Soon, the two arrived at the office.

  "This is for you," Ron said, sliding a red box across the desk. "Special delivery from the provincial capital."

  "Oh? For me?"

  "I assume it’s your reward for the Ghost River incident."

  John’s heart skipped a beat. His hands moved in a blur as he tore the box open. However, the moment he saw the contents, his face went completely blank.

  "What’s wrong? Did they send you a pipe bomb?" Ron asked, noting the look of pure despair.

  "I’d prefer a bomb. At least that would be useful," John groaned. He turned the box around so Ron could see.

  Inside sat two items: a glossy certificate titled 'Best Newcomer of the Ping’an River Incident' and a crimson silk banner embroidered with the words: 'Selfless Devotion: A Model for Our Era.'

  Ron struggled to keep a straight face. No wonder the kid looked like he’d just watched his dog die.

  "Are you kidding me?!" John frantically dug through the box. "I saved the damn city and I get a participation trophy and a flag?! There’s gotta be a Ghost Crystal hidden in here. Or maybe a debit card tucked into the certificate!"

  "..."

  Ron stared at him. Who hides a bank card inside a certificate?

  "Alright, give it a rest. Did you say something specific to Director Wei that night?" Ron asked. Even he felt the reward was a bit... abstract.

  "What did I say?" John thought back and recounted their conversation verbatim.

  "Well, there’s your problem," Ron snorted. "You painted yourself as this noble, selfless hero. Director Wei is a straightforward guy; he thought you hated material possessions, so he gave you 'spiritual' ones instead."

  "..."

  John’s eye twitched. "No way. I was just bluffing..."

  "The Director probably worried that cold, hard cash would corrupt your 'pure and flawless soul'!" Ron grinned ear to ear. "Cherish it, kid. This is honor!"

  "I don't want the honor, I want the paycheck!" John muttered to himself. He realized he’d been too clever for his own good. If he’d known, he would have skipped the 'lonely master' act and asked for a suitcase of cash.

  John trudged back to class, cradling his "honors" like a heavy burden.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Whoa, Boss John! Is that your official certificate? So cool!"

  He ran right into Yang Quan’s squad. They crowded around, eyes wide. "Boss, congrats! True honor is priceless!"

  John looked at the four of them. He gave them a thin, dangerous smile. "You guys think we should celebrate?"

  "Absolutely!" Yang Quan chirped. "Dinner's on me tonight!"

  "I don't need dinner. I want you to go up to that podium and read the essay you wrote praising me... actually, scratch that. I want you to sing it."

  "..."

  The boys' knees nearly gave out. "S-sing it?"

  "Remember: put some soul into it."

  For the next ten minutes, the class was treated to a gut-wrenching, out-of-tune operatic performance by four miserable teenagers.

  I’m going to remember this... Yang Quan thought as he stumbled off the stage. He vowed right then to train until his blood boiled, become a Ghost-User, and overthrow this demon. One day, he’d make John sing on the podium every single morning.

  Late that night.

  "Best Newcomer..." John sighed, hanging the banner and certificate on his wall anyway.

  "The government payout was a bust. Don't let me down, buddy," he muttered, looking at his chest. "It’s been a week. Why isn't that head digested yet? Is the Ghost Face having stomach issues?"

  Despite the delay, his anticipation grew. Good medicine takes time to brew.

  Midnight struck.

  As John slept, a sudden heat bloomed in his chest. His consciousness was violently yanked into the familiar dark void.

  "Is it ready?" He was instantly wide awake. "Finally..."

  Looking around the darkness felt strangely like coming home. But then, he looked up and noticed something different. "Wait... where did the red beads go? There are only three left?"

  Just then, a pulse of information flooded his brain. His eyes widened as the realization hit him.

  "So these things are called... Ghost Coins?"

  "Wait, I used Coins to 'resist an unknown mental attack'? What the hell does that mean?" He blinked, then his jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me?! You're telling me that immunity to the Ghost River’s shriek wasn't a freebie? I had to pay for it?!"

  The Ghost Face didn't respond, but its silence was a cold "Yes."

  John’s lip curled. He’d thought the Ghost Face was a loyal companion; it turns out it was more of a service provider.

  "Ghouls are traded for medicine. Protection costs Ghost Coins. Is there anything in this place that doesn't have a price tag?"

  In John’s mind, the image of the "Ghostly Divine Doctor" shattered, replaced by a "Shady Supernatural Merchant."

  Suddenly, a series of agonized, venomous shrieks echoed from the depths of the void. It was bone-chilling.

  "That sound..." John’s eyes narrowed. "That’s the Ghost Bride from the river. And the slaves I ate."

  They were still screaming. He wasn't sure if the Ghost Face was a slow eater or if the Bride was just that resilient. But as time passed, the screams faded into a dull hum. Simultaneously, the red beads above—the Ghost Coins—began to multiply.

  The count jumped from three to over a hundred in seconds.

  "Damn, she was worth that much?" John was stunned. A normal spirit was only worth one coin. A decapitated head was worth a hundred?

  "Forget the coins. Where’s the medicine?"

  Just as he thought it, the darkness around him receded, revealing the true nature of the space for the first time.

  Below his feet wasn't a floor, but a churning, rolling sea of blood. His consciousness sat on a single dark crag like a jagged island in a red ocean.

  As he stared in shock, a familiar, chilling aura emerged from the crimson waves.

  "A spirit?!"

  A pale, shivering figure crawled out of the blood sea toward him. But what caught John's eye was the glowing tag hovering over the spirit's head:

  [ 100 GHOST COINS ]

  John’s mind reeled. Is that... a price tag?

  The realization hit him like a freight train. His "internal doctor" wasn't just a merchant—he was a goddamn Black Market Ghost Trafficker.