I hadn’t entertained the idea before, but now I was sure: I was in hell. There was no other explanation. Afterlife wasn’t supposed to be like this, right? Peaceful light, pearly gates, maybe a harp or two—not...this.

And by “this,” I mean a pint-sized demon gleefully stomping on my side with the enthusiasm of a toddler at a bounce house. My ribs were going numb, which, honestly, was a mercy at this point. I couldn’t believe it—my first fight in this world, and I was losing to a four-year-old in a tutu.

“This is what you get! Take that! And that!” she crowed, her tiny boots landing with painful precision. Somehow, every kick found the exact same sore spot. It was uncanny, like fighting a bloodthirsty beast.

“Are you sure you’re not a wild boar?” I gasped, curling tighter into myself as she rained down more punishment.

“No, but you’re stupid!” she snapped, doubling down with another kick to my stomach.

Ding!

A chime echoed softly in my mind, cutting through the chaos. My system, always impeccable with its timing, chose now to pipe up.

System Notification:

Skill Unlocked: Pain Tolerance (Level 1)

Your resistance to pain has increased thanks to repetitive exposure.

New Achievement Unlocked!

Punching Bag: Survive twenty minutes in a fight without dealing any damage.

Reward: 20 SP (because frankly, we feel sorry for you).

Great. My first official achievement and it was for getting beat up...

I forced a grin at the absurdity, even as Julia, the demon in question, leaped onto my stomach with the grace of a deranged monkey. I groaned, twisting away. “Can we talk about this?” I wheezed, scooting out of her range.

Her response was immediate and unequivocal. “No! You’re mean!”

Let me rewind for a second. You’re probably wondering how I got into this position. It’s much simpler than you’d think.

It all started earlier that evening. My mom, wineglass in hand, leaned against Rebecca’s pristine kitchen counter, chatting about something boring and adult while I loitered nearby, praying for an escape. Rebecca, whose house smelled like grease and meat.

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I sighed. If I refused, I’d probably be grounded. If I agreed, I’d have to deal with her. “Fine,” I muttered, trudging after her like a man walking to his execution.

Julia’s room was… an experience. The scent of unwashed clothes hit me first—a mix of sour fabric and mystery funk. In the corner, a mountain of dresses and stuffed animals leaned precariously, like it might collapse In an avalanche, Julia didn’t seem to notice the safety hazard.

“So, what do you wanna play?” I grumbled, glancing around for the least gross option.

She didn’t answer at first, just picked up a doll from her bed—a knight with a chipped sword—and started fussing with its tiny cape. “Knights,” she said finally, her tone dripping with condescension like I was lucky to even be in her presence.

“Sure. Whatever,” I replied, grabbing the first doll I saw. Mine was a red-haired knight missing an arm, but hey, she had character.

Julia wasted no time. Her doll lunged at mine, her tiny hands slamming them together with alarming force. “Sir Fluffington attacks!”

I dodged her first strike easily, probably thanks to my improved Movement skill. She kept coming, relentless in her pursuit, and I realized two things: One, this kid was persistent, and two, I was way too competitive to lose, even to a four-year-old.

I turned my doll sharply, avoiding another strike, and counterattacked. My knight’s one good arm connected with her doll, sending it flying. Sir Fluffington hit the wall with a sickening thud, his little stuffing guts spilling out.

Silence.

A scream.

And then—pain.

Back in the present, Julia launched at me again, her face twisted with fury. I scrambled to dodge, managing to duck under her arms as she swung wildly. “I’m done letting you stomp me!” I growled, more to myself than to her.

I charged low, tackling her legs like I’d seen in a hundred wrestling matches. It worked—sort of. Babies, it turns out, are surprisingly bouncy. The momentum carried us both rolling into the hallway. Julia’s head smacked against the door with a loud bang!

“What was that?!”

The voice of doom—my mother’s voice—echoed from the living room.

The door flew open, and there she stood, her wineglass still in hand, her expression an even mix of fury and exhaustion. Rebecca appeared behind her, brushing pastry crumbs off her sweater.

“What are you two doing?!” my mom demanded, yanking us apart with surprising strength. Julia’s teeth had been in my arm—seriously, she bit me—and the sudden force made her let go.

“He fought me!” Julia wailed, her face red and tear-streaked.

“She attacked first!” I shot back, rubbing my arm.

Elizabeth sighed dramatically, leaning against the doorframe. “Rebbeca, our kids are so theatrical.”

Rebecca ignored her. “Julia? Is that true?”

Julia crossed her arms and looked away, refusing to answer.

Rebecca chuckled under her breath. “Well, thanks for coming, but I think that’s enough excitement for one night.”

Lady Valdris nodded, giving me a pointed look. “Say goodbye to Rebecca and Julia, Ciro. We’re leaving.”

Julia glared at me as her mother ushered her back into her room. I smirked at her retreating form, but the satisfaction was short-lived.

"I'm sorry, Ciro," my mom said abruptly as we stepped out of the house, her words slicing through the victory I had been relishing. Her tone was soft and apologetic; a pang of guilt hit me like a wave, drowning the fleeting joy of escaping that evil little girl. This house, I realized, wasn’t just any place for her. It was a rare refuge where the tension that often etched lines into her face seemed to melt away.

"I...I had fun," I stammered, the words falling out before I could think. I knew it wasn’t true, but the thought of brightening her spirits, even with a lie, felt worth it. I didn't know when, but I guess at a point, her happiness started to outweigh my discomfort. I glanced at her, searching for a sign that my words had landed, that they might lift the invisible burden I hadn’t noticed she carried.

My mother smiled warmly, hope tinged with excitement. "We'll; Vista here more often than Ciro. Maybe Rebecca can even babysit you!" she added with a now refined glee.

I felt my brow furrow, the faintest scowl creeping onto my face. At least she was happy. Repeated these words in my head repeatedly.