The newfound era of peaceful, purpose-driven co-existence lasted approximately as long as a free sample at the campus cafeteria. The problem wasn't Alexander. For the first time since his death, he was content, his existential dread soothed by the simple, satisfying work of micromanaging his friends' lives into a state of slightly-less-chaotic authenticity.
The problem was Mason.
Inspired by Alexander's digital reign of terror, Mason had decided to relaunch his YouTube channel, "Mason's Misguided Mysteries," with a bold new direction: exposing the supernatural underbelly of Crestwood University. His first target was, inevitably, his own dorm room.
"Welcome back, truth-seekers!" Mason whispered dramatically into his camera, the lens pointed at Alexander, who was trying to explain the concept of "thrownness" to a bewildered Liam. "Tonight, we go where no channel has gone before… into the heart of a REAL. LIVE. HAUNTING."
Alexander, sensing the shift in energy, paused his lecture. "Mason, what are you doing?"
"Just act natural, Spooky! The people need to see this! They need to know the truth!"
"The truth is that Heidegger's concept of Geworfenheit is fundamentally misunderstood by most undergraduate—"
"—AND HE'S SPEAKING GERMAN!" Mason narrated, zooming in. "A known language of the occult! The entity is agitated! What secrets is it trying to conceal?"
Chloe looked up from her book. "He's trying to conceal the fact that Liam's life choices are a monument to inauthenticity. It's not exactly a state secret."
But Mason was unstoppable. He filmed everything. Alexander helping Ethan debug code became "THE GHOST HACKS THE MAINFRAME!" Alexander reminding Jade to water her ferns became "BOTANICAL TERROR FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE!" The video, titled "I LIVE WITH A GHOST (NOT CLICKBAIT)", went viral overnight.
The comments were a mixed bag.
"OMG he's so sassy I love him!"
"This is so fake. Bad green screen."
"Can the ghost do my philosophy homework?"
And then, the challenge appeared. A comment from a rival campus channel, "Crestwood Crazies," run by a preppy, polo-shirted nightmare named Brad Jenkins.
@CrestwoodCrazies: LOL. "Misguided Mysteries" is right. Your "ghost" is about as scary as a lukewarm latte. That's not a haunting; that's a needy theater major with a fog machine. Our campus has REAL legends. Sad you have to make yours up. #FakeSpooky
Mason read the comment aloud, his face turning a shade of red usually reserved for emergency vehicles.
"A LUKEWARM LATTE?" he shrieked. "He called you LUKEWARM, Alex!"
Alexander, who was attempting to read Kierkegaard, sighed. "I am a disembodied consciousness, Mason. My self-worth is not contingent on the temperature-based assessments of a mortal named 'Brad.'"
"Well, mine is!" Mason yelled. "This is war! A roast war! We have to clap back! We have to destroy him!"
And so, the Great Crestwood Roast War began.
Mason's first video was a direct response. He filmed Alexander floating serenely while Mason provided a voiceover.
"Oh, Brad Jenkins? The human equivalent of a participation trophy? The guy whose biggest mystery is how his hairline is receding faster than his moral integrity? You want a real legend? How about the legend of your GPA, which is apparently so low it's started using quantum tunneling to get lower? Our ghost has more substance than your entire channel."
It was brutal. It was juvenile. It was, unfortunately, hilarious.
Brad fired back with a slickly edited video of his own, exploring the "legend" of a weeping statue in the campus gardens. "While some are chasing cheap laughs with glow-in-the-dark pajamas," Brad said, smirking directly at the camera, "we're pursuing actual paranormal evidence. But hey, if you need a win, Mason, I heard the cafeteria's serving 'Mystery Meat Surprise.' Maybe you can get a viral hit off that."
The viewership of both channels skyrocketed. The student body was divided. Team Ghost vs. Team Brad. The comments section became a digital colosseum.
"Brad has a point, Mason's ghost just complains a lot."
"At least Mason's ghost can form a complete sentence. Brad's personality was focus-grouped by his dad."
"I bet Alexander's dissertation was less pretentious than Brad's video intro."
The Survivors Club was reluctantly drafted into the conflict.
"I'm not getting involved in this," Chloe stated flatly. "It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
"Too late!" Mason said, pointing his camera at her. "Chloe, what's your read on Brad Jenkins?"
Chloe didn't even look up from her iced coffee. "He looks like the kind of guy who unironically uses the word 'synergy' and probably has a framed photo of himself shaking hands with a university dean. He's less a person and more a sentient LinkedIn profile."
The clip got 50,000 likes.
Liam, trying to stay out of it, was ambushed while studying. "Liam! Team Ghost needs you! Roast Brad!"
Liam, flustered, stammered, "I… I don't like conflict! He seems… very sure of his hair products?"
It was the worst roast in history, which somehow made it the most endearing. The comments were filled with "PROTECT LIAM AT ALL COSTS."
Jade, the voice of reason, was the only one who tried to de-escalate. "Guys, this is getting out of hand. We're fueling a pointless feud for clicks."
Mason edited her statement down to: "Jade says Brad's content is 'pointless.' BOOM. ROASTED."
Alexander watched it all unfold with a sort of detached, academic horror. He was now a central figure in a campus-wide meme war. His profound insights into the nature of being were being used as punchlines.
"This is a new circle of hell Dante never imagined," he moaned, as Mason filmed him for a video titled "GHOST CRINGES AT BRAD'S TAKE ON NIETZSCHE." "The reduction of complex philosophical ideas into digestible content bites for mass consumption. It's a tragedy."
"Relax, dude," Mason said, patting the air where Alexander's shoulder would be. "You're a star! Look at these engagement metrics!"
"I don't want to be a 'star'! I want to be a respected intellectual!"
"Too late!" Mason cackled. "You're the sassy philosophy ghost! It's your brand now!"
The war had reached a stalemate. Both channels were trading insults, but neither had a knockout blow. Then, Brad released his masterpiece. A video titled: "THE TRUTH ABOUT THE 'PHILOSOPHY GHOST'."
It was a deep dive. Brad, using his family's connections, had gotten access to old university records. He held up a faded photocopy of Alexander Plath's student ID.
"That's right," Brad said, his voice slick with smugness. "The so-called 'brilliant' ghost? He was a failure. A wash-out. His big thesis was rejected. Professor Higgins called it 'unreadable.' He didn't die a tragic, romantic death. He probably died of shame after flunking out."
The video cut to a shot of Brad standing outside their dorm. "So let's be clear. Mason isn't housing a tormented genius. He's babysitting the ghost of a college dropout who's still, decades later, trying to prove he's smart. How's that for authentic?"
The video ended. In the dorm, the silence was absolute.
Mason was pale. "Alex… I… I didn't know."
Alexander had gone perfectly still. His glow had dimmed to a faint, cold ember. The old wound, the deepest one, had been ripped open and broadcast to the entire university.
"He's not entirely wrong," Alexander said, his voice barely a whisper. "My work was rejected. I was… dismissed."
He looked at them, his form seeming to shrink. The confident, if annoying, tutor was gone. In his place was the ghost of a humiliated, heartbroken young man.
"Perhaps," he said, fading from view, "Brad Jenkins is the only one here who sees me clearly."
The roast war was over. Brad had won. And in his quest for viral fame, Mason had given him the ammunition to destroy their friend.