Dawn broke the next day,

  and John was up bright and early, still buzzing with energy, not a hint of fatigue on him.

  He had no exact clue how strong his body was now, but it was far beyond any ordinary person’s.

  “That Footstep Ghost yesterday was pretty weak, all things considered…”

  he muttered to himself.

  It had killed Miller the Ghostbearer, sure—but John’s guess was Miller had died more from his own fragile nerves than the ghost’s actual power.

  As Ethan had said,

  fighting a ghost was less a physical brawl and more a psychological game. It all came down to who cracked and showed fear first.

  Miller had folded right out of the gate, obviously.

  And John, the resident lunatic, had had the Footstep Ghost wrapped around his finger from start to finish.

  If he’d gone head-to-head with the ghost at its full strength, the outcome might have been anyone’s guess.

  But the ghost’s defenses had crumbled the second John threw it off its game, letting him take the win without breaking a sweat.

  “Tonight’s the night the pills kick out, huh…”

  John glanced down at his chest, a flicker of anticipation in his eyes.

  The Footstep Ghost might have been weak, but it was still a league above the measly Shade Ghosts that were little more than nuisances.

  One was just a jump scare. The other was a genuine killer.

  Pills made from a ghost like that? Their effect was bound to be a massive upgrade.

  Lost in thought, John walked into school.

  These days, the first floor of the main building belonged exclusively to the Ghostbearer Class and the Intelligence Class.

  Classes were lax, to say the least—but every single student showed up bright and early, their attitudes as serious as could be.

  For regular kids, bad grades meant no college, no future.

  For Ghost Studies students, bad grades meant a one-way ticket to the grave…

  John reached his classroom door to find the other students already inside,

  some reviewing yesterday’s lessons, others huddling to share tips and theories.

  They all had one goal: survive.

  “Looks like Miller’s death didn’t even make a ripple…”

  He’d glanced at the Ghostbearer Class on his way over—same as ever, no change.

  In an age like this,

  people were killed by ghosts every single day. Even Ghostbearers were just another face in the crowd, not worth a second glance when they were gone.

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

  He was about to step inside when,

  from the end of the hallway, Ron called out to him.

  “John. A word.”

  John’s expression didn’t shift an inch. He fell into step behind Ron without a single question.

  Moments later,

  they reached the teacher’s office.

  William and the other two were there too,

  and the second John walked in, all three broke into grins, their eyes shining with admiration—full-on fanboys, plain and simple.

  Clearly, they’d filled Ron in on what happened last night.

  And that was exactly what John had wanted.

  The official Supernatural Bureau might not be able to stamp out every ghostly incident these days, but they held all the cards when it came to supernatural intel—and a mountain of resources to boot.

  If he wanted a piece of that pie, he had to show off his talent, his strength.

  Of course, without exposing the ghostly visage on his chest.

  And besides the desire to be noticed, there was one more key reason:

  Killing a ghost and not being able to brag about it? It was pure torture for him.

  “You killed the Footstep Ghost yesterday?”

  Sure enough, Ron cut to the chase the second he sat down,

  his calm gaze locking onto John’s. Deep down, he didn’t believe it for a second.

  This kid had nerves of steel, yes—but he was still just a regular human.

  People like that were few and far between, even across the entire country. What were the odds one just happened to attend Fifth High in Peace City?

  “You mean that freak that bothered me last night?”

  John’s face was impassive. “I was sound asleep, and it just had to come crashing in. Had no choice but to take it out.”

  ???

  A vein throbbed on Ron’s forehead, his expression darkening.

  Oh, he’s really going to lean into the cocky act, isn’t he?

  After a long pause, he said, “Tell me the exact details.”

  At that, John lit up, launching into a blow-by-blow of the whole thing.

  William and the other two leaned in, fascinated—they’d only seen the aftermath, not the actual fight.

  As John spoke,

  Ron and the others went from eager anticipation to blank-faced disbelief, then to full-on mental whiplash…

  “Stop!”

  Ron finally couldn’t take it anymore, holding up a hand.

  “Are you sure any of that is true?!”

  “Every single word,”

  John thumped his chest. “I’m a man of unwavering honesty. That’s my brand.”

  “Honesty?”

  Ron’s brows furrowed deep. He spoke slowly,

  “You just said you punched a hole in the fabric of space, then erased the Footstep Ghost’s very existence from the river of time…”

  “Uh…”

  Hearing Ron repeat his wild tale, John realized he might have laid it on a little thick.

  He mumbled an addendum,

  “I may have taken a little artistic license with the details…”

  “A little?!”

  Ron rubbed his temples, his understanding of this kid deepening by the second.

  This kid was a straight-up lunatic.

  “Did you kill the Footstep Ghost or not?!”

  Doubt crept into Ron’s voice.

  Since when could a mental patient take down a ghost?

  “I did,”

  John threw his hands up in a helpless shrug.

  “You used rooster’s blood, didn’t you?”

  A thought struck Ron—he remembered the missing Shade Ghost from the movie theater a while back.

  John nodded, no point in denying it now.

  “Taking down a ghost with just rooster’s blood…”

  Ron’s eyes narrowed, sweeping John up and down. “You’re pretty physically strong, aren’t you?”

  Besides supernatural mediums like rooster’s blood, raw physical power amplified damage to ghosts too. A theory started to form in his mind.

  “Ah… it’s okay, I guess…”

  “C’mere. Punch me.”

  Ron stood up abruptly, holding out his right palm, gesturing for John to hit it full force.

  “Sir, you sure about this?”

  “Don’t hold back. Hit me as hard as you can!”

  Ron’s face was calm. “I’m a Curse-Bound Ghostbearer. With supernatural enhancement, my body’s tougher than you could ever imagine.”

  “Alright!”

  John nodded, his own expression turning serious.

  He’d never had a clear measure of his physical strength. Now was his chance.

  Just how big was the gap between his “ordinary” body and a real Ghostbearer’s?

  Taking a deep breath, he tensed every muscle in his body, gathering all his strength.

  “Ron, here it comes!”

  In the blink of an eye, his right hand curled into a fist, and he threw it forward—so fast it let out a low whistle of wind in its wake.

  !

  Ron’s pupils constricted to pinpricks. Instinct screamed for him to stop John, but it was too late.

  BOOM!

  The punch connected with a deafening crack. Ron stumbled back several steps, slamming back down into his chair hard.

  “Sir, you okay?”

  John hurried over, concern lacing his voice.

  “Decent power,”

  Ron said, his face still calm. “Looks like you really did kill that Footstep Ghost.”

  “Wow—you’re a full Ghostbearer for a reason. That’s insane!”

  John stared at him, impressed that Ron hadn’t even flinched.

  It seemed Ghostbearers were superior to regular humans in every way, not just their bound ghosts.

  “You’ve got a hell of a physique. Hit the gym a lot?”

  “Nah.”

  John shook his head.

  “Just the pills talking.”

  ???