly. "All right. Give me your address. I need to go home and get some things ready. I’ll come by tomorrow to take care of this in person."

  "Thank you, Master! Thank you so much!"

  The woman gushed her thanks before hurrying off the footbridge.

  Luke turned to John, who was already staring at him. The two locked eyes, neither speaking a word, each waiting for the other to break the silence.

  Finally, Luke caved first.

  "Kid, you’ve got guts. Wanna come with me?"

  "Can’t. I gotta man the stall tomorrow."

  "I’ll split the fee with you if it works out—80-20 split."

  "That generous?"

  John looked surprised, then shook his head. "Nah, make it 60-40. You’re the main guy here, after all."

  "???"

  Luke blinked, then snorted. "You think I’m an idiot or something?"

  "Kinda, yeah."

  "Get lost!"

  Luke rolled his eyes. "I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting here. You’re just there to keep me company and boost my courage."

  "Best I can do is 70-30. Thirty percent’s your base cut. If you actually pull your weight, I’ll throw in a little extra."

  "Deal!"

  John nodded, then shot him a skeptical look. "But seriously, Old Man—you can actually fix this whole possession thing, right?"

  "This is the 21st century! There’s no such thing as ghosts or curses! We believe in science, for crying out loud!"

  ...

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  John glanced at the fortune-telling sign propped next to Luke’s stall, fighting the urge to facepalm at the sheer hypocrisy.

  Luke didn’t seem the least bit fazed.

  "Probably just a kid with some mental issues. I’ll go talk him through it. Or maybe it’s a feng shui problem at their place—I can mess around with that too."

  "What if... what if there is something evil there?"

  John’s voice was calm, but there was an unspoken weight to his words. He still hadn’t forgotten the bizarre incident from last night.

  "Uh..."

  Luke’s expression shifted, and for once, he didn’t brush it off. "Then I’ll dig out the old grimoires my master left me. See if there’s any exorcism stuff in there."

  "Wait—you’re a total newbie at this?"

  John’s face fell, his doubts growing by the second. He thought back to the phony Taoist priest he’d met at the hospital the other day—all high-and-mighty, peddling fake talismans...

  "I only do fortune-telling! Never messed with exorcisms before!"

  "Then why’d you agree to this?!"

  "Hey, it’s worth a shot! What if I do fix it?"

  "Uh... yeah, fair point. All right, count me in!"

  John nodded. It wasn’t like they had anything to lose if it went south.

  Besides the money, he was dying to get to the bottom of this. If the kid really was possessed, it would confirm his hunch that something weird was going on with the world.

  As for danger? He wasn’t too worried. Luke had already asked all the right questions—the kid hadn’t hurt anyone, and neither had the family. Whatever was going on, it didn’t seem like a vengeful spirit.

  "Meet me here at six tomorrow morning?"

  "You got it!"

  John hopped onto his beat-up tricycle and pedaled slowly toward home, humming a tune.

  "Hope this is nothing too serious..."

  Luke muttered to himself as he packed up his stall, eager to head home and prepare for the big day.

  ...

  The next day, after a full day of classes, John rushed to the footbridge, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders.

  There, standing at the bridgehead, was a figure clad in a Taoist priest’s robe, clutching a peachwood sword, waiting for him.

  A small crowd of passersby had gathered to stare, but the figure paid them no mind, craning his neck to look for John in the distance.

  Suddenly, the figure spotted him and waved enthusiastically.

  "Kid! Over here!"

  "Huh?"

  John did a double-take, leaning back in surprise.

  "Whoa! Old Luke—you weren’t kidding about this, were you?!"

  "Told you, kid—I’m a professional!"

  Luke grinned, twirling the peachwood sword in his hand. "Pretty top-tier gear, huh?"

  "Where’d you even get this stuff? It looks legit!"

  "I... uh... looked it up in the old grimoires when I got home!"

  "???"

  John’s eyes widened in disbelief. Grimoires, my foot!

  "Uh... cough..."

  Luke cleared his throat awkwardly. "The books said a peachwood sword is essential, so I ordered one off a secondhand website. Grabbed the robe too—snazzy, right?"

  ...

  John felt a headache coming on, his face darkening with exasperation.

  "A used peachwood sword from the internet?!"

  "Hey, it works, doesn’t it? Stop nitpicking..."

  Luke scratched his nose. "Come on—let’s go!"

  "Fine, fine."

  John shrugged, then grinned mischievously. "At least if things go sideways, I can loot your gear when you bite the dust."

  ...

  The dynamic duo splurged on a taxi, heading straight for their client’s house.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at a modest apartment building.

  "Master! You’re here!"

  The woman from yesterday rushed to greet them, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Luke’s priestly getup. She looked thoroughly impressed—now this was a real expert.

  "..."

  Luke’s expression turned solemn, like a true man of mystery. He shot John a smug glance, as if to say See? Worth every penny for the costume.

  "Master, my son is in the bedroom."

  "Lead the way."

  Luke waved the peachwood sword dramatically, exuding an air of confidence.

  To be fair, if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he actually knew what he was doing.

  The three of them made their way to the child’s bedroom.

  Inside, a seven or eight-year-old boy sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes vacant, muttering something under his breath over and over.

  "Is he like this all the time?" Luke asked.

  The woman shook her head. "No. He’s fine in the mornings. But every afternoon, around five or six, he slips into this state."

  "Master—please. Do something."

  "Uh..."

  Luke’s confident facade faltered for a split second, panic flashing in his eyes. He’d been so busy buying his fancy costume that he’d only skimmed the first page of the "exorcism guide" he’d found online. He had no clue what to do next.

  John raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Come on, great master. Quit holding back. Show us what you’ve got!"

  ...

  Luke’s lips twitched. He shot John a death glare, then gripped the peachwood sword tightly and inched cautiously toward the boy.

  But the child didn’t react at all. He didn’t even glance up, just kept muttering to himself, lost in his own world.

  Luke leaned in closer, straining to hear what the boy was saying.

  "...Someone... there’s someone..."

  "What?"

  Luke frowned, leaning even closer.

  "Someone... in the corner... he’s watching us... always watching..."