“Lena, dear! There’s another scratch on the table.”

  The old man’s voice carried through Rob’s cluttered workshop, bouncing off the walls lined with half-finished furniture and the cursed scent of sawdust. He stood near the workbench, squinting at Table, running a weathered hand over the fresh scratch marring its surface. Outside, just past the open door, Lena kneeled by her tiny herb garden—a modest collection of potted basil, rosemary, and a few struggling mint plants, humming to herself.

  Rob, still dressed in sturdy canvas pants and a long-sleeved shirt rolled to his elbows, paused mid-step. His boots tracked in dirt from the wheat field, and his shirt was already stained with dust, sweat, and something that suspiciously resembled tree sap. He frowned, dragging a hand down his face before trudging over.

  Rob leaned in to inspect the damage. With a grave sigh, he threw his hands into the air. “That blasted cat.”

  The words barely left Rob’s mouth before the true culprit struck again.

  Being the absolute gremlin of a cat it was, Tabby launched himself off Table’s surface—right in front of Rob’s eyes—using him as a springboard with a full-force kick of his back paws. The impact rattled Table’s frame, and in that moment, he swore he felt his soul leave his wooden body.

  [HP: 6 → 5]

  Rob reacted immediately. “Oi! Get back here, you little—”

  He lunged. The old man followed.

  Tabby zapped around the room. Table could have sworn he saw the cat sticking its tongue out at the men behind him. Rob nearly tripped over a stool trying to catch it. The old man fumbled mid-grab, pushing Rob as he had just balanced himself. Rob’s foot swung directly into Table’s newly reinforced leg.

  Thud.

  “AGH—!” Rob stumbled back, grabbing his foot. “Bloody—cough—why is this thing so solid? Who did this?” Then he shut up as he remembered he was the one who did it.

  Table, meanwhile, screamed internally.

  [HP: 5 → 4]

  Two HP. Gone. For nothing.

  It would take him four whole hours to recover, based on previous experience. Four hours of pure suffering, knowing that his only enemy, his greatest nemesis, would not be punished.

  Tabby skidded to a stop, tail flicking, and dared to sit just out of reach, licking his paw in mocking satisfaction.

  This cursed being had been the bane of his existence. The feline menace had scratched him, sneezed on him, slept on him like he was some second-rate mattress, and worst of all—completely ignored him. All for zero stat gain.

  Of course, even the most maniacal creatures in the realm needed rest. With its tail tucking inside its body, Tabby was now curled up on his surface and dozed off.

  This cat is gonna get it. For all the sufferings he’s brought me.

  With all his might, Table attempted to move his surface—just a tiny shake, a nudge, a whisper of motion. He chanted made-up chants that vaguely resembled ancient summonings, before growling, “The elements! Heed my call!”

  Nothing happened.

  Tabby snored.

  Table gritted his metaphorical teeth.

  Again.

  He concentrated his mind, summoning all the raw power his newly gained stats allowed. This time, he swore he felt something. A minute vibration, a microscopic shift. Something meaningful.

  Tabby stretched, adjusted slightly… and kept sleeping.

  What?

  HELLO? EXCUSE ME? CAN YOU NOT FEEL THE FORCES OF THE UNIVERSE TREMBLING BENEATH YOU?

  Table tried one last time, putting every fiber of his wooden being into motion.

  A single, imperceptible tremor followed.

  Tabby flicked his ear. Scratched his nose. Rubbed his butt against him. Kept sleeping.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Table internally howled. What was the point of all that training if he could not even disturb a cat?

  No. No, he refused to accept this failure. I will train harder. This is but a small pebble on my quest to become the best piece of furniture in all the lands.

  But then—

  Ding.

  A buzzing sensation echoes in the void of his mind. It carried the same weight as an ancient tome being opened for the first time. Then, without the same ugly font, letters materialized before his eyes.

  NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: APPRAISE

  Before he could even process what that means, his vision—or whatever approximation of sight a table can possess—flickered. A translucent panel showed up before him, hovering just above his surface.

  ┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

  Table stared.

  Tabby, curled up smugly on his surface, let out a soft, contented sigh in his sleep. His tail twitched. His fur was pristine, unbothered, untouchable.

  How the hell does this tiny creature have stats I don’t have? And it has 160 Max HP? And I have 6?!

  Wait a minute. What happened to the missing 2 HP?

  A slow, dawning realization crept over Table.

  Did he? Had his minuscule vibrations actually done something?

  It wasn’t much. Not even noticeable to the naked eye. But it was there. A microscopic dent in the feline’s overwhelming power.

  A thrill coursed through him. He could hurt the cat.

  Oh, Tabby. You are no longer invincible.