Coach Homer had been stoic mass of muscle that hardly ever spoke up about anything other than the importance of developing a good core.

His father, Coach Russell, was not the same.

Coach Russell loved to laugh. He lived for it. His shirt was always dirty and his thick cargo shorts were always stained by mud and grass.

His hair and beard were a mess too. A long tangle of dirty brown rope that surrounded his face and head and reached all the way down to his shoulders.

He had an air of, youth, about him. An aura that would trick people who didn't know better into thinking he was in his mid-twenties.

In reality, that number was closer to sixty.

Only, he didn't move or act like a sixty-year-old at all.

He was quick to anger and quick to forgive. His temper coming and going like a summer storm.

He was also outspoken.

Very, very, outspoken.

"Come on Cecil! Get a move on! Its only been forty minutes!"

'Yeah, forty minutes of sprinting uphill after a measly ten minute break.'

The complaints didn't leave my mind however.

A week of brutal training had taught me that some ideas were far too dangerous to voice out loud.

So, I kept running and running and running.

Fighting past the incandescent pain burning through my legs and arms and...

"Don't slow down Cecil! Imagine there's a big, scary monster chasing you!"

'But coach, there really is a big, scary monster chasing me.'

Those words were also left unsaid.

The hairy behemoth might be constantly laughing at his own jokes, but he was a lot less receptive when other people tried to be funny.

'Though a least he hasn't sent me or mine into the dungeon. Small blessings I suppose.'

I tried to distract myself from the agony and focused on the hate instead.

Hate for the fact that I wasn't in school.

Hate for the fact that I hadn't been allowed to call any of my actual friends out in the real world.

Hate for the way the other students snickered at the frail human trudging down the street every time one of them saw me.

Hate for Elsie and her smug condescension.

For the way the narrowed her eyes followed me around town and smiled every single time she saw me.

Those eyes spoke volumes all by themselves.

It was like a cat glancing down at a mouse. Too busy toying with it to actually eat it.

An apt comparison, if what I'd heard was even remotely true. She could probably kill me with a flick or her wrist.

That truth bred a fresh wave of resentment. A nasty bile that clung to my throat just as the sweat clung to my shirt and chest.

'Laugh while you still can Elsie. Laugh as much as you want. Let's see how funny it is when I get my own core.'

Coach Russell reached me from behind. Slowing himself down right before passing me.

His eyes assessed me. Taking in my form and my current state.

I heard him chuckle from the side.

"You're doing great Cecil. Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd have guessed you were one of ours."

I swallowed the words I wanted to say. Forcing a smile.

"Thank you, Coach. Its all thanks to your guidance."

"Damn right! But this is just the beginning. We'll start raising the difficulty little by little from now on. Just to make sure you're getting the most out of these lessons."

I stumbled.

My elbows impacting the hard earth beneath. Short, shallow breaths began escaping from my lungs. Scalding me as they went in and out and in and out again.

"R-raise the difficulty? More than this?"

He barked out a laugh.

"Of course kid! You didn't think we were going to spend a month or two running around the dungeon's entrance did you? That'd be a damn fine waste of time! Yours and mine. Now! Get up and start running again!"

I did so. Struggling to keep the curses inside of me.

Groaning as the soreness from my legs redoubled.

My feet were moving again before long.

Leaping over roots and balancing on unsteady ground while keeping ahead of the sadist at my heels.

"Yes!" He bellowed. "Stay in motion! Watch your step! Proper running form from now on!"

He kept at it for another few minutes. Not caring about the damage he was inflicting on me.

My throat was parched. Whatever liquids I'd ingested having turned to sweat long ago.

Swallowing did nothing but remind me of how much the act hurt. How much fire was travelling up my legs and through my torso.

I started to slow down, but that only made him yell louder.

"Do not lose speed Cecil! You are doing great! Focus on our lessons! Name the all the stats and what they do!"

I started doing so.

Fighting through the temptation to curl into a ball until another week had passed.

"Vitality, is how healthy you are."

"Wrong! Go again!"

I cursed him again.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Vitality, is how good your cells are at healing themselves, staying alive and regenerating. Higher values let you live longer, resist diseases better, build muscle faster and heal from injuries faster."

"And!?"

I winced. Almost falling over again from the way he shouted in my ears.

"And it helps healing magic do its job. Higher values let you get healed faster and without side effects."

"Good! Next!"

"Endurance is how much stamina your body has and how much magic you can use before collapsing. Magic uses stamina, so its important to have a high value."

"Precisely! Keep going!"

I was about to start talking again, when I noticed the rapidly approaching branch. I ducked just in time to avoid getting slapped in the face. An act that drew a satisfied chortle from Coach Russell.

"I said! Keep going!"

"Potency is physical and magical strength. It makes your magic stronger and it makes you stronger. Too little Potency means your skills and attacks won't get through."

"And?"

'Jeez man. Who hurt you? Leave me alone.'

"And too much can make your skills go berserk."

"How do you avoid this?"

"By having at least half as much Precision and Fortitude."

"Right on the money! You're amazing Cecil! Now! What do those two do!?"

"Precision is how much control you have over your body and your magic. It lets you aim and manipulate your skills better and lets you draw on more magic faster. It also lets you move more faster, with more efficiency. Fortitude is how stable your magic skills are and how stable the magic in your body is. It lets you take bigger hits more often and it lets you use more magic at once without losing control of it. It also prevents your persistent skills from breaking down too quickly or being shrugged off. Or dispelled."

"Excellent! You got that all in one try! You are awesome Cecil! Way to go!"

He sounded so genuinely sincere that, for a fraction of a second, I actually considered asking for a break.

Then I recalled what happened the last time I did so and pushed down the impulse.

"Now then. I want you to list off every monster from the first five floors and their weaknesses by order of least dangerous to most dangerous. Starting now."

I clenched my teeth. So tightly that I feared they would crack.

But they didn't and I ended up complying.

"Rippers. Eyes and exposed skin behind the ribs."

"Ghouls. Head and torso. Blunt weapons are best."

"Skeletons. Spine. They won't stop moving otherwise."

"Acid Snails. Salt and piercing weapons from the front. Attack right after they get ready to spit."

"Stone Bugs. Legs. Blunt weapons."

"Gargoyles. Wings. They won't die unless both are broken."

"Skin Frogs. Tongue. Slashing weapons. Lots of arteries. Bleeds quickly."

Coach Russell hummed a tune as I kept going.

Not asking me anything else for another half hour while I was left to my list.

My vision was blurry by the time I finished.

My eyes unable to tell what was in front of me.

To make matters worse, the blazes in my lungs had turned to molten lava.

Each breath searing my throat as the hot air escaped.

'Just one more step.' I told myself. 'Just one more step for your family. You have to get strong. You have to get through this. Don't let them down.'

"I think that's enough for now." Coach Russell said offhandedly. With the casual tone of someone discussing the weather or what they had for lunch.

I didn't say anything. Indeed, I didn't even waste a second.

My body fell like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Making it so that my hands caught me at the very last second.

I was panting like a beaten dog, when the bastard shook a water bottle in front of me.

I grabbed it, quick as a snake and gulped it down without a second thought.

At that moment, it was the sweetest thing I'd ever tasted.

The Coach chuckled.

"You must think me a monster."

"Of course not." I lied through my teeth.

That managed to get a laugh out of him.

"Good. Because this is where your warm-up officially ends. We'll be running inside the actual dungeon for the rest of the day. I'll cripple any monsters we come across long before you notice them. You will focus on running, familiarizing yourself with the landscape and finishing off any dregs you do notice."

I looked up at him. Horrified.

"Why?"

It was perhaps, the most asinine thing I could have possibly said.

Yet the words had escaped my lips before I knew it.

His expression changed at a moment's notice. Going from overly jovial to understanding at the drop of a hat.

"Why don't you check your Analyzer and tell me what's on your status?"

My eyes went from him, to the black glassy item on my wrist.

I sat down properly and tapped the screen with an unsteady finger.

Noting the slight changes from this past week.

Name:

Cecil Fowler

Core:

None

Level:

0

Vitality:

1.4

Endurance:

1.3

Potency:

1.1

Precision:

1.1

Fortitude:

1.2

Skills:

None

"Its just a few decimal points." I informed him.

"Exactly! A few decimal points in every stat in just a week! That means you're at least 10% better than you were last week in every aspect. And that's not even counting the non-magical changes. Endurance has allowed you to train for longer periods each day, while Vitality makes your muscles heal faster. You've been toning your flimsy excuse for a body far faster and far more efficiently than any mundane athlete out there. All that extra meat on your bones makes those decimals more impactful, which in turn lets you push your body harder. You've made some awesome progress this past week."

"Then, why do you want me to go harder? Why aren't we keeping up our usual schedule?"

"Because its a waste, dumb, dumb. The gains are going to slow down. Faster than you could possibly imagine too. It'll happen because your body will start thinking of this as the new normal. If you let this become a new normal you'll end up with a middling core at best."

I sucked in a breath.

Wondering whether this would be a good time to get some answers.

"Um, I got a question, regarding that. Coach."

"Oh? Well lets hear it!"

I gulped.

"People around town are always telling me to train harder and harder, but I still don't know how high my stats need to be to get a good core."

He nodded sagely.

"That's fair. I suppose. Though I still don't think I should tell you."

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"For the same reason no one else has told you either. If I tell you what the bare minimum is, that's what you'll end up aiming for, whether you realize it or not. Your mind will accept that a certain degree of effort is all that's required on a subconscious level and your body will follow suit. That's how a lot of folks from my day ended up as flunkies. They slowed down their training. Didn't push themselves as hard as the others. Left the field early day after day and didn't delve past the first floor. Some of them even took entire days or weeks off. Knowing full well they were on a strict deadline. Now, their families are paying for their laziness."

I bristled.

"That's a little harsh."

He shook his head sadly.

"No. Cecil. My words aren't harsh. They're the truth. Some of those guys are still friends of mine and I see the way they look at me. At my kids. I see the way their kids look at Homer when we have our monthly delving meetings. Do you have any idea what someone at his or my level can do? Can you imagine growing up next to him and knowing full well that you are built differently? That you'll never be able to reach his toes because the core you got was just plain worse than his?"

He caught himself at the end. Snapping his mouth shut before any more words could slip through.

"Look kid. Cecil. I know its not easy, okay? I know it hurts and I know it all seems like a little much. Okay? I really, honestly get it."

He knelt in front of me. Making it so that his eyes were at my level.

His beard looked more like bear fur than human hair at this distance. So thick the strands could deform scissors.

"I've been where you've been. I've literally, literally knelt in that same spot. With a soreness that consumes you until you want to curl up into a ball and never move again. I. Have. Been. There. So I know what I'm talking about when I say that it'll be worth it. The things you'll see down there. The things that are going to escape. They make folks like me and Homer look like kittens. You need every single advantage you can get. We all do."

It took a few more seconds to catch my breath.

Coach Russell said nothing in the interim. Patiently waiting for my reply.

"I know." I answered. "I know the monsters are scary. I know that. I know the problem has to be serious if all of you, supers, are so fixated on what's coming. What I don't know is why you're all so concerned about me."

His face grew more serious.

"Why wouldn't we be?"

"Because neither my aunt or uncle have been put through the wringer to this degree. Eva, I can understand. She's too young and you all said levels only come after puberty. But I don't get what's so special about me. I'm not particularly fast or strong. I'm not too good at sparring from what I've seen. So, why? What is it that you know that I don't?"

Coach Russell didn't say anything else.

Instead, he nodded solemnly and stood back up to his full height.

"Tell you what. I'm willing to share, but only if you earn it."

"Earn it? How?"

A predatory smile blossomed on his features.

"By surpassing my expectations."

He raised two fingers on his right hand.

"You run twice as much as you have today while inside the dungeon and I'll tell you whatever you want."

I blinked up at him. Trying to discern whether or not he was lying.

"You promise?"

"On my honor." He swore.

Then he turned around and began walking away.

"Although, it will mean cutting your break short. Your call, I guess."

I wanted to scream. To call him a dirty cheater.

Instead, I took a deep, steadying breath, and moved to follow.