“I’m not giving you free food.”

Micah sighed in relief. Of course, he would think that. Why else would he say no?

“No, we’re not here for the food,” he laughed. “Well, at least not free food. We might ask to skip the line, though—”

“Nope.”

“—Uhh, or not. But anyway, we want you back on our team!”

There was a chuckle in his voice when Brent answered, and he continued working, “Well, no to that, too.”

Micah froze. “Wait, what? Why don’t you want to join us? We want to get the old team back together again!”

“Oh? I thought Lisa was on your team now.”

“She is. So?”

“So you’re kicking someone out, then? Or can we have seven members?”

“Alex wanted to go climbing with his old team again. You know that.”

He shrugged. “So we’re not getting ‘the team’ back together again.”

“You’re being pedantic. Why are you being pedantic? Don’t you want to go climbing with us?”

He stopped and sighed. “I do. I really do, Micah. I mean sure, maybe sometime during summer break—”

He groaned.

“—but for the exam? I was the only one of us assholes who didn’t level during the last exam, you know? And I suspect that if I go with you again, I won’t level next time, either.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not fair,” Ryan said, stepping forward. “Micah’s leveling requirements are almost the same as yours and he’s leveled by climbing with us just fine.”

That was true, but Ryan and Lisa had helped him a whole lot with getting the right ingredients and learning things. A lot of what he had, of who he could be, was thanks to them.

Brent shoved a zucchini slice in his mouth and looked over, knife still in his hand as he nodded. “I know, I know. And I suspect you would make concessions if I asked you to, as you would for him. But would that be enough, especially if we have to share any ingredients we find?”

Micah … couldn’t really argue with that. They would have to share anything they found and if it was something one of a kind …

Brent shrugged and moved a board over to chop the rest of the vegetable into thin slices.

Kyle spoke up, “Weren’t you the one who made fun of us for taking the exam so seriously?”

He grumbled, “That was then, this is now.” He finished with a louder chop and pointed the knife down. “You assholes all leveled up without me. I’ll be damned if I let myself fall behind.”

Kyle chuckled.

Micah couldn’t help but smile at his resolve as well, but it still sucked. “So what are you doing to do?”

“It’s not about what I’m going to do, it’s about what I’ve already done. I’ve joined up with Ajay, Felix, Lukas, and some other guys for the next exam.”

“Some other guys? What, you already have a full team?”

He pushed his shoulders up and swept the board to the next table over where a woman fitted the slices on skewers. “Sorry.”

“Ajay from archery club?” Ryan asked.

“That’s him.”

“And Lukas … uh, Stephanie’s friend? The tall one?”

“No, the little one.”

Ryan scowled, and Micah noticed. He wasn’t sure he even knew who this Lukas was, but Ryan didn’t like him?

Ryan’s voice was hard when he asked, “Who are the other guys?”

“One’s a girl. Sarah. She agreed to come, which is weird but whatever. And the other … uh, I don’t know if I would call him a ‘guy’.” He made air-quotes and got the next board out.

Micah frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

Ryan clenched his jaw. “Who?”

“His— Uh, ‘its’ name is Eliot.”

The scowl was replaced by befuddlement, but Micah lost his train of thought anyway because he scowled instead and turned on Brent. “Hey! Don’t call him that.”

“What? You, uh, know him?”

“Know who?” Kyle asked.

“Eliot. Sure, he’s half-vat, but he’s still a guy.”

“He gives me the creeps, is what he does,” Brent said. “But he knows his stuff, even if he won’t shut up about it. A lot like someone else we all know.” He gave him the side-eye.

Micah flipped him off, and all he got was a chuckle in return.

“Eliot is alright,” Ryan said. “So don’t do … ‘that’.” He said it awkwardly and nudged his chin forward as if waving a hand, like he didn’t care. Which was weird, because Eliot was supposed to be his friend.

Where was the overprotective Ryan?

“He is alright,” Brent said. “He’s pretty cool, actually, especially since he likes my plan. But he still gives me the creeps. He can do both, you know?”

Ryan shrugged.

Micah flipped him off with his other hand, but Brent just smiled. “That would look better if you were wearing your new bling, you know?”

He frowned, which somewhat lessened the effect of his gesture.

“So what’s your plan?” Kyle asked.

Brent grinned and stepped up. “I’m glad you asked. We’re going to hunt down a huge fucking monster, trap it, mimic it, kill it, grill it, and eat it. And I’m going to be the one to make an equally huge fucking feast that’ll make me level up and give me an awesome new Skill in the morning.”

Micah hesitated for a moment, let his arms fall, and mumbled. “Huh. That actually sounds so cool.”

“I know, right?”

Now, he wanted to do that. He looked up at Ryan with his best puppy-dog eyes, who noticed, immediately rolled his eyes, and grunted, “Maybe.”

“No,” Micah said himself. “We’re already looking for a connection to the Fields. I hate to say it, but maybe we can do it during summer break or keep it as a backup plan B.”

He shrugged, indifferent.

“Great,” Kyle said. “So he doesn’t want to join us, either. Well, this was a waste of time.”

The mention of time made Micah swivel around and search the plaza. They had to hurry if they wanted to cheer Lisa on, but there was one more thing to discuss.

“Aww, did my rejection break your widdle heart?”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys,” Micah said. “We have to hurry, but we still want to invite Jason, right?”

“You’re going to invite him anyway?” Brent asked.

“Yeah.”

“Huh. Well, good for him.”

“You want to do that now?” Ryan said.

“No. Later. After Lisa’s event. I just wanted to discuss when?”

Kyle leaned back and pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He cracked it open to check something, and said, “I have to leave in a few minutes, so you two are on your own.”

Ryan frowned. “What’s that?”

“Just a schedule. Borrowed it from a helper.”

“‘Borrowed’?”

“Hey, wait,” Micah cut in before they could get off-track. “Do we invite Jason later or do we do it this evening when we can all ask him together, or what …?”

“I don’t care. Ask him on your own time,” Kyle said and turned to Brent as if dismissing him. “Hey. Have you ever given away free food when you were working at a stall?”

“No. Why?”

He shrugged. “I heard lately that trying out new things can help you level. You … do want to level, right?”

Brent squinted at him. And without ever taking his eyes off him, he stepped back, to the side past the next table, and to the serving table where the few finished paper trays with baked potatoes with sausages, pizza bread, grilled skewers, and more lay.

He grabbed one at random—”Hey!” the guy there said—came back, and shoved it at him.

“There. You can share that one between the three of you. And it’s only because I feel bad for abandoning my old teammates.”

Kyle shrugged and walked off without even offering to share.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Micah considered saying something, but it wasn’t like he had expected any different from him and he really had to leave. So instead, he hopped back, waved Brent goodbye, and spun around into a jog through the crowds.

Of course, Ryan caught up with him and together they kept an eye out for Jason.

Micah hoped for [Lesser Stamina]. With every step, every labored breath, every glance down to check the fluids he exhaled, every long blink to lower the amount—and hopefully, their physical counterparts.

Maybe even [Enhanced Stamina]? He was in the double digits now so there was a chance, no matter how small, and his spirit veins seemed magical enough to qualify.

Ryan ‘only’ had [Lesser Endurance]. Micah knew by now that endurance was more of a reactive stat. Many people thought it was in part toughness because it helped you toughen things from the outside: the weight of tools or luggage; the impacts of foes or their weapons; the steady force of wrestling another.

It also improved your stamina, but stamina on its own was ‘pure’. It came from the inside-out and focused on your own weight and forces, your circulation and muscles, which was why so many [Athletes] got it.

At least, some of his textbooks said that. More and more new statistics seemed to support the idea.

Climbers always had luggage. Endurance was the norm. And why wouldn’t you want it to be?

Well, if you were trying to do your best running a lap around the Tower during the Sport’s Festival in the afternoon, after just having spent all day doing similar things, you might.

Argh! He wanted this to be over. But there was another event after this, his final event, and he’d been looking forward to this for weeks, and he did want to do his best.

Passerbys cheered them on, but in the distance, the silver glow of the next portal appeared, one of six, and it was all Micah could focus on for the few minutes he jogged past.

Something inside him urged him to just run. Through there. To floors full of monsters, ingredients, and treasure. He had nothing on him, but Saga had managed with nothing but a knife.

Maybe he could somehow … make a knife? Out of a rock or something. He had his spells.

I’ll get there, he told himself. Just a few more weeks and they would have their exam and then there was the summer break after that.

He ducked his head down and pushed forward, another reason he might actually prefer [Lesser Stamina] against all common sense—because he was an alchemist, who had to carry ingredients, tools, and bottles full of potions around; of course, it would be common sense.

[Lesser Stamina] would come from him, he thought. He imagined he would be able to push something of himself into the things he did if he had the Skill, into the things he chose to do.

It was stupid, he knew. If he got [Lesser Endurance], he would probably be happier in the long run. He wondered if he even could get it, though, because it didn’t seem like his veins, flimsy though they were, would support that. What would endurance even look like on his insi—?

He stumbled. [Surging Strength] had reached its ceiling. He caught himself and pushed forward.

Focus.

Another stat that would be useful, but it wasn’t a focus potion that was waiting for him when he got back. He had made his first, proper stamina potion.

Plus the other half of his strength potion to refresh him for the fight. The Skill had become sluggish by now, it took ages to refill, and could surprise him when it did.

Micah had known he wouldn’t be able to manage today without help and he’d been right. And that was fine; it was his Class and he loved it. That still didn’t mean he didn’t want to improve.

Because as he rounded the curve and saw the finish line in the distance, his friends were already in the crowd, sweaty and waiting on him to catch up. He’d kind of hoped he could have, by now.

He soaked himself in cold water, scrubbed his head, and toweled off before digging into a hot meal: Just fried potatoes, sausage slices, and curry. School food. It tasted divine when famished.

He paced while he ate, paced while he digested, threw away the trash, and laid down in the grass with his friends until the assembly started.

The long-distance run had been the event before last, but the school was moving the ceremony up because things had dragged on. Delays pushed the festival into late afternoon and parents were complaining that they wanted to go home. Some had things planned with their children.

A band began to play out of nowhere—objectively, Micah had known they had one but he hadn’t ever been aware of them outside of Vladi’s sheet music and instrument case in his closet.

Well, there was music in the distance sometimes, but he had no idea where that came from. Nowhere close to the alchemy building or boys’ dorms. Maybe in the depths of the Guild?

There were speeches. The school invited people to stay for the final events as there would be food and good company. They also invited any and all volunteers who wanted to help to stay until after. Or come back.

Then the top ten were invited onto the stage. Ryan was tenth on the boys’ side, two steps down from the entrance exam. But he was still up there while Micah watched from the ground.

He was almost alone on the ground.

Anne was surprisingly ninth place, eight steps down, but he assumed it was because there was no age divide this time. These were the top ten from everyone. Lisa was fifth place and four steps down.

That, at least, seemed fair because he almost never saw her training outside of class or her sparring matches. Bitterly, Micah thought that it was only fair she would fall off if she didn’t push herself.

Not that he didn’t also feel bad for her as his friend, and not that he didn’t know she literally didn’t care. Even now, up there, she looked bored as she got her award.

The rest of them would have to wait a week or two to get their results in physical form.

Next year, I’m going to be up there, he wanted to think, but he knew that wasn’t true. His wasn’t a physical calling and these were the results of the morning events, which sought to minimize Skills for Fair Play.

If anything, he would improve his alchemy and magical Skills, so what he should have thought was that he would ace the afternoon events next year.

He didn’t think that, either.

He still had one event left today, he had drawn his lot, and knew who he would be up against. Through the crowd, he watched Thomas stand to attention as he watched the stage.

Micah was going to ace this year’s last event. His rematch.

Thomas groaned when he spotted him, and Micah lowered his water bottle to glance at him, both of them now clad in full training gear with any equipment they might have. For him, that was a cord with his ring, a slingshot, pouch, and three bottles, not counting the one at his lips.

For him, it appeared to be a magic sword at first glance. It definitely wasn’t a school sword.

He raised his eyebrows, Hm?

“You know this is supposed to be a bit of a show, right?” the guy asked, eyes trained on the bottle rather than him.

Micah needed another second to catch on and sounded, Mm!, before he capped it and shook his head with a swallow. “No, no, I know that. Relax, I’m not going to blanket our fight with fog.”

“Ah? Well okay, then.” He seemed almost disappointed. Why? Because Micah wouldn’t be a threat without his fog trick? He did rely on it some in combat training.

Micah had done pretty well for himself in the first few weeks of the tournament. He had an easy time winning against most [Summoners], any [Mages] who didn’t rely on fire, and half the [Fighters]. He was a pretty good fighter. But he couldn’t keep the fog up for all three rounds, people had learned to work around it, and some were just that much better than him.

He’d lost last week, and it had been the loss that knocked him off the ladder. Now, he had to fight to keep his spot. Twelfth out of forty-six at best, and lower for each fight against another loser he lost.

He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he hadn’t gone up against Ryan at all yet.

Blessing, because he was still on the ladder and would probably have won if Micah had fought against him. And he didn’t really want to fight him.

Curse, because …

Well, he kind of felt like they were drifting apart. They barely saw each other anymore. In the mornings, Micah had work, Ryan went jogging and used other showers for convenience. They only shared so many courses and they both gave their best and paid attention. Afterward, they sometimes worked together for homework or studies, but that was work and not really … talking. They were so busy with other things, they couldn't connect.

We can be alone together, Micah had assured Darren. Was it really ‘together’ anymore?

Like that thing with the scowl and Lukas, whoever he was. What was that about? He wanted to know. So maybe if they fought …

It was stupid. His mind presented the idea as that it could be a different kind of communication, maybe, but it wouldn’t be. It would just be awkward. Hopefully, they wouldn’t fight.

He had fought against Lisa on the other hand, and soundly lost as she managed his fog without problems and used fire.

Stupid Lisa.

Thomas was also still in the running. Micah hadn’t gotten the chance at a rematch with him in the official tournament, but he thought it was time someone brought him down a peg.

He had practiced and prepared for most enemies he might face today. That it was him was just a bonus.

So when the announcer called the match with their names, Micah gladly put his bottle aside and got ready by taking another off his belt.

“You’re not going to use it at all?” Thomas asked.

What, the water? Micah smiled. “That’s not my only water bottle.” With that said, he chugged the strength potion down and felt it course through his body; could almost visualize it in there.

He focused on that visual and like an internal burp from fizzy drinks or heavy food, took some of the essences into his lungs where it would be safe and sound until he needed it later.

Thomas eyed him when he put the second, empty bottle away as well, but had to go to his starting point.

Micah fell into his and checked the belt of his shield and link on his slingshot. He was ready.

Of course, there was a referee, two nurses for first aid, and a [Mage] on hand at the sides. The latter most stepped forward as the referee asked, “Before you begin, will either of you two need any elemental resistances or otherwise protections, or do either of you think that your opponent might need them for proper safety precautions?”

Micah glanced at Thomas, deferring the first response to him. In small part because of the growing crowd around them. His heart began to thump in that way that made him think the others could hear it.

“He might require cold resistance.”

The [Mage] looked to him. Micah needed a moment to realize he was supposed to respond. “Uhm, no thank you? I mean, uhm, I have— I wouldn’t want to give him an unfair disadvantage.”

“And I wouldn’t want to give you frostbite.”

The [Mage] raised a hand.

“No,” Micah said. “Thank you.” He would do this on his own or not at all. That was the plan.

“And you?” the referee asked him.

“Uhm, he might need toughness?” Micah asked.

Thomas shifted and the man warned them, “Hey, none of that.”

“Oh! No, no, not that,” Micah rushed to say, aware of the misunderstanding. He held his hand up to show him: “Uhm, that wasn’t supposed to be a dig, sir. I have a slingshot. My ammunition can bruise.”

“Ah. I see. Do you accept?”

Of course, Thomas answered, “No,” and Micah hadn’t expected anything else, but it was still seen as rude not to warn him.

“Very well, then,” the man said. “You know the rules. Three rounds. Point win. Fight within reason. Begin!”

Micah snapped a shot. The guy swung his sword down like a guillotine. A thin sheen of ice broke a foot off from him and glue splattered. Only a few streaks reached the guy’s shoulder and Micah shot a second time before he shoved the slingshot into his belt and drew his blade.

“[Ribbon Edge].” A flicker of distortion smacked the paintball out of the air, freezing it rather than breaking, and it hit the ground with a thud.

Thomas charged.

“[Lens: Affinity Sight].”

He swung his blade and Micah reft the dream of ice essence from of the ribbon to dodge through a gap of his making.

He immediately breathed the ice out with a flood of mana and air essence to powder his opponent in white cold wind.

‘See how he feels about the biting cold.

But Thomas just rolled his eyes. “We’ve been through this before. You do that and I do this—”

A flick of the blade. Ice became electricity. He swiped and Micah breathed that dream in, too. The electricity ran through his veins, his opponent tried to seize the advantage, and he played his part.

While he stood still and let his guard down—and actually fought the convulsions for a moment—his preparations kicked in. The essence was drawn into something as surely iron fillings to a magnet: the earth essence he had filled his body with, that fueled his potion, and led into its pattern.

A pulse of it ran out into the ground beneath his feet. The rest of it? Veins of earth guided electricity and—

Strength surged and threatened to burst. Micah parried the blade with a force that flung Thomas’ arm aside, and sent his own arm ringing. He forced his body to keep moving beyond the ebb of the surge by will alone, relied on his resilience to adjust his grip, and struck back.

A direct hit to his undefended ribs.

Thomas winced. He fought to back off and had an easy time of it while Micah’s surge fled, but then looked at him in confusion.

How did I do that?

Micah heaved out a heavy breath and grinned. “Well, I am an [Alchemist].”