"How many could possibly fit in there?" Matthew muttered, glancing at the ghost. This box looked way too small. Matthew eyed it with suspicion, it resembled a cheap plastic jewelry case more than a container for spirit stones. "Are you sure this is the right one?"
Was the damn ghost messing with him again?
Matthew dropped the box on his desk with a loud clunk.
It didn’t bounce, didn’t creak, didn’t even sound like it had weight to it.
He narrowed his eyes at it. The box sat there like it had something to prove, small, square, with tacky silver chains wrapped around it. The kind of chains you’d find in a hardware store discount bin. Worse, the box wasn’t made of metal. Or wood.
He reached down and ran a hand across the surface. Smooth. Hollow. Light. Then he knocked his knuckles against it. The sound that echoed back made something in his brain twitch.
Hollow. Flimsy. Definitely not something capable of holding spirit stones.
"You dragged me through the woods," Matthew said slowly, still staring at the box. "Made me dig through gravel with my bare hands... for this?"
The ghost girl floated above the desk, peering at the box like it was some ancient relic.
"It’s sealed," she said simply.
"No kidding. With dollar-store chains," Matthew muttered. "And what’s this?" He pointed at the little heart-shaped sticker on the lid. "Is that glitter?"
She tilted her head. "Maybe it was repurposed."
"Repurposed?" Matthew almost couldn’t believe his ears. At one point, he started to wonder if the ghost was just trying to make fun of him.
He pushed the box lightly with one finger. It slid across the desk without resistance. That didn’t feel ominous. That felt like it would come with a free Barbie doll.
"I’m going to lose my mind," he said, rubbing his temples. "I hauled this thing all the way home like it was the Holy Grail."
Instead, she floated lower, eyes on the chains.
"It’s not about the container," she said. "What’s inside still gives off a signature. You’ll feel it once you open it."
Matthew paused. His headache had dulled, but his patience had not.
He reached for the chain and gave it a tug. It resisted at first, then popped free with a sad little snap. The others followed just as easily. No spell. No dramatic backlash. Just cheap links and plastic squeaks.
"This is cursed," Matthew muttered again, dragging the box closer. "Not spiritually. Just... morally."
The ghost girl didn’t laugh, didn’t even react as Matthew slowly lifted the lid.
Whatever was inside had better be glowing or humming, or doing something that justified this much stupidity.
It wasn’t. Not immediately.
He stared down and blinked.
"...Okay," he muttered. "That’s... a little better."
Because nestled inside the gaudy box was a single, faintly glowing shard the size of his pinky. Pale, crystalline, and pulsing like a heartbeat under the surface.
A real one. Untouched, raw, and vibrating with energy.
Maybe not a complete waste of time.
But the box still sucked.
Matthew was still staring at the glowing stone when the ghost girl floated a little closer.
"Now pour your blood on it," she said, as if she’d just asked him to sprinkle salt on a steak.
He looked up at her. "What?"
"Your blood. Just a drop. Do it."
Matthew narrowed his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing slowly.
"Why?" he asked. "So you can seal me inside it like some demonic artifact? I’ve read enough cultivation novels to know how this goes."
The ghost girl rolled her eyes. "Please. If I wanted to seal you, I’d pick a container that didn’t look like a glittery lunchbox."
Matthew didn’t budge. "I’m serious. What’s the point?"
"That box was enchanted using spiritual energy," she explained. "It was never meant to look like that. This is a disguise. It adapts. When the owner dies, it seals itself and defaults to the most harmless, pathetic-looking shape it can generate to avoid being stolen."
"So, a plastic toy?" he asked.
"Yes. It’s foolproof. No one would think something valuable is in there." She gestured at it. "And to unlock it, the stone needs to be bound to a new owner. That’s you. Blood is the key."
Matthew tilted his head. "So it’s a disguised spatial tool?"
"Exactly. Call it whatever you want, pocket realm, storage space, cosmic drawer—it works like those things you’ve read about. Same concept."
He tapped a knuckle against the desk, still eyeing her. "And I’m supposed to believe that?"
She shrugged. "You’re the one who dug it up. Besides, only blood will activate it. If you don’t want to do it then just throw it away."
Matthew paused. Then sighed. "Fine." he snorted before he pulled open a drawer and took out a small utility blade. Without hesitation, he drew it across his palm, just deep enough to get a drop of blood. Then, as instructed, he let the drop fall onto the stone.
The reaction was instant.
The shard flared, light pulsing out of it in a steady rhythm, like it had just been shocked back to life. Then the light spread, crawling across the inside of the box like fire soaking through dry cloth.
Matthew stepped back as the box started to change.
The chains cracked and fell away. The plastic bent, shifted, and folded in on itself. In less than five seconds, it had reshaped into something completely new.
Matthew blinked. He stepped closer and leaned in. "You’ve got to be kidding me."
It looked exactly like his current school backpack. Same size. Same worn zipper tag. Even the faint scuff on the corner where he’d scraped it against a locker last month.
He glanced at the one sitting in the corner of the room.
Side by side, the resemblance was absurd.
"The transformation is based on what you’ve seen before," the ghost girl said, hovering behind him. "It can mimic any shape you’ve physically encountered. The disguise helps it blend in. Smart, right?"
Matthew nodded slowly. "Too smart."
She floated down beside the new bag. "You should be able to feel it now. Try focusing."
Almost immediately, something shifted in his awareness. Like a new sense had just snapped into place. He could feel space inside the bag. Real space.
Not compartments or hidden pouches, but actual volume. Deep, wide space just like the one mentioned in novels. There were things inside. He couldn’t name them, but he could sense the presence.
"This is real," he said quietly. "This is... actual spatial storage."
"Mm-hmm." She looked a little annoyed. "If I’d known this thing was that valuable, I would’ve kept it."
Matthew looked at her. "But you said you could sense it."
"I could sense something," she replied. "I didn’t know it was a legacy-grade pocket domain. Those are rare and old."
Matthew picked up the bag again and turned it over in his hands. "You’re telling me this belonged to someone like a Nexian?" He immediately wondered if they are stealing someone’s things.
"Humans can’t use it or even sense it. Artifacts belong exclusively to Nexians. Judging by its condition, I’d say it dates back to around World War II. These days, your only shot at getting one is through auctions and they’re ridiculously expensive and not something that one could buy using money."
"Too bad they didn’t design it to look like an ugly gym sock. No one would’ve touched it," he said.
"Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have either."
Matthew didn’t reply. He was still staring at the bag.
For the first time in a long while, he felt like he’d just gained something real.
Not just a tool, but something real, something tangible he could grasp.
Quickly, he focused and almost immediately, his expression shifted.