I let out a shaky breath and glance at the flattened, bloodstained grass.

I should process this. The numbers. The sheer scale of it.

But if I start, I might not stop. So instead, I turn to humor.

It always worked before.

“Well, Mischief, I’m basically dead on my feet,” I mumble, forcing a smirk. “I need a nap before the next stage. You’re not going to eat me in my sleep, right?”

Mischief’s ears flick sharply.

For a second, I swear he looks… offended. Like he actually understood what I just said.

I blink.

Mischief blinks twice. Then, slowly, he rests his head back down. I might be imagining it, but his gaze softens.

Like he’s reassuring me.

I lean back against a broken tree stump, my body sinking into the dirt. My eyelids feel like lead.

“Wake me up before it starts, yeah?” Who am I kidding? I should just stay awake. Eh, there is always a big DING anyway. It’ll be fine.

Just before I drift off, something shifts at the edge of my vision.

Mischief’s head lifts slightly. A slow, deliberate nod. I don’t know if that’s real. I don’t know if I imagined it.

Everything is too heavy. I feel it pressing down, my eyelids sinking with it. My thoughts blur, slipping between waking and sleep.

Maybe I’ll wake back up in my college dorm?

Is that what I want...? No. I want this new world.

-

A gentle nudging on my arm tugs me out of blissful darkness.

I stubbornly cling to sleep, but the prodding continues—more insistent each time. Then, without warning, something yanks my leather jacket.

“Hey!” I yelp, jolting upright. “What the hell—?!”

The first thing I see is Mischief’s wide, whiskered face, practically filling my entire vision.

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If a giant cat could smirk, he’s definitely doing it.

My heart slams against my ribs.

“Gah!” I scramble back, hand over my heart. My pulse is racing.

Mischief lets out a weird snorting noise—almost like laughter. It’s unsettling. And kind of endearing.

But that’s not the only change. He’s bigger. A lot bigger.

His shoulders are broader, his tail thicker, his frame more defined. At least twenty or thirty extra pounds of pure muscle.

I rub my temples, trying to process it.

“Uh… good morning. You’ve changed.”

I run a hand over my face. Then my arms. Do I feel stronger? Oh yeah. Bigger? …No

I got a massive boost from titles and stats. But Mischief? He’s evolving in a completely different way. Honestly, it’s kind of bullshit.

Mischief bobs his head, then glances toward the open field.

Taking the hint, I check the interface ticking away in my vision.

Taking the hint? From a mountain lion? Am I really sure I am awake?

1 Minute Until Wave 5 (Stage 2).

I exhale. “So you know it’s almost time,” I say, eyeing him. “And can you understand me?”

Mischief nods. My pulse spikes. Who the hell taught him the meaning of a nod?

Part of me suspected it. But seeing him confirm it—even in such a simple way—sends my thoughts racing.

He’s not just a fighting machine. He’s aware. Changing.

In some ways, more than I am.

I should be even more shocked by this revelation, a cat that understands words? I really am incredibly shocked. But with everything else that's happened? It seems par for the course.

“How—when?” This was so interesting to me. “Was this a system reward or some function of the intelligence stat?” Mischief tilts his head but doesn’t respond.

“Got it,” I murmur. “You can understand me, but you can’t talk back. Or don’t know how.”

Another nod. At least he figured that part out. I try to smile, but there’s an edge to it now.

My jokes aren’t cutting through the unease.

“You know, I have so many more questions.”

I shake my head, still dusting myself off. This is a lot to wake up to.

Not that I’m complaining—a way to communicate with Mischief, even if it’s just one-way, is a massive upgrade.

“I’d love to dig into what all this means,” I say, rolling my shoulders, “but first, we need to survive this wave. Sound good?”

Mischief indicates his understanding. I swing my club a few times, warming up.

Then, just for fun, I test my leg strength—a casual warm-up jump. Bad idea.

I barely push off the ground—and suddenly, I’m ten feet in the air.

My brain barely registers the movement before I start plummeting.

I twist mid-air, but I’m off balance. I crash flat on my back with a solid oof.

Mischief lets out another snort. I bounce back up instantly. The fall didn’t hurt, not even a little—but my pride is another story.

I dust myself off, pretending nothing happened.

“If we survive this, I’m erasing that from history.”

Mischief just stares, unimpressed.