The Clothes That Nobody Wanted

Chapter 2 : The Clothes That Nobody Wanted

The junk dealer's shop had no sign. It squatted between a clockwork repair stall and a tannery at the far end of Ashenmere's market district, its storefront hidden behind towers of crates, rusted weapon racks, and what appeared to be an entire suit of plate armor being used as a flower pot.

"Gordo!" Mei banged her ladle against the doorframe. The sound rang like a bell through the cluttered interior. "I know you're in there. You owe me for six months of ale and three plates you broke on Saint's Night."

A shuffling noise emerged from the depths, followed by a round man with mossy green skin and tusks that curved up past his nostrils. He wore a monocle on a chain and an apron that read *QUALITY GOODS* in stitching so crooked the letters looked drunk.

"Mei, my favorite creditor." Gordo spread his hands wide, knocking a helmet off a shelf. "I was just about to come settle my tab. This very afternoon. You have my word as a—"

"Save it." Mei jerked her thumb at Tanaka. "My friend here needs gear. All three slots. Whatever you've got that isn't literally falling apart."

Gordo's eyes—small, shrewd, deeply amused—traveled from Tanaka's bare feet up to his gloveless hands. Wait. No. His gloves were there, red leather catching the dusty light filtering through a cracked window. The dealer's gaze lingered on them.

"Boxer, eh?" Gordo sucked his teeth. "Don't see many of those. Most folks born with close-range weapons at least get a sword or a mace. Boxing gloves..." He made a sound, half sympathy, half chuckle. "Well, let's see what we can do. Browse the stacks, lad. Anything with a green tag is in your price range."

"What's my price range?" Tanaka asked.

"Free," Mei said flatly, staring at Gordo. "Against his tab."

Gordo opened his mouth, closed it, then waved them deeper into the shop with the resignation of a man who knew when he was beaten.

The interior was a labyrinth. Gear hung from ceiling hooks, spilled out of barrels, and lay in heaps on sagging wooden tables. Tanaka moved through it all with careful attention, his hands hovering over pieces, feeling for that faint warmth he'd come to associate with active skills.

A leather cap with iron studs—skill: *Headbutt*. Straightforward, but the range was wrong. He needed something that complemented mobility, not another close-range commitment.

A chainmail vest—skill: *Iron Skin*. Defensive, temporary damage reduction. Useful for someone who planned to stand and trade blows. Tanaka didn't fight that way. He never had.

A pendant made of a wolf's tooth—skill: *Howl*. Area intimidation that lowered opponent accuracy for three seconds. Interesting, but not what he was looking for.

Other customers drifted through the shop. A tall woman with a rapier at her hip examined a silk sash. Two young men—tournament hopefuls by the look of their polished gear—pawed through a crate of helmets. One of them glanced at Tanaka and nudged his companion. Tanaka heard the whisper: boxer gloves, poor bastard.

He ignored them and kept moving deeper.

The back of the shop was where hope went to die. Gear lay in tangled piles, thick with dust, some of it cracked or stained beyond recognition. Green tags hung from nearly everything. Gordo clearly kept this section for write-offs, things too worthless to display but too intact to throw away.

Tanaka's fingers brushed fabric.

He stopped. Pulled the piece free from beneath a dented breastplate and a moth-eaten cape. It was a pair of shorts and a sleeveless top—boxing clothes, white with red trim, lightweight, made of some material between cotton and silk. Faint runes traced the collar, barely visible under grime. He held them up and felt it immediately: that pulse, that warmth, the skill embedded in the fibers announcing itself to him like an old friend.

Uppercut. Cooldown: 3 seconds.

A fast, devastating vertical strike. No flash, no elemental effect, no crowd-pleasing explosion. Just a fist driven upward with speed that bordered on absurd.

His hands tightened on the fabric, and something cracked open in his chest—not grief, not exactly, but recognition so sharp it hurt. This was his loadout. Or the beginning of it. The same boxing clothes he'd equipped on every build, in every match, through every loss and every improbable win. The skill that had carried him through the Kanto Open semifinals when everyone expected him to fold.

He didn't hesitate. He tucked the clothes under his arm and walked back toward the front of the shop.

Gordo saw what he was carrying and blinked. Then he laughed—a deep, genuine belly laugh that shook his tusks. "Oh, lad. *Those?* I've had those sitting back there for four years. Nobody's even picked them up. *Uppercut*? On boxing clothes? It's the most basic skill in the known world. Any common gauntlet can do what that does, and a gauntlet at least gives you armor value."

The two young men by the helmet crate turned. One of them covered his mouth. The other didn't bother—he laughed openly, shaking his head.

"He's serious?" the first one said to no one in particular.

"A boxer with *Uppercut*." The second one wiped his eye. "What's his weapon skill, Punch Slightly Harder?"

They both dissolved into laughter. Even the woman with the rapier glanced over, a thin smile of pity crossing her face before she returned to her sash.

Tanaka set the boxing clothes on the counter.

Gordo leaned forward, still grinning. "Son, I'm doing you a favor saying this. That gear has no defensive stats, no elemental resistance, and a skill any Level 2 fighter would discard. For the same price—which is nothing—I can give you that chainmail vest. With *Iron Skin* skill would at least keep you alive for a few extra seconds."

"I want these," Tanaka said.

The laughter from the two men spiked again. One slapped the crate he was leaning on.

Tanaka turned the clothes over in his hands, running his thumb along the runes. Three-second cooldown. In the game, he'd learned to weave "Uppercut* between *Power Strike* cycles—jab, position, *Uppercut* to interrupt, reposition, and when the ten-second window opened, *Power Strike* to end the exchange. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't meta. It was a rhythm he'd practiced until it lived in his muscle memory, and now that muscle memory lived in actual muscles.

This is where I start, he thought. Same character. Same build. One piece at a time.

He looked up at Gordo. "We have a deal?"

"Against my tab?" Gordo glanced at Mei, who nodded once with the finality of a guillotine. "Fine. Take them. I'd have paid someone to haul them away eventually."

Fresh laughter. Tanaka pulled the top over his head and felt the runes flare once—warm, accepting, alive. Then it settled against his skin. The skill slotted into place in his mind like a key into a lock. Two skills now. *Power Strike* and *Uppercut*. Two down, two to go.

He turned toward the door and found Mei watching him. She hadn't laughed. She hadn't said a word through any of it. Her arms were crossed, her ladle tucked under one elbow, and her head was tilted at that angle he was beginning to recognize as her way of taking someone's measure.

Then the corner of her mouth curved upward—not pity, not mockery, but something sharper. Something that looked, if he wasn't imagining it, like the beginning of belief.

"You know something the rest of us don't," she said quietly as he passed her.

Tanaka stepped out into the street. The sun was warm. The gloves pulsed. The new clothes hummed.

"Maybe," he said. "Ask me again in three weeks. I've got training to do."

Mei then looked at Tanaka then smirked. "Sure, but you stay in my inn because you have a debt to pay to me, right?"

Tanaka then froze. "Right," Tanaka said. "Debt first. Then the Duke." Then he smiled awkwardly.

***

=== WILD LOADOUT ===

TANAKA - THE BOXER [ASHENMERE]

Appearance: Short black hair, dark eyes, lean build. Now wearing dusty white/red boxing clothes.

Gear Visual: Red boxing gloves + Sleeveless top + Boxing shorts. Looks broke but dangerous.

Weapon: Boxing Gloves - Common Tier [Soulbound/Birth Weapon]

└ _Power Strike_ | 10s CD | One-punch finisher | Ignores 30% armor

Note: Timing-based. Miss = 10s punish window. Eyes flash red on activation.

Armor: Boxing Clothes - Common Tier

└ _Uppercut_ | 3s CD | Fast vertical strike | Interrupt + Launch

Note: No flash, no armor value. 0.2s faster than gauntlet version.

Helmet: [Empty] - No gear

Trinket: [Empty] - No gear

Status: 2/4 Skills. Publicly mocked. Just learned gear can be upgraded.

Debt: 39 cabbage heads + 4 grain sacks to Mei.

Condition: Runes accepted him. Skill slotted clean. Muscle memory online.

Goal: Debt first. Then the Duke. Three weeks of training.

GORDO - JUNK DEALER [ASHENMERE]

Appearance: Mossy green skin, tusks, monocle, apron reading *QUALITY GOODS*

Weapon:??? | Armor:??? | Helmet:??? | Trinket:???

Status: Just got robbed by Mei via tab. Thinks Tanaka is suicidal.

Appraisal: "Uppercut on clothes? Most basic skill. Any Level 2 would discard it."