Chapter 28: "Ghost Vibes and Haunted Friendship Jewelry"
In which Danny learns that lying to your best friends is harder than bench-pressing your own emotional baggage, and Tucker tries to eat a necklace.
Saturday mornings were supposed to be sacred.
You know—cartoons, cereal, and absolutely no life-threatening ghost drama before noon. But nope. Not in my life. I was already late to the park, where Sam and Tucker were almost done with their workout and looking annoyingly competent about it.
"Hey," I called, jogging over like soone who definitely didn't sleep in until ten and eat leftover pizza for breakfast. "Sorry I'm late. My ntor-slash-demon-ghost-sensei gave the morning off."
Sam raised an eyebrow, wiping sweat off her face with her sleeve. "That the sa ntor who keeps turning your life into a sci-fi horror movie?"
Tucker didn't look up from his sit-ups. "We figured you were busy transforming into a superhero... or a protein shake."
They weren't wrong. I an, I knew what was happening. I just couldn't exactly tell them that Naruto had basically ghost-infused my muscles while feeding a diet of pure willpower and secret chakra energy. That sort of thing doesn't go over well before brunch.
Instead, I gave them my best "I'm totally not suspicious" smile. "Yeah, funny thing about that..."
Sam crossed her arms. "Danny, your body has literally changed in three days. You went from 'kinda scrawny' to 'can probably punch through drywall.'"
"I did punch through drywall," I muttered, then imdiately realized that wasn't helping my case.
Tucker sat up and looked at his arms. "And we're getting stronger too. I don't even hate pushups anymore. This is how I know we've entered the Twilight Zone."
Okay. So maybe the ghost glow-ups were a little more noticeable than I hoped.
"Maybe..." I said slowly, "it's the ghost vibes in the city. Like background radiation, but spooky. You know, passive ghost gains."
Tucker blinked. "Ghost gains?"
"Or," I added with a completely straight face, "maybe it was that experintal serum I put in your drinks last night. Hard to say, really."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "Wait, what?"
I laughed and waved it off like the terrible liar I was. "Kidding! Kidding. Totally joking. I wouldn't do that without at least a warning label."
They didn't look convinced, but they also didn't punch , so I counted that as a win.
Then I rembered the real reason I ca.
"Oh! Right. Gifts." I reached into my pocket and pulled out two thin silver chains, each with a sleek obsidian pendant. They shimred faintly, like they were trying very hard not to be obviously magical.
Sam tilted her head. "Are those... haunted?"
"Almost definitely," I said with a grin. "But like, friendly haunted."
I handed one to each of them. "They're from . Well, technically from my new supplier of weirdness, but I asked him to make them for you. Protection charms. You guys are my best friends. And one girlfriend."
Tucker gave a dramatic gasp. "Wait. Which one of us is the girlfriend?"
Sam rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard it. "He ans , you moron."
"Ohhh," Tucker said. Then, with completely misplaced sincerity: "Can I eat it?"
"What?! No!"
Tucker shrugged. "You said it's full of ghost energy. Might give powers."
"It'll give you indigestion," I muttered.
Sam was already inspecting hers, holding it up to the light. "It's warm," she said. "And it kind of hums."
Yeah. That'd be the chakra shield built into it. Not that I could tell them that, of course. Naruto's whole "mystic armor crafter from another world" secret was mine to keep for now. Still, I couldn't help but feel smug watching them wear the necklaces. It wasn't just protection. It was a reminder that we were in this together—even if I was the one with the extra ghost juice and haunted body parts.
I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets and rocked back on my heels.
"So," I said, "you guys ready to start training again? Or should we go hunt so semi-corporeal horrors first?"
Sam smirked. "Depends. Will it involve punching things?"
"Almost definitely."
Tucker raised a hand. "Will there be snacks?"
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You ever stretch so well you feel like a human rubber band? Yeah, neither—until today.
The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and I was currently stretching like so kind of ninja yoga master in the middle of the park. Sam and Tucker were sprawled out on the grass nearby, catching their breath and downing water like it was holy nectar. They'd just finished our usual training workout, which now included ghost-adjacent cardio, chakra-enhanced jump squats, and the occasional duck-and-roll away from literal haunted squirrels. (Don't ask. Just... don't.)
anwhile, I was in the zone.
"Wow," Tucker said, watching with half-lidded eyes behind his techy glasses. "He can actually touch his toes now."
"More than that," Sam muttered, shading her eyes as I bent backward into a full bridge and then flipped out of it. "He's basically Cirque du Soleil with ghost powers."
Okay, she wasn't wrong. I could bend, twist, flip, and drop into a perfect side split like I was auditioning for a Kung Fu movie. It was all part of Naruto's training—and apparently having ghost energy infused into your muscles makes you way more bendy. Who knew?
Now, before I could enjoy their admiration for too long, it was ti for the main event. I cracked my knuckles, took a deep breath, and—
"Alright, let's go, you brooding discount ani rival," I muttered under my breath.
Because yes, I was now fighting Kid Sasuke. Or, well, the ghost of a ntal projection of Kid Sasuke, summoned in my head by Naruto as part of "advanced psychological training." I know. Just roll with it.
To Sam and Tucker, I was just shadowboxing across the park like a lunatic. But to ? I was throwing down with a tiny, angsty ninja with a superiority complex and way too much eyeliner.
I darted forward and dodged a phantom kunai. "Too slow, emo junior!" I laughed, flipping over a pretend sweep kick and retaliating with a spin-punch. To anyone watching, I probably looked like I was having an extrely violent episode of interpretive dance.
Sam blinked. "Is he fighting... nothing?"
Tucker, who'd been filming with his phone for the last minute, shrugged. "Either he's completely lost it, or we're witnessing the birth of the first Ghost Parkour League."
I dove behind a bench, rolled out, and vaulted over a trash can like it was a flaming barrel in an action movie. Kid Sasuke ca at with ghost-speed (you know, faster than normal but still unfair), and I barely ducked under a flying kick that would've knocked my imaginary teeth out.
"Still moody, still silent. You're basically a haunted sock puppet!" I taunted, ducking and weaving.
Of course, Sasuke didn't respond. He just glared with his Sharingan eyes—real or not—and kept trying to murder with karate.
My heart was pounding, my lungs were burning, and yeah, I might've had a goofy grin on my face. This was the best kind of training. Fast-paced, brutal, and weird enough to keep from thinking about actual responsibilities.
Eventually, after about five more dodges and one sweet flying kick that landed square in Sasuke's imaginary chest, I leapt back and held up my hands.
"Alright, ti out, broody. I gotta hydrate."
Sasuke vanished like a ghostly grudge match on pause.
I walked back to my friends, wiping sweat from my brow and trying not to look too smug.
Tucker stared at . "So... should we be worried?"
"Only if I start naming the voices in my head," I said, grinning as I grabbed my water bottle.
Sam shook her head but couldn't help smiling. "You're weird. Like, next-level weird. But... you're also kinda cool now."
I blinked. "Wait. Now?"
She smirked. "Don't ruin it."
We all collapsed onto the grass in a heap, freshly exhausted, them already tired. The sky was blue, the wind was light, and for once, no ghosts were trying to murder us.
Well, except for the one living rent-free in my brain.
But hey, that's Saturday for you.
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There's nothing like a smoothie after fighting an invisible ninja ghost in the park. Strawberry-banana, extra protein powder, zero haunted calories. Bliss.
I flopped back onto the grass next to Sam and Tucker, clutching my smoothie like it was a golden trophy. Tucker was already halfway through his blueberry blast (which may or may not have included so mysterious energy-boosting syrup he bought from a sketchy online vendor), and Sam—well, Sam was sipping hers like a queen who only tolerated smoothies because they were environntally acceptable.
"Okay," I said between sips, "is it just , or did I totally kick ghost Sasuke's butt today?"
"You definitely looked like you were breakdancing against the air," Tucker said.
Sam smirked. "More like interpretive martial arts. But yeah, you're getting stronger."
I grinned. Complints from Sam were basically rare, magical items. Like boss drops in video gas. Hard to get, super satisfying.
That's when the mood took a sharp left turn into awkwardville.
A pair of bikes whizzed past on the path ahead of us, ridden by none other than Sam's parents. Mr. and Mrs. Manson. AKA: The aristocracy of Amity Park. AKA: People who probably used linen napkins to eat pizza.
They looked like they had just stepped out of a catalog titled Wealthy and Unbothered. Matching helts. Designer workout clothes. Bikes that probably cost more than my entire house. And they were cycling in sync, like rich Olympic swans.
The second their eyes landed on our smoothie-sipping trio, I felt the mood shift. Like the temperature dropped ten degrees, and my smoothie was suddenly too cold.
Mrs. Manson raised an eyebrow so high I thought it might float off her face. Mr. Manson narrowed his eyes at like I was a suspicious raccoon near their koi pond.
They didn't stop. Just cycled past, perfect posture and disapproving glances firmly in place.
"Did they just..." I trailed off, watching their backs disappear down the path.
"Judge us silently?" Sam finished. "Yep. That's their cardio."
Tucker whistled. "Dang, girl. Your parents look like Bond villains on vacation."
Sam didn't even blink. "They've been judging my life choices since I decided to stop wearing floral headbands in fifth grade."
I scratched the back of my head. "So, uh... do they know? About us?"
She gave a look. "About the ghosts or about the fact that I kissed you behind the soda machine last week?"
Tucker nearly choked on his smoothie. "YOU WHAT?!"
"Not helping, Tuck," I muttered, face going redder than my strawberry drink.
Sam just leaned back, cool as ice. "No, they don't know. Yet. But I think they suspect. My mom had her 'My daughter is sitting too close to a boy' squint going on."
"Classic," I said, trying to laugh it off, but inside I was panicking just a little. I wasn't scared of ghosts or interdinsional ninjas—but disapproving rich parents? That's a whole new kind of horror movie.
Still, sothing else was strange. They didn't look as icy as usual. Oh, they still had that uptight country-club aura, but there was hesitation in their judgntal gaze. Like they were trying to be polite—or at least not as rude.
Sam must've noticed too. "They've been... weird lately. Less hostile. I think they're starting to soften."
"Wait," Tucker said, eyes wide. "Are you telling that Mr. and Mrs. Manson might not actually hate Danny anymore?"
I blinked. "Is that possible?"
Sam shrugged. "They've seen changes in . Better grades, fewer detention slips, less setting things on fire... they probably think it's because of you."
"Oh," I said, suddenly weirdly proud. "Nice."
"Yeah," she said, leaning in close. "So try not to ruin it by picking a fight with a ghost in front of them."
"No promises," I whispered.
We all burst into laughter, the tension lting away like a ghost in sunlight. The breeze was soft, the smoothies were cold, and even if the Mansons were looming in the background like judgntal owls, at least for now, things were good.
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