I Am The Strongest Ghost Hunter

Chapter 17

The next morning, Raito, Akito, and Sakura stood outside Hank’s house, staring like they’d pulled up to the wrong address.

It wasn’t a grim training compound. No spiked gates. No bloodstained mats. Just a clean, two-story place with white walls, flower boxes spilling color from every window, and a little garden path that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. The kind of house that screamed “normal family” instead of “ghost-hunting psycho mentor.”

Raito blinked twice. “This… is Hank’s place?”

Akito swallowed. “Either he’s got a secret interior designer, or we’re about to get murdered in the prettiest house in the city.”

Sakura stayed silent, half-hiding behind Raito, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt like she was already regretting existing.

Akito stepped up and knocked.

The door opened almost instantly.

A little girl—maybe seven or eight—stood there in a sundress, dark hair in pigtails, big curious eyes looking up at them.

“Hello,” she said sweetly. “Who are you?”

Akito crouched a little, smiling. “Hey there. I’m Akito. This is Raito, and that’s Sakura. We’re here for Hank.”

The girl didn’t budge from the doorway—like a tiny gatekeeper. She turned her head slightly without moving her feet.

“Brother Hank!” she called into the house. “Some people are looking for you!”

A muffled voice answered from deeper inside.

“Let them in, Miko. I’ll be there in a second.”

Miko stepped aside just enough to let them squeeze past, eyes still suspicious.

“Come inside,” she said, polite but guarded. “Sit. I’ll bring you something.”

She vanished down the hallway.

The living room hit them like a slap of luxury. Polished hardwood floors. Soft cream couches. Fresh flowers in vases. Art on the walls that actually looked expensive. Sunlight poured through big windows, making everything feel warm and safe.

Raito’s jaw dropped. “This… is Hank’s house?”

Akito whistled low. “Bro lives like a retired CEO"

Sakura stayed glued to Raito’s side, eyes darting everywhere like she expected the furniture to attack.

Miko reappeared carrying a tray—sliced fruit, chilled water, little pastries. She set it on the coffee table with careful precision.

“Eat,” she said simply, then disappeared again.

Raito stared at the spread like it might bite him. So many colors. Mango, pineapple, strawberries, grapes… he didn’t even know where to start.

Akito grabbed a strawberry and popped it in his mouth. “Okay, if we die today, at least we die well-fed.”

Sakura took one tiny grape and held it like it was evidence.

Then footsteps.

Hank walked in.

Wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips.

Hair damp and messy from the shower. Water still beading on his shoulders. Six-pack carved like it was chiseled out of stone. Scars crisscrossing his torso like a roadmap of bad decisions.

Sakura squeaked, spun around, hands flying to cover her eyes.

“I belong to him and him alone,” she muttered under her breath, voice tiny and frantic.

Hank didn’t even blink.

“I see you’re all having a good time,” he said, voice dry as ash. “Enjoy it while it lasts. Today’s going to be hell.”

He turned and walked back down the hall without another word.

“Should probably put some clothes on,” he called over his shoulder. “Then we begin.”

Raito’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“Are we… going to die today?” he asked, half-serious.

Sakura started rocking slightly. “No no no, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, not now—”

“Chill, guys,” Akito said, trying to sound calm. “It’s just training.”

Hank reappeared—now in full black gear, shades back on, sword strapped across his back like it never left.

“Nope,” he said flatly. “You might die. There’s no guarantee you’ll survive my training.”

He jerked his thumb toward the door.

“Now move it.”

They followed him outside.

Hank led them down a quiet side street to a sleek five-story building—glass windows gleaming, modern lines, looking like some high-end corporate office.

Raito stared up. “Where are we?”

Hank stopped, hands in pockets.

“This is your first official training.”

He smiled—small, sharp, dangerous.

“Your job is simple. Reach the rooftop.”

Akito laughed once. “That’s it? Easy.”

“Yeah,” Sakura added quietly. “We can do this.”

Raito crossed his arms. “Is that all? Come on, give us something juicy.”

Hank’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Sorry. Not gonna spoil it for you.”

He turned and walked away, leaving them in front of the building.

Raito cracked his knuckles. “I’ll get to the top first.”

He bolted.

Akito and Sakura sprinted after him.

They didn’t see the thin squared line glowing faintly around the building’s perimeter until they were already crossing it.

The second their feet passed over—

Everything changed.

The clean glass building rotted in an instant—windows shattered, walls stained black with mold and grime, paint peeling like dead skin. The sky bled red overhead, heavy and wrong. Eerie whispers slithered through the air—distant screams, laughter, scratching.

They skidded to a stop.

Tried to turn back.

The line was gone.

No retreat.

Only forward.

Immediately they stepped their foot inside the house, a monster claw swiped at them—massive, jagged, black as oil and fast as death.

The three ducked in rapid succession, heads dropping just as the claw tore through the space where their skulls had been a heartbeat ago. It smashed into the wall with a wet crunch, plaster exploding outward in a cloud of dust and rot.

“What the hell is that?!” Raito yelled, voice cracking as they bolted forward, feet pounding warped floorboards, searching wildly for stairs—any stairs—that might lead to the second floor.

They skidded into an open space: a wide landing with six doors arranged in a crooked circle. No stairs. No hallway. Just doors. And silence that felt like it was watching.

“What in the world is going on here?” Raito shouted, spinning in place. “Why are there no stairs?!”

Akito’s breathing came fast and shallow. “What even is this place?”

Sakura edged forward alone—slow, hesitant, like every step was pulling teeth. She reached one door, fingers trembling, and pushed it open.

A scream ripped out of her—high, raw, animal.

Inside the frame wasn’t a room.

It was a mouth.

Huge, wet, ringed with jagged teeth and writhing tongues that glistened like raw meat. No eyes. No face. Just endless, pulsing hunger.

She jumped backward—straight into Raito’s arms.

“Please don’t let it get me,” she whimpered, face buried in his chest. “Please don’t let it get me—”

The mouth moved.

“Found them… hehehe…”

The voice was wet, layered, like a dozen people speaking through the same throat. Tongues lashed out—long, thick, dripping—reaching for her.

The other doors burst open at once.

Eyes stared from some—dozens of them, blinking out of sync, pupils dilating like black holes. Mouths gaped from others—snarling, laughing, screaming. Tongues snapped and whipped through the air, slapping wetly against the walls.

Then—silence.

Total. Sudden. Suffocating.

They froze.

And then…

Footsteps.

Heavy. Wet. Coming fast.

From around the corner—something burst into view, smashing through drywall like it was paper.