Chapter 7
Ethan froze for a moment, his mind catching up to what his eyes already knew.
"…Freddie?"
His best friend stood a few paces away, eyes wide, expression cracking for the first time since Ethan had known him. Freddie was always composed, always calm—even when things went wrong. But now, he looked like someone had yanked the ground out from under him.
"What are you doing here?" Freddie asked, his voice low, cautious. "How—?"
Ethan shoved his hands into his pockets, masking his own jumble of emotions with a crooked grin. "Long story. Let's just say life has been… a little weird lately. But here I am."
Freddie searched his face, as if peeling back layers he wasn't showing. Ethan looked away, suddenly remembering all the parts he couldn't tell—the gunshot, the ghost, Mark. That was a whole other nightmare.
Instead, he shrugged. "Guess I finally caught up to you, huh? Dream school and all that."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them. Then Freddie exhaled, almost like he'd been holding his breath since Ethan appeared. "I should've told you," he admitted. "Both my parents come from ghost hunter families. This… this life was never supposed to be a secret between us." His voice tightened. "I've been lying. I'm sorry."
Ethan waved a hand dismissively, though a small part of him stung at the thought. "Don't sweat it. You had your reasons. And honestly, I get it now—why you were so cagey about this place." His grin tilted sly. "Still, you could've at least given me a cool code word or something. 'Operation Secret Magic Academy'—y'know, the usual."
That drew the faintest twitch of a smile from Freddie.
But Ethan's humor faltered for a second as another thought slipped out. "Jacob's still in the dark, though. Poor guy has no clue we're out here swinging at ghosts and glowing like lightbulbs."
Freddie's smile vanished. He looked away, jaw tightening. "…" He didn't answer.
Ethan caught the silence and sighed, deciding not to push. If Freddie wasn't talking, there was a reason.
"Well, since you've ruined my grand conspiracy theory and admitted you're basically Hunter-Royalty," Ethan said, nudging him with a shoulder, "I've got to ask… you're part of the Top Seven, right? Don't tell me my best friend's some kind of campus demigod."
Freddie gave him a flat look. "Compared to the freaks of nature here? I'm not so sure."
Ethan smirked. "That's basically a yes."
Ethan rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind his head like he was already done with the serious stuff. "Well, seeing as there's no classes today… why don't you, oh I don't know—teach me something?"
Freddie blinked at him. "Teach you?"
"Yeah," Ethan said, leaning in like a salesman about to close a deal. "Because clearly, I'm about as experienced as a toddler with chopsticks. And you—you've got the whole ghost hunter bloodline thing going on. You're my cheat code."
"No."
"C'mon."
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
Ethan groaned dramatically. "Wow, all these years I thought you were my best friend, but apparently you're just a fraud who abandons me in my hour of need."
Freddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Not a chance." Ethan grinned, already sensing the victory. "So, where's the training ground? Magic dojo? Dungeon full of punching bags? Please tell me there's a dungeon."
Freddie muttered something under his breath but finally waved him along. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
They cut through the quieter part of campus, past the towering halls and gardens, until Freddie pushed open a heavy door leading into what looked like a sparring gym. High ceilings. Reinforced walls. Training dummies lined up in neat rows. The air smelled faintly of metal and ozone, like the place had already absorbed countless clashes of magic.
Ethan whistled. "Okay… this looks promising."
"Don't get too excited." Freddie gestured toward a battered dummy standing near the wall. "Hit that."
Ethan looked at him, then at the dummy. "That's it? No warm-up montage? No wise mentor speech?"
"Hit. The dummy."
"Fine." Ethan rolled his shoulders, jogged in place for effect, and then threw a punch. His knuckles thudded against the dummy's surface, bouncing back with more pain than satisfaction. "Ow. Totally worth it."
Freddie stared at him, unimpressed. "You're supposed to apply magic power."
Ethan blinked. "Apply what now?"
"Magic power," Freddie said flatly, like the words should be obvious.
"Right, magic power." Ethan nodded sagely. "Totally know what that is." He leaned closer and whispered, "I don't know what that is."
Freddie exhaled through his nose. He lifted his arm and rolled back his sleeve. "Look closely."
At first, Ethan saw nothing. Then—faint, like heat rippling off asphalt—there was a shimmer crawling along Freddie's skin. A pale glow clung to his forearm, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Whoa." Ethan leaned closer, eyes wide. "You're literally glowing. That's… are you radioactive? Is this a safety hazard?"
"Every ghost hunter has it," Freddie explained. "It's energy that runs through you—around you. Think of it as… pressure. The stronger you control it, the harder you hit, the better you defend yourself. Even healing, if you're good enough."
"So it's like… magic Wi-Fi."
Freddie's brow twitched. "Sure. Magic Wi-Fi."
Ethan raised his own arm, squinting. For a second, there was nothing. Then—just barely—a faint, uneven flicker of light crawled along his wrist. His eyes went wide. "Oh my god. I'm glowing. Freddie, I'm glowing. I'm a human glowstick!."
"Focus," Freddie snapped, though his lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile. "Now try again. This time, push that energy through your arm and into the strike."
Ethan nodded furiously, bouncing on his heels like he'd just unlocked a cheat code. He wound back and drove his fist into the dummy again.
Thud!
The impact rang louder this time, a shudder rippling through the dummy. Not earth-shattering, but definitely stronger. Ethan recoiled, eyes shining. "Did you see that? That was way better! Heck yeah!"
"Not bad." Freddie folded his arms. "But still average."
Ethan gaped at him. "Average? That was a solid dummy-punch right there. That dummy felt that one in its dummy soul."
"Average," Freddie repeated, deadpan.
Ethan squinted at him. "Alright then, mister big-shot. Let's see you do it."
Freddie sighed like a man condemned, then stepped up. He drew back his fist, energy wrapping his arm like liquid fire, and slammed it into the dummy.
CRACK!
The dummy rattled against the floor, nearly toppling over from the sheer force.
Ethan's jaw dropped. "…Okay. That dummy definitely felt that. I think it just filed a restraining order."
Freddie shook out his hand. "See the difference? Everyone's born with a certain capacity for magic power. Some have more, some less. But mastery is what matters. Control, efficiency, so learn how to optimize your usage of it."
Ethan groaned and waved a hand. "Skip the lecture. Show me the cool anime blasts already."
Freddie gave him a long look. "Anime blasts?"
"You know. Fireballs. Kamehamehas. Rasengans. Whatever your people call it here." Ethan mimed tossing an energy ball.
Freddie pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're unbelievable."
"Thank you."
"That's not magic power," Freddie said, ignoring him. "That's something else—magic ability."
Ethan tilted his head. "Magic power, magic ability. Don't those sound like the same thing? That's like saying you've got strength and then… extra strength. What's the difference?"
Freddie crouched, picking up a stray piece of chalk from the floor. He drew a quick circle, then a jagged lightning bolt inside. "Think of magic power as your phone battery. Without it, nothing runs. Magic ability is the app. You can't open an app if the phone's dead."
Ethan blinked. "So you're saying I'm basically a phone right now. That's… disappointing. Do I at least have Spotify Premium?"
"From what I can tell," Freddie said, ignoring the jab, "you don't have an ability. Some ghost hunters are born with one, most aren't. But magic power alone is enough if you know how to use it."
The words hit harder than Ethan expected. He forced a shrug, though something inside him deflated. "So… I'm just the battery guy. Great. Everyone else is out here throwing lightning and I'm a walking charger."
"Stop sulking," Freddie said flatly. "Plenty of ghost hunters without abilities are stronger than those with them. Ability doesn't mean skill."
"Easy for you to say." Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Wait. You do have one, don't you?"
Freddie's silence was answer enough.
Ethan leaned forward eagerly. "I knew it! What is it? Show me. Come on, don't be stingy. This is supposed to be a friendship."
Freddie muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I regret introducing you to this world, but then he raised his hand. "Fine. But after this, you're done with questions. If you want to learn, hit the library. Or practice."
"Deal." Ethan clapped his hands, grinning like a kid about to watch fireworks.
Freddie positioned himself, arm steady, his palm aimed at a fresh training dummy. A faint static hum filled the air. Then—
"Thunder Creation Magic: Bolt."
A crack of light erupted, a jagged streak of lightning tearing forward. It smashed into the dummy with a sharp BOOM, severing it in half. The air sizzled, ozone stinging Ethan's nose.
Ethan's jaw practically unhinged. "Holy— You're Thor. You're literally Thor!."
Freddie lowered his hand, exhaling slowly. "Satisfied?"
"Are you kidding? That was insane. No, that was—like—you just clapped Zeus. That's not fair." Ethan dragged a hand down his face. "And you're telling me I don't get any of that?"
"Not everyone does," Freddie said.
Ethan slumped against the wall, mock-dramatic. "Great. My best friend's a storm god and I'm a glorified flashlight."
For the first time that day, Freddie smirked faintly. "You'll live."
Ethan narrowed his eyes at him, then grinned. "Fine. From this day forward, you're my rival."
Freddie shook his head, already turning for the door. "Rivalry requires both sides agreeing."
"Too late. It's canon now."
Freddie's faint smirk lingered as he left the room.
Ethan glanced back at the ruined dummy, awe still buzzing in his chest. As ridiculous as it was… he wanted to reach that level. Somehow.
The sparring room felt emptier without Freddie in it. Ethan stood alone, staring at the scorched remains of the dummy his friend had obliterated. His fists clenched.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "Battery guy reporting for duty."
He rolled his shoulders, focused on the faint glow Freddie had shown him earlier, and drove his fist into another dummy.
Thud.
The dummy rocked slightly. That was it.
Ethan gritted his teeth, trying again—this time harder, faster. His knuckles stung, his breath grew ragged, but the strikes all landed the same: weak, unremarkable, nowhere near the explosive force Freddie had unleashed.
"Come on," he hissed, throwing a kick. The dummy didn't budge.
He punched again. And again. His frustration rose with every strike until he was practically slamming his whole body into it, magic power flaring in bursts but never quite enough. Sweat dripped down his temple.
He thought of Freddie's lightning, of William's overwhelming presence, of Luna's calm confidence, even of Cassie handing out food like she belonged everywhere.
And then Jacob flickered into his mind—Jacob, who still had no idea any of this existed. His chest tightened. If he couldn't even punch a dummy right, how the hell was he supposed to survive in a world like this… let alone protect the people he cared about?
He drove his fist forward again, teeth gritted. "Why isn't this working—!"
"Because you're doing it wrong."
The voice cut through the room. Sharp, steady.
Ethan froze mid-swing. Slowly, he turned.
Sage stood at the edge of the sparring floor, arms crossed, her short hair damp with sweat from her own training. She looked at him like a coach catching a rookie cheating reps.
"You can pound that dummy all day," she said, stepping forward, "but flailing around like a pissed-off toddler isn't going to teach you combat."
Ethan wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, still panting. "Thanks for the pep talk, coach."
Her lips quirked upward in something that might've been a smirk. "Want to actually learn, or are you just here to break your own knuckles?"
Ethan squinted at her. "Alright then. What do you suggest?"
Sage cracked her knuckles, her grin widening just a fraction. "Fight me."
Ethan blinked. "Wait—what?"
"You wanted practice. Here's your chance. Unless you're scared."
She dropped into a stance, light on her feet, eyes locked on him.
Ethan hesitated, stomach sinking, then straightened. "Oh, you've got jokes. Fine. But when I lose, I'm blaming the tutorial."
They squared off on the training floor, tension humming in the air.