Chapter 5 - My Best Friend Has a Secret Level (and Possibly Divine Ancestry)

So, apparently, not getting murdered by animated bone bags in my sleep was something to celebrate. Who knew? A congratulatory message popped up in front of my face, glowing like a participation trophy from the Underworld:

CONGRATULATIONS! EMERGENCY DUNGEON CLEARED!

Below that, another, equally cheerful question:

Do you wish to exit this… delightful… establishment?

"'Delightful'?"

I muttered, still clutching the fire poker like it was Excalibur and surveying the wreckage of what I assumed was someone's very unlucky guest room. Dust motes danced in the faint light filtering through a grimy window, and the faint scent of bone dust and existential dread still hung in the air.

"Yeah, System. You could say I'm just dying to leave."

Another text box appeared:

Would you like to explore the rest of this… historically significant… location?

I considered the question for a solid five seconds, my gaze sweeping over the cracked walls and the skeletal remains scattered like discarded Halloween decorations. Explore? Like, intentionally wander deeper into a place where the furniture tries to eat you and the locals have a serious bone to pick?

NO. I WANT TO GO HOME. NOW.

I mentally yelled at the pop-up. My brain was still processing the whole "fighting skeletons in my sleep" thing, and adding voluntary dungeon crawling to the agenda was way above my pay grade.

A new notification blinked into existence, as if the System was slightly disappointed by my lack of adventurous spirit:

Emergency Dungeon Cleared.

Initiating Departure Sequence.

Confirm Exit?

[YES] [NO]

I mentally jabbed the [YES] button with all the enthusiasm of a kid being told to eat his vegetables.

The world around me started to blur and pixelate, like a low-budget sci-fi movie's teleportation sequence. One minute I was surrounded by dusty antiques and the lingering scent of death, the next…

Poof.

I was back in my bed.

My own, relatively non-haunted bed.

My dirty pajamas clung to me like a second skin, and the fire poker was still clutched in my hand, as if my life depended on its blunt, heavy protection. Which, let's be honest, it kind of had, considering I'd used it to introduce several skeletons to early retirement.

I blinked, disoriented, the faint echo of rattling bones still ringing in my ears.

"Okay," I mumbled, staring at the fire poker. "Note to self: never underestimate the offensive capabilities of fire poker."

I should probably be freaking out right now, right? I mean, battling ten historical figures made of bone, probably some long-dead Viking or a disgruntled Roman senator judging by the rusty sword one of them was wielding, in a creepy, mold-infested nightmare dimension should qualify as a Level 10 Trauma Event. My therapist, if I had one (and at this point, maybe I should get a referral), would have a field day.

But honestly? Nothing. Zip. Nada. I felt about as terrified as I do when Mom asks me to fold laundry. Which is to say, mildly annoyed and mostly just wanting it to be over.

Seriously, ten skeletons. Clacking around with spoons and frying pans. It felt less like a descent into the underworld and more like a really low-budget haunted house attraction where the actors forgot their lines. The 3D rendering on those boneheads was definitely subpar. Were they even using anti-aliasing?

This can't be normal, right? But then again, what is normal for me anymore? My life has gone from surviving high school math to surviving undead hordes before breakfast. The line between reality and some seriously messed-up RPG fanfiction has blurred faster than a cheetah on caffeine.

My whole body felt like I'd gone ten rounds with a grumpy rhino. Which, statistically speaking, was probably less painful than getting tackled by a skeleton with a frying pan. My HP bar, which I could still see flickering in the corner of my vision, was hovering around a pathetic 56 out of… wait, did I level up? 105? Sweet. Still halfway to "game over," though. My SP was also dragging, somewhere in the fifties. I felt like a deflated bouncy castle.

What to do? My brain, bless its slightly concussed heart, offered a brilliant tactical maneuver: the bathroom. Again. Because apparently, my digestive system wasn't the only thing that benefited from hot water.

I stumbled into the bathroom, cranked the shower dial to "surface of the sun," and braced myself. The scalding water hit my aching muscles, and ahhh… bliss. Almost instantly, the blue bar in the corner of my vision started to climb. My SP was recovering at a decent clip, filling up like a gas tank after a long road trip. My HP, on the other hand, was still being stubbornly slow, inching up at its glacial pace – one point every five to ten minutes.

Seriously? At this rate, I'd be fully healed sometime around the next ice age. If I was in the middle of another skeleton rave, this regeneration rate would be about as useful as a chocolate teapot. But the stamina boost? That was a lifesaver. Or, you know, a bone saver.

And… and this was the truly bonkers part… for a human? This was insane. A near-death experience that would have most people in traction for weeks, maybe months, and I was healing like Wolverine after a particularly rough Tuesday. My stamina was back to full in what felt like minutes, just from standing under hot water.

My body wasn't just bending the rules of reality; it was snapping them in half like a dry twig. I wasn't just dipping my toes into the fantasy world; I felt like I'd cannonballed headfirst into the deep end. And the worst part? A tiny, insane part of me was starting to think… maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

The hot water was definitely doing its thing, at least for my energy levels. My SP bar climbed steadily, hitting around 75% before it seemed to stall. Huh. Maybe the system had some kind of "can't fully recharge while critically wounded" rule. Like my body was saying, "Dude, we're still sporting more holes than Swiss cheese; hold your horses on the marathon." Interesting. Annoying, but interesting.

A dull ache still throbbed in my muscles, a souvenir from my nocturnal bone-brawl. Fatigue clung to me like cheap cologne. With my stamina only partially restored and my HP still stubbornly low, the thought of facing a full day of algebra and passive-aggressive teachers felt about as appealing as another surprise skeleton party.

I dragged myself back to my bed, the frying pan still feeling like a natural extension of my arm.

[DO YOU WISH TO SLEEP?]

[YES] [NO]

The familiar glowing prompt hung in my vision. It was almost comforting in its persistent weirdness.

It was probably around 2:00 a.m. My internal clock was still a bit scrambled thanks to the impromptu dungeon crawl. School started… well, way too early. But six hours of unconsciousness felt like a bare minimum for someone who'd spent the night as a skeletal piñata. A little tardiness wouldn't be the end of the world, right? Especially considering my excuse would be, "Sorry, Mr. Alge, I was busy battling the undead in a dream dimension." Yeah, that would go over well.

With a mental shrug, I tapped [YES] and then the familiar time slider appeared. I dragged it to a hopeful six hours, picturing a blissful, skeleton-free void. Then, I hit [CONFIRM].

The world faded away, and I sank into the blessed oblivion of sleep. This time, thankfully, without any imminent emergency dungeon alerts. I slept like a stone. A very bruised and slightly pan-wielding stone.

My eyelids peeled open, greeted by the full-on assault of morning sunlight. Okay, maybe "assault" was dramatic, but after a night battling the bony undead, anything brighter than a nightlight felt aggressive. Floating in my face, as usual, was the System's charming wake-up call:

[YOU SLEPT LIKE A CORPSE.]

"'Real encouraging, System,'" I grumbled, pushing myself up and trying to scrape the sleep zombies out of my eyes. "'Did you tuck me in too, Grandma?'"

Then the follow-up, slightly less morbid:

[GOODNIGHT'S SLEEP GRANTED: HP, MP, SP FULLY RESTORED.]

Sweet relief flooded through me. My internal status bars were glowing a healthy green and blue, like I hadn't spent the wee hours using a frying pan as a medieval bludgeoning device. Huh. Maybe sleep was magic. Who needed a fairy godmother when you had the Almighty System Sama! apparently moonlighting as a sleep therapist?

I stretched, feeling surprisingly not-pulverized. The phantom aches from my skeleton encounter vanished like free pizza at a school event. Score one for the healing power of unconsciousness.

Then my brain finally caught up with the position of the sun. 8:00 a.m.? My eyes bugged out like I'd just seen Medusa (hopefully a less skeletal version).

"Son of a biscuit eating badger!" I yelled, launching myself out of bed. "I'm majorly late!"

Breakfast became a blur of frantic chewing and spilled milk, a culinary speedrun worthy of a gold medal (if the Olympics had an "Eating Like You're About to Miss the Apocalypse" category). I inhaled a granola bar and a banana so fast I'm pretty sure I absorbed them through osmosis.

Then, it was Operation: Get to School Before Mr. Alge Unleashes His Wrath. I bolted out the door, my backpack bouncing against my spine like a hyperactive kangaroo. My feet pounded the pavement, and for the first time, I actually noticed the little progress bar next to my [Running Lv. 1] skill. It was filling up faster than a stadium during a free hot dog promotion. Apparently, near death experiences and the fear of detention were excellent motivators for cardiovascular improvement.

Each block blurred into the next. I dodged oblivious pedestrians like they were rogue slimes in a low-level dungeon, narrowly avoided a collision with Mrs. Henderson's prize winning petunias, and vaulted over a startled chihuahua. My lungs burned, but the XP bar kept climbing. Maybe I could outrun gym class after all. Or at least make it to homeroom before the first pop quiz.

I finally stumbled into the crowded hallway, a sweaty, granola-bar-fueled mess. My vision flickered, and a new notification popped up, helpfully labeling my current predicament:

[NEW ZONE DETECTED: HIGH SCHOOL OVERWORLD - HIGH LEVEL NPCS. Proceed with Extreme Caution (Especially Near Locker Clusters).]

"'Thanks for the survival tips, System,'" I muttered under my breath, narrowly avoiding a collision with a gaggle of giggling girls who were probably all secretly Level 5 social bosses.

The first bell shrieked through the air like a banshee announcing the start of a particularly grueling dungeon crawl.

[QUEST STARTED: SURVIVE UNTIL NEXT BELL. Reward: 5 XP (Bonus if you manage to stay awake during history).]

History. My personal kryptonite. Mr. Henderson droned on about the War of 1812 with the enthusiasm of a sloth explaining quantum physics. My eyelids started to droop.

[PASSIVE SKILL ACTIVATED: BOREDOM RESISTANCE (LV. 1). Effectiveness: Approximately 3%. You may still spontaneously combust from tedium.]

I jolted awake just as my head was about to make contact with my textbook. Beside me, Jimmy was sketching something that looked suspiciously like a weaponized hamster.

"Rough morning?" he mumbled, not looking up from his artwork.

"You have no idea," I sighed. "Apparently, my REM cycle involves fighting skeletons now."

Jimmy just nodded vaguely. "Sounds about right for your life."

The school announcements crackled over the intercom, something about a bake sale and mandatory spirit week participation.

[MINOR QUEST ALERT: Ignore Unskippable Cutscene. Reward: +1 Sanity (Potentially Bugged).]

I focused intently on a crack in the ceiling tile, willing myself to phase out the principal's monotone voice. Sanity was a precious resource these days.

Even lunch in the cafeteria got the System's special brand of commentary:

[NEW AREA DETECTED: CAFETERIA - HIGH RISK ZONE. Beware of Projectile Food and Unidentifiable Life Forms on Trays.]

As I cautiously navigated the mystery meat mountain, I appraised a suspicious-looking green blob.

[ITEM APPRAISED: Questionable Canteen Vegetable. Status: Unknown. May possess sentience. Recommended Action: Avoid.]

Yeah, I think I'd stick to the slightly less threatening-looking pizza today.

Just as I was locked in a silent staring contest with a bread roll that looked suspiciously like it was plotting world domination, a voice sliced through the usual cafeteria cacophony – a sound almost as familiar as the "ding!" of impending doom from my personal HUD.

"Kyle? You look like you're about to ask that bread roll out on a date. Everything alright in weirdo-land?"

I turned, and there she was: Rhea Lane. My oldest non-Jimmy friend. And when I say "non-Jimmy," I mean she possessed the crucial X chromosome, which apparently disqualifies you from being a "bro." Rhea was awesome in a completely platonic, "we survived elementary school together" kind of way. She was smart enough to ace any test without even trying, sarcastic enough to make even the System's notifications sound cheerful, and one of the few people who seemed to find my general state of bewildered existence vaguely amusing rather than deeply concerning.

Rhea navigated the treacherous landscape of lunch tables with the practiced ease of a ninja dodging laser grids, her bright blue eyes locking onto my bewildered form. Her current fashion statement involved a band t-shirt so obscure, it probably came with a secret decoder ring and a restraining order from mainstream music.

She plopped down across from me, her backpack thudding onto the bench like a small, disgruntled animal

"So? Spill it, spaceman. You've got that 'I just went ten rounds with a grumpy Minotaur and barely escaped with my horns intact' look on your face. What fresh brand of bizarre happened while I was enjoying three glorious, family-induced days of sanity?"

Floating above Rhea's head was a character panel. A real character panel. And the information it displayed… well, it was less "awkward teenager" and more "holy mythology textbook, Batman!"

[Rhea Ishtar Lane]

Title: Descendant of Ishtar

Level: 16

My jaw dropped so fast, I think I chipped a tooth on my fork. Level sixteen? Descendant of Ishtar?

My internal System was buzzing like a startled hornet's nest.

[WARNING! HIGH-LEVEL HUMAN DETECTED. PROBABILITY OF UNEXPECTED QUESTS AND/OR SUDDEN INCITEMENT TO ADVENTURE: 87%. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION. (Also, maybe ask for tips on leveling up.)]

I stared at Rhea, who was now digging into her suspiciously healthy-looking salad like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. My brain felt like it had just downloaded a massive software update without my permission.

"Uh," I stammered, my gaze glued to the glowing text above Rhea's head. "Level sixteen? Descendant of... Ishtar?" My voice was a mix of awe and utter bewilderment.

Rhea blinked at me, a stray piece of lettuce clinging precariously to her lip. "Ishtar?"

Her expression flickered for a split second. Just a subtle tightening around her eyes, a barely perceptible pause before she continued, her tone a little too casual. Strange. Like I'd accidentally stumbled onto a password she didn't want anyone to know.

Then she suddenly became normal again.

"Ishtar? Whoa, sounds intense. Was that some kind of band you discovered while you were hiding from your relatives?" She reached up and brushed the lettuce away. "They finally let you listen to music with actual screaming in it?"

"No, not a band," I mumbled, still staring. "Ishtar?" The word felt vaguely familiar, like a half-forgotten dream or a term from a really boring documentary I'd accidentally dozed off during. It didn't immediately ring any mythological bells in my sleep-deprived brain.

Rhea's eyebrows shot up. "Ishtar? Sounds... foreign. New TikTok trend I missed while I was communing with nature?" But her surprise was fleeting, replaced by her usual teasing grin. "Seriously though, what's with the intense goddess vibe?"

A weird little pang hit me. Level sixteen? That was like comparing a toddler with a tricycle to a Formula One race car. If this whole "system" thing was real for her too, why hadn't she said anything? Were we even playing the same game?

"No, not a band," I mumbled, still staring. "Ishtar... it's... never mind." I shook my head, trying to play it cool, even though my brain was screaming, She's hiding something! Something epic! And I'm stuck here with my level four self and a frying pan!

Rhea eyed me suspiciously. "Never mind? That's your 'I'm about to launch into a truly bizarre explanation' voice. Come on, what's up with the weird goddess talk?"

I hesitated. Did I dare tell her? Would she see the same crazy floating text I did? Or would she just add me to the growing list of people who thought I needed serious therapy?

The thought of her being this high level, this… potentially powerful and not sharing it felt like a tiny betrayal, even though it was completely irrational. We'd been friends forever. Shouldn't we be leveling up together? Fighting low-level goblins (or, you know, annoying classmates) side-by-side?

"It's nothing," I said, forcing a casual shrug that probably looked more like a full-body twitch. "Just... you looked really... uh... energetic today. Like you drank, like, five energy drinks." Smooth, Kyle. Real smooth.

Rhea just rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe I did. Now, seriously, what's going on?"

The secret felt heavy on my tongue. But the fear of sounding completely insane was heavier.

Just as Rhea was leaning forward, her eyes narrowed in that way "I'm not letting this weirdness slide" , a frantic voice cut through the cafeteria noise.

"Rhea! Oh my gods, Rhea, you won't believe..."

A girl, all flailing arms and wide eyes, practically crash-landed at our table. It was Tiffany, one of Rhea's other friends, and she looked like she'd just escaped a stampede of angry squirrels.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Rhea asked, instantly shifting into "concerned best friend" mode, her earlier suspicion about my goddess comment vanishing like smoke.

Tiffany gasped for breath. "It's... it's the... the spirit week decorations! They... they've gone rogue!"

Rhea's eyebrows shot up. "Rogue decorations? What are you talking about?"

Tiffany launched into a rapid-fire explanation involving balloons attacking people, streamers tying up lockers, and a giant inflatable mascot that had apparently developed a mind of its own and was currently terrorizing the senior hallway.

The sheer absurdity of it hung in the air. My internal System, ever the opportunist, chimed in:

[NEW QUEST ALERT: SPIRIT WEEK CHAOS! Objective: Investigate and Resolve Decoration Anomaly. Potential Rewards: Unknown (Possibly Social Standing or Minor XP). Failure: Public Humiliation by Inflatable Badger.]

Rhea, completely engrossed in Tiffany's increasingly unbelievable tale, had completely forgotten about my earlier weirdness. "We have to go see this," she said, already sliding out of the booth. "Kyle, you coming?"

I blinked, torn between the burning need to understand Rhea's secret Level 16 status and the undeniable allure of rogue school decorations.

"Uh... yeah," I said, scrambling to my feet. "Rogue inflatable badger? I gotta see this."

Just like that, our awkward conversation was derailed by the sheer chaotic energy of high school spirit week gone horribly, hilariously wrong. My questions about goddesses and levels would have to wait. For now, there were rampaging inflatable badger to investigate.