Chapter 22: Slap Slap Slap

“Meow!” A sharp, cautious cry came from the next room, soft yet urgent, like the warning of a frightened cat. The sound was muffled through the thick walls, but Kouya recognized it instantly—it was the catgirl Rina’s voice.

Kouya stood up slowly, brows knitting together. The air in the room felt colder all of a sudden. He glanced toward the window—it was tightly shut. No wind. No sound. Only the faint hum of silence. Without hesitation, he walked to the door and pushed it open.

The hallway that greeted him was no longer the well-lit corridor from before. The warmth and gentle glow of the resort were gone, replaced by a gloomy, suffocating darkness stretching endlessly into the distance.

There were no windows, no signs of life—only old, peeling walls and a row of tightly closed, decaying doors. Every few meters, a flickering white lamp swayed from the ceiling, its pale light trembling like a dying firefly. The air smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic. The floor creaked beneath his feet, as though the wood itself didn’t want to be stepped on.

“Hmm? A low-grade illusion?” Kouya rubbed his chin and muttered to himself, his tone casual, almost amused.

He’d seen countless illusions before—this one was child’s play. If he wanted, he could shatter it with a mere flick of his wrist, maybe even just a thought. But illusions didn’t appear by chance. Something—or someone—had created it.

What’s that? A logical investigation, tracking clues one by one until the truth is revealed?

Yeah, no thanks.

The Demon Lord doesn’t do ‘detective work.’ He solves problems the direct way—with force.

If it can be smashed, why think about it? He was here to earn pocket money, not to play Sherlock Holmes.

“Let’s go check it out. Who knows? Maybe there’s something entertaining waiting ahead.”

Without hesitation, Kouya began walking. His footsteps echoed sharply in the empty corridor, bouncing off the narrow walls like hollow drumbeats. The deeper he went, the heavier the air became. Even the light seemed to hesitate before following him.

After what felt like a minute of walking, he reached a corner. Just as he turned, a faint sob drifted through the darkness. It was low, trembling, and filled with sorrow—like the weeping of something that shouldn’t exist.

A lesser man might have frozen in fear, but Kouya’s eyes only glinted with mild curiosity. He followed the sound.

The flickering lamp above him buzzed loudly. In the corner ahead crouched a frail, shadowed figure facing the wall. Its shoulders quivered with every sob, the motion jerky and unnatural. The dim light revealed tattered clothes, blackened and stiff. The stains on them weren’t fabric patterns—they were dried blood.

Kouya didn’t even flinch. He walked forward, crouched slightly, and patted the thing’s shoulder. “You okay there?”

The figure jerked violently, freezing mid-sob. Slowly, painfully, it turned its head.

The face that greeted him wasn’t human.

It had no features—no eyes, no nose, no lips—just smooth, pale skin stretched tight like paper. Under its tangled, grass-like hair, two dark, empty holes wept thin streams of blood. And below them gaped a massive mouth lined with crooked, rotting teeth.

Kouya stared for a few seconds, unimpressed. “Oh. A ghost.”

He’d seen hundreds of these in the Demon Realm. Ghosts were everywhere there—cheap, plentiful, and expendable soldiers. He remembered entire battlefields littered with them.

In short—they were cannon fodder.

Yes, cannon fodder.

Thousands would perish just to slow the enemy for a minute. Compared to those horrors, this one was practically adorable.

Any normal person would be screaming by now. Kouya just looked bored.

The ghost twitched, seemingly confused by his reaction. Then, with a guttural screech, it opened its mouth wide, trying to frighten him.

Nothing happened.

The echo of its scream died pitifully against the walls. Kouya didn’t even blink.

He tilted his head, his voice calm. “You done?”

The ghost froze. The silence that followed was almost comedic.

Then it whimpered, voice trembling. “My eyes… my eyes are gone… please, help me find them…”

Kouya sighed. “Not interested.”

The ghost’s posture stiffened. Its hair flared wildly like a nest of writhing snakes. “Then… I’ll take yours instead!”

A blur of movement. A rush of cold air.

Slap!

The sound cracked through the corridor like a whip.

The ghost froze mid-lunge, face turned sideways from the impact.

Kouya’s palm hovered lazily in the air. “Threatening me, huh? Bad idea.”

Slap!

Another hit followed, louder than before. The ghost stumbled back, arms flailing.

“Take my eyes, is it? Let’s see how you like this.”

Slap! Slap! Slap!

The hallway echoed with the rapid rhythm of smacks, like some twisted applause. The hanging lamp above flickered violently as though shocked by the audacity.

After a dozen solid hits, Kouya finally stopped, shaking his hand as if loosening a cramp. “Now, we’re going to do this properly. I ask questions—you answer them. Understand?”

The ghost just trembled, soundless, staring at him with sheer disbelief.

Kouya’s eyes narrowed. “Not answering, huh?”

Whack!

The ghost tumbled back again, its shriek echoing into the void.

“Let’s try this again. The resort’s strange events—your doing?”

The ghost moaned weakly, voice shaking. “Wuuuh…”

Slap! “Use words.”

“I… I can’t say…”

Slap! “You can now.”

“N-no! I really can’t—”

Slap slap slap! The rhythm filled the air once more.

The ghost’s sobs turned desperate. “Yes! I’ll talk! Please stop hitting me!”

By now, its head was hanging low, spectral form flickering. Blood tears streamed freely, staining the floor in inky streaks. Its once hollow eyesockets now looked pitiful—if ghosts could have expressions, this one was pure regret.

Kouya exhaled slowly, scratching his head. “Maybe I went a little overboard…”

He crouched down. “Alright, talk. Who’s behind this?”

The ghost whimpered. “It… it was Lord Kappa’s order… he told us to scare away the humans…”

Kouya tapped his chin. “Lord Kappa, huh? Figures.”

He waved casually. “Alright. You’re free to go. But if I catch you haunting anyone again, I’ll beat you till you evaporate. Got it?”

The ghost nodded—or at least its body did—then rolled into a misty blur and vanished.

Left alone in the dark corridor, Kouya yawned, stretching lazily. “What a boring illusion… Guess I’ll go tell Ruri what I found.”

Meanwhile, in another unseen dimension, the ghost reappeared, clutching its swollen, spectral cheeks.

For a moment, it just stood there, trembling, unable to process what had just happened.

It was supposed to be terrifying. It was supposed to make mortals scream.

Instead… it had been spanked.

“Damn it…” it whimpered softly, ghostly tears dripping again. “I’m a ghost! A ghost! Not a punching bag!”

Its wail echoed into the ether. “There’s no justice! No fairness! No ghost rights!”

It clenched its faintly glowing fists and muttered, “I’m reporting him to the Ghost Protection Association! That demon bastard will pay for this!”

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