Transmigrated As An SSS Ranked MILF Overlord-Chapter 52: Ghost(2)

Pant.

pant.

pant.

Steve stood frozen, breath heaving softly as he stared ahead. Cold sweat clung to his skin.

His gaze was locked on the mysterious figure before him—an ethereal being wrapped in shadows, barely shaped like a man, but with eyes that pierced through the darkness like dying stars.

Steve hesitantly rose to his feet, bracing his shaky legs beneath him.

His heart drummed hard in his chest, but something told him—

'he's not attacking me.'

His fingers curled slightly, defensively, but the ghost hadn't moved. Not a single aggressive twitch.

And more importantly, his hands weren't raised. No claws. No spells. No sudden blows.

Steve narrowed his eyes.

'He still doesn't seem hostile... That's... surprising.'

His thoughts swam.

'So, he's not here to kill me. That's... good, right? But then came a shiver as he remembered something—the ghost could hear his thoughts.

He bit his lower lip. I should probably stop thinking so loudly.'

The spirit didn't react. Not yet. Steve's eyes lingered on the being's strange, transparent outline—the way it shimmered faintly, almost like smoke trying to remember its shape.

And yet, it was real. Tangible. Not just a hallucination.

From what Steve could recall—what little he understood—it had all started when he used the author's notebook for his aid.

The moment he touched the author's book... this ghost responded, tilting forward slightly.

This made his chest tighten.

Taking a cautious breath, Steve finally broke the silence.

"Okay... I don't really know exactly how to go about this, but... when you said I bound you to me..."

His voice faltered, unsure if the ghost would respond.

"Does that mean you're the reason why all those wolves just... exploded?"

The ghost's eyes didn't blink—maybe he couldn't—but there was a faint flicker, a tiny glint of mischief in them.

"Yeah." the being said flatly.

"That was me."

Steve blinked.

"Wha...? That's— that's incredible." He almost smiled.

"How does that even work?"

The ghost didn't answer right away. He instead stared at Steve, then, with exaggerated tiredness, slowly lowered himself to the forest floor.

Steve tilted his head.

"Um..."

"Do I look like a fucking circus bear to you?" the ghost snapped, cutting him off.

"You don't just sit down and expect me to explain my tricks with a top hat and a drumroll."

Steve flinched.

"Umm...Sorry...Damn mehn...."

The ghost sighed and flicked invisible dust from his shoulder.

"Listen. I'm strong. Very strong. You, on the other hand..." he sized Steve up, unimpressed.

"...are weak. The book didn't exactly give me much of a choice. I was just the closest thing nearby with enough juice to save your sorry life."

"So..." Steve ran a hand through his hair.

"You're stuck with me?"

"No." The ghost tilted his head with a smug smirk.

"You're stuck with me."

Steve paused.

"Okay. But—"

"But nothing." The ghost suddenly stood up again, arms folded. His voice lowered, rougher now.

"I've spent over a thousand years roaming this world. Alone. Free. Watching your kind poison the earth with greed, hatred, pride. I've watched entire civilizations fall. Empires burn. And you expect me to throw all of that away... for you?"

Steve didn't speak.

The ghost stepped closer.

"I'd rather die than give up my eternal wandering for some naive human who doesn't even know how to hold a blade right." He let out a humorless laugh.

"But that damn book... it knew the rules. Once the binding was done, there's no undoing it. Not until you die."

The air around them stilled.

"That's the law of the binding." he continued.

"I'm tied to you until your last breath. Under normal circumstances, that means I'm supposed to protect you—defend you. It's instinct. It's baked into me like some stupid compulsion."

His expression darkened.

"But I'm not like the other ghosts. I don't follow rules. I bend them. Break them. Snap them like twigs."

Steve gave a wary glance.

'This guy's insane.' He tried not to think it too loudly.

The ghost's gaze snapped to him.

"Oh, I heard that." he growled.

Steve blinked.

"You—"

"Yeah, I hear everything. Every thought, every doubt, every insult bouncing around in that soft little head of yours."

He stepped even closer now, eyes gleaming like burning frost.

"So listen close, Steve." he said, voice almost a whisper now.

"One day—soon—you're going to be knee-deep in trouble. You'll scream my name, beg for help. But guess what? I won't come."

Steve felt his heart tighten.

"I'll let you die. And when that happens, the binding ends. I'll be free. Finally."

The ghost grinned wide, manic.

"And that? That's the only reason I'm still here."

Steve swallowed hard.

"Do... do you even have a name?"

But before the ghost could answer—or maybe before Steve could finish—the ghost snapped his fingers.

Snap.

The forest rippled. Shadows twisted.

And just like that, he was gone.

Vanished into the blackness of nothing, as if he'd never been there at all.

Steve was left standing in the silent forest, the moonlight filtering weakly through the canopy above. Alone. Still trembling from the encounter.

"...What a fucking asshole." he muttered, rubbing his face.

"He could've at least told me his name."

***

By the time Steve reached home, night had fully blanketed the sky.

The house was quiet. No flickers of blue, no icy breath behind his shoulder.

It seemed the ghost had chosen not to follow him inside. Or maybe... he was out there, somewhere, watching. Smirking. Planning.

Steve didn't care anymore.

He walked to his bed like a ghost himself and collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

Exhaustion came quickly, dragging him into its depths, but his thoughts lingered—stubborn and loud.

The world had become something new. Something strange.

He'd met a ghost. A rude, powerful, ancient ghost. One who clearly hated him but was bound to him. Forever, apparently.

And yet... Steve didn't feel afraid.

If anything, there was something oddly comforting about the madness. Something exciting.

Like his life had shifted from the dull gray of ordinary to something painted in the colors of legend. Mystery. Danger.

And deep down, he craved it.

Not death—no, not that—but meaning. A purpose. Even if it came wearing the face of a cruel spirit with a sharp tongue and glowing eyes.

He smiled faintly in the dark.

This world... he thought. It's finally starting to get interesting.

But for now... all he needed was sleep.

Tomorrow was the day everything changed.

The first day of his new life. The day he stepped foot into the place he'd waited so long to see—Arcane Bloom Academy.

'More like MILF Bloom.' he corrected himself mentally with a sleepy grin.

'Arcane Bloom. Idiot.'

He chuckled softly to himself, eyes growing heavier by the second.

The room faded.

The night passed.

And as the first light of dawn touched the windowpane, Steve's three days of grace ended—and with it, the real story was about to begin...his journey into the Arcane Bloom Academy.

***

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