Chapter 25: "I Lit a Fire, Stole a Girl, and Now There's a Ghost DJ Trying to Kill Me"
In which I jump through windows, run like hell, and question all my life choices... again.
If you ever feel like your Friday night is too calm, I suggest breaking into a haunted house party run by a ghost masquerading as a DJ and lighting it on fire.
Really spices things up.
I didn't stop to admire my handiwork—the flames, the screaming, the growing sense of uh-oh. Nope. I went full action hero, sprinting downstairs like I was trying to escape a boss battle I hadn't leveled up for.
And that's when it happened.
The house... noticed me.
The ghostly strings that had once pulsed gently now shivered, like someone had just turned the thermostat down to "Arctic Doom." My breath fogged. Goosebumps prickled. And worst of all—
The DJ noticed me.
Tall. Too tall. Blank white mask. Twisting its head like an owl made of nightmares. The music didn't stop—it just shifted. Slower. Deeper. Wrong.
I felt its rage before I heard it.
And I didn't wait around for a remix.
I reached Star in seconds. She was draped across a couch, surrounded by guys who looked like they'd just crawled out of a villain tryout. Her giggles were slow, slurred. She blinked at me like I was a dream.
"Star, we need to leave!" I hissed, grabbing her wrist and pulling.
She giggled harder and—because life hates me—started planting sloppy, lipstick-smudging kisses on my cheek.
"Not the time or place!" I whispered furiously, dragging her upright like a panicked waiter trying to haul a guest out of a burning kitchen (which, technically, I was).
"Hey!" one of the green-eyed wannabe demons growled, stepping forward. "What do you think you're doing?"
I thought about responding. Maybe something clever, heroic.
But I chose Option B: don't die.
I adjusted my grip on Star, ran straight past them, and leapt through the nearest window.
Yup. Through it.
Glass shattered around us like we were in a movie trailer. I twisted mid-air, holding Star close, my back catching the brunt of the fall. We hit the ground hard—but hey, no broken bones, and only minor bleeding. Totally fine. Totally.
My phone was already out.
"911," I barked, fingers shaking. "There's a fire! A real one! At this address!"
Click. Done. That was all I had time for.
Because behind us…
The ghost screamed.
Not just a noise.
A command.
And every glowing-eyed partygoer—dozens of them—sprinted out of the burning house in unison. Like a wave. Like a zombie rave flash mob. Strings of energy snapped in the air behind them, turning to smoke.
"Danny…" Star mumbled weakly, still clinging to me.
"Not now, Star," I panted. "Maybe later. If we live."
I bolted.
The streets blurred as I ran, dragging her behind me. My legs screamed. My lungs burned.
The mob closed in—faster than they had any right to be.
I could've ditched her. Just a little boost of Yin energy and I'd be gone.
But Naruto's voice echoed again.
"Keep moving. Keep her safe. Survive."
So I poured everything into it.
Ghost energy. Yin flow. Every ounce of strength my body had left.
My legs moved faster. The world blurred. My breath came in sharp bursts. But I never let go of Star's hand.
Because sometimes, being a hero doesn't mean punching ghosts or setting things on fire.
Sometimes it means not running away—even when you could.
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So, remember when I said things couldn't get worse?
Yeah. That was adorable.
Star, bless her heart, was having the time of her life. Unfortunately, it was the worst possible time to be tripping out on ghost-laced jungle juice.
She was giggling like a kid on a carousel, flopping around in my grip like she had zero bones. I was basically dragging a living spaghetti noodle through a warzone.
"This would be so romantic if we weren't being chased by demon party zombies," I muttered, trying not to fall over as her high heels caught on every pebble in existence.
And then, she faceplanted into my side.
"Okay, nope." I hoisted her up bridal-style like I was auditioning for a YA book cover. "Congratulations, you're officially carry-on luggage now."
The neighborhood blurred past in streaks of moonlight and sweat. Every light in every house was off, every door locked. I couldn't risk dragging this nightmare into someone else's home anyway. The fire behind us was growing—a beacon of chaos and one ghostly DJ's very, very bad mood.
I thought I was in the clear. Really. I dared to hope.
Then the ghost screamed.
Not a normal "I stubbed my toe" scream.
A possess-an-entire-human-and-send-him-to-murder-you scream.
I turned.
One man still stood. Everyone else had collapsed or stumbled off like hungover marathon runners. But not this guy. He looked like a varsity linebacker who'd eaten too many glowing jellybeans. His whole body glowed green, like he was about to Hulk out—but ghost edition.
"Great," I groaned. "Ghost-Hulk."
The thing cracked its knuckles with an audible boom, its eyes blazing like twin traffic lights of doom. It didn't run. It launched. Straight at me.
My survival instincts were screaming "RUN." But Naruto's voice whispered back:
"Stand. Fight. Think."
I wasn't Naruto. Not even close. But I could fake it for thirty seconds if I didn't die first.
I gently set Star down on the asphalt. "Stay," I muttered. "Good girl."
Then I ran—not away, but toward the bushes.
There. Wooden planks. Perfect.
"Sorry about this!" I shouted at some poor house's porch décor, grabbing one of the longer boards.
WHAM.
I swung like I was batting for the ghost baseball league. The plank smacked the possessed dude's shoulder with a solid crack. The force rattled my bones. For a split second, I thought I had done something awesome.
Then he looked back at me.
Unimpressed.
"Oh, come on," I said. "That was at least a double."
The ghost-charged linebacker snarled and charged again, faster this time. The plank flew from my hand and bounced down the street like a sad piece of kindling. He was on me before I could blink, fist cocked back and glowing with spooky vengeance.
And yeah—this is the part where I almost died.
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Let me be clear—I'm not a singer. I'm the guy who got kicked out of middle school choir because my rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" made three kids cry and a fourth develop a lifelong fear of lullabies.
So, naturally, when facing a ghost-powered juggernaut with the murder stats of a Final Boss, my brain decided the best move was a concert.
"Sing!" the thought screamed in my head like it was the climax of a musical... but not the good kind. The "everyone dies but there's jazz hands" kind.
Me: Internally panicking.
Also me: Cracks voice like a puberty-stricken banshee.
🎵 "So everything that makes me whoooole—" 🎵
Now, imagine the screech of a rusty violin being strangled by a goat. Multiply that by ten. That was my voice.
The ghost howled like I'd just hit it with holy water and a lawsuit. It staggered back, clawing at its ears. Its host's eyes went wide in horror, like his body couldn't decide whether to punch me or throw me flowers out of relief.
Encouraged (and slightly manic from adrenaline), I doubled down.
🎵 "Belongs to youuuu, I'll give you my heaaaart and sooooul!" 🎵
I flailed like I was on fire, which, considering my lungs felt like they were exploding, might've been true. I didn't stop. Not when the possessed guy screamed. Not when the green ghost fog exploded from his chest like a bad vape trick. Not even when my throat begged for mercy.
Finally, with a final, ghostly screech—something between a bass drop and an old man stepping on Lego—the spirit burst free. It flared in the air like a dying WiFi signal and disappeared into the sky.
Danny: 1
DJ Phantom: 0
My dignity: Missing in action.
The man collapsed in a heap, breathing shallow but alive. I stared at him, my chest heaving.
"Okay," I croaked. "That's definitely going in the weirdest things I've done category… probably under 'Ghost Exorcism via Bad Anime OP'."
I didn't wait for applause (there was none). I staggered back to Star, who was standing exactly where I left her—swaying like a plastic flamingo in a wind tunnel.
She blinked at me slowly, then slurred, "Danny… you're like, my knight in glowing… what was that song? It hurt, but also, like, moved my soul or something…"
"Yeah," I muttered, picking her up again, "moved it directly out of your body."
She melted into my arms, mumbling something about me smelling nice and saving her life. It might've been sweet if she wasn't actively drooling on my shirt.
I carried her into the shadows of the quiet street, avoiding sirens in the distance. The house was still on fire (oops), the neighborhood was waking up (double oops), and I had officially become the kind of guy who sets buildings ablaze while singing boyband ballads to banish ghosts.
This was my life now. Thanks, Naruto.
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I don't know if you've ever tried getting a half-conscious, slightly-delirious, possibly-drugged rich girl to tell you her address while she's mumbling about "the stars being made of spaghetti," but let me assure you—it's not as fun as it sounds.
"Where do you live?" I asked for what had to be the fifth time, gently shaking her shoulder.
She blinked at me, pupils unfocused. "In a house… made of feelings... with Pauline. Sometimes she's a cat."
"...Right. Gonna need more than that."
Eventually—through a series of yes-or-no questions, wild guesses, and sheer divine intervention—I got a location. Turns out, Star lived in a mansion that looked like it belonged to a Bond villain or a TikTok cult leader. Iron gates, ivy-covered walls, uniformed guards, the whole "please don't breathe too hard near our gold statues" vibe.
I rolled up to the gate on my definitely-not-mansion-appropriate bike, Star slumped against my back like a sack of designer potatoes. As the bike coughed to a stop (because of course it would start dying now), one of the guards jogged over, frown locked in.
He eyed Star, then me. "…What happened?"
"She ran off to some party," I said, trying to sound casual and not like I'd just fought a demonic DJ using my vocal cords as holy water. "She's fine. Just, you know, partied too hard. Probably bad punch. Or ghosts. Don't worry about it."
The man looked at me like I was either a liar or a feral raccoon in human skin. But he took her from me gently, which meant he probably worked here long enough to know Star's usual "party casualties" routine.
"Make sure she gets inside," I added, sounding more tired than I meant to.
He nodded. "She will."
I watched them carry her off through the gates. She mumbled something as she went—sounded like "Danny the firebird prince"—but I couldn't be sure. I just stood there for a moment, hands heavy, heart heavier.