Ghost Hunting Club

Chapter 2

The first rule of surviving as a shaman was simple: Never let ordinary people discover what you are.

The second? Never assume the monsters you encounter at night are the only things capable of hunting you.

Unfortunately, I had broken both rules before breakfast. And now, on my first day at Meadowcrest Academy, I was standing face-to-face with the last person who should have recognized me.

Of all the people I expected to run into on my first day at Meadowcrest Academy, the last person I wanted to see was the guy who had witnessed me getting my ass kicked by a giant spider. And yet, there he was.

Standing beside me in the school hallway, looking annoyingly handsome as if nearly getting killed by a monster was a perfectly normal way to spend an evening. Silvery-white hair. Dark blue eyes. A face that belonged on the cover of a magazine. And a smirk that made me want to punch him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, holding it up for me to see. It was his section card. I narrowed my eyes before digging through my bag and retrieving mine. With a sinking feeling, I held it up beside his.

We stared at the cards.

Then at each other.

“Same section, huh?” he said, a smirk spreading across his face.

Of course. Because apparently, the universe wasn't satisfied with humiliating me in a cemetery. It had decided to make my life miserable on a daily basis, too.

He turned and started walking, seemingly unfazed by the students who had begun glancing in our direction. Well, to be fair, most of them were looking at him. I couldn't blame them. He was attractive, after all. Annoyingly so.

Still, I followed him. We were in the same section, and I had absolutely no idea where I was going. If I got lost, at least I wouldn't be the only i***t wandering around the school.

We entered the main building, where the hallways stretched out like a maze. Rows of lockers lined the walls, their dull metal surfaces scratched and dented from years of use. The air carried the scent of old books, cafeteria food, and disinfectant from the janitor's recent cleaning.

Bulletin boards covered the walls, displaying flyers for club meetings, sports events, and even a notice about a missing cat. The faded checkerboard tiles beneath our feet showed signs of wear, while the echoes of hurried footsteps filled the hallways as students rushed between classes.

Meadowcrest Academy was bigger than I had expected. Wonderful. A new school, unfamiliar faces, and a building that looked like it had been designed to make newcomers lose their way. Just what I needed.

We continued down the hallway until he suddenly stopped in front of a large bulletin board. I almost walked straight into his back.

“What now?” I muttered.

He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze settled on a poster that stood out among the faded announcements. Curious despite myself, I followed his line of sight.

The poster was bright and colorful, with bold letters that practically screamed at anyone passing by.

**JOIN THE GHOST HUNTING CLUB!**

I stared at it. Then I blinked. LOL. For real? Was this a school club or an invitation to get possessed?

I was about to dismiss it and look for our classroom on my own when he suddenly caught the strap of my bag, stopping me in my tracks. I turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Look.”

“I'm not interested in—”

I stopped. Something about the poster caught my attention, and it wasn't the ridiculous club name. It was the image beneath it.

A ghostly figure stood against a background of swirling shadows, its body half-transparent and its dark eyes seemingly following whoever looked at it. Wisps of mist curled around its silhouette, creating an unsettling atmosphere that felt far too realistic for an ordinary school poster.

Beneath the figure was a small illustration of a shaman's staff. Strange runes had been etched along its length, each symbol drawn with a precision that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My expression changed.

I leaned closer, examining the symbols.

They weren't random decorations. Whoever had designed this poster knew what those markings meant—or at least understood enough about the supernatural to reproduce them convincingly. More importantly, the poster carried a faint trace of spiritual energy. Not much. Just enough for someone like me to notice.

My eyes narrowed. The last thing I wanted was to get involved with anything paranormal. I'd spent years avoiding that sort of trouble, and after what had happened in the cemetery last night, I was more than happy to keep it that way.

The poster listed the club's meeting schedule and contact information. At the bottom, a cheerful little message read:

*No experience needed, just curiosity!*

I scoffed under my breath.

Curiosity, huh? Curiosity was how people ended up in abandoned buildings at midnight, asking ghosts questions they weren't prepared to have answered. No, thank you. I had enough problems without voluntarily signing up for more.

“Let's go,” I said, turning away.

Before we could take another step, a sudden movement caught my attention. Someone approached from the opposite direction, brushed past us, and snatched the corner of the poster.

I turned just in time to see a guy with messy black hair and dark glasses pull the poster free from the bulletin board. He tucked it under his arm and continued walking as if stealing school announcements were part of his morning routine.

Then I glanced over his shoulder. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You two should check it out,” he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. And just like that, he disappeared into the crowd.

I stood there, blinking after him. What was that supposed to mean? I turned toward my companion.

“Do you know him, by any chance?”

He watched the direction the stranger had gone, then smiled. Not his usual irritating smirk.

“Why?” he asked. I stared at him.

“Because he just stole a poster and invited us to join a ghost hunting club. I thought maybe you two shared a hobby.”

His smile widened.

“Maybe.”

I immediately regretted asking. Before I could interrogate him further, a deep voice sounded from behind us.

“New students?”

We both turned. A man stood beside the classroom adjacent to the bulletin board, holding a folder against his chest. He looked like a teacher, judging by his formal clothes and the expression of someone who had already dealt with too many troublesome teenagers that morning.

His gaze shifted between us before settling on the cards in our hands.

“Section cards?” he asked.

We nodded.

“Good. You're in the right place. Get inside, and I'll introduce you to the rest of the class.”

I looked at the classroom door, then at my card. Finally. Our room. One less disaster to worry about.

I followed the silver-haired guy inside, hoping that being classmates was the most complicated thing our relationship would ever become. Something told me I was going to regret that hope. The moment we stepped into the classroom, the conversations died down. Every head turned toward us.

I could practically feel the weight of their stares as I surveyed the room. Some students whispered to one another, sneaking curious glances in our direction. Others barely looked up from their phones, apparently too uninterested to care about the arrival of two strangers.

I preferred the latter. Attention was the last thing I needed.

Unfortunately, standing at the front of a classroom while everyone stared at me wasn't exactly an effective way to avoid it. Our adviser placed his folder on the desk and cleared his throat.

“Everyone, we have two new students joining our class. I expect you to make them feel welcome.”

He gestured toward the silver-haired guy first.

“Go ahead. Introduce yourself.”

The guy stepped forward with the ease of someone who had never experienced an awkward moment in his entire life.

“I'm Daemon.” He gave the class a slight bow. That was it. No hobbies. No fun facts. No unnecessary details. Honestly, I respected the efficiency.

Then the teacher turned to me. I stepped forward, suddenly aware of every pair of eyes in the room.

“Uh… hello. I'm Athena.”

I offered an awkward little bow, hoping that would be enough to end the ordeal. Silence followed.

Daemon and I exchanged a brief glance before looking back at our adviser.

Was this normal? Did students at Meadowcrest Academy usually greet newcomers by pretending they didn't exist?

Our adviser chuckled, apparently deciding to rescue us from the uncomfortable silence.

“Welcome to Meadowcrest Academy. I hope you'll both feel comfortable here.” He turned to the class. “And remember to be friendly. You never know when you'll need help from the people sitting beside you.”

A few students nodded.

“Now,” he continued, “does anyone have any questions for our new classmates?”

The whispers immediately grew louder.

I resisted the urge to sigh. Please, just ask where we're from. Or what our favorite subjects are. Something normal. Or just don’t ask anything.

Thankfully, no one did ask. We found each other’s seats, and yeah, fate brought us loser I guess, unfortunately because we are seat mates.

We both sat down and my elbow slightly brushed against his elbow and for some reason, a subtle but sudden reaction from my necklace stopped me from whatever I was thinking.

My mother's necklace had never reacted to a place like this before.

Not once.

I curled my fingers around it through the fabric, feeling the faint pulse of heat beneath my palm.

Then it stopped.

Just as suddenly as it had begun.

No one seemed to notice.

No one except Daemon.

His eyes were fixed on the necklace beneath my uniform. The playful smirk that had been plastered across his face all morning was gone, replaced by an expression I couldn't quite decipher.

Recognition.

No. That couldn't be right.

He couldn't possibly recognize my mother's necklace.

Unless—

“Where did you get that?” he whispered.

My heart skipped a beat.

I stared at him. “Get what?”

His gaze lifted to mine.

For the first time since we'd met, Daemon wasn't smiling.

“Your necklace, Athena.”

The way he said my name sent a chill down my spine. I tightened my grip on the pendant.

“It belonged to my mother. Why?”

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his eyes darkened, and he glanced toward the classroom windows as though checking whether someone was listening.

“Don't wear it here,” he murmured.

I frowned.

“What are you talking about?”