It's been six months since I came to this… ridiculous, glitter-drenched, ghost-obsessed, men-only world.
And no, I still don't like it.
But... I'll admit something.
There's something strangely good about this place.
Not the open-air kissing. Not the moaning in alleys. And definitely not the guy who sells "Spectral Dildos for Combat Enhancement" on the corner of Main Street.
No — I'm talking about the balance. The equality.
No beggars. No CEOs acting like gods. Everyone owns something. A shop. A stall. A spirit partner. Even guys who are literally floating wraiths run ghost massage parlors or sell haunted lube in bottles shaped like their former lovers.
It's weird, but weirdly fair.
I checked the system-net surveys once. Turns out:
> "99% of all beings in the Gay Ghost World earn money."
"1% survive on the Spiritual Welfare Scheme provided by the Phantom Council."
But here's the twist: no one shows off. No luxury robes. No flying yachts. No Instagram thirst traps.
People just… exist.
Is it because everyone's a man? Is it because there are no women to impress? Or because even ghosts are too busy being horny and haunted to care about money?
I don't know.
That's my theory, though — "Maybe equality exists here because there are no women."
It's sexist.
But in this world?
Kind of true.
---
As for me… what have I been doing?
I'm still an orphan — even in death. Lucky, I guess. No spiritual dads barging in to tell me "Ghost homosexuality is unnatural, son." I have no one to disappoint anymore.
Except maybe my system.
And Saya.
Yes. Saya.
The world's first female ghost. My first partner. My accidental science experiment in gender manipulation. The former smug male spirit I turned into a soft, submissive bombshell through my awakened SSS-rank skill: Gender Bender.
We've been… close.
Very close.
For months.
And now?
She's pregnant.
A ghost.
With a baby.
"I swear, this world is mocking me," I told the system last night. "Why is my ghost partner pregnant when this entire society is built around male-male spiritual mating rituals?"
No one else gets pregnant. No one can. Two male spirits = zero risk of soul-spawn. That's why everyone is so casual about haunting each other's pants.
But Saya's belly is glowing. Her mood swings are terrifying. She craves ectoplasm-flavored ice cream. She cries at old wind chimes.
And the worst part?
> I've gained zero power. Zero new skills. Not even a passive ability called "Ghost Dad Bonus."
I figured maybe, maybe, I'll unlock something when the baby's born.
But then I asked the system for help.
And guess what it said?
> (Recommendation: Travel to the Buddhist Temple of Bhutan.)
(Warning: It is the only region of the world where sexual intimacy, ghosts, and homosexual energy are forbidden.)
That's right.
The system wants to send me, a soul-bound gender-manipulating ghost defiler, into the only place that's basically a "No Lust Zone."
I laughed.
And then I cried.
Then Saya kicked me in the shin because she couldn't reach my balls anymore.
It's been a year since I came to Bhutan.
A year of wind-chilled mornings, shaved heads, orange robes, and silence louder than screams.
I live in a Buddhist temple on the side of a mountain, far above the ghost-kissed cities and spirit-saturated skies of the world below. Here, no one touches. No one moans. No one floats half-naked through walls.
Here, everything is grounded. Earthbound. Still.
And I'm still here.
Even though I miss her.
Saya.
My wife. My partner. The world's first female ghost — and maybe, probably, the first pregnant one.
She's carrying our child. She's still at home.
I left her behind. I had to.
The system told me.
> (In order to safely raise the hybrid offspring, host must possess foundational knowledge in all spiritual disciplines — physical, mental, sacrificial, and divine.)
In other words?
I wasn't ready.
Not even close.
---
It's strange. When I first landed in this absurd ghost-humping world, I thought I would hate everything forever. I thought I'd destroy it. Corrupt it. Burn it to the bone.
Now, a year later, I'm sitting cross-legged in a cold stone courtyard, chanting "Om mani padme hum" beside monks who never speak to me, but always bow to me with eyes that see more than they should.
I think they know I'm not really here for enlightenment.
I'm here for survival.
For my child.
But truthfully?
Even after a full year… I haven't managed to get even the basics right.
---
The chants? My rhythm slips.
The mantras? I stutter.
The rituals? I forget the sequence.
The sacrificial rites? I still gag at goat blood.
Body training? Don't even ask.
The abbot says nothing, but his eyes say everything.
I feel like a fraud. A cosmic joke trying to fake his way into wisdom.
The system reminds me daily:
> (Progress: 11%. Time Remaining: Unknown. Status: Inadequate.)
Inadequate.
That word clings to me more than the scent of burning incense ever could.
Saya writes letters. Glowing script that appears in my dreams. She says the baby kicks. The belly glows stronger every month. She says the neighbors whisper now. "The man who impregnated a ghost and vanished into exile."
They say it like it's myth.
To her, I am a myth.
To me… I am just a scared idiot who doesn't want to admit how terrified he is of becoming something other than broken.
---
I look at the sunrise from the temple balcony. Red spills across the peaks like fresh blood on white marble. A breeze whistles through the bells overhead.
It's time to train.
Again.
Maybe if I bleed a little, I'll feel like I'm becoming something.
Maybe.
---
The Training Grounds
Stone slabs. Bare-chested monks. Spears, staves, weights carved from boulders and bound in silk rope. This is where the silence becomes steel.
I step into the courtyard, breath steady, body shaking.
Abbot Drey waits with his staff. He nods once.
No words.
He never uses words with me. Not since the third day, when I asked if there was Wi-Fi.
---
Physical Training: Round 1 – Endurance
First, the mountain laps.
I run.
Up steps older than countries. Down trails made for goats, not ghost-bearers.
The cold bites my skin. The wind lashes my eyes.
I run until I can't think.
That's the trick. Stop thinking. Just move.
But I can't help it. My thoughts always find their way back.
What if the child isn't human? What if it's not even whole? What if it cries in binary or phase-shifts through walls? What if Saya dies giving birth? She's not even technically alive — can she even survive labor?
I trip.
My knees hit stone. I taste dirt.
The system pings:
> (Balance Training: Failed. Try again.)
I scream into the ground.
And then I run again.
---
Round 2 – Weight of Regret
Monks place boulders on my back.
Not metaphorical ones. Real ones.
I crouch beneath their crushing silence, trying to lift, to walk, to move.
Every step feels like dragging my past behind me.
I hear the voices of ghosts I've fought. Names I forgot. Faces I bent.
The system whispers:
> (Burden Resistance: 6%. Emotional Containment: 2%.)
Pathetic.
The abbot watches from under his hood. I don't think he blinks. Ever.
I clench my teeth and step forward.
Step.
Step.
Collapse.
The monks remove the stones.
No scolding.
Just the bell.
Try again tomorrow.
---
Round 3 – Spiritual Control
A line of lit candles. Dozens. Hundreds.
Each flame represents a part of my inner world.
I have to focus. Control them with breath.
No movement. No gesture.
Just will.
Inhale. Hold.
I see Saya's smile. Her fangs glow when she's happy. Her laugh sounds like glass chiming in a dream.
Exhale.
One candle flickers.
That's all.
Just one.
> (Focus Control: 1.4%)
Still not enough.
---
The Abbot Speaks
Only once, that day.
After training, he walks beside me through the prayer hall.
He says, "You do not fear power. You fear becoming worthy of it."
I flinch.
He doesn't wait for a reply.
He just bows, and leaves.
---
That Night
I lie awake under freezing stars.
My bones ache. My mind is noisy.
The temple is silent, but inside me?
Chaos.
> "I can't do this."
That thought slips out.
Then another:
> "What if I abandon them?"
And finally:
> "What if I become like the world I wanted to destroy?"
I turn over.
The wind howls across the mountain.
A whisper comes from the system — not typed, but spoken.
For the first time.
> (You are not what you were. But you are not yet what you need to be. Continue.)
---
Next Morning
I do it all again.
I run until my legs forget shame.
I lift boulders and imagine they're my failures, crumbling.
I chant, even when my throat tears.
I punch, kick, strike the air as if it's fate itself.
I bleed.
I weep.
I burn.
But I train.
And for once, I don't think about whether I'm enough.
I just think:
> "I will become the man my child will need."
And maybe—just maybe—
The world doesn't need to be destroyed.
Maybe it needs to be rewritten.