* Little Learned

*

For the next week, I practiced magic and fighting. Wandering the campus, I had a singular purpose of hunting vermin like rats, corgsquitoes, and spiders—definitely nothing too cute or fuzzy. It was a process that was as much therapy from my recent trauma dreams as it was levelling up my adventurer rank. Occasionally, breaking up the monotony of being a glorified exterminator, I came across and defeated the mildly tougher foes, like animated swords, armour, and escaped classroom experiments—all in all, your run-of-the-mill classic magical academy collection of low-level baddies.

I gained delicious combat experience by swinging my sword and firing off spells, which, unfortunately, was a lot like other things. Luckily, Phyllis gave me a cheat sheet on how to use it more efficiently, a Gooning to Magic 101, so to speak. It was a series of notes and unnecessarily erotic images that acted as a dummy's guide to her unique skill that allowed casting without incantations, which apparently the vast majority of people had to do in this world. 

This was news to me, since I never inserted that stipulation in the story. I always envisioned it as a 'think magic thing', get 'magic result', and be pleased with it. But, apparently, magical theory was a lot more complicated than that. Though, to be fair, I probably could have put a bit more thought into my magic system in general. And now that I was trapped here, I foresaw that notable chunk of missing lore as a definite setback to my survivability. But, at the very least, having Phyllis as a patron with a special no-cast ability that she could teach gave me a leg up on others.

Though, unfortunately for me, the amount of intense concentration required for most spells was…challenging. And much like in my old life, my stamina and constitution were both a little lower than I would have liked. This meant that being able to outlast the pleasure of casting the bigger spells was nearly impossible, which in turn made magic use more exhausting and messy than the martial portion of my training. But thankfully, the swinging the sword stuff quickly became second nature.

Though being okay with a blade still wasn’t enough for me. I had to be the best. And one day, I knew I’d run into the same issue I always did: getting a little too confident with my capabilities.

—ooo—

After a week of waiting, I was finally able to add to my limited wardrobe. Having taken advantage of my stolen memories, Phyllis had magicked up some clothing from my traumatic high school physical education experiences. And, while I didn’t remember why it had been traumatic, and actively tried not to, the prospect of a pair of basketball shorts and a complimentary loose t-shirt had its appeal. 

The clothing even had a ‘Lich House’ logo—a small skull with a ruby eye where a school insignia would be. This official emblem of the dorm in Phyllis’ attic that Al’Magi established for the overflow of new students was perfect for me to fly under the radar. Paired with my defunct student card, I was practically invisible to the faculty and the student body. And, thankfully, since the clothing came from my mind, I received a discount, costing me only the one gold piece I had.

The only downside to living in the same magical shop as Lich House was that it was also the very dorm where the story’s intrepid heroes resided. Luckily, I had developed a strategy for avoiding them, which involved, well, avoiding them. And it had been going great so far!

So, excited to try out my newest wardrobe in the field, I started my day eagerly, first dressing myself and then slinging my new quarterstaff over my shoulder. It was much more my feel than a sword, and since I was still within the grace window, Phyllis had even allowed an even exchange for the weapons.

I had also utterly ditched the leather armour and instead decided to trust in my ability to dodge attacks rather than taking them head-on. I may not have been muscular, but I’d learned in the last week that Ishara’s physique was quick. And, with that knowledge, I had decided to continue to train my body to be as much my defence as it was my offence. Vermin couldn't hit me if they couldn't catch me after all.

Tying up my fantasy sneakers, I was finally ready for the day, so I rushed from my room and out into the early morning light.

Recently, I had been trying to get out before sunrise, saving my retinas from that goddamn sun, but also because it was cool and the tranquillity of empty streets made the few hours of less sleep worth it. Though there was one more benefit to this peaceful time—

Vermin loved to roam in the twilight. So, I would make a game of this opportunity. Practicing my ability to lurk in the shadows and pounce on unsuspecting beasts.

The first few days of experience farming had been touch-and-go with a few trips back to the infirmary and more trauma dreams, but over time, I’d gotten the hang of both. It had gotten to the point that, today, I wasn’t even sticking to the shadows. I was moving as though I was some hotshot that now owned the streets in the week I had prowled them. And even as corgsquitoes assaulted me and ratdogs pounced, I struck them down with decisive swings of my staff.

By the time the sun had cleared the horizon and bathed the landscape with its scorn, I was deep into the central campus, where the Rag-Tag Field—a magical lacrosse of sorts—and the gymnasium were situated.

Phyllis’s forged student pass had been allowing me to sneak into the magical fitness centre every morning and work out my muscles without turning heads. This Planar Fitness had everything that a World Eighty-Two gym did, in addition to several magical contraptions that I didn't dare explore using in fear of killing myself in the process.

The gym was typically empty in these post-dawn hours, making it the perfect time for me to pop in before anyone of importance appeared. Even though, surprisingly, very few people at the magical university ever worked out. The only students regularly present were the Dwarven bodybuilders, who were always very friendly and offered to spot me when I needed help to lift the iron bar.

“Are you sure you don’t want more weight on it?” They would regularly ask in their surprisingly Scandinavian accents and then shrug at my sarcastic responses.

Today was like any other. Starting with some stretches since it was important for thirty-year-olds to limber up, and equally important to build that habit young, I then moved into weight training. I was quick on my feet, but I needed a lot more muscle if I was ever going to be able to hit something hard enough to do real damage. At current, my punches were nothing more than playful slaps, to the point that I wondered if I could be doing more damage swinging a pillow  

But that was when the problems started. I had just finished putting five pounds on either side of the iron bar and assumed the position to allow the weighted rod to decapitate me if I failed to finish the next set of reps when it happened. Being stuck in my head, wondering if I would have been able to build muscle faster if I had designed my world to be LitRPG instead of classic fantasy, I hadn’t noticed the new figure at the gym approaching me.

“Hey there, you look like you need some help.” A familiar voice asked.

“Yeah-no, Hans Goober,” I responded, guard down. Things had been going so well, so why would today be any different? "I've told you I can manage my own gunshow, cowboy. Yippe-kai—eeek, you?”

“Oh, hey, the crying kid.” The towering ruminantfolk girl spoke sweetly, her head tilting with a smile. “You seem to be doing much better now!"

I stared at the loosely clothed figure before me. She was wearing a pair of Lich House basketball shorts and a sports bra that struggled to contain the humongous bosom that was usually hidden behind the metal chest plate of her armour. Her body, while not overly athletic, was still toned and curvy in the right spots, which inadvertently triggered a 'not-so-magical' response in me.

Holy teeny weeny cow bikini! No. No. No. Stop it. Not for a story character. Stop it. Stop it. Stop. Don't be cringe.

"Are you a student here?" She continued, either ignoring or not noticing my lecherous stare. "You look so young! You’re probably super smart, like my little brother, Melvin. He’s like a prodigy. You're much cuter thou—”

She immediately became flushed, rubbing her head and squeezing her eyes closed. A pink tongue stuck out awkwardly for a moment.

“I’m sorry, I’m rambling. My name is Maren. Maren Highland. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

At this point, my heart felt like it was ready to burst from my chest. Not because this character was a lot cuter than I had imagined her, but because she wanted to be on a first-name basis...with me. A self-insert. 

What do I do? I began to panic. It's rude not to introduce myself, but I can't interfere. How could I have forgotten she joined the bodybuilders club at the school fair last week and would eventually start doing morning workouts? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“H-hi, I’m Tah—Ishara.”

“Tahishara?” She repeated with a curious look on her face. “Pleasure to meet you, Tahishara. Now, would you like help? That seems terribly heavy for you.”

“I-I’m good.” I was frozen, like a ratdog in the headlights.

Every alarm bell possible was ringing in my head, alerting me to a threat and telling me to run, escape, and increase distance from the target person. With a smack of my dry mouth, I continued.

“I was…leaving.”

“But you just walked in a few minutes ago, no?”

“I forgot—The. Fridge. Door…” I looked up at her confused face. Strands of blonde hair fell forward over her rosy cheeks as her big doe eyes glanced down at me with deep interest. “Open.”

“The. What?”

“Gotta go. Nice meeting you!”

And I was gone before any more conversation could be had.