image [https://i.imgur.com/Z6fGaw3.jpg]

Over breakfast, I confessed to Charitybelle that I had only recently realized how to rank up my magic skills.

She laughed, blushed, and shook her head.

I laughed with her, not knowing why she found the news amusing. “What?”

“It’s funny how you’re adapting to the game.”

“You wanna join me? We can shoot target dummies together before we hit the library?”

“How could a girl say ‘no’ to target dummies? Now that you don’t need a magic tutor, are you quitting your library quest?”

“No way, I’m nearly done. I can almost taste the three-and-a-half-silver.”

Charitybelle raised her eyebrows. “You’re getting three silver? We’ve only seen coppers dropping from monsters. None of us have seen a silver piece for a quest reward. Everything in town costs copper—at least food and clothes. With silver, you could buy tools and gear, or maybe even a pig.”

We cackled at the thought of spending silver on livestock. The others would disown me if I bought anything but weapons.

Money makes everything easier, but I wasn’t in it for the silver. Learning from Mr. Fergus seemed more important. I could interpret his comments in multiple ways—as if engaged in another conversation, one whose meaning I wasn’t privy to. Impressing him mattered to me, so I didn’t give up.

Picking up rare skills like manuscript creation became a reward unto itself. Perhaps I didn’t want to admit I wanted to please my new father figure. Wasn’t I a bit too old to be so needy for attention? Hopefully, the others wouldn’t suspect this—they only saw me as a dedicated, if not boring, student.

I cast Heavenly Favor on myself while working on my lettering. Throughout the morning, I penned practice words on vellum while fifty ruled sheets of parchment awaited, untouched since I’d finished making them.

Late in the morning, I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and could tell Charitybelle made the sounds. I turned to welcome her before she reached the top.

Of course, she greeted me with a beaming smile. “Guess what! I’m going to head to the academy for combat training. I found a bunch of engineering books with technical drawings and architecture. My dad works in the army as a civil engineer. I guess that makes me an army brat, but not really. We didn’t move around as much as other families in the service. Dad lets me play with his programs. His software used 3D models of landscapes, and I learned how to use it to divert water from one place to another.”

I listened intently to her personal details. We spoke judiciously about our old lives before the game but never asked personal questions. It became a bit like the gladiator thing, but we also wanted to separate from our previous lives—proving to ourselves and others that we didn’t need grown-ups caring for us. Many kids our age embraced values opposite of their parents, reaching for any fashion that distinguished us from previous generations. Our parents probably did the same to our grandparents.

In my case, contrariness was genuine, but with Charitybelle, I think she wanted to show she wasn’t homesick. None of us gave our real names, preferring to identify ourselves with in-game monikers.

Charitybelle studied my vellum while she spoke. “The civil engineering programs had visualization features that blew me away. My dad showed me how to simulate floods, and that’s how I learned about drainage and sanitation. It’s funny how that memory came up after finding blueprints of waterwheels and mills.” She blushed. “It’s nerdy, but I like how the cogs and cams work with the gears and what they can do with simple water power.”

Her brows furrowed as she read my practice vellum. “I still have a hard time reading this kind of text. The whole library has the same lettering. I hate it. It’s too hard to tell the difference between the letters. The vertical strokes are so heavy they camouflage the words. Why does everyone in Miros write like this?”

I regarded my vellum. “Maybe it’s easier to read after you practice writing.” I offered my stylus to her in jest.

She grunted and shook her head. “Right. I’m off to the academy. They have a class on daggers and short swords at sixth-hour. I became the first to sign up for it. Are you here until dinner?”

I nodded.

“Later, gator.” She wiggled her fingers and stomped down the stairs.

Listening to her footsteps reminded me of another way Mr. Fergus stood out. He made no sounds when he walked. Everyone else made creaks. I’d invented a mini-game of trying to walk up the stairs as quietly but could never avoid making noise.

I kept my mana pool empty by spamming Heavenly Favor but couldn’t always remember to cast it. Doing so every 30 seconds prevented me from concentrating on my work.

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I started a habit of spending ten minutes zapping the training dummies on my way to and from the library and reached the second rank in primal magic the following day. That afternoon, I reached rank 4 in manuscript creation, my sole nonmagical skill. Mr. Fergus checked my work less frequently, which I took as a positive sign.

At last, Mr. Fergus picked up my vellum. “This is quite good. I think you’re ready for the catalog. The nobles will lament that grouping a book by subject undermines its prestige or value, but I say that’s the librarian’s prerogative.”

Mr. Fergus beckoned me into his office. When he opened the door, a scent hit me like a punch to the nose—a potpourri smelling both sweet and unpleasant.

The room’s curious clutter captured my imagination, making my mentor’s instructions difficult to follow. Shelves, nooks, and desks filled the floor space. Scrolls, books, gadgets, and animal skeletons layered the lower strata of every horizontal surface. Jars filled with organs and spices cluttered the corners whose cobwebs caught only dust.

Mr. Fergus produced a list of subject groupings and library locations. He reached midway through his explanation when I finally heard him.

After blushing, I apologized. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Your things caught my attention.”

Mr. Fergus held back a smile. “I said that the library can survive without many of its volumes. We can rid ourselves of the decorative folios if space becomes an issue. A book’s ornamentation and its utility share an inverse relationship. Ironically, the valuable ones are the same I wish to purge. We’ll raise enough money to make Belden famous for its library—but that’s getting ahead of ourselves. First, you must make room in each section. We’ll order the books alphabetically by subject.”

Even through opaque eyeglasses, Mr. Fergus couldn’t hide his excitement. “And each subject will have a separate list. When we receive new books, we need only update one list, not the entire catalog.”

After a pause, we adjourned to the first floor and discussed restructuring the library after he locked his door. “Any books you pull can go into special collections, but we’ll sort them on another day.”

Rearranging the shelves required physical labor, so I grew hungrier earlier. I took breaks to eat biscuits and tea, zapping target dummies to and from Formal Hall.

I expected to finish sorting the books within two to three days. Compiling and writing out a new catalog would take a few more days. By my estimate, an entire month will have passed before completing my quest.

PinkFox and ArtGirl showed up for dinner at Formal Hall. They usually visited every few days to check in on me and Charitybelle.

After relating the good news about starting the library’s catalog, my dinner companions expressed more sympathy than appreciation. They didn’t understand my motives, nor did I reveal my suspicions that Mr. Fergus might somehow give me an edge in the contest. The others wouldn’t do the work even if I told them about it—they craved adventure, sport, and exploration. I needed to win. Avoiding homelessness fueled my strategy. I wanted fun, too, but playing the long game took priority.

ArtGirl smacked the tabletop with her palms. “Guess what! We’re striking out for the eastern foothills of the Highwalls. This time, we’re going straight into the woods. No paths at all!”

Charitybelle and I showed we were duly impressed.

PinkFox rubbed her hands together. “There’s gotta be better monsters out there. None of us have gained levels in the past few weeks. We need to find more game. It’s going to be a two or three-day trip. You guys want to go?”

Charitybelle sat up straight. “Oh! Yeah, let’s do it, Patch! Let’s go.”

It dismayed me that she wanted to join them. I shrugged. “Can’t. Stacking books.”

Charitybelle nodded, but her shoulders slumped before turning to ArtGirl. “You guys need to promise you won’t leave me alone with RIP and Fab.”

Everyone laughed except me.

When PinkFox saw I didn’t quite understand the joke, she leaned over and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear. “They’re disposed to public displays of affection. They never leave each other alone. And Arty is pretending she doesn’t want to join in.”

Louder laughter erupted.

ArtGirl rolled her eyes and shook her head.

They acted giddy over their upcoming trip, treating it like a field trip or a spring break vacation.

The discussion turned to the drier topic of logistics, and PinkFox ran through checklists to ensure they had enough inventory space. They pooled their money and bought cooking gear, bedrolls, camping supplies, and lanterns, outfitting themselves with extra bags and packs in case they found gobs of monsters.

Players reaching level 5 lost the newbie buff protecting us from other players. Anyone leaving school grounds for 12 hours lost it until they returned to Belden University. Fabulosa had already reached that point, so the rest couldn’t be far behind. The implications of a multi-day safari could change the game in many ways. What if they decided not to come back?

“Are you guys ever worried that someone might backstab someone else?”

The group exchanged looks as if my question had broken an unspoken etiquette.

ArtGirl sighed. “You need to relax. Risk is part of the game. Besides, everyone has too much fun to ruin it with betrayals.”

PinkFox pointed at me. “That’s why we avoid dangerous battles. We keep a loose rule that no one’s health drops below 50 percent. It would take a group-wide conspiracy to knock one of us out—and Fab can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

PinkFox grinned before giving me a serious look. “You’re going to get further into the contest by being part of an alliance. What’s good for the group is good for the individual.”

Charitybelle nodded in agreement. “RIP is becoming the group’s tank, taunting monsters to keep us helpless girls safe.”

PinkFox made claw gestures with her fingers. “That means we get to do all the damage. Team Lioness, baby!”

ArtGirl echoed with a growl and giggles before sobering up. “We avoided dangerous encounters, so errors aren’t fatal. I just wish level-grinding wasn’t so slow.”

PinkFox rolled her eyes. “Tell me about it. I gotta do all the tracking while the rest of you gab all day. It’s a wonder you don’t chase off all the monsters with your laughing.”

“Yeah, man, but your survival skill is rank 9. I still don’t know how you got it so high.”

PinkFox shrugged off the compliment and turned to me. “Tracking isn’t like in the movies where actors glance at the ground to pick up a trail. That’s stupid. No one is that good. It takes painstaking work to find a trail. Sometimes, I need to circle for hours to find anything.”

PinkFox playfully waved her finger as if teaching a class. “If you ever decide to level up, the first power you’ll need is Rest and Mend. After each combat, we use it to restore health and mana. Instead of waiting an hour to regenerate, Rest and Mend only takes a few minutes.”

Before wishing everyone a good night, I warned them to be careful.

I wished Charitybelle luck one last time and watched her leave until she turned. We shared eye contact long enough to burn the moment in my memory.

Our lingering stare kept me awake at night. Something had happened between us.