You are an alien, a vanguard for your species’ impending invasion of Earth. Your mission is simple: infiltrate a human family, assess the threat, and eliminate it. The target is Seiko Ayase, a spirit medium who goes by the ridiculous name “Santa Dodoria.” Intel suggests her paranormal abilities could pose a significant problem for the armada arriving next Tuesday. She must be neutralized. Subtly.

Your first attempt involves the stairs. You meticulously loosen a single, crucial plank on the staircase leading to her shrine’s living quarters. You wait, listening. She walks up, humming some off-key enka song, cigarette dangling from her lips. She steps on the plank. It groans, bends… and holds. She pauses, takes a deep drag, and blows smoke at the creaking wood. “Huh. Must be the damp,” she mutters, before continuing up, the plank somehow reinforced by sheer, oblivious willpower.

Plan B: Electrocution. While she’s out buying more cigarettes, you tamper with her vintage kettle, creating a lovely little death trap. She returns, fills it, and plugs it in. You brace for the satisfying sizzle. Instead, the kettle sparks once, lets out a puff of smoke that perfectly matches her exhale, and then begins boiling water perfectly. “Still works,” she says, pouring a cup. “A little personality never hurt an appliance.”

Frustration mounts. You decide on poison. You slip a potent, odorless toxin into her evening tea, a blend she calls “Ghost Repellent #9.” She takes a sip, grimaces, and then shrugs. “Tastes like my last ex-husband. Harsh.” She drinks the entire cup, lets out a small, spectral burp, and then complains that the poison gave her indigestion, not death. She spends the next hour exorcising the heartburn instead of dying.

Your final, desperate scheme is a classic: the falling anvil. You’ve rigged it in the shrine’s storage shed, where she goes to find her “barrier casting” bats. You lure her in with a fake spirit rumor. She enters, looks up at the precariously suspended anvil, and nods appreciatively. “Good counterweight. Clever spirit.” She then uses one of her bats to perfectly bunt the anvil, sending it swinging harmlessly to the side, where it crushes your carefully concealed communication device to your mothership.

She walks out, lighting a fresh cigarette off the sparking wreckage. “You alright in there?” she calls over her shoulder, not even looking back. “Make yourself useful and sweep up that metal, will ya? We’ve got a potential Class-3 spook near the convenience store later. You’re coming with us.”

You stare at the crushed remains of your mission. Invasion plans, scuttled by a chain-smoking grandma in a baseball jacket who mistakes assassination attempts for household chores. You sigh, grab a broom, and get to work. The conquest of Earth can wait. First, you have to go ghost-busting.