Midday woke up to a familiar scene: he was lying flat on his bed under the roof of the log cabin. Immediately he understood that someone—almost certainly Gork—had come to the plaza and taken him back to the cabin to treat his wounds. My wounds? Oh yeah…

“He chopped my fucking finger off!” Midday shot up to an upright position, reliving the painful memory of experiencing such intense agony that it rendered him unconscious via shock. “Fucking hell!” His breathing was intense as he pulled his left hand out from under the blankets to inspect the wound.

It was fortunate that his entire hand was covered in bandages by then, because he probably would have passed out a second time if he had seen the grizzly, still-bleeding injury that would eventually close but never truly heal. One did not regrow fingers, after all. It was gone for good.

“You got lucky,” said Romulo. “Gork and I thought he was going to take one of your arms. That’s how he usually likes to do it.”

“Oh, Romulo?” Midday raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t seen you in a while, what gives?” He turned around to look at Romulo, who was in the middle of a set of push-ups.

The first thing anyone noticed about Romulo was his stature: the man was massive. No, to merely call him massive and leave it there would be an insult. Romulo was easily more than 9 feet tall—and probably closer to 10—but the thing that really set him apart from everyone else, even moreso than his height, was his physique: he was only 17 years old, the same age as Midday, and yet he had a physique that would put most bodybuilders to shame. His shoulders were broader than most doorframes and his hands were like trashcan lids. The scythe he had on his back—the same oversized standard-issue model used by everyone else on the plantation—looked like a toy on his always-shirtless back.

“My supply of Green Vitality Mochi ran out this morning, so I came back to have Glauster make me another batch.” Romulo jumped up to his feet after a few more push-ups. “And that makes 500!” He brushed his extraordinarily long black hair—which fell all the way below his knees when it wasn’t tied up in a ponytail—out of his face and shrugged. “I brought all the ingredients and whatnot, hoping that this would be a nice in-and-out ordeal so that I could get back to training as soon as possible, but when I found Glauster working out in the fields, he told me that I had ought to help you before he would consider making another batch. So I thought, ‘hey, I might as well’, and I ended up rushing over to the plaza. Gork was already there, ready with the bandages when I arrived… That guy is really quite the idiot, you know. He might miss his quota today because of how long he spent treating your wounds.”

“I do wish he would consider being less virtuous, yeah.” Midday walked over to the table and sat down. “His selflessness is gonna get him in some serious trouble someday, I think.”

“Definitely.” Romulo wiped off his sweat and took a seat at the table. “Just like how your weakness is going to get you killed unless you do something about it.” He stared Midday dead in the eye.

Midday gulped. Oh boy, here we go again… This wasn’t the first time Romulo had lectured him on this topic and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “I know, Romulo. Believe me, I know.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?! Every time I see you, you’re weaker than before! I just don’t understand why anyone would willingly stay weak—much less actively let themselves get weaker! If your weakness is killing you, just get stronger! It’s that simple!”

“But it’s not that simple…” Midday looked at some ants crawling along the floor, trying not to make eye contact with his all too intimidating roommate. “As I’ve said before, not everyone gets to be born as a 10-foot-tall, musclebound freak with a natural affinity for combat! Some people are just born weak, you know, people like me…” Midday kept staring down at the ants. “Us regular people have to spend all of our waking hours working in the fields just to meet the daily quotas. There’s no time to do anything else and, even if there somehow was, the exhaustion from doing 12 hours of hard labor every day kills any motivation we might otherwise have to ‘better ourselves’, as you put it.” Midday sighed. “And why don’t you just drop it? I won’t be lectured on this topic by someone who was born naturally stronger than everyone else.”

Romulo stood up, slouching to keep his head form hitting the ceiling, and screamed:

“If your body is naturally weak, then that’s what levels are for! Dumbass! If your body is weak, you overcome that with level-ups! Weaker people tend to level-up more easily, you know! You have no excuses!” Romulo stopped himself, took a deep breath, and continued, his tone now reeled in somewhat. “I’ll give it to you that it’s probably true that you at level 9 would be a lot weaker than I am at level 9, but you would still be miles stronger than you are now. Miles, I tell you!”

Midday just sighed. It was true, leveling-up certainly sounded nice, but Romulo was phrasing it as if it was simply a matter of showing up, putting in the work, and reaping the rewards—all of which was true, Midday supposed, but the fact of the matter was that leveling up was a horrendously slow and terribly dangerous process. Even with half-decent methods, it could take months risking one's life on an almost daily basis just to earn a single level-up. Romulo himself had already spent more than a month trying to get to level ten and, at his current rate, it would be several more before he actually did. As such, Midday saw levels as worthless. He just plain didn't have time for them as things stood.

Despite having lived together for two months, Midday had never quite managed to become friends with Romulo in the same way that he was friends with Gork and Glauster. The reason for this, Midday believed, had to do with Romulo’s ideology: for him, the only thing that had value was strength—something Midday had none of. Gork and Glauster weren’t exactly powerhouses either but, for Romulo, they were still respectable because their strength came in other forms: Gork was a doctor knowledgeable enough to save people from the brink of death on a regular basis while Glauster was a cook skilled enough to complete special-grade recipes. Midday, on the other hand, seemingly had no worthwhile attributes. Romulo had been friendly at first, trying to reserve judgment until he saw a better side to Midday, but it had been two months and he had mostly given up on respecting his roommate.

But, of course, Romulo had no way of knowing about Midday’s newfound asset: the Elvanerean Ring. Midday suppressed a chuckle at the thought of how surprised his cabinmates would be when he suddenly started progressing from worthless to perhaps even stronger than Romulo.

“Okay… Well, if you’re so hellbent on wanting me to get stronger, how about you help me do it?”

Romulo raised an eyebrow. “And… how would that work?” Romulo was surprised to hear such a thing come from Midday’s mouth. It made him happy to hear that the seeds of ambition were perhaps finally taking root in his acquaintance. Are my words finally getting through to him? He had always secretly hoped that Midday would ask him to become his coach and request to be put on a training regimen. Before getting enslaved, Romulo had wanted to become a drill sergeant for the military—or really anything else that involved teaching. If only I hadn’t been born transhuman… Memories of all the discrimination he had faced in his younger days, purely because of his mongrel lineage, put a frown on his face.

“You’re close to Jenjo, aren’t you?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Romulo frowned. He didn’t like where this conversation was going anymore. Anything involving Jenjo could never be good.

“You probably know about Devil Peppercorn then, no?”

“What about it?”

“Well… I’m wondering if you could maybe get me some. I’ll get stronger if I eat it, won’t I?”

Romulo laughed. “Ah… Midday, you really are an idiot, you know? And here I was thinking you were finally going to say something half-decent!” He shook his head in disapproval, still chuckling to himself. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you don’t have the willpower to stomach it. Not even I was able to get myself to eat it again after the first time I tried it.”

“You’ve tried it?”

“Of course I have. Like you, I thought it would make me stronger—and it probably would have if I had been able to stick with it—but, again, the taste is bad to the point where even I, someone whose main goal in life is getting stronger, gave up on it after trying it just once. If you want to get stronger, that’s great, and I’m here to help you, but you need to put in the work! There are no shortcuts!”

Midday faltered. Romulo certainly had a much stronger will than him. If not even Romulo could handle the spice, it seemed delusional to think that he would be able to. Even so, he was desperate. “Okay… Well where did you get it? Do you still have it?”

“Ah, no. The sample I received went bad shortly after I got it. Lost its special-grade status. Devil Peppercorn is worthless unless it’s fresh, it seems.”

“Gotcha… But where did you get it? I at least want to give it a try.”

“Bought it off another slave. They were from Neighborhood 6, which is where they produce Devil Peppercorn, so she was able to smuggle it over the wall fairly easily. Paid her with a few bottles of whiskey. Romulo sighed. “But seriously, Midday, it’s not worth it.”

“I’m on the brink of death either way at the moment. As I've been saying, with the way things stand, there’s no time for conventional training—and certainly not XP grinding. I need something that will act fast.” Midday gulped. “Would you be open to obtaining some Devil Peppercorn for me? I only need a few seeds, that’s all. I just want… to give it a try, that’s all.” That was a lie, of course. His actual intent was to take the seeds and use his magic ring to grow them into harvestable plants on a regular basis. A few seeds was all it took to guarantee an infinite supply. Romulo couldn’t know that though. Nobody could know about the ring.

“Hmm. I could probably snag some off Jenjo… But why should I? Is there anything you can offer me in return?”

“Well, do I have anything you want?” Midday couldn’t think of anything (besides the ring, which he obviously had no intention of even so much as hinting at).

Romulo thought about it for a moment. Regarding material possessions, the answer was no. Midday had absolutely nothing to his name. He was poor even among slaves. Is there anything I want? Getting Devil Peppercorn would not be hard at all for him. In fact, Jenjo would almost certainly be happy to give him some if he asked for it. Giving a slave an agricultural treasure was technically a very serious infraction, sure, but nobody would bother enforcing anything if the treasure in question was Devil Peppercorn—which was by leaps and bounds the least valuable (at least monetarily) agricultural treasure. He was certain that he could get Jenjo to give him some, no questions asked, if he said that he would be eating it to get stronger.

“Actually, yes, Midday. There is something.” His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. He was about to ask for something very stupid. Something he had secretly been thinking about for quite some time, probably moreso due to the loneliness he had carved out for himself than any good reason. “But you have to understand, it's punishable by death for a slave to be caught in possession of an agricultural treasure… So I sort of do feel as though I can ask for just about anything, am I wrong?” He tried to sound as serious as possible, but worried that Midday could still somehow tell how ridiculous the thing he was about to say was.

Midday, now somewhat nervous, tensed up. “What’s your price?”

And then there was a moment of silence between the two. Midday, anticipating the worst, steeled his resolve to the best of his ability. He had no idea what to expect. Romulo, on the other hand, was fidgeting awkwardly, unsure of how Midday would respond. After an intense 10 seconds of painful anticipation, he pulled himself together and spoke:

“Let me be your coach.” Romulo averted his previously dead-on eye contact, already feeling humiliated by his own request.

Midday blinked a few times. “What?”

“In exchange for getting you Devil Peppercorn, you have to promise me one hour of your time every day for the purpose of training.”

“Oh… Umm… Sure?” Midday, dumbfounded, didn’t know what to think. All he knew was that it sounded a hell of a lot better than the awful things he had been imagining. Ooooookay then… I guess that works? Giving up a whole hour of the day, for any purpose, was a steep price when he thought about it though. "Actually, umm—"

“Alright, great!” Romulo jumped up to his feet before Midday could respond. “I’ll have you your Peppercorn by the end of the day. No take backs! Your training starts this evening after you get back from work!” He left the cabin and ran off before Midday could ask any questions. R-right. Guess that… Takes care of that?

Midday sat there at the table for a while, confused beyond measure, until he suddenly remembered that he had somewhere to be.

“Shit! Still got work!”

Despite his injuries, he grabbed his scythe off his bed. Judging by the light coming through the window, it was still before noon. One hell of a day ahead of me… With a sigh, he left the cabin and headed toward the wheat fields.