I hear them first, because all of a sudden they splash down into the water a few paces away from me and Hunter.

“Oh my God, holy shit, I’m—”

“Calm down, we’re fine, the water is shallow!”

“Shallow, and… warm… aaaaaaahhh…”

“WHOOOOOOOOOOOO WE BEAT COCYTUS FUCK YEAHHHHH!!”

I glance over at them. Four people, two girls, two guys, with a typical party build. One is lying down in the water, humming warmly and letting the frost melt out of her clothes. Another is jumping around and whooping, waving his spear with frankly unsafe vitality. If that thing goes flying, someone’s bound to get hurt. The other two, far more sensible, are on their feet, surveying the surroundings watchfully.

Spotting me.

So, as a quick recap, I’m naked. I didn’t put anything on after ripping everything off to fight Love and company. I forgot all about it because Hunter didn’t mention it, but now that they’re looking at me, I’m keenly aware.

Strangely enough, I don’t feel entirely ashamed, even as they turn away from me, their faces red.

“Hey, Hunter, hold my rod,” I say, handing him my pole. I’m just about to pull a pelt from my inventory when I hesitate. Hm. Of course, I’ve already messed up my first impression, but…

I pull a shirt and pants from my inventory, another pair Moleman gave me. Trying not to think about how terrible it feels that my wet feet are going through my dry pants, I dress myself at least semi-properly. No vest, my shirt isn’t fully buttoned, but… I’m wearing clothes. Mostly.

Holding out my hand, I accept my shaft from Hunter, and resume fishing. Or, at least, I want to. But they have spotted us properly, now.

And hesitantly, almost as if they know their approach will scare off the fishes, they approach us. The spear guy has calmed down now, at least, though the one that took a bath before is still sopping wet and smiling.

One of the two sensible ones, a swordswoman, stands at the front. “So, uh…” Her face is red. “Are you two…?”

“Are we what?”

“You know…”

“What?” I frown at her. What the heck is she talking about? And that isn’t even mentioning the fact that these guys… Are definitely newbies. None of them have hair long enough to reach their ears. How long have they been in here? Seven, eight attempts? Well, whatever. “Listen, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Before she has time to gear up again, Hunter steps in.

“Welcome! Throw your shoes off, relax, and enjoy a day here at the lakeside.”

They stare at him. As they start to discuss things, I feel the peace and quiet begin to drain from my mind, replaced by four annoying, irritating, buzzing flies. Since I don’t want to relapse too soon, I grab my fishing rod and trek away from the group. I walk around a quarter of the way around the lake before settling down again. As I continue my fishing, I watch with half an eye—which isn’t much considering that I’ve only got one at the moment—what they’re up to. After talking to Hunter for a few minutes, they eventually decide to fully embrace the situation, strip down to their underwear, and head out for a swim. Stirring up the fishes. How dare they…!

“You ran off quickly, huh?” Hunter says, having magically appeared at my side.

“I’m not much for talking to people,” I say. “Makes me feel awkward. And they usually don’t like talking to me, either.”

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“I like talking to you,” Hunter says cheekily.

“That’s different. One-on-one, I’m fine. It’s when there’s a lot of people that I get uncertain. A bit… pushed out, almost. We start talking, I try to say things, I get ignored, they talk over me, they get along better with each other than they do with me… I hate it. So, I avoid it at all times.”

“That must make it hard to get friends.”

“I don’t have…” I stop myself. “No, sorry. I… I don’t feel like talking about this.”

“Alright. No hurry.” He pats me on the back. “Keep in mind, though, that sometimes, all you have to do is reach out.”

“Thank you,” I mutter. But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing does, anymore. I grip the fishing rod tight. “I—I’m sorry, but could you leave me alone for a while? I… need to think about things.”

“Sure. Call Me if you need Me,” he says, and then he’s gone, back to the other side of the lake.

I sit down on a little grassy outcrop. Fishing rod still in hand, I watch the party as they swim and play in the lake.

I overhear their names. Lion, Gravy, Hum and Ross. At one point, Lion moves a bit too much and pulls open a wound, so Gravy has to heal them while the other two race across the lake. While doing this, they talk about stuff. I didn’t listen too closely, but they sound like good friends. Even though they’ve only been in the tutorial for less than a year. Even though I’m sure they’ve disagreed at times, or said mean things, or made mistakes.

They just keep going.

All the while, I’m stuck over here, watching. Hoping for change.

Fishing, and catching nothing.

After an hour or so, another group shows up—a duo, this time. Their hair is really short. It almost looks like they came straight from the first floor all the way up here. The next group, a large one containing a whole seven people, looks equally fresh. And so do the next two groups.

And meanwhile, for me…

I twiddle a strand of my greasy, black hair. It’s long enough to reach my middle back, now. I must look like a really, really late bloomer. Like some guy who’s been fighting fearfully through the floors, all on my own, taking so much time that each floor took me more than an attempt. And in the meantime, they’ve been blasting through the floors, doing several ones each attempt, racking up points and skill levels and stats and…

I shake my head. There’s no point in grumbling over what could have been. Sure, it’s taking me a lot of time, but once I get to the finish line, I’ll…

…Be strong? Have a lot of levels? Hair that reaches down to my heels?

I chuckle bitterly. On the other side of the lake, the parties that have joined so far have all started mingling together, exchanging tales of bravery and hijinks, having swimming competitions and playing games. They’re laughing. Happy to have beat the floor, and happy to meet new people.

I feel my hands tremble.

…What the hell do I need levels and strength for? It doesn’t matter. No one gives a shit if I’m the strongest in the tutorial unless my claws are at their throat. It won’t make me friends. It won’t make me happy. The only thing that can do that, is me.

My knees shake. Holding the fishing rod in one hand, I grab my knee with the other. Stop shaking, damn it! There’s no reason for me to feel like… like this!

It’s not like I’m about to face a boss or whatever, I just… I don’t know.

Across the lake, they’ve already formed groups. They know each other now. New parties are joining, and they’re all grouping together, breaking off into new, smaller groups with more to discuss.

My knees won’t stop shaking. My hands won’t stop trembling. Gritting my teeth, I throw down the fishing rod and sit down again. I clutch my knees in my hands.

I… I have to calm down. It’s not like I need to talk to them, or even that I want to. There’s no guarantee that whatever floor comes next requires teamwork or something.

…Except, that’s totally what’s happening. Why else would they gather us all in one place like this? Why else give us ample time to hang out and befriend each other?

The next step is all about teamwork. My one fatal flaw.

I wipe the sweat from my brow. H—heh, isn’t that ridiculous? Sticking me in a teamwork situation? That’s so silly!

I buckle over a little. Hrrrggghhh.

No, this isn’t good. Shit. I feel so nervous I could barf.

I should talk to them. Isn’t that what my school counselor said, all those years ago? If I want to make friends, I just have to walk up, and take a chance. Be myself!

…No, no, no, that’s a horrible idea, no way I can do that, damn you, Mr Lönngård…!

I take a moment to calm my breathing. But… but I should at least be able to introduce myself. Sure, there’s a chance they’ll try and execute me, but… No, that wouldn’t make sense. They’re all too new to have been at the tutournament. They won’t know me from there. And they don’t look like the types to keep up with the latest wanted posters. Nevermind that Simel’s delightful drawing of me has fairly short hair. There’s no way they’ll know me from that. Also, I’m wearing a shirt! My chest is covered. No way for them to know I’m a wanted outlaw.

The smell of smoke and cooked food wafts across the lake. I look back at them.

Oh, hey, they’ve set up a firepit! And now, they’re all sharing meat and food and vegetables, grilling it over open fire. That looks delicious…

N—not that I need to eat, of course!

But then, maybe… If—if I were to approach now… They would probably think I only came over to eat their food, or to use their grill. They’d think I was some materialistic, food-focused freeloader!

Which wouldn’t be entirely incorrect, but…

My eyes move down to my fishing rod. That is, unless… I were to bring my own food? Ho-ho-ho, delightfully devilish, Fennrick!

Rising to my feet, I fish my rod out of the water, returning to my duties with increased fervor. But it seems the fishes, much like printers, are deeply aware of my emotional turmoil, and have colluded to avoid me, a rare show of intelligence. It takes a quarter of an hour for anything to bite, and once I fish it out, I find that it’s a small, pathetic little nibbler, hardly the length of my thumb.

…It’ll have to do!