Writing about my home just made me remember how much I missed being there. Forget my parent’s house, even being back in my college dorm, as small and cluttered as it was, felt like such a warm and fuzzy memory.

And worse still, it reminded me of how much I missed being back in my old world.

The sight of those animals back at the zoo earlier hadn’t helped at all, only reminding me of Cheddar.

How much longer did I need to stay in this world?

I had not been brought here for any reason it seemed, so couldn’t the deity who had dragged me over here just send me back given I seemed to have no real use?

I missed a lot of things about home.

About how much more comfortable the beds were.

I missed the feeling of driving my car which I had bought just two months ago.

Surprisingly, I even missed sitting in lectures - I mean, I had thought that those had been tedious, but try copying the same poem over and over again by hand and your brain will quite literally start melting and oozing out of your ears.

And it wasn’t just about missing old things from back in my world. I hated quite a many things about this one.

How there were no dogs…

How much I hated having to work eight days out of ten…

How I had ended up homeless and probably would’ve starved to death or gotten dysentery or the like after I first came had I not ran into Granny Qi…

Worst of all, just how isolated I felt. I hadn’t made any real friends other than Granny Qi (which was really sad when you thought about it). Both the lizardmen and the humans looked at me like I was some ‘other’ - it had been relaxing when no one had spared me a second glance during the Book Fair, but the way I had been stopped by the guards when coming back in and the way they had addressed me before knowing that I worked for Lauren… was a sad reminder that I would never fit in here. Not even if I lived here fifty years; even then I would still be seen as nothing more than an outsider to most.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I scrunched up my face. I hadn’t cried in public since I was twelve, and I had no desire to start now, but really all I wanted in that moment was for this guy to finish his grimoire so this could finally be over.

He might as well have given up - granted, I knew why he hadn’t. If he made something successfully, there was a chance that it could be a useful grimoire. Not to mention, practice makes perfect after all, and if he gave up, he wouldn’t know what worked and what didn’t.

But, my bad mood betrayed me and I could only impatiently tap my foot really hoping that he would just hurry up.

This was not improved by the fact that once he was done, the soothing blue aura turned to an angry red, and the paper burnt away. So he had basically wasted my time.

“I think it’s reached the point where I can call the match,” the referee said, looking at both of us, as if asking if there were any objections.

I shook my head. My opponent seemed to want to try again - but also seemed to recognize the futility of giving it another go. After a pause, he also conceded.

And that would’ve been all - I mean, it didn’t make me feel any better, but at least it was over, I could go back home, hit the hay, and then hope that I would wake up the next morning feeling a bit better about myself.

That was until we heard a large amount of shouting.

“What’s that?” I asked no one in particular.

“I don’t know,” the referee said, though he also seemed to be somewhat perturbed by it. It wasn’t just that there were shouts, it was that there were some bangs as well, as if someone was using some kind of spell or there was fighting going on. It was quite the commotion.

I decided to leave the room to take a peek at what was going on - there was a large crowd gathered near one of the other rooms, and while there was still some shouting, the sounds of what I thought were fighting had faded.

I found out the details of what had happened later on - apparently one of the contestants had been handed their third loss, meaning that they were disqualified from advancing further. Before this point, a loss didn’t necessarily mean that you had been booted from the tournament.

It looked like they had then gotten into a heated argument with the referee and their opponent because they knew this was their last chance - which had almost resulted in a real Liberomancer’s Duel (in other words, with magic, not trying to make grimoires). Thankfully cooler heads had prevailed, but damage had already been done to the building.

“You’d think the youngsters would have better sense than to do these things.”

“Shameful…”

“...beneath his station…”

“...losing is one thing, but throwing a tantrum like a toddler…”

I saw many Liberomancers and normal people walking away, shaking their heads in disgust alike. Whoever had put on such a shameful display no doubt would suffer quite a loss of reputation.

That was why whenever I had won, I didn’t start jumping up and pumping my fist, or sticking out my tongue and going “Take that loser!” Trash talking before events like this was somewhat commonplace back on Earth, but here, sensibilities were different. It was important to give your opponent face even when they had lost, which is why what I did instead was shake their hand and say that I enjoyed the match. You had won, there was no need to be a jerk about it after the fact.