Silence fell over John in an instant.

  Tall metal railings had long been built along the banks of the Peaceful River, yet they’d done nothing to stop the tragedies.

  The only way to prevent it would be round-the-clock patrols—

  but the Peaceful River cut straight through the heart of Blackwater City, splitting it into North and South Districts. Patrolling a river that spanned the entire city day and night would drain far too many manpower resources.

  And in these desperate times, most of the Local Patrol’s forces were tied up sealing off supernatural sites and keeping the peace.

  “Either adapt or be left behind…”

  He stared out at the river’s surface, his heart unshaken by the grim reality.

  The middle-aged man turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got a pretty calm head on your shoulders, kid. Aren’t you scared of those ghosts?”

  “Scared?”

  John let out a low chuckle. “If they cross my path, they’re the ones who should be scared…”

  “Don’t go spouting nonsense like that. You might draw them to you.”

  The man’s expression turned serious, writing John off as a cocky kid running his mouth.

  John didn’t bother explaining further. He simply followed the flow of the crowd, continuing his leisurely stroll along the bank.

  The other passersby around them merely sighed and walked on, clearly having grown desensitized to the river jumpings by now.

  …

  That night,

  John returned to his apartment, stealing frequent glances at his chest, his eyes brimming with anticipation.

  “Will it finish digesting tonight?”

  He muttered to himself, pacing slightly.

  “My personal healer, step up the pace! I can’t live a single day without my meds…”

  Time ticked by, and midnight struck.

  John’s body jolted as a searing heat flared to life in his chest—exactly what he’d been waiting for.

  “It’s here!”

  His heart raced, his gaze locked onto his chest.

  Sure enough, blood-red lines snaked across his skin, twisting and writhing to form the familiar, terrifying Ghostly Mask…

  In the blink of an eye, he was pulled into that familiar pitch-black void.

  “Twenty already?”

  His eyes shot to the sky above him, where twenty blood-red orbs hovered in a row, like a set of cold, watchful pupils staring down at him.

  As he stared, a flash of cold light streaked down from the darkness, hurtling toward him at breakneck speed!

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  “Whoa!”

  John’s body tensed, his first instinct to dodge—then he remembered he was only a consciousness here, and let the light strike him.

  The moment it hit, he froze, dumbfounded.

  “This is…”

  There was no pill waiting for him, no miracle medicine.

  Instead, there stood a massive—gigantic—syringe.

  Not a tiny sewing needle, but a medical injection syringe, the kind used to administer powerful drugs to patients…

  The cold light he’d seen was the glint of its razor-sharp needle tip,

  and this syringe was unlike any he’d ever seen. It was absurdly, impossibly large…

  The needle alone was as thick as a baby’s arm, and the barrel was monstrously huge, towering over him like a weapon of war.

  “Goddamn it—Is this a missile or a syringe?”

  John muttered, his eyes wide. “Don’t tell me I’m supposed to inject this into myself…”

  For a moment, he hesitated.

  This wasn’t an injection—it was a death sentence.

  After a long pause, he shrugged.

  “Screw it. I’ll take it first, decide whether to use it later.”

  He muttered to himself, stepping forward slowly and placing a hand on the colossal syringe barrel.

  In an instant, he was pulled back to his apartment room, the giant syringe in his grasp,

  and a flood of information about the serum inside it flooded his mind.

  “It’s not for me… it’s for vicious ghosts?”

  John blinked, relief washing over him in a wave.

  He loved his meds, but a needle this big? No thanks.

  “It can suppress a ghost’s supernatural power?”

  His gaze dropped to the syringe’s barrel, where a thick, inky black liquid swirled inside—something that looked far from ordinary, far from harmless.

  “Suppression effectiveness varies by the ghost’s grade…”

  He shook his head, sighing. “That’s about as vague as it gets.”

  But he didn’t dwell on it. After all, he still had no clue how ghost grades worked anyway. Even if the details had been spelled out for him, it would’ve meant nothing.

  “If it’s from the Ghostly Mask, it’s top-tier!”

  He stroked his chin, then carefully stowed the giant syringe away in a secure spot.

  This serum had been forged from the Mirror Ghost, the strongest ghost he’d faced to date.

  He’d already made a rough guess at the Mirror Ghost’s true power. It had seemed like he’d trounced it completely, but that was only because he’d caught it off guard—

  and more importantly, it had been weakened from trapping Ron, far from its full strength.

  “Now I’ve got even less to fear from any ghost that crosses my path…”

  A wide grin spread across his face, his confidence soaring.

  Whoever dared mess with him now would get a giant syringe to the face first, questions later!

  Never mind the serum’s actual effects—this thing’s sheer size alone would be enough to terrify any ghost half to death…

  He hadn’t gotten a permanent strength-boosting pill this time, but this one-time nuke of a weapon was just as valuable. It was his new ace in the hole.

  John’s mood was lighter than air as he curled up in bed, a smile still on his lips, and drifted off to sleep…

  In his dreams, he charged after thousands of vicious ghosts, the giant syringe slung over his shoulder, embodying the unhinged glory of a madman…

  …

  Early the next morning,

  a racket erupted from the apartment next door.

  John’s brow furrowed as he stirred from his wonderful dream, instinctively pulling the covers over his ears—but the noise still seeped through, unrelenting.

  “For real? Who the hell is making this much noise this early?”

  His scowl deepened, his morning grumpiness flaring to life.

  He’d been in the middle of skewering a dozen vicious ghosts with the syringe needle, about to make roast ghost skewers…

  John threw on his clothes and marched next door, slamming his fist against the door.

  “Uncle Liu…”

  He frowned, staring at his elderly neighbor who’d answered the door.

  “Sorry to wake you, John! My bad, my bad.”

  Uncle Liu rubbed his hands together nervously, rushing to explain.

  “I hired a master to perform a purification ritual for our building—keeps the ghosts away, y’know?”

  “A master? A purification ritual?”

  John’s eyes shot wide, his interest piqued. “Is our building haunted?”

  Could it be that breakfast had just walked right to his door?

  “Not exactly.”

  Uncle Liu shook his head. “Just playing it safe! Times are crazy right now, can’t be too careful…”

  “Playing it safe?”

  John blinked, caught off guard by the answer.

  “The ritual’s done.”

  A man in his thirties stepped out from behind Uncle Liu, his expression arrogant and dismissive as he spoke.

  “Make sure the 300,000 balance is transferred to my account.”

  With that, he turned to leave—only for a hand to shoot out and grab his arm, stopping him cold.

  John’s brow was furrowed as he sized the man up and down, his tone sharp and sarcastic.

  “300,000 for what? Are you peddling your body here? Wait—no, if you were, you’d be the one paying people.”