In the third year of the supernatural resurgence, I became the only person who could deliver takeout to haunted houses.
That's because I have a Transcendence System, but its method of exorcism is ridiculous: get vengeful ghosts to leave good reviews for their food.
When the red-clad female ghost lifted my skull, I held out tomato and egg stir-fry. "Dear, don't forget to give me five stars."
She sneered and left a bad review. The next second, heavenly lightning struck her until she was charred and crispy.
I crouched beside the smoking crater and prodded her. "Are you changing that review or not?"
Later, the entire ghost world was talking about me: that guy in the yellow helmet scares ghosts more than the King of Hell.
