After spending a bit of time chatting with the group of girls—
One of them looked at Orsaga curiously and asked,
"Since you're an exorcist, do you have any exorcism tools on you?"
Orsaga shrugged with a helpless look.
"I don't have anything right now—not even a cross I could wave around."
The girls immediately booed at his response, clearly skeptical of his claim.
What kind of exorcist shows up empty-handed?
Still, that didn't dampen their mood. They kept chatting and joking with him.
Before long, the conversation shifted to their high school.
Apparently, everyone on the bus was either part of Glint High School's basketball team or its cheerleading squad.
They had just come back from a county-level high school tournament with an impressive performance—undisputed champions.
Now, they were on their way back to school to enjoy a well-earned victory celebration.
Orsaga listened idly while accepting a bottle of mineral water from a girl sitting next to him, sipping leisurely and blending in perfectly with the group.
The only slight issue was the way some of the nearby guys were eyeing him—none too kindly.
But even so, not a single one of them made a move to provoke him.
After all, just from his demeanor and the way he dressed, Orsaga clearly wasn't someone to mess with.
And in this land of capitalism, most people still had enough self-awareness to recognize trouble when they saw it.
---
Thirty minutes later.
According to the road signs along the highway, the school bus had already left Briarwood County and entered a place called Ridgewood County.
But Route 9 still stretched endlessly ahead.
"Bang!"
A sudden, heavy explosion rocked the bus.
It began to swerve and shake as the driver slammed on the brakes, shouting curses:
"Damn it!. The tire blew!"
He quickly opened the door and stepped out with the coach and a few others to assess the situation.
It didn't take long for them to discover what caused the blowout.
A bone dart.
Though made of bone, it was incredibly sharp—sharp enough to pierce clean through the reinforced tire, the kind tough enough to withstand light gunfire.
While pulling the dart out of the tire, the driver's finger was even cut open by the barbed edges.
"What the hell is this thing...?"
Muttering in frustration, they began inspecting the dart more closely.
That's when they noticed something lodged into the back of it—
Teeth.
"Shit…"
One of the teachers recoiled in shock.
The head coach examined it for a moment, then said gravely,
"These look like… human teeth."
Back on the bus, the students were growing restless.
A white student muttered, "Can't you guys just change the tire or something?"
A Black student responded, "Dude, this is a school bus. It's not that easy."
Another white student chimed in, "So what now? Is there a repair shop nearby?"
The Black student shook his head—he didn't know.
The white student laughed sarcastically, "Sounds like you need a tire change, too…"
The implication was obvious—mocking the other student's intelligence.
Annoyed, the Black student flipped him off.
Before the exchange could escalate further, the bus's radio suddenly crackled to life, drawing everyone's attention:
"Szzz… This is the latest update on the Briarwood massacre. Four days ago, an old church caught fire. At the scene, rescue crews uncovered over 300 charred corpses, all sewn together and nailed to the walls and ceiling of the chapel. The rescue worker on site said it was a sight he'd never forget."
"The case keeps getting stranger. Some of the corpses had wooden dentures estimated to be over 200 years old. Even more disturbing, the coroner confirmed that not a single complete body was found among them..."
Before the broadcast could finish, the driver—having returned to the bus after inspecting the damage—reached over and casually turned off the radio.
Outside the bus—
A teacher was just about to board again, but the head coach, Harris, held up the bone dart and asked him:
"Did you notice the barbs on this thing?. They're made from bone—or teeth..."
His expression was visibly troubled.
The teacher didn't seem too concerned. With a wave of his hand, he said,
"Just throw that thing away!. Careful you don't cut yourself and get tetanus."
Then he climbed back onto the bus, leaving Harris standing alone, still staring at the dart in his hand—his expression dark and deeply worried.
At that moment—
A voice spoke up behind him.
"Mind if I take a look at that?"
Turning around, Harris saw Orsaga standing there, eyeing the dart in his hand with great interest.
After a brief moment of hesitation, Harris handed it over.
As he did, he slowly voiced the thoughts that had been weighing on his mind:
"I used to be obsessed with darts. Back in college, I was the Texas State Darts Champion. So I can tell—this thing isn't right. It's not just that it's unusually sharp. Its structure is all wrong. Real darts are made for speed and precision—
this one would have terrible air resistance and poor flight control. And more importantly. the angle I found it at makes no sense. It wasn't just run over by accident. It was thrown—deliberately—right into the tire."
As Harris spoke, Orsaga ran his fingers along the barbed edge of the dart.
Immediately, he recognized it—it was made from a human forearm bone.
Normally, no matter how finely carved, human bone shouldn't be able to pierce a school bus's reinforced tires. The material simply isn't strong enough.
(Unless we're talking about Wolverine-level enhancements.)
With a casual flick of his wrist, Orsaga tested the dart—
It sliced through the air with a crisp whoosh.
He knew instantly:
Either this thing was enchanted, or it had been coated in some special substance.
And with the earlier news report still echoing in his mind, everything began to click.
At first, he'd thought he'd just missed his stop.
Turns out, he'd stumbled right into something much more interesting.
'What a delightful surprise.'
Grinning to himself, Orsaga said to Harris:
"This thing's definitely sharper than it should be. And we all know—darts don't fly on their own. So if what you said is true, and this wasn't an accident. Then we're probably being watched—by someone with bad intentions."
Harris's face immediately changed. He asked instinctively,
"Should we just call the police?"
Orsaga nodded without hesitation.
"Yeah, go ahead."
Totally calm.
'After all, I'm just an exorcist. Cops show up? That's not my problem.'
Deep down, he was already calculating how to make use of them, let the authorities charge in first, while he picked up the pieces behind the scenes.