Motion caught his eye in the upper right hand corner. Rowan glanced up and found his over-full EXP bar ever-so-slowly draining.

Level 6. Please select a skill.

Level 7. Please

Level 8.

Level 9.

Do I have to be poisoned? Is that the secret? Rowan groaned. I don’t want to have to poison myself all the time!

“Ah! Right, right, I almost forgot, my once-daily—Antidote!” Jude held out his hand. A vial materialized and dropped into his palm. With a clean pop, he yanked out the cork and dumped it over Rowan.

Icy liquid splashed over him. Rowan shuddered. In the lower corner of his screen, the Poisoned warning vanished.

“Did that work? Please tell me that worked,” Jude muttered.

“It worked. I’m fine.” Rowan tried to stand. His legs wobbled, and he plopped back down. He glanced at his HP bar, still firmly in the red. “Well. Kind of fine.”

Rustling through his pockets, Jude pulled out another energy-drink vial and tossed it to Rowan. “It’s the least I can do. I’m so sorry.”

Rowan tossed back the drink. His HP bar surged back up, and the wounds on his skin stitched themselves shut. The persistent ache in his hips vanished, gone with the rest of the scrapes. “Thanks.”

“No, no, it’s all my fault in the first place. What are you doing here, anyways? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a support class in Quest Square before.” Jude laughed awkwardly, glancing around.

“I’m…” Suddenly embarrassed, Rowan looked at his feet. “I’m forming a party for a Tower Climb.”

Jude hesitated, then opened his mouth. “Er, could I join? I mean… I feel really bad about poisoning you, and I could use the EXP. I’m level twenty, the first floor should be a breeze.”

First floor? I want to clear the Tower and take on the Hero-King. Rowan bit back the words and smiled. Anything’s better than nothing. A healing class is better than I’d hoped for, as a support class trying to create a party alone. “Consider yourself the first member, then.”

“Second,” N. Kaidu interrupted. He crossed his arms and glared down on them both imperiously. “I’m the first.”

Didn’t you turn down my offer a minute ago? Rowan asked silently, giving N. Kaidu his own look. He bit his tongue and kept it to himself. He’s got a pretty face and a huge following among support class girls. Maybe I can use him to attract a few female party members. So far, it’s a sausage party over here. He grimaced at his prospective party.

Jude clapped. “A party is born! What’s your class?”

“You could scan,” N. Kaidu said flatly.

“It’s rude to scan without asking, you know.”

N. Kaidu snorted. “Hairdresser. Level fifteen.”

“H… hairdresser?” Jude stuttered. He turned to Rowan.

Rowan smiled back and gave him a thumbs up. Your party’s a hairdresser and a gardener. Guess a combat class like you never thought you’d end up in a trash party like this!

Jude managed to contort his face into a smile. “Ah, haha, how unique…”

“If you don’t want to be a member of the party, feel free to back out,” N. Kaidu declared.

“No, no, I promised. At least for the first floor,” Jude said.

N. Kaidu snorted.

“We should come up with a party name,” Rowan suggested.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jude said.

N. Kaidu nodded. “Not yet. A good name, like a good style, must take shape on its own.”

Rowan shrugged, already filling out the party paperwork on his phone. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll just put Support Party for now.

“I’m a Medic, a combat class healer,” Jude introduced himself.

“And I’m a Gardener, support class.” Rowan pulled his soaking-wet shirt from his body. “Mind if I go home to change? We can meet back at the Tower to officially register.”

“I have a few tasks to finish," N. Kaidu declared.

“Sounds good to me!” Jude agreed.

Rowan nodded. “Alright. See you in an hour.”

--

In an hour, I’ll be registering for the Tower. Rowan’s heart beat in his chest, so loud he feared everyone could hear it, half fear, half excitement. He snuck through his house, carefully stepping on the un-creaky boards, placing each foot one at a time, almost crawling. But if Mom catches me, I’m dead. Another step. Another.

The levels burned in his mind. Four skill points called his name, begging him to buy skills. Still, Rowan hesitated. I don’t know what my skills do. Most of the skill tree is obscured, so I can’t look ahead beyond the immediate next skill. Plant affinity has to be useless, since I don’t actually want to grow plants, but maybe plant identification… He sighed. Do combat classes have this trouble, too?

Ever so slowly, Rowan peeked around the last corner. He stood tall and jogged into his room. No one’s home. I’m safe.

In his room, he quickly shucked his wet clothes and hopped into the shower. Getting out, he dressed lightly in shorts, a t-shirt, and flipflops. We’re just going to register. We’ll challenge the Tower tomorrow, once everyone is fully rested and ready to go.

He glanced around his room, taking it all in. In the corner sat a rumpled twin bed, his childhood car-themed sheets still proudly stretched across the mattress. Trophies piled on the windowsill, all the useless accolades that had done nothing to prevent him from becoming a support class. Clothes piled on the floor, some clean, some dirty, none folded.

Tomorrow, I say goodbye to all of this.

Rowan picked up his notebook and tucked it in the back band of his shorts, then sighed. Before I go tomorrow, I should raid the garage for some gardening tools. Proficiency in hand trowels might not be worth much, but better to have any weapon than nothing at all!

He turned to go.

His mother stood in the doorway, blocking out the light. She frowned at him, and suddenly he felt five years old again, caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Rowan wilted. “Hi, Mom.”