“Hey, are you okay?”

He whipped around. A man in a puffy baby-blue jacket stood down a narrow crossroads, a box tucked under his arm. Bright blue hair swept forward in stylish waves, shaved short on the sides. He frowned at Rowan, confused more than anything.

“I—frogs!” Rowan managed.

The man’s eyes went wide. He gestured at Rowan. “This way!”

Rowan hesitated a moment. What if he wants to extort me, like those other combat classes?

A frog smacked into the small of his back. Toothless gums slid off his waist.

He raced at the man in the puffy jacket. It’s not like things can get much worse!

The man threw up his hand at Rowan. “Emergency Barrier!”

Bright orange plastic barricades materialized in the air and plopped down behind Rowan, cutting off the frogs. The man grabbed Rowan’s arm and tugged him along. He ran ahead, easily outpacing Rowan. His grip bit into Rowan’s arm, tight enough to bruise.

A combat class. What does he want from me? Rowan almost yanked free, but remembered the frogs and let the man drag him. It can’t get much worse. It can’t get much worse. It can’t get much worse.

Poison fatal in 0:30.

Rowan slapped the man’s arm. “I’m—I’m dying, they poisoned me, I’m dying.”

“How long do you have?” the man asked.

“Thirty… twenty-eight seconds,” Rowan panted. His vision began to dim again, and the weight pressed at his chest.

“Shit.” The man glanced left and right, then forced Rowan to a sit and plopped his box on the ground. He rifled around inside.

“You… what’s your…” Rowan panted.

“Focus on breathing. I’m a Medic. I can heal you.” The man plucked out a vial, then a small blade. He turned Rowan’s poisoned leg to him.

Rowan winced at the sight. Black bruises spread along the majority of his calf, splotched with purple and bulging red veins. The fringes laced blue. As he watched, the bruise expanded, reaching long tendrils up his leg.

“Cooperate with me, okay? Stasis,” the man snapped.

Rowan’s body stiffened. He tried to move, but his limbs refused to answer his call. He struggled harder, frightened. Not Restraint again!

Sweat ran down the man’s forehead. “Stop, please, stop. It’s—it’s, it’s slowed your vital processes, but if you struggle, I’ll… I’ll pass out, and…”

Silently, Rowan called up the system. In the corner, the counter blinked: Poison fatal in 0:22. A second passed, then another. The counter didn’t move.

“This is bad. This is bad, but I can still fix it.” The man wiped the back of his leg down with a wipe, then cut a slit in the worst-struck vein. Pressing two fingers to it as it bled, he commanded, “Detox.”

Black liquid poured out of the cut. It welled up on his skin along the length of the bruise, beading up on the surface. The man wiped the poison away, still tense. “C’mon, c’mon.”

At last, the blood ran red. No more black beaded up from Rowan’s leg. Diminished, the bruise colored his leg in purples and reds, but not the concerning black. The man sighed. “Alright. I’m going to release Stasis. Let me know if your countdown starts up again.”

Rowan nodded, then blinked. I can nod? He glanced around and flexed his hands, rejoicing in the return of motion.

“The countdown?” the man asked, tense.

“It’s gone, it’s gone. Thank you. Rowan, by the way.” Rowan reached for a hand up.

“Jude. What’s a support class doing in the exclusion zone?” Jude reached into his box and tossed Rowan a little bottle.

Rowan examined the bottle. It looked like an ordinary energy shot, so he tossed it back. Instantly, his HP began to refill. It only reached half before it stopped, but he felt so much more alive. He stretched his arms above his head and sighed. “How’s everyone know I’m a support class? Is it written on my forehead?”

“Er, I scanned you earlier… sorry,” Jude said, rubbing the back of his head.

Rowan snorted. Figures. “I… got lost. Stumbled in here. Thanks for saving me, by the way.”

Jude waved him down. “Don’t mention it. Just doing what I have to.”

“I guess there are good combat classes, after all,” Rowan muttered to himself, looking Jude up and down. He didn’t have to save me. Doesn’t seem to have ulterior motives, either.

“I’m barely a combat class. I’m not even a proper Healer or White Mage. Half the time, the other combat classes treat me like a support class,” he said, laughing.

Rowan pressed his lips together and faked something like a smile. But you’re still treated with respect. You’re still stronger than us. You can go into the exclusion zones and earn loot and EXP, and not worry about getting killed by mob-level frog monsters. You can get a well-paying job with nothing but your class. It’s not the same.

Jude picked up his box and dusted off his trendy, loose-fitting jeans. “You need an escort? Just out of the exclusion zone.”

“No, I’m… I’m almost out. I should be fine.”

“How much HP do you have left?” Jude asked skeptically.

Rowan forced himself to grin. “You gave me that potion, right? I’m fine.”

Hesitant, Jude nodded. “Well, if you’re sure.”

Rowan waved and walked off. Jude watched, silently. At the corner, Rowan glanced back, and found the Medic still watching him. Something about the man’s eyes sent a shiver down his spine, and he forced himself to look away. There’s no reason to be afraid. He’s only concerned for me.

Combat classes don’t care about support classes. He’s up to something, another voice whispered.

Don’t be stupid. If he wanted something from me, he could have taken it. Not like I could stop a combat class, he told himself.

Still, all the way home, he couldn’t shake the feeling.