Friends

{

The auto keyword in this instance allows a developer to initialize a variable without explicitly stating the type of magical energy stored inside during the initialization. 

This allows the user to create a single skill that could perform different behaviours based on the type of magical energies provided to it. The keyword auto has quite a few other roles based on how the developer uses it. 

}

Peter was studying a documentation file inside his IDE skill after breakfast when he heard his name being called.

Closing the skill projection, he pushed himself up from his chair.

"Peter! Peter!"

He sighed, dragging the chair to the window. Climbing on top of it, he unlatched the lock and leaned forward, sticking his head outside.

Below, a bunch of children stood waiting.

"I heard you the first time. Stop screaming. I'm coming."

"Okay!!!"

Peter leaned back and carefully closed the window. Last time he forgot, the whole study room was covered in dust.

'Mother wasn't pleased…'

He had to clean every nook and cranny himself while she watched.

After putting the chair back where it belonged, Peter made his way to the stairs. Gripping the railing tightly, he climbed one step at a time—the stairs were still a challenge for a four-year-old.

From the kitchen, Mother was busy cooking. Rose had stopped coming a few months ago. Recently, Peter overheard Mom and Dad mentioning that her father was looking for a man to marry her.

'Should I go check up on her today?'

"Are you going to play?" Mother asked, her lips twitching in amusement.

"Yes,"

"You can," she nodded. Peter could already predict the but coming from a mile away.

"But I better not hear any more complaints. Is that clear, mister?" And there it was.

"Of course!" Peter bolted for the entrance before she could think of anything else.

One week of being grounded was plenty enough. Nobody needed nasty repeats of what killjoy looked like.

The air outside the door was dry and hot, with the sun shining even brighter than before.

"You're late," said the tiny boy leading the group, his face scrunched into a scowl.

"Heroes always make late entrances," Peter teased. He never realized how entertaining kid banter could be—at least, not before his death.

Hmph.

"And who made you the hero?" the girl on the boy's left retorted. She was the oldest among them, already ten.

Their group was the second most notorious child gang in Shimon Village. Then again, there were only two.

Theirs consisted of all the tiny ones—too small to be included in the older group.

'Who cares about them anyway? They're just jealous that the villagers fear us more after all the pranks we've pulled.'

"Monica, darling, don't be like that," Peter teased, laughing inside as he walked towards the group.

The little gang had four members—three boys and one girl. Monica was the oldest, while Peter and Charles were the youngest.

It hadn't taken Peter long to figure out that Charles saw him as a rival. And like most kids their age, Charles had a habit of declaring that he'd marry his sister one day.

Monica, of course, was mortified when Peter started using that against her.

Like now.

The moment Monica scowled at Peter's teasing, he took off running, throwing his head back in laughter, sprinting through the village. The rest of the group quickly followed, caught between chasing and cheering.

"Just you wait, you little midget! Once I catch you—" Monica roared, her nose red, either from anger or sheer embarrassment.

"Catch him!" Monica ordered, sprinting after him.

The two boys nodded, quickly splitting up to surround Peter.

In the end, he was caught.

"Okay—okay! Sto—stop! No more tickling!" Peter pleaded, laughing breathlessly. He lay sprawled on the grass, half in Monica's arms, while the others pinned his limbs to keep him still.

Huff… huff…

He lay there, gasping for breath after Monica finally stopped.

'Damn her and her running skill.'

"What should we do now?" David asked.

Despite being the son of a blacksmith, he was surprisingly meek. At seven years old, with black hair and black eyes, he blended in with the rest of the group.

Like everyone else, he wore a simple shirt and pants—once white, but now permanently stained from years of dust and wear.

They were washed often, but without modern detergent, the original color had long been lost.

'I'm probably the only one who wears new clothes. The others all get hand-me-downs. Maybe that's why kids here wear gender-neutral clothing.'

"Let's go see Rose," Peter suggested, glancing around at the group.

They agreed almost instantly. A few months ago, Peter had dumped a bucket full of cow dung on an older kid who mocked them.

The fool still hadn't figured out who had balanced the bucket on top of a half-open door while he was inside.

And so, they marched along the familiar path leading to the village, the same one Peter took every time he visited. Every so often, they waved at a few adults working in the fields.

The village was small enough that not much stayed hidden for long, which had earned them a certain notoriety for all the chaos they caused.

Peter had his suspicions about why they were tolerated. Part of it was because most of the group were the children of important people in the village.

A farmer wouldn't want to anger the blacksmith who repaired his tools just because the blacksmith's kid decided to ride his cow like a horse.

'Much less the only child of the garrison commander and the village's sole accountant—except for the village head.'

Another reason was that they were all still young, and Peter made sure they never crossed a certain threshold.

"Look, the Minions brought their devil master with them," the old guard grumbled, picking his nose.

Peter smirked. "Is it just me, or does anyone else smell something awful?"

The guard growled.

"What are you trying to imply, brat?"

...To Be Continued