Two children danced in a battle of tag, sprinting around the colorful playground, squealing in happiness as they put all the pride that a six year old could muster into who could catch the other first.

And Daniel watched from a bench. His view swam; he couldn’t turn his head and look away, which left confirming if he even had limbs out of the question. Being prisoner to the sight wasn’t that bad, though; the children’s contagious happiness brightened his soul.

One of the kids tried to break to the left and rush up the slide, but his friend caught him, tagging him on the back before rushing up the playground stairs as he tried to give chase.

Daniel felt himself laugh — he felt the jolt of energy — but didn’t hear any sound. Just yesterday, he was in the same position with his own elementary school friends. Recess every day was like an event, a great gathering to see who would come out on top in their games of tag.

One of the kids tried running towards the monkey bars, making a daring escape. But, after the first monkey bar, when he reached for the second, his hand slipped from the first, and he fell right onto the artificial turf, landing hard on his side.

The first sound of the experience was crystal clear — a shout; a long, drawn-out cry. Above, the other boy stopped at the entrance to the monkey bars, watching in concern. Instinct pounded through Daniel’s heart. He would’ve shot up from the bench and rushed over to help, but he was bound in place.

A different girl came in from outside of his view, crouching down to the boy’s level and scooping him up. Familiarity tugged at Daniel’s heart, itching from that sincere body language and her straight brown hair; he knew who that belonged to. And when she finally turned with the younger boy in hand, time froze.

Carmen Garcia.

It wasn’t the Carmen Garcia he had gotten used to; she had the same strong eyebrows and the freckle below her right eye, but her glasses were nowhere to be found, and a pink glossiness painted her lips as flat-ironed straight hair sat in place of her typical comfortable curliness.

Daniel drew in a wordless breath. It was the spitting image of the other Carmen Garcia from his own world, the home he’d been whisked away from a little over a month ago. At that moment, he realized the playground wasn’t just some random playground, either; he used to meet up with friends at this exact park all the time.

Was this his home dimension?

He heard the next shocked gasp clearly as he sat up in bed, sweating bullets. Daniel paused for a moment to catch his breath, clutching his arms to make sure he was real. The dream looped through his mind over and over again.

His home dimension. That was home.

His phone alarm went off from his nightstand. Morning light filtered through the window blinds, illuminating the room in a yellow hue. He swung his legs off the bed and onto his house shoes, untying the durag around his head, letting his dreadlocks drop to his shoulders. Before long, in a simple tee and sweatpants, he stepped out into the hallway and descended the long set of stairs to the main room of the Maroon Sports Bar.

The stairs ended behind the counter of the Garcia-owned bar. It was a large, rectangular room, with butter-yellow walls and tables below the mounted TV’s, and colorful stained-glass windows on the other side.

“Good morning, Daniel!” Mrs. Garcia said, wiping the bar counter on his left.

“Morning!” Daniel said, approaching the table where Mr. Stone, Carmen, and Raph sat.

“I mean I’m just saying, why would I wait for the system to find someone for me to take down? If I’m in the middle of a King of the Hill and I’m winning and beating people up, they’re gonna come to me for sure!” Raph said, leaning on the back legs of his chair, popping an orange slice into his mouth.

“But, how do you know they’re gonna be around your skill level?” Carmen asked, wiping her glasses. “Anyone could walk up to a King of the HIll and challenge you. At least with matchmaking, you know you’re getting a fair fight.”

“Only getting a fair fight could be a little boring, though,” Daniel said, taking the seat next to Carmen. “At least the unfairness of a King of the Hill gets your blood pumping!”

“Good morning.” Mr. Stone bowed, giving an old man’s smile from the center of his freshly-trimmed beard.

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“Yeah, he knows what I’m talking about!” Raph said, easily reaching across the table to dap him up with his long limbs.

“Not really. What were y’all talking about?”

“Rafiq thinks looking out for a King of the Hill is better than using matchmaking,” Carmen said. “I’m trying to make him realize how wrong he is. The usual.”

Raph scoffed. “Really, we was just waiting for you to get up. I was ‘bout to say we should just leave without you, or wake you up myself.”

“No, we wouldn’t have done either of those,” Mr. Stone said. “But, it’s convenient you’re finally awake, Daniel. Grab some breakfast and have a seat.”

Daniel strolled back to the bar counter, asking Mrs. Garcia for two slices of toast — the same thing he always got for breakfast, complete with butter and cinnamon along the top. Dishes clattered from the double doors behind her. Mr. Garcia must’ve been busy with dishes.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Daniel asked once he returned to his seat with his plate.

“Well, I’ve spoken with your agent from Jazz Hands Insurance. He’s supposed to arrive today in an hour or two to lay out the terms and conditions of the traveling abroad program.”

“Oh, I can’t wait!” Carmen leaned back in her seat, staring lovingly at the ceiling. Chip, her tiny yellow ghost bird companion, flapped his small wings, flying around in the air above her. “We can go anywhere! We could go to Japan, or Greece — maybe even Mexico! Would you come with us if we went there, mama?”

“You don’t have to waste a trip on us. We’ll save that for our family trip, anyway. I don’t think your friends here could handle my tia.”

“Shoot, you’re right. But still…!”

Daniel took another bite of his toast, watching Carmen stare dreamily at the ceiling, unable to peel his eyes away. He thought back to the first time they all sat together in the bar like this, right after the tournament and the attack on the dojo. The way she’d squeezed his hand was still etched into his muscle memory, like his hand itself physically remembered it.

But nothing had happened since. The air felt tense between them after that day; even as they trained, getting the words out felt difficult. She’d never gone to him about what he said and the way they held hands that day. Was he supposed to?

Mr. Garcia emerged from the kitchen, a wide, daunting figure nearly blocking out the entire back doors with his broad shoulders. He wiped his hands on a towel he carried, and took off the hairnet he kept bunched up around his beard. “Besides, it isn’t our call. It’s your trip, ain’t it?”

He patted Daniel’s shoulder hard, snapping Daniel out of his thoughts, and Daniel jumped. “Yeah! Yeah, but I don’t know either. Can we go somewhere else before that agent shows up, though?”

“I planned on taking you all out for more ranked matches first, but what do you mean?” Mr. Stone sipped his coffee. “Do you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

Daniel took a deep breath. “The Fighting Center. I want to Break my stats.”

A hushed silence fell over the room, with the ambient Fight playing on TV filling the void. It was a concept Daniel learned of when he and Carmen first became Fighters: raising a stat point in exchange for dramatically lowering another. At the time, the test proctor brought up a man who sacrificed his ability to move for a Broken Long-Range stat, but both Daniel and Carmen had fought a girl named Replay in the tournament who sacrificed all her other special moves for Broken Damage.

Raph finished the final slice of his orange. “Why?” he asked. “Ain’t your stats good enough as-is?”

Daniel shrugged. “They could be better. I’m a two-trick pony — nothing’s wrong with admitting that. Maybe Breaking my stats could let me focus on that more.”

“And only having two moves means it’s obvious what he should specialize in,” Carmen said.

Mr. Stone nodded, running a hand along his beard.

“You never Broke your stats, did you, Mr. Stone?” Daniel asked.

He shook his head. “Breaking stats and specializing further doesn’t cooperate with Stance fighters like myself, considering that versatility is at the heart of my moveset. Not only was I content with my abilities, but I also didn’t trust myself to not ruin it. There’s no going back.”

“There isn’t?”

“What are you planning on raising?”

“My Damage, but I don’t know what to sacrifice, yet. I didn’t think that far.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say you decided to sacrifice a point of your Health Stat,” Mr. Stone said. “You’d become a literal glass cannon, but then let’s say, after losing so many matches, you decide that you don’t like the playstyle as much as you thought.” Mr. Stone shrugged. “To put it bluntly, the system will tell you tough luck. You can Break another stat to compensate, or sacrifice that Broken stat for another, but you can never truly return to your abilities before you broke your stats in the first place.”

Daniel nodded, allowing the words to sink in as he finished off his toast.

“Are you sure you’d like to go through with this, Daniel?”

The dream from mere moments ago echoed through his mind. Home. The world he’d left behind, the place he’d been whisked away from without his own consent. If he wanted to get back, he’d have to use the Wishstone, the prize for the #1-ranked Fighter in the entire world.

And for that, he had to be better — he had to be stronger.

He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

“Then we can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Daniel chuckled. “What do you mean? I am ready!”

“Dawg, you look like you just rolled out of bed. You still got slides on!” Raph cackled, gesturing at Daniel’s socks and sandals.