Bomba, the lanky barkeep, smiled as she handed me a mug of ale.

  RIP gestured to the drink and spoke with exaggerated formality. “You must drink one fully before we retire to our table.” He burst into laughter, shaking my arm and spilling ale.

  RIP’s enthusiasm reminded me of Calico, my old dog. When I lived with my mom, Calico would pounce on me every day after school with exuberant assaults of jumps, wags, and licks. At such a young age, it took an effort to hold onto my books—an annoyance then, and I took the animal’s attention for granted. But my aunt forbade animals in her precious household, so I never knew what became of my pet. From that point on, the lack of any greeting at the door left a hole in my chest. The house had always felt so quiet and empty coming home from school.

  I did my best to enjoy the moment with RIP. I drank while he listed the things he thought I needed to do. “Look, man. The first thing you need to do is get a woman. You’ve got three beautiful girls without men on their arms. That won’t last forever, you know. You’re crazy not to move in. This game has been kind to our physiques—if you know what I mean.”

  Before he dug himself into a hole, I saved him. “I gotcha, don’t worry. I’m already working on something in the romance department.”

  RIP showed both surprise and admiration. He held up his hands. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, man, because some things are too keen to miss out on—if you know what I mean.”

  It cued my time to agree.

  RIP erupted with approval and slapped the bar’s countertop. “As long as I know you’re on the case, I’ll hang loose.”

  It encouraged me to know that RIP gave me some credit.

  “Next, you gotta level up, man! What are you doing?” RIP pointed at me and shook his head. He wouldn’t like my recent decision to stay on campus, so I laughed nervously, and he joined, having no reason to do so aside from wanting to be part of any inside joke.

  We changed the subject and talked about my time in the library. RIP cracked up while I told him about my routine. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a lame way to play a fantasy game. As I described my painstaking efforts of penmanship and methodical endeavors of book sorting, his face comically twisted into a mask of disbelief. “Man, that is heinous! I can’t believe you’re going through all that.”

  “Nah, it’s kinda cool. I picked up a writing skill and a research rank of 13.”

  “Research? Is that a skill? Rank 13 is pretty high. I don’t think any of us have a double-digit rank in skills, although Pinky’s survival rank must be up there. Although, I guess it makes sense—we’re doing all sorts of things with our day while you stay in the same groove.”

  His assessment of my strategy might have been derisive, but I gave him a pass. I wasn’t an easily offended person. Calling out infractions and asking for apologies seemed like such a fruitless pursuit, especially among friends. Besides, finishing the first mug of ale had fortified me with confidence.

  “I gotta eat. This drink is already going to my head.”

  RIP made a dramatic gesture to Bomba of our need for refills. “My dear Bomba—please inform Luis we’ll need the finest from his kitchen tonight. Let’s get some pheasant goulash if he has any leftovers. And definitely some of that keen buttered onion bread.”

  As Bomba refilled our mugs, RIP leaned on the bar and repeated the order emphatically. “If you could get us dip for the onion bread—you do not know how choice that would be. And I’m talking enough for the entire table because those girls will eat all.” He pointed a finger in accusation. “They don’t care, man. That’s no joke. They’ll snort it all down before you get seconds. You’ll never find bigger gluttons than women who can’t gain weight!”

  Bomba shrugged with a smile. “I’ll bring two bowls of dip out, my dear—one for the boys, one for the girls.”

  RIP’s eyes widened with the brilliance of her suggestion, and he gave her a thumbs-up.

  Bomba nodded, winked, and went to the kitchen.

  RIP handed me a refilled mug. “They have real beds here. And you will not believe their food. It’s so choice. You’ll never want to eat in that heinous cafeteria again.”

  We joined the girls. Their mad grins hinted that Charitybelle probably told them about our romance, so I avoided the subject. Not knowing what else to say, I returned only a suppressed smile.

  After the moment passed, we discussed my theory about saving power points for the endgame. I explained why I thought developing skills took priority over gaining levels.

  RIP attempted to derail the topic when copious amounts of onion bread arrived, but the ladies kept me focused.

  I collected my thoughts and took a deep breath before speaking. “If spells and combat abilities come from spending power points, then you should stop spending them until your skills are high. If you spend them later in the game, you’ll have a menu of better options.” My inebriation made me stumble over some of my words. “You wanna leap-frog over the low-level stuff and save points for the ult powers.”

  They debated and discussed the implications of my theory as I ate, drank, and listened.

  Fabulosa remained unconvinced, but I became too intoxicated to care.

  ArtGirl argued saving points could be dangerous, but they agreed that Charitybelle and I were wise to keep the school’s aura of protection.

  The discussion deflated RIP’s insistence that I should start leveling. “You know, man, the farther behind you fall in the leveling curve, the more danger you will be when grouping up with us. The first few levels are a joke, but we can’t always control who the monster attacks. And I’m kinda like the group’s tank—and I take that job seriously. I’d feel bad if I lost aggro on something, and it knocked you out of the game.”

  He wasn’t wrong, so I nodded in appreciation.

  “You’re stressed about other players and the long game, and I get that, man, but monsters can kill you, too. And how far are you going to get without allies?”

  RIP wanted to help me in the long game. I couldn’t deny the truth to his words. While Charitybelle and I ranked up our academics, crafting, and combat skills, the rest of the gang leveled in the field, becoming more durable.

  RIP wanted some male bonding. While my intoxicated state somewhat placated him, he fed me tasty little stories, each a parable extolling the virtues of adventuring.

  As more patrons entered the pub, the place got louder. A table by us broke out in songs in an unrecognizable language. We shouted over the din.

  I drank and listened to their stories.

  When an uptempo song caught the room, some locals began to dance, and mere seconds passed before ArtGirl and PinkFox joined them. RIP tried to cower behind the table, but Fabulosa grabbed his wrist and pulled him onto the floor as if he had no say in the matter.

  After Charitybelle watched them go, she shot out of her seat as if jolted by electricity. She beckoned me to join her, but I clung to the table like a castaway on a life raft.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t dance.”

  Charitybelle made a pained expression. “Oh, come on. Really? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I don’t get it.” I leaned back, crossed my arms, and pretended to relax.

  “What’s not to get?”

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  “I don’t know—dancing isn’t my thing. It just doesn’t make sense, and I don’t know how. I’m fine with watching.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not. Come on.” Charitybelle beckoned again, but I resisted. “Well, then, let me put some sense into it. Dancing operates under the same principle as a wave. Waves are periodic disturbances to masses that would otherwise be at rest—” She gestured toward the few diners still in their seats.

  I grinned weakly.

  She turned toward the dance floor. “Bodies in a wave excite and affect their neighbors. This is called oscillating energy. Each connects to those around them, losing their sense of self and becoming part of a greater whole. We call this a wave, and it’s also known as fun.” She triumphantly grinned at her explanation and shifted her weight between her feet, swaying to the rhythm.

  A man could only resist so much.

  I exhaled heavily and allowed her to pull me into the dance area. Luckily, the alcohol lubricated me enough to shed my inhibitions. After a few awkward steps, I got into the swing.

  Charitybelle mimicked the other dancers, losing herself in the rhythm—and soon, I lost myself in what my new girlfriend described as the greater whole.

  We danced for hours until the uptempo songs ended. The musicians weren’t nocturnal, so they announced the end of the evening with slower songs, giving people something to listen to as we retook our seats.

  The exercise felt good, and afterward, I listened to the other players tell stories of their hunts and pontificate about future adventures.

  The gang developed their own slang for the game, using terms and references I didn’t recognize. While I understood RIP’s classification for things ranging from heinous to keen, I didn’t get many of the group’s inside jokes and found myself in the middle of conversations and quarrels whose points I’d missed.

  The intimacy served as a constant reminder that I remained on the periphery.

  I lacked the social gene that connected me to others. They weren’t to blame. They tried to bring me into the fold. For whatever reason, I didn’t have it in me to go along with the crowd, which was why I always felt like a stranger.

  People without a home don’t have the luxury of going with the flow and bonding with friends. I played this game only to make money, which made me slightly ashamed.

  I drank more to cheer myself until Charitybelle tapped my shoulder. She shouted in my ear. “We have to get back to school.”

  I gave her a look of incomprehension.

  “Check your buffs.”

  I focused on the icons in the buffs and debuffs in my peripheral vision. Two icons appeared.

  Charitybelle wasn’t wrong. We’d been away for almost 12 hours and should head back. I forgot about the 12-hour grace period for the immunity buff and became grateful she minded her interface. We weren’t in any visible danger, but I had enough ale and exertions for one day.

  RIP waved his hands when he saw us leaving. “Oh, no! I veto your adjournment. Veto!”

  The women overturned his vote in a chorus. “Overruled!”

  RIP’s reluctance to protest hinted that he had grown accustomed to their opposition bloc.

  I patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, pal. It looks like the adjournment stands.”

  He grumbled in disgust.

  Fabulosa arbitrated a compromise. “I motion we continue this revelry tomorrow.” A round of ayes prevailed, though their eyes watched for only mine. When I agreed, Fabulosa knocked a wooden cup against the tabletop. “The motion carries.”

  I woke up alone in my dorm room the next day, having no recollection of arriving. My night of debauchery served as a welcome diversion, and the absence of a hangover meant I could go back to studying.

  Charitybelle kissed me a good morning after I answered her knock at my dorm room. She made a declaration that I had passed out early the previous night. Was it a comment about me drinking too much?

  I had to be careful not to lose my wits, my life, or my girlfriend and watch my alcohol intake. Getting dizzy wasn’t worth it. Without remembering how I fell asleep, I let the matter drift as we dressed for the day. It seemed always safe to say nothing.

  After breakfast, Charitybelle suggested a goal for the day. “We should hit the library.”

  “Are you thinking of taking up manuscript creation? I know a certain librarian who can help you with that.”

  “No way. I’m just thinking we should acquaint ourselves with this world’s tech, history, and customs. It’s a given that our modern brains aren’t suited to survive the wilderness.”

  “You don’t think Fab and the others can survive? Don’t let them hear you say that.”

  Charitybelle flapped her hand. “Oh, they’re just hunting.”

  “Hunters know how to survive, don’t they?”

  Charitybelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. My dad took me hunting once. I hated it. He pretends to live off the land, but he’s a tourist at best. He gears up with supplies and equipment made by factories, and as soon as he runs out of something, he hightails it back to civilization.”

  I laughed. I wasn’t much of an outdoorsman, but I could see her point.

  “On our trip, people complained about sleeping outside. We talked about building a cabin in the wilderness. We could live out there, at least for a while. And having one would certainly cut down on all the traveling we have to do to find monsters.”

  I hadn’t hunted yet, but their logic seemed sound. “It would protect them guys at night.”

  “That’s what the girls were talking about when we came into the bar.”

  “Do you want to help them build one?”

  Charitybelle nodded. “Yeah, it might be a fun project. And if we’re going to build a hunting lodge, we ought to learn how to do it first.”

  Charitybelle knew me well enough to assume that I would want to help. I dramatically stroked my chin. “Gee, if it only had a catalog system to help us find books on lumber and woodworking.”

  “I hear they have a great one now. Not that we’ll need it. You probably have the whole building memorized.”

  “Pretty much. Everything except the top floor.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  We clinked cups of juice together to toast the itinerary.

  After a long morning of research, we went to the academy and took turns nailing the target dummies with cantrips to rank up our primal skills. After five casts of my cantrip, Shocking Reach, I ran out of mana.

  As I waited for my mana to return, I watched Charitybelle perform a Charge attack. Combat abilities like Charge didn’t require mana and ranked up her skill in piercing weapons.

  When Charitybelle finished, she sat down beside me. A few minutes later, she stood back up and slammed Shocking Reach spells into the target dummy. It surprised me to see that she was, once again, flush with mana. She crooked an eyebrow. “Do you see now the benefit of Rest and Mend?”

  My mana bar’s feeble recovery rate showed only a ten percent refill. I watched my girlfriend grind up her primal skill while I twiddled my thumbs.

  Charitybelle gave me a self-satisfied grin. “You’re like the guys at my chess club who don’t know their openings. In a serious game, the clock ticks even during basic moves, and learning them gives you more time for the middle game. Everyone who knows their openings knows Morphy’s Defense follows a Ruy Lopez. It’s a given.”

  I frowned and scratched my head. “You lost me, babe. What does Lopez-whatever have to do with mana?”

  “You’re wasting valuable time—and that’s a flaw in your scheme to rank up skills. You’re being penny-wise and pound-foolish.”

  I crossed my arms but couldn’t help but laugh at her I-told-you-so expression. I had to hand it to her—she knew how to press my buttons, and she wasn’t wrong. Downtime had been costing me many minutes of daylight.

  Recanting my ascetic vows, I spent my first and only power point on Rest and Mend.

  Choosing this would double my skills-grinding rate. Because it required concentration, this ability counted as a channel. If anyone interrupted me, I would need to wait ten minutes to recast it.

  In addition to regenerating mana faster, Rest and Mend restored health. It surprised me that the devs didn’t integrate Rest and Mend into the game’s core mechanics—spending a point on it seemed compulsory. What player wouldn’t want Rest and Mend? Perhaps the game offered an alternative that made this essential power redundant.

  After spending the power point, I kept up with Charitybelle’s cadence of attacking and resting.

  It occurred to me I could increase my mana pool by increasing my intelligence. Heavenly Favor added two intelligence points, thus increasing my mana by 20. Other ways to improve my intelligence stat included leveling or finding magic gear, but I’d find neither on campus.

  Having more mana meant I could spam my spells longer—and thus increase my magic skill ranks. Wanting more mana gave me an excuse to adventure. As long as I stayed below level 5, leveling a few times wouldn’t erase my Ivory Tower Power buff. Perhaps I could have my cake and eat it, too.

  “I think I’m going to join the gang on a hunt.”

  Charitybelle laughed. “After all of RIP’s coaxing last night, you’re deciding that now?”

  “RIP assured me they can safely power-level me, and it won’t hurt to reach level 4. The monsters they’re fighting now will speed me through my first few levels.”

  “You’ll need to be careful since you’re squishy. You won’t be useful without combat skills, but they’ll be happy to let you leech experience. I wish I could go. I’m almost level 5 already.” Charitybelle made a pouty face, but it changed nothing. If she wanted to stay safe from other players, she needed to stay behind.