Chapter 7: The League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Introductions

First things first, the mace. One minute Rhea was wielding that spiky beast like a seasoned warrior, the next… nothing. It just poof-ed. Vanished into thin air, like a particularly stubborn fart in a crowded elevator. Weird.

Then there was the red goblin. One minute it was a very solid, very angry, very dead (hopefully) pile of mutated muscle. The next… it was fading. Slowly dissolving like a sugar cube in hot tea, leaving behind nothing but a faint, unpleasant odor that smelled vaguely of gym socks and sulfur. Where did it go? Your guess was as good as mine. Maybe monster heaven had a strict "no lingering corpses" policy.

My loot! Had all that effort, all that near-death experience, just evaporated with the goblin?

Apparently not entirely. Because along with the six glorious level-up notifications, a whole slew of other messages had flashed across my vision during the chaos. Too many to read, too much adrenaline pumping to process. They were still there, stacked up in the corner of my mind's eye, waiting for a less… bathroom-debris-filled moment.

"Let's get out of here, Kyle! What are you standing around for? Souvenir hunting?"

Rhea's voice, still a little shaky but regaining its usual impatient edge, snapped me out of my post-battle daze.

She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly strong, and practically dragged me out of the ruined girls' bathroom. The hallway outside was still a scene of utter pandemonium. Girls were huddled together, crying, pointing, and generally acting like they'd just witnessed something that would scar them for life (which, let's be honest, they probably had). The air was thick with panicked whispers and the lingering scent of… well, let's not dwell on that.

"Souvenir hunting?" I echoed weakly, still processing the disappearing goblin and the six levels. "More like trying to figure out if I need a tetanus shot after that... experience."

Rhea's grip tightened.

"Less talking, more blending. We need to look like we're just as freaked out as everyone else, or someone's going to start asking questions we really don't want to answer."

We forced our faces into expressions of appropriate shock and horror. Rhea managed a convincing wide-eyed terror. Me? I probably looked like I was contemplating the existential dread of lukewarm cafeteria pizza, possibly mixed with a touch of severe constipation.

We shuffled along with the flow of terrified students. It wasn't easy. I was still mentally sorting through the loot notifications, and Rhea kept glancing back at the ruined bathroom with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Rhea muttered, guiding us through the throng. "We need to get checked out. Who knows what kind of… goblin gunk… we just got covered in."

The thought of "goblin gunk" made my stomach churn.

"Everyone who was near the girls' bathroom incident, please report to the nurse's medical room immediately!" a harried-looking teacher called out, his voice echoing through the still-chaotic hallway. He was gesturing emphatically towards the nurse's office, his face a mask of concern and slight panic.

Rhea and I exchanged a quick glance. This made our cover story even more believable. We joined the small throng of students being herded towards the nurse's office, a mix of genuine fear and wide-eyed curiosity on their faces.

"Goblin gunk," I muttered under my breath, trying to sound suitably disgusted.

Rhea wrinkled her nose.

"Whatever it was, I don't want it on me any longer than necessary. Let's just play along and get cleaned up."

The nurse's office was already overflowing, and we were directed to wait in the outer area, listening to the hushed and increasingly dramatic retellings of what people thought they saw.

When my turn finally came, the nurse, a young woman who looked like she was about two seconds away from needing her own medical attention, gave me a quick once-over.

"Name?"

"Kyle," I mumbled, trying to look appropriately pale and shaken.

"Any injuries, Kyle? Headache? Dizziness?"

"Just... really freaked out," I managed, sticking to our story of a loud noise and some kind of… well, we hadn't specified what exploded.

She nodded sympathetically. "Understandable. Just sit here for a bit, okay? We're keeping an eye on everyone who was close to that… incident."

Physically, I felt surprisingly okay. No lingering pain beyond the general aches from the fight, and I could practically feel my HP bar inching its way back up.

The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a strange mix of exhaustion and a bizarre sense of accomplishment. We had faced a monster. And survived. Now, all we had to do was survive the school day.

When I rejoined Rhea in the waiting area, she gave me a questioning look.

"All clear," I mouthed. "Just 'shock'."

She nodded, a hint of a weary smile playing on her lips.

"Good. Let's get out of here before someone starts asking us questions we can't answer... but you do have to answer mine."

I gulped, my throat suddenly feeling very dry. Here it came. The interrogation. The "what in the actual heck just happened in that bathroom" section. My least favorite part of any monster encounter, right after the "almost dying" bit.

We found a relatively empty classroom, a quiet corner in the ongoing school-wide chaos. Only a couple of students occupied the back, looking far more interested in their hushed conversation than the lingering scent of… well, let's not think about the bathroom anymore.

Rhea pulled a couple of desks together and sat down, her gaze fixed on me. "Sit," she commanded, her usual playful tone replaced by a serious intensity I hadn't seen since… well, since she was facing down a mutated goblin with a mace.

"We need to discuss," she stated, her blue eyes sharp and unwavering. "And this time, Kyle, no more of your 'weird dreams' nonsense. I want the truth. The whole, bizarre, probably-involves-ancient-goddesses truth."

"What goodness? I don't even know what you're saying," I stammered, trying my best to look confused and innocent. It wasn't easy when the image of a Level 31 red goblin was still burned into my retinas.

Rhea blew out a frustrated puff of air, pushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "Really, Kyle? Just five minutes ago, you were wielding a rusty sword like some kind of medieval action hero against a damn red goblin in the girls' bathroom! And now you can't answer my question? You can't even acknowledge that something completely insane just happened?"

"Hey! I... I really don't know!" I insisted, my voice rising slightly. "I told you, things have been really weird since yesterday. That... that thing... it just attacked! I was just trying to help!"

Rhea stared at me, her expression a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "Okay," she said slowly, as if speaking to a particularly dense toddler. "So you don't know about Gatekeepers?"

"Gatekeepers? What's a Gatekeeper?" I asked, genuinely confused. The term didn't ring any of my recently acquired "supernatural survival guide" bells.

"You really don't know about the Descendants? The Guardians? The Gatekeepers?" she pressed, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Descendants? Guardians?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. "Rhea, are you okay? Did that... thing... hit your head or something?"

Rhea let out a frustrated curse under her breath, something that sounded vaguely ancient and definitely not like anything I'd ever heard her say before.

Then she fixed me with a piercing stare. "And your sword? Where did it go?"

I blinked, looking down at my empty hands. "Uh... I... I had it... right? The rusty one? From... that skeleton thing yesterday?" I trailed off, my mind still a jumbled mess of adrenaline and disbelief. "I... I don't know. It just... vanished? Like the goblin?"

Rhea groaned, the sound laced with the kind of exasperation usually reserved for demigods explaining algebra to mortals. "It's a spirit weapon, Kyle. Think… your inner Swiss Army Knife of self-defense. It pops out when the going gets monster-y, fueled by your… well, your personal brand of weird. Or maybe divine fumes. Or possibly just really bad cafeteria pizza. The specifics are fuzzy."

" My personal brand of weird usually involves talking to squirrels," I pointed out. "Now you're saying I can just conjure a sword? Like some kind of discount Merlin? My magic skills peak at making toast that's only slightly burnt."

"Look, I saw… stuff," Rhea said, rolling her eyes like she was personally offended by my lack of supernatural understanding. "Yours, mine, even Captain Stoic over there, Michael. This world's got more layers than an ogre's onion, and my brain feels like it's been wrestling a hydra in a phone booth."

She sighed, her messy bun looking like it had also survived a monster attack. "You're a newborn. Fresh out of the primordial ooze of ability awakening."

"Primordial ooze? Am I going to start sprouting tentacles?"

"You're a newborn ability user," she clarified, the patience in her voice wearing thinner than toilet paper in a school bathroom. "Your inner 'oomph' just kicked in. It's not exactly winning the 'most unique superpower' award. And that rusty toothpick you were waving around? That's your spirit weapon. Judging by the rust, your 'oomph level' is… entry-level. Good enough to poke a grumpy garden gnome, maybe not so much a hellhound."

Rhea tried to explain, but it was like trying to teach a goldfish quantum physics. My confusion was a tangible thing, a thick fog settling over my already overloaded brain. My friend was rapidly becoming fluent in the language of "you're an idiot who knows nothing," and frankly, I couldn't blame her. This was all way above my pay grade.

Rhea tried again, bless her cotton socks and mythological baggage, but her explanations were still less illuminating and more like trying to decipher a fortune cookie written in hieroglyphics while riding a rollercoaster.

"Look, hotshot," she said, leaning forward, her voice tight with the effort of simplifying centuries of supernatural history, "I'm descended from some big-shot goddess from way back when. Think ancient celebrity with divine powers. That makes me a 'descendant ability user.' And I'm a member of the Gatekeepers. Rank D"

"D? Like… the letter?"

"Hey, hey! It's not like you just jump ranks, okay? Even getting to D took work. You, on the other hand…" She squinted at me. "Do you know if your parents ever mentioned being related to, like, Zeus's second cousin twice removed or anything? If so, congrats, you're probably a descendant too."

"My mom mostly talks about my questionable life choices and the importance of flossing," I offered.

"Right," Rhea said flatly. "Okay, well, if you're not a descendant, things get… messier. You fall into the 'random ability user' category. Those guys get their powers from leftover chaos, or maybe a particularly strong gust of wind, or, you know, just because the universe felt like it. But since you whipped out a spirit weapon – albeit a rusty one – you're probably a descendant of someone important. Even if that someone was the ancient god of misplaced socks."

"Wait," I said, my brain officially throwing in the towel. "There are other kinds of ability users?"

"Duh," Rhea said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Random ability users. They get their mojo from, like, pure chaos, or the balance of order, or communing with particularly chatty trees. It's a grab bag."

She'd explained it, technically. But my brain felt less like a well-organized library and more like a toddler had finger-painted all over the Dewey Decimal system. This was getting weirder and weirder, and I had a sinking feeling my chances of a normal life had just plummeted faster than a greased lightning bolt fired by Zeus's disgruntled nephew.

"By the way," I blurted out, a sliver of my perpetually confused brain latching onto a semi-familiar concept, "do you guys have, like, levels? Like in a game?"

Rhea stared at me like I'd just sprouted a second head.

"What? No, Kyle! This isn't some… some video game! This is the real world. It's just… really messed up and complicated. But it's not a game."

"Right," I mumbled, my cheeks flushing slightly. Close one. Thank goodness (and whatever ancient deity Rhea was related to) I hadn't blurted out the whole "status screen" and "XP bar" thing. That would have landed me in the "needs serious therapy, possibly involving padded walls" category faster than you could say "mutated red goblin."

So... no level up for you guys?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could fully process Rhea's vehement denial of the game-like nature of our current reality.

Rhea's eyebrows shot up again. "Level up? Kyle, are you feeling alright? Maybe that thing did hit your head harder than you think."

"Uh, no, I'm fine," I said quickly, trying to backtrack. "Just... you know... all that fighting. Felt like... you got stronger, or something." Smooth recovery, Kyle. Real smooth.

"Adrenaline does wonders," Rhea said, giving me a suspicious look. "But no, no level ups. This isn't some fantasy novel. Just a seriously messed-up day."

"Yeah, no levels," I echoed weakly, tucking that particular brand of crazy back into the mental box labeled "Do Not Open Unless Absolutely Necessary (and Possibly Never)."

"Just... weirdness. Galactic levels of weirdness."

"Tell me about it," Rhea sighed, rubbing her temples. "But we'll talk about your brand of weird later. Right now, we need to figure out what that thing was and why it decided to redecorate the girls' bathroom with its face."is priority number one. And after that," she added, her tone shifting to something more serious, "we need to get you registered as a junior ability user at the LETI League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Individuals. . Heard of it?"

"Are you pulling my leg?" I asked, picturing a bunch of super-powered teenagers causing mayhem and filling out endless apology forms. "The League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Individuals? LETI? That sounds less like a secret organization and more like the name of a support group for superheroes with anger management issues."

Rhea rolled her eyes so dramatically I thought they might get stuck. "Seriously, Kyle? LETI has been around longer than that weird stain on the cafeteria floor that no one can identify. We're talking centuries of history, keeping all the mythical mayhem and magical mishaps under wraps so the regular humans don't collectively lose their minds and start worshipping garden gnomes."

Just as the ridiculousness of the "League of Extraordinarily Troublesome Individuals" was starting to sink in, the classroom door creaked open, and a figure stood silhouetted against the still-bustling hallway. They were tall and cloaked, looking like they'd stepped out of a Renaissance painting that had been left out in the rain for a week. They had an air of quiet authority that cut through the lingering school-wide panic.

"Rhea?" the figure asked, their voice a low murmur that somehow carried across the room. "I understand there was an… unusual incident in the vicinity of the girls' restroom. Who else besides you witnessed the… red entity?"

Rhea straightened up, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. "Agent Thorne," she acknowledged, a hint of respect in her voice. "This is Kyle. He saw it too."

The cloaked figure turned their attention to me, their gaze intense even though I couldn't make out their features in the dim light. "You also witnessed this… red monster?"

My stomach did a nervous flip. Great. Just when I was starting to wrap my head around secret organizations and inner glow-sticks of doom, the supernatural FBI showed up. This day was officially the opposite of chill.

Agent Thorne stepped fully into the classroom, and I could finally get a better look. They were younger than I initially thought, maybe in their early twenties, with sharp, intelligent eyes that seemed to see right through my carefully constructed "clueless bystander" facade. The cloak was actually a surprisingly stylish, dark grey trench coat, and they carried themselves with a quiet confidence that belied their age.

"Tell me what you saw," Thorne instructed, their voice calm but firm, turning their attention back to me. "Everything. Don't leave out any details, no matter how strange they might seem."

My mind raced. How much should I tell them? Should I mention the disappearing act? The weird smell? The fact that it looked like a steroid-pumped cartoon villain? And what about my… unique perspective on the situation?

Rhea shot me a look that clearly said, "Don't be an idiot."

Taking a deep breath, I started to recount the events in the girls' bathroom, trying to stick to the facts as I perceived them. The red color, the size, the general unpleasantness of its demeanor. I even mentioned the weird, invisible force that had erupted from the bathroom before it appeared.

As I started recounting the terrifying events, a new notification flashed in the corner of my vision, this one decidedly less welcome than the level-up spam:

[System Warning: Mind Art Specialist Alert!]

[Caution: Individual possesses abilities to detect deception.]

[Recommendation: Exercise extreme caution when providing information.]

[Secondary Recommendation: Do not attempt to disclose personal System information. System presence is undetectable.]

My stomach dropped. A mind art specialist? Great. Just great. So, your average supernatural Fed wasn't enough; they had to bring in the psychic lie detector. Okay, System, I thought grimly, your secrets are safe. Everyone else gets the carefully sanitized version.

Then, out of nowhere, I got a new skill.

(Passive Skill Unlocked: Poker Face (Lv. 1)

You now look slightly less like someone who just fought a goblin with a toilet plunger. Slightly.)

Rhea, thankfully, seemed oblivious to my internal crisis, corroborating my account with her own observations. Agent Thorne listened intently, their sharp eyes occasionally flicking between us.

When we finished our initial recounting, Thorne was silent for a moment, their gaze piercing. "You both seem… remarkably coherent for witnesses of such an event. Especially you, Mr. Kyle, considering Miss Rhea here has some experience with supernatural entities as a junior member."

I forced a nervous chuckle.

"Well, I try to keep a level head in a crisis. Mostly. Unless the crisis involves sudden appearances of large, red, angry things in school bathrooms."

"You need to file a full report, Miss Rhea, of course," Thorne continued, pulling out their metallic tablet. "And I'll need to ask you both some more detailed questions. But for now…" They paused, their gaze lingering on me for a fraction longer than felt comfortable. "Thank you for your cooperation. And Rhea," Thorne added, turning to my friend, "initiate this newbie to LETI when you have a moment."

With a final, piercing look in my direction, Agent Thorne turned and swiftly exited the classroom, their trench coat swirling behind them.

A few moments later, the school intercom crackled to life. Principal Thompson's voice, usually booming with authority, sounded slightly strained.

"Attention all students and staff. Due to the… unfortunate incident in the girls' restroom, and for the safety and well-being of everyone, school is officially closed for the remainder of the day. Please make your way home safely. Further updates will be provided later."

A collective sigh of relief (and a few cheers) went up from the remaining students. Rhea turned to me, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

"Well, newbie," she said, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, "looks like the universe is giving us a raincheck on algebra. What do you say? Ready for a field trip to LETI headquarters? Time to get you officially inducted into the wonderfully weird world you've apparently stumbled into."