"So, it's really possible to get drunk in this game?"
My question was laced with disbelief. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the worn wood of the table, my eyebrow raised in a gesture Godspeed couldn't see but could probably infer from my tone. He was already deep into a large, frothing mug, his movements having a slight, wobbly quality to them as he set it down with a heavy thud. A bit of foam clung to his upper lip.
A mellow, lopsided grin spread across his face. "Oh yeah, definitely." He lifted the mug again, gesturing with it vaguely. "It's a feeling I don't get to experience much… over there."
I let his words hang in the air between us for a moment.
'Over there? And that meant… What, exactly? The phrasing was weird, too emphasized to be a little joke. Was he differentiating game world and IRL? But why be so harsh about it…. Maybe not in voice and tone, but if you use wording like that…'
But, before I could truly commit to heavily dissecting the semantics of a two word phrase, a heavy ceramic mug slid into view, placed on the table in front of me by a passing server. I looked down at the dark, bubbling liquid, then back at Godspeed. He was watching me, that same lazy smile on his face.
I picked up the mug. It was heavy. I peered inside. Looked like any other beer, or ale, or whatever alcoholic beverage the IRL world offered. My eyes narrowed.
"So you're paying for this, I'm guessing?" I asked, my voice flat. "Not to be rude."
He didn't answer right away. For a moment, a shy, almost boyish smile replaced his confident smirk. He looked away, his gaze drifting towards the other patrons as he brought his own mug to his lips and started chugging the rest of its contents.
'Right; guess that's enough of an answer.. Time to take another hit to my coin wallet.'
I let out a long, weary sigh before pushing up my helmet just a smidge and taking a small, tentative sip. The first sensation was a simple bitterness, followed by a strange, sweet aftertaste. My experience with in-game consumables was limited to the cloyingly artificial cherry flavor of health potions; a taste so basic it was clearly just a placeholder. This, however, was different. It wasn't just basic "ale" flavored. It was… specific.
I took another sip, a bigger one this time, letting the liquid roll over my tongue. There was a watery quality to it, a faint hint of staleness, as if it had come from the very bottom of a barrel that hadn't been cleaned in a while. It wasn't good. In fact, it was objectively bad ale.
And that fact sent a jolt through me.
I could actually tell.
'Wow,' the thought echoed in my mind, a moment of genuine awe cutting through my cynicism. 'To be able to tell my brain that I'm tasting this… technology is insane.' As I sat there, stunned by the sheer fidelity of the simulation, Godspeed finally broke the silence.
"I didn't see you this morning."
A simple statement, but for me, it landed like an accusation.
"I have a job," I snapped, the reply immediate and sharp. "I'm already up early."
My own defensiveness surprised me. A frantic, staccato rhythm tapped out from my index finger against the ceramic mug. 'Restrain yourself,' a voice in my head commanded. 'Don't get worked up. You're here for a real reason. A totally legit reason.'
I took a breath and pushed the mug an inch away from me, a small gesture of resetting. "Sorry," I said, my tone more level. "I didn't mean for it to come out that way."
He just shrugged, completely unbothered. "It's cool. If you can't get up in the morning, you can't get up in the morning."
I pushed on, deciding to clarify everything at once. "What I meant was, I have work. Over there. And by the way, what did you mean by saying it like that? Just call it the 'real world.'"
He gave me that crooked grin again. "Just… the other world. Obviously."
"Obviously the other world— like, what the hell is even the point of saying it like that?? This 'mysterious guy' persona isn't cool; it's WEIRD, dude!!"
The words flew out before I could stop them. My hand shot up, clamping over my visor as if I could physically shove them back in my mouth. Whoa. This was… unlike me. In these situations, I usually fell back on my customer service training. But here, with this guy, the filter was just… gone. Maybe it was the alcohol? Already?
Godspeed chuckled, a low sound of amusement. "Okay, okay, yeah. 'The Real World.' If that's what you want to call it."
'Weirdo,' I thought, a wave of exasperation washing over me. 'Don't call it the 'real world' like it isn't; because that's what it IS. Whatever.'
"What I was meaning to get at," I said, forcing the conversation back on track, "is that I won't be able to meet you in the mornings." I started to elaborate, the words tumbling out in a rush of justifications. "Because, you know, I have work. I have responsibilities, priorities… I'm by myself right now, I've got to take care of everything at my place and—"
He kept nodding along, his expression unreadable, all while taking the last sip from his ale. As I spoke, he finished his drink, and I saw his hand begin a slow, casual journey across the table toward my mug.
My own hand slammed down on top of my drink before he could get there. The heavy thud of my armor on ceramic cut through my own rambling. I looked him dead in the eye, or tried to. His were still swirling, and holding his gaze for more than a second felt like trying to stare into a dizzying whirlpool. I quickly averted my eyes.
"Listen," I said, deciding to get to the point. "It's not that I don't want to try out whatever this… idea it is that you're offering." I waved a hand dismissively. "For all I know, you might be bluffing like crazy about making me stronger. But weirdly," I admitted, the words feeling dry and with no flow, "I think you might be onto something. Or at least you can help me in some way."
I finally looked back at him, my gaze firm. "So, can we move the time? A few hours? Like, when I actually have time?"
He fell silent, that infuriatingly placid smile still plastered on his face. I tilted my head, waiting. Finally, he cleared his throat.
"...You're being serious about this right now?"
An internal groan rattled my skull. 'Oh, he's going to be difficult, isn't he? My Gawd.' I reined myself in. "Yes. I believe we can come to some sort of… compromise here. A deal that works for both of us."
"A deal?" He cut me off, leaning forward with a flicker of faux interest. "What do… YOU. Have to offer… ME?"
My mind blanked out on that one. What did I have to offer? My real name? In-game money? I was broke, more-or-less. I had absolutely nothing. Nada.
As I floundered, a loud smack of his palm on the wooden table made me jump.
"I'm just messing with you," he said, laughing. "Look, it doesn't really matter what time. I'm going to be here."
"But… don't you log out?" I asked, grabbing onto the one piece of logic I could find. "We all have limits. We can't stay on for more than twelve hours a day."
He shrugged. "Don't worry about that."
'Okay, this intentionally mysterious act he was going for? Not attractive. At all~~.'
"Right," I said, my voice dripping with forced patience. "Okay, so. The point is, when I can log in, it's usually more on an… afternoon schedule, in-game."
"I'll be here," he said simply.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah," he confirmed, his smile finally losing its annoying edge and becoming something a bit more genuine. "I'll be here."
One moment I was digging in my pouch for a few extra silver pieces, and the next, I was standing under the oppressive heat of the desert sun. We were miles out of town now, surrounded by nothing but flat, fissured earth.
"Why are we out here?" I demanded. "And where are you taking me?"
"I'm not taking you anywhere," he replied calmly. "We're already here."
I looked around. My mouth fell slightly agape. "So," I said, trying to maintain my composure. "How is this training thing going to work?"
"First off," he began, "I've got to know what I'm working with."
He began to shrug his shoulders, rolling his arms to loosen them up before cracking his neck. He started hopping lightly from foot to foot, his whole body limbering up, getting ready. My blood ran cold.
Oh my God— This guy's about to beat me the F# up!!! I'm screwed!
"I-I'm not fighting you!" The words burst out, a frantic, panicked protest followed by the flailing of my hands. "You'll beat me into the ground!"
Godspeed stopped his warm-up motions, pausing and holding up one hand. "No, no, That's not what this is. sigh; the idea here is that I won't retaliate, I won't hurt you, I won't even kill you with one punch," He gave a theatrical wink, "Even though I can." He gestured for me to calm down. "I just need to see how you act in a combat scenario. You know?"
I let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly. Okay. A test.
"Command: Inventory."
The cheap shortsword from the hobgoblin fight materialized in my hand. He had a minute reaction to it, a flicker in his swirling eyes, the briefest crease at their corners. 'Already being judged,' I thought with a flash of irritation.
My sword felt clumsy in my hand as I began to circle him, the sand crunching under my worn and tread-torn shoes. I searched for an opening, a weakness. But there was nothing. Just that constant, unnerving rocking, back and forth. And his eyes. His eyes never left me. A cold shutter of doubt ran through me. What was his class? What titles was he hiding? Was this a trick? What if his idea of 'not hurting me' was leaving me at one HP, paralyzed in the middle of nowhere?
"Attack."
The single word cut through the noise. It shocked my body into action.
I lunged, my blade carving a clumsy, upward arc. My lunge carried me farther than I'd intended, slicing through empty air as he leaned back with casual grace. My momentum carried me past him. I spun, swinging the sword in a heavy downward cleave. Another miss. Frustration mounting, I thrust the butt of the sword at his chest. His hand shot up, palm open, and stopped the pommel with a dull thud. Rage won out. I abandoned the sword and threw a kick, aiming my armored knee at his side. But he was already moving, his own knee rising to meet mine. The unarmored part of his leg met the bottom of my greave, the impact jarring my entire body and sending me stumbling back several feet.
I landed heavily, my chest heaving, gripping my sword with both hands. I watched him, searching for any tell. He blinked.
'Now!'
I surged forward, stabbing at the spot where his chest had been a split second ago. My sword met nothing but air. He was gone.
I spun around wildly. Where—?
A light touch, no more than the gentle press of two fingers, landed between my shoulder blades. The force behind it was unreal. I was launched forward, stumbling and tripping over my own feet for a full ten feet before I finally regained my balance, my face inches from the sand. I whipped around, my heart hammering against my ribs, waving the sword wildly. He was back in his original spot. Rocking. Watching.
I dashed forward again, but some deep-seated instinct screamed at me to stop. I dug my heels into the sand, halting my charge. A small smile formed on his lips. He nodded.
Fine. I stepped right in front of him. Inches away. With a roar of pure frustration, I raised the sword high above my head, channeling every ounce of my anger and humiliation into one final, overwhelming blow.
I brought the sword down…
TING!
But the sound that followed was sharp, high-pitched, and final. Half of my cheap, worn-out sword's blade went spinning off into the desert, leaving me holding a useless hilt and a few inches of jagged metal. It had been stopped by two of his fingers, held up casually to intercept the blow.
"..."
I looked down.
The hilt in my hands felt terribly light.
'What… was the point of all of that?'
'I did try. I, like, actually, really did try. And he breaks my SWORD, with just TWO FINGERS?!'
"You fight funny," he stated, his voice randomly flat and analytical. "You're not very well-coordinated. You think too hard before every choice you make. You have no sense of momentum, consistency, or tempo. You're missing a lot of fundamentals." He looked me up and down. "I'm quite surprised you've gotten as far as you have relying on just this."
"I… just got to Level 63," I mumbled, the words a weak, pathetic defense.
For the first time, a genuine emotion broke through his placid expression. His eyebrows shot up. "Oh," he said, a note of actual surprise in his tone. "That's… incredible, really."
That was it. I let the broken hilt drop from my hand. I turned my back on him and started walking. I didn't really know where the town was, and I didn't really care. Anything was better than standing here...
… THWACK!
A sharp impact on the back of my helm sent me stumbling. "Ow! What the f—!"
I whirled around. Lying in the sand behind me was a simple, unadorned wooden bo staff.
Godspeed was still in the middle of his directorial speech, as if nothing had happened. "That!--- will be your best friend from now on. It's a perfectly weighted stick. Same weight on both sides, sturdy, compact, and just a tad longer than your old sword."
He walked over, picked up the staff, and came to a stop in front of me. "Considering how far you've gotten on your own with that lack of skill…" he said, a strange light in his eyes, "…I'm actually excited to try and teach you something."
He pushed the cool, smooth wood of the bo staff into my chest, forcing me to take it. It felt like a pathetic downgrade. A stick. What was I thinking? I was a fraud playing, essentially, dress-up, and now my costume was broken.
"Hold it," Godspeed's voice cut through my spiraling self-pity. "With both hands."
I numbly did as he said, my grip clumsy.
"No, not like that." He stepped in close, his hands gently adjusting mine on the staff. He moved my right hand further down, my left one up, turning my knuckles so they faced outwards. Then, he tapped my foot with his boot. "Widen your stance. Bend your knees. Just a little. Find your center."
I shifted my weight, awkwardly trying to follow his instructions. And then, something happened. It was simple.
Very simple really, but… The staff, which had felt like a dead piece of wood in my hands moments before, suddenly felt… alive. Like, the balance just wholly shifted, the weight distributed perfectly through my arms and into my core. The change was so immediate, so tangible, that it stunned me and my nasty mouth into silence. I didn't understand how, really. But it did.
A flicker of something—not hope, but a grudging respect—ignited in my chest. He knew things I couldn't even begin to comprehend.
"Good," he said, stepping back and nodding with satisfaction. "Now, your first lesson."
This was it. I braced myself. A secret move? A complex drill?
He pointed a single finger at the sand in front of me. "Draw a circle."
I blinked. "A… circle?"
'… Wut? THIS is the training? He wants me to play in the sand?'
"One perfect circle," he clarified, his expression completely serious. "Use the tip of the staff. The line can't leave the sand, the speed has to be consistent all the way around, and it has to connect perfectly where you started. Do it."
Feeling utterly foolish, I lowered the tip of the staff to the ground and tried. The line wobbled. I rushed the back half, and when I tried to connect the ends, I missed by a good 2-3 inches, leaving me with a lopsided, pathetic-looking egg shape. My hand embarrassingly hurt from the exertion.
Godspeed just shook his head, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "No. That is Not a circle." He was already turning away, his unhurried steps kicking up little puffs of sand as he began walking off into the seemingly endless desert. He glanced back over his shoulder, a small, unreadable smile on his face.
"Keep going until you can draw one."