The next day, Jimmy woke up bright and early.
He jumped out of bed and started getting dressed as he planned out the day in his head.
There was a lot to do. Level up quickly, set up the base, and train his chubby sidekick while he was at it.
Ten minutes later, he came downstairs in a thin black jacket, his hair mostly fixed, and his expression bright enough to look suspicious.
His mother was setting bowls on the table.
She looked up.
"You're up."
"I am," Jimmy said.
"Did you not sleep?"
"I did."
Her expression was slightly puzzled.
"You do know it's Saturday, right?"
"Yeah."
His mother stared at him for another second, then carried on with her work.
From further down the hall, a voice called out, "Mom, is breakfast ready yet?"
Jimmy looked over.
His younger sister Jimina stood at the edge of the kitchen in her pajamas, hair still frazzled.
"Just a minute," his mother replied.
Jimina yawned and sat down.
Jimmy checked his phone. 7:34 AM.
He opened Signal and texted out a message to the goons.
Meet by the city fountain at 8:30.
The door opened and his dad walked in, sorting through a stack of mail before setting it at the end of the table.
He picked out the newspaper and sat down with a cup of tea as he reached for his glasses.
Jimmy sat down as well.
His father glanced up as he put his glasses on.
"Well, you're up early."
"I am."
He eyed Jimmy's outfit as the corner of his mouth curled.
"Got a date planned?"
Jimmy smirked back. "Maybe I do."
The man chuckled.
His mother turned from the stove with a plate of eggs and bacon.
She set it down in front of Jimina, who put her phone down and grabbed her fork.
Jimmy's mother placed another plate in front of him.
"What are you really up to so early on a Saturday?"
"Nothing much, I was just gonna go over to Bobby's place to study."
"Study?" his mother asked, surprised.
Jimina eyed him with a suspicious glance.
Jimmy grabbed his fork.
"Yeah."
"Well that's new," his mother replied, before turning back to wash her hands.
His father sipped his tea, undisturbed, reading the paper.
"A good change."
Jimina put her fork down after swallowing a bite of breakfast. She shot Jimmy a questioning glance.
Jimmy glanced back, confused.
"What?"
Jimina paused before leaning over to whisper.
"You're trying to cram. Together with that fatso. So you can try not to lose so embarrassingly on Monday."
Jimmy was surprised. He had expected rumors to spread, but not that quickly. He let out a proud smirk.
"So the news reached the first-years already."
His sister made a pained expression.
"Don't make that face like you've accomplished something."
"Why not?"
"I'm dying of embarrassment over here. I don't know how you aren't. It's gonna be twice–no, ten times worse Monday once you get your ass handed to you in front of the school."
Jimmy blinked twice. Then grinned.
"We'll see about that."
"Ugh."
Jimina muttered something under her breath before giving up and focusing her attention back to her meal.
His mother called out from the corner.
"What are you whispering about?"
"Nothing," Jimmy replied, wiping his mouth.
"I'm headed out."
He scraped his plate and escaped before the conversation could develop into an investigation.
The morning air outside was cool, clear, and full of possibilities.
Also danger.
But danger was only possibility with teeth.
Jimmy crossed the neighborhood at a brisk pace, cutting through two alleys, passing the corner bun stall, and ignoring the barrier patrol wagon rumbling along the main road. A man in a gray vest was repainting a warning sign near a drainage path.
DO NOT FEED URBAN SCAVENGER BEASTS
Under that, someone had written in chalk:
THEY REMEMBER FACES
Jimmy respected the warning.
By the time he reached Bobby's house, he was feeling excellent.
Then he knocked.
Nothing happened.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
Jimmy considered the door for a moment, then cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Fatty! If you're dead, I'm selling your snacks!"
Something crashed inside.
The upstairs window flew open.
Bobby's round face appeared, hair smashed on one side, eyes swollen with sleep and betrayal.
"Bro!"
"Good morning."
"It's Saturday!"
"Correct."
"Why are you here?"
"Training."
Bobby vanished from the window.
For three seconds, Jimmy heard frantic movement, a muffled complaint, and what sounded like someone tripping over furniture.
Then Bobby reappeared.
"I had a dream," he shouted down, "that you signed me up to fight Jacob Wilfrey and Linda Farris."
"Great news for you! That was real."
Bobby closed his eyes.
"You're insane."
"Come on. Don't you want to train so you don't lose so embarrassingly to rich kid number one and two?"
Bobby stared at him.
"Who's the one that signed me up for that?"
"A dear friend."
"A criminal."
"Wear shoes."
"I need better friends!"
"You need levels."
Bobby made a noise of such deep suffering that a dog began barking two houses down.
Ten minutes later, he came out wearing training pants, a jacket that did not quite hide the fact that he had dressed in a panic, and an expression that accused Jimmy of every bad thing that had ever happened to him.
He also carried a half-eaten bun.
Jimmy looked at it.
"Seriously?"
"You attacked me before breakfast."
"I knocked."
"An attack on my mental well-being."
Jimmy started walking.
Bobby fell into step beside him, chewing in angry silence.
They headed east.
The streets grew busier as they approached the market district. Vendors were raising shutters. Delivery carts clattered over stone. A pair of municipal hunters in padded uniforms argued with a fishmonger over whether something with too many legs counted as seafood.
Bobby finished his bun and glanced at Jimmy.
"Where are we going?"
"Meeting point."
"With who?"
Jimmy did not answer.
Bobby's face slowly changed.
"No."
They turned the corner.
Mako, Dren, Pell, and Tilo were waiting near the fountain, beside a shuttered tea shop in a line so straight it looked painful.
The moment they saw Jimmy, all four slapped fists to their chests.
"Boss!"
Several passing aunties turned to look.
Bobby covered his face.
"Why do they salute now?"
"Respect."
"This is not respect. This is court-admissible evidence."
Mako stepped forward with a proud, anxious brightness in his eyes. His red mohawk had been combed upward with extra dedication, which made it look like a warning flag.
"Boss, base is ready for inspection."
Dren shifted the canvas sack on his shoulder. The tall goon looked as practical as ever, which in his case meant he had already judged three nearby objects by resale value.
Pell held a rolled piece of cloth against his chest. He looked eager enough to explode.
Tilo stood half a step behind the others with a broom.
Jimmy looked at the broom.
Tilo flinched a little.
"I thought it might be useful, boss."
"Good," Jimmy said. "Lead the way."
Tilo almost looked proud before remembering to be terrified.
The four guided them through the east market's outer lanes, past stalls selling cheap charms, secondhand boots, low-grade beast bone needles, and skewers of something Jimmy chose not to identify. The smell of oil, smoke, iron, and monster parts thickened as they moved deeper.
Mako pointed out three shops as they passed.
"That one pays fair for teeth and claw pieces, boss. That one lies unless you count in front of him. That one pretends to be honest but swaps weights under the counter."
"Good," Jimmy said.
Bobby leaned closer.
"How does he know that?"
"I asked him to."
"That explains nothing."
Dren glanced back. "East market's simple. Everyone cheats, but only idiots cheat the same way twice."
Jimmy nodded.
"Useful."
Dren looked pleased.
Bobby looked like he had learned something terrible about commerce.
They left the main road and entered a narrow service lane behind the market sheds. The path bent around a row of old storage walls and ended at a squat building half-hidden behind rusted fencing.
It had once been a maintenance office.
Probably.
The sign above the door had lost three letters and most of its dignity. One window was boarded from the inside. The other was cracked in a spiderweb pattern. A bent pipe stuck out from the wall near the roof, and the whole place had the tired expression of a building that had witnessed crimes and preferred not to discuss them.
Mako spread his arms.
"Our base, boss."
Bobby stared.
"This place looks like a tetanus trap."
"Tetanus doesn't pay rent," Dren said.
"Does this place pay rent?"
Dren paused.
"No."
Bobby pointed at him. "That's not better."
Jimmy stepped inside.
The interior was a disaster with ambitions.
Old shelves lined one wall. Half had collapsed. A dented metal desk sat near the back, surrounded by broken chair legs, stained cloth, rope, a cracked lantern, three empty bottles, and enough dust to suggest the previous occupants had either fled quickly or dissolved into it.
There were marks on the floor where crates had once been dragged. Knife scratches scarred the edge of the desk. A faded map of the east market hung crookedly on the wall, with several alleys circled in red ink.
Criminal purposes, then.
Good.
Criminals were often lazy, but they did understand location.
This office was close to buyers, close to side streets, far enough from patrol eyes, and ugly enough that respectable people would avoid it. That made it useful.
Pell rushed forward and unfurled the cloth he had been holding.
It was a hand-painted banner.
The letters were large, dramatic, and completely unacceptable.
EAST MARKET IRON FANGS
Jimmy stared at it.
Pell beamed.
"For the organization, boss!"
Jimmy paused for a moment. He almost felt bad for the guy, so he decided to let it slide.
Bobby shook his head.
Mako kicked aside a broken stool and gestured at the room.
"We brought the gear. Dren checked it twice."
Dren dumped the canvas sack onto the desk. A wooden practice blade, training wraps, the used arm guard from yesterday, two cheap knives, a coil of rope, three cloth bags, and a half-empty tin of salve rolled out.
Jimmy sorted through the pile.
Terrible quality.
But terrible quality was still quality if used correctly.
Pell hovered near the side of the desk, fidgeting.
"Boss, there is a small matter."
"Money," Jimmy said.
Pell froze.
"Yes, boss."
Jimmy picked up one of the knives and checked the edge.
Dull.
That was fine.
Sharpness mattered less than timing until it mattered very much.
Pell swallowed. "We used up all our funds getting the place usable and collecting gear. If we want to maintain the base, buy proper supplies, or get better equipment..."
"We need funds," Jimmy finished.
"Yes, boss."
The four goons looked nervous.
Bobby looked hopeful, as if this might be the moment adult reality defeated Jimmy's terrible plan.
Jimmy smiled.
"Don't worry."
Bobby's hope died.
"Why is that always the worst thing you say?"
Jimmy picked up the wooden practice blade and tossed it to Bobby.
Bobby caught it against his chest with a startled grunt.
"Pell. Tilo."
Both straightened.
"Stay here. Clean this place properly. I want usable shelves, clear floor space, and anything suspicious sorted into three piles: useful, sellable, and likely to get us arrested."
Tilo nodded quickly.
Pell raised a hand.
"Boss, what if something is all three?"
"Then ask Dren later."
Dren nodded, accepting this burden with dignity.
Jimmy looked at Mako and Dren.
"You two come with us."
Mako's face lit up.
"Are we collecting tribute, boss?"
"No."
"Extorting our rivals?"
"No."
"Intimidating buyers?"
"Later."
Mako deflated slightly, then brightened again.
"Later it is, boss!"
Bobby gripped the wooden practice blade.
"Where are we actually going?"
Jimmy walked to the door.
"To make money."
"That's not an answer."
"And levels."
Bobby's expression worsened.
"That's more of an answer, but why do I like the sound of it less..."
They left Pell and Tilo behind with the dust, the banner, and the questionable evidence. Mako and Dren followed Jimmy through the service lane, alert in their own ways. Mako kept looking around like enemies might leap from barrels. Dren watched exits, patrol routes, and pockets.
Bobby walked beside Jimmy.
"Bro."
"Yes?"
"I feel like I should ask this before we get wherever we're going."
"Smart."
"Are we going to Greenhide Thicket again?"
"Yes."
Bobby stopped.
Jimmy kept walking.
Bobby hurried after him.
"Why would we go back to the place where we were attacked by delinquent hunters?"
Mako cleared his throat.
"Former delinquent hunters," he said.
Bobby pointed at him. "You do not get to rebrand that fast."
Jimmy tapped the side of his own head.
"Because Greenhide Thicket has something we need."
"Therapy?"
"Redrats."
Bobby did not speak for several seconds.
Then he said, very quietly, "I preferred therapy."
Jimmy smiled.
He had not told them the real reason.
Not the full one.
That reason hovered at the edge of his vision, visible whenever he focused, bright and familiar enough to make his pulse quicken.
A translucent blue panel waited there like a promise.
Beginner Restoration Quest Available
Objective: Defeat 100 Redrats
Progress: 0/100
Reward: Skill Restoration - Basic Slash
Additional Reward: Minor Experience Bonus
Jimmy had laughed when he first saw it that morning.
Not because the quest was grand.
Because it was first.
In Monster Hunters 5, every serious player knew this quest. Ordinary beginners did it slowly, badly, and with many embarrassing deaths. They chased redrats through brush, got surrounded, wasted stamina, lost supplies, and complained on the forums about hitboxes.
Top players cleared it in under an hour.
The Heaven-Slaying Sword King had once cleared it in eight minutes and eleven seconds on a fresh challenge account while eating instant noodles.
That was in-game, of course.
He was slower now.
His body was pathetic.
His gear was garbage.
His party consisted of one frightened best friend and two street thugs who were trying very hard to be employees.
Still.
This world had made one mistake.
It had given Jimmy the first rung of the ladder.
And he knew every broken step above it.
They reached Greenhide Thicket before midmorning.
The same wooden sign stood at the entrance.
GREENHIDE THICKET - BEGINNER HUNTING ZONE
RECOMMENDED FOR SUPERVISED STUDENT EXERCISES
Bobby looked at the second line.
"Do you see that word?"
"Which one?"
"Supervised."
Jimmy stepped through the gate.
"I am supervising."
"You're the reason supervision exists!"
Mako and Dren followed immediately.
Bobby looked at the sky as if asking it to intervene, then entered after them.
The thicket was brighter today. Sunlight dripped through the canopy in shifting pieces. The morning breeze stirred the grass, carrying the smell of damp earth, crushed leaves, and distant beast musk.
Jimmy breathed it in.
Then his whole expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Not in a way anyone else would have noticed if they were not watching him closely.
But Bobby was watching.
So were Mako and Dren.
Jimmy's shoulders relaxed. His gaze sharpened. His steps became lighter, quieter, almost lazy.
He stopped looking like a student sneaking into a training zone.
He looked like he belonged there.
Dren noticed first.
"Boss?"
Jimmy raised one hand.
Everyone stopped.
He tilted his head, listening.
Three seconds passed.
Then five.
Bobby opened his mouth.
Jimmy pointed without looking.
"Nest line is that way. Two packs active, one sleeping. Wind is coming from the east, so don't step on the wet moss unless you want them smelling you early."
Mako blinked.
"Boss, you can hear that?"
"No."
"Then how..."
Jimmy crouched and touched the dirt near a root.
There were three tiny claw marks pressed into the soil, almost hidden under fallen leaves.
"Redrats drag their left hind claw when they leave the den after feeding. This one is fresh. The angle tells me it went uphill. The broken grass says two more followed. The smell tells me the den is close."
Bobby slowly looked at the dirt.
Then at Jimmy.
"Bro, that is mud."
"To you."
"I feel insulted by nature."
Jimmy stood.
"Mako, Dren. Stay near the rear path. Watch for people, patrols, and anything bigger than a dog. If somebody tries to get past, give them a hard time."
Mako struck his chest.
"Yes, boss!"
Dren frowned. "Anything bigger than a dog?"
"Anything bigger than a dog."
"What if it is a dog?"
"Then still be suspicious."
Jimmy pointed at Bobby.
"You come with me."
Bobby hugged the wooden practice blade to his chest.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
They moved deeper into the thicket.
Jimmy did not take the main trail. He cut between two leaning trees, stepped over a root that looked like solid footing but was rotten underneath, and passed through a narrow section of brush where the leaves barely stirred around him.
Bobby crashed through behind him with the elegance of a falling shelf.
"Quiet," Jimmy said.
"I am quiet."
A bird exploded out of a nearby bush.
Bobby winced.
Jimmy sighed.
"Quieter than that."
They reached a shallow dip in the ground where reddish weeds grew thick around a cluster of holes. The smell hit first: sour musk, old blood, wet fur.
Bobby gagged.
"That is awful."
"Redrat den."
"I hate knowing that."
Jimmy took the dull knife from his belt.
Bobby stared at it.
"You're using that?"
"For now."
"It looks like it'll lose a fight with a spoon."
"Then the redrats will be overconfident."
Something rustled in the weeds.
Bobby froze.
The first redrat slipped out of the grass.
It was the size of a small dog, with rust-red fur matted against its narrow body, yellow teeth jutting over its lower jaw, and black claws that clicked softly against stone. Its eyes were too bright. Its nose twitched as it tasted the air.
Then another appeared.
Then a third.
Bobby swallowed hard.
"Those are bigger than rats."
"Marketing issue," Jimmy said.
The lead redrat lowered its head.
Bobby raised the practice blade.
Jimmy stepped forward.
The redrat lunged.
To Bobby, it looked fast.
To Jimmy, it looked like a tutorial monster fulfilling its purpose in life.
Its shoulders dropped before its bite. Its tail twitched left before the pounce. Its packmates spread half a step too wide because the den mouth behind them limited their retreat angle.
Jimmy moved into the attack.
Not away.
Into.
His left foot landed beside the redrat's front paw. His dull knife dipped under the bite line and slid between fur and rib at the exact instant the monster's weight committed forward.
The redrat's own momentum finished the cut.
It hit the ground, kicked twice, and went still.
A blue flicker appeared at the edge of Jimmy's vision.
Progress: 1/100
Bobby's mouth opened.
No sound came out.
The second redrat sprang.
Jimmy did not even look surprised.
He pivoted around the dead one, placing its body between himself and the third. The second redrat's claws skidded through loose soil. Jimmy tapped the side of its jaw with the knife handle, not hard enough to injure, just enough to shift its head.
Its bite missed his sleeve by an inch.
Then his knee struck its shoulder, folding its balance inward, and the dull blade punched up under the throat.
Progress: 2/100
The third tried to flee.
Jimmy flicked a pebble with his foot.
It struck a root behind the redrat with a sharp crack.
The monster flinched away from the sound, exactly as redrats always did when startled from the rear left. Jimmy was already there.
One step.
One cut.
Progress: 3/100
Silence returned to the hollow.
Bobby stared at the three bodies.
Then he stared at Jimmy.
"Bro."
"What?"
"What was that?"
"Redrats."
"No. You. That."
Jimmy wiped the knife on the grass.
"Basic movement."
Bobby made a helpless gesture at the corpses.
"Basic? By whose standards?"
Jimmy smiled.
"Mine."
Bobby had no response to that.
Which was fair.
How was Jimmy supposed to explain it?
In his old world, Monster Hunters 5 had been a game. A huge game. A deep game. A game with hidden systems under visible systems, exceptions under rules, and loopholes buried in places developers probably thought no one would notice.
Most players learned monsters.
Great players mastered monsters.
Jimmy had gone further.
He had dissected them.
Animations, terrain reactions, scent logic, pack timing, stamina math, aggro chains, reward windows, spawn tables, exploit routes. He had spent years pulling apart the entire world until even endgame calamity bosses felt less like enemies and more like complicated locks.
And he had opened all of them.
Redrats were not even locks.
They were the training key handed out with the box.
Jimmy crouched by the first corpse and cut carefully behind the jaw.
Bobby looked away.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking the scent gland."
"Do I want to know why?"
"No."
Jimmy removed a small dark gland and wrapped it in a leaf.
Redrats were territorial.
Most beginners knew that.
Better beginners knew they marked dens by scent.
High-level players knew that fresh scent glands could pull nearby packs if crushed in the right place.
The top exploit runners knew the rest: if you placed the gland just outside the overlapping edge of two den territories, you could trigger investigative aggression without waking the full nest chain. It created clean waves. Fast kills. Controlled danger. No wasted searching.
In the game, players called it rat ringing.
Jimmy had invented the version that used three dens at once.
He wasn't going to do that today.
Bobby would die emotionally before any monster touched him.
Two dens would be enough.
Just two.
Jimmy stood and checked the panel again.
Then he focused on himself.
A second panel opened, smaller and sharper.
Player: James Lin
Level: 1
No surprise.
He shifted his gaze to Bobby.
The panel shimmered.
Party Member Recognized
Bobby Chen
Level: 1
Jimmy nodded.
So the party recognition worked.
Bobby frowned.
"Why are you looking at me like I'm a bad purchase?"
"Because your stats are tragic."
"My what?"
"Your posture."
"That is not what you said."
Jimmy tossed him the wrapped scent gland.
Bobby fumbled and almost dropped it.
"Don't squeeze that."
Bobby held it away from his body.
"Why would you give it to me after saying that?"
"Motivation."
"To do what?"
"Pay attention."
Jimmy led him toward a narrow patch between two low ridges. The ground there sloped gently into a shallow bowl, with roots crossing the dirt like natural trip lines. Two redrat dens sat on opposite sides of the slope, close enough for scent overlap, far enough that a careless hunter would never notice the connection.
Perfect.
Jimmy took the gland back, placed it under a flat stone, and pressed with his heel.
A sour stink burst into the air.
Bobby gagged so hard he nearly dropped the blade.
"That is evil."
"That is efficiency."
"Efficiency smells like death?"
"Often."
The grass rustled uphill.
Then downhill.
Bobby turned in a slow circle.
"Jimmy."
"Watch."
"There are noises from both sides."
"Correct."
"That seems bad."
"It's controlled."
"That is what you said before I got robbed."
Three redrats burst from the left brush.
Two more came from the right.
Bobby's face emptied.
"Five."
"Good counting."
"Why are there five?"
"Because six would be inefficient."
Jimmy moved.
The first redrat snapped at his ankle. Jimmy stepped onto the root beside it, bounced lightly, and let the monster pass under his knee. His knife tapped its spine once.
It collapsed.
Progress: 4/100
The second tried to flank him.
Jimmy angled his shoulder and walked backward three steps, pulling it across the path of the third. They collided in a tangle of claws and teeth.
Bobby stared.
"They can do that?"
"Everyone can trip if you help."
Jimmy killed the first of the tangled pair, then kicked dust into the second's eyes and finished it as it recoiled.
Progress: 5/100
Progress: 6/100
The two from the right circled wider.
Jimmy let them.
That was the hard part for beginners. They saw a gap and thought danger. Jimmy saw spacing and thought invitation.
He slid into the space between them one heartbeat before they closed it, and both redrats lunged at where he had been.
Their skulls cracked together.
One staggered.
The other fell.
Jimmy killed both.
Progress: 7/100
Progress: 8/100
Then he looked at Bobby.
"Your turn."
Bobby's hand tightened around the wooden blade.
"No."
"Yes."
"Jimmy."
"Bobby."
"I watched them try to bite your leg off."
"And fail."
"Because you're somehow cracked!"
"Correct. That's why I'm teaching you."
Bobby looked at the slope, the bodies, the brush, the blood darkening the roots.
For once, no joke came quickly.
Jimmy's voice softened.
"Fatty."
Bobby swallowed.
"Yeah?"
"You said you didn't want to stay weak."
Bobby flinched slightly, like the words had found the exact bruise they were meant to find.
Jimmy pointed at the nearest redrat corpse.
"Strength starts with one ugly, stupid, terrifying step."
"That sounds terrible."
"It is. Take it anyway."
The next redrat came alone, drawn late by the scent.
Jimmy could have killed it in half a breath.
Instead, he stepped back.
Bobby stepped forward because there was nowhere else for his promise to go.
The redrat lowered its head.
Bobby raised the wooden blade.
"Don't swing at the head," Jimmy said.
"Then where?"
"Outside the bite line. Let it pass your left hip. Strike down behind the shoulder."
"That is too many instructions!"
"Then remember one. Don't back up."
Bobby looked at him in horror.
"That's the worst one!"
The redrat lunged.
Bobby backed up.
Naturally.
Jimmy sighed.
The redrat's claws slashed through Bobby's pant leg, missing skin by less than an inch. Bobby yelped, stumbled, and swung wildly. The wooden blade smacked the dirt.
The redrat turned.
"Again," Jimmy said.
"I almost died!"
"You almost got scratched."
"That was my favorite leg!"
"You have another."
The redrat lunged again.
This time Bobby did not fully retreat.
He retreated halfway, which was progress and also a disaster.
The redrat clipped his shin.
Bobby shouted, more angry than hurt, and swung on instinct.
The blade struck the monster's side with a hollow thud.
Not enough.
But real.
The redrat staggered.
Bobby stared at it.
Jimmy saw the moment happen.
Small.
Quiet.
Important.
Bobby realized the monster could be hit.
Not by Jimmy.
By him.
"Again," Jimmy said.
Bobby sucked in a breath.
The redrat lunged a third time.
Bobby's feet shook.
His face was pale.
His grip was awful.
But he did not back up.
He stepped sideways.
Clumsy.
Too wide.
Nearly late.
Still enough.
The redrat's teeth snapped past his hip.
Bobby screamed and brought the wooden blade down with both hands.
The strike landed behind the shoulder.
The redrat hit the ground.
It kicked.
Bobby hit it again.
And again.
And then it stopped moving.
Bobby stood over it, chest heaving, both hands locked around the blade.
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Bobby looked at Jimmy.
"I..."
His voice cracked.
He swallowed and tried again.
"I did it."
Jimmy smiled.
"You did."
A blue flicker appeared at the edge of Jimmy's vision.
Progress: 9/100
Jimmy's smile sharpened.
Party credit counted.
Bobby stared down at the monster.
Fear was still there.
So was disgust.
So was shock.
But under all of that, something new had appeared.
It was small.
It was fragile.
It looked a little like pride.
Jimmy pointed at his feet.
"Your stance was awful."
Bobby deflated.
"Can I have three seconds?"
"You had two."
"Monster."
"Teacher."
Bobby laughed despite himself, then bent over with his hands on his knees.
"I'm going to throw up."
"Do it away from the scent gland."
"Why is that what you care about?"
"Because we're farming."
And farm they did.
The next hour became a lesson in controlled misery.
Jimmy pulled redrats in waves no beginner should have known how to create. He used scent glands, wind direction, root lines, den overlap, and little noises made with stones against bark. He never moved more than necessary. He never chased. He made the monsters come to him, then punished them for obeying.
To Bobby, it looked like madness becoming order.
Every time a redrat appeared, Jimmy already knew whether it would bite, feint, flee, or circle.
He killed some himself.
He wounded others and forced Bobby to finish them.
He corrected Bobby's feet.
Corrected his grip.
Corrected his breathing.
Corrected him so often that Bobby started muttering, "Outside the bite line," under his breath like a prayer from a very unpleasant religion.
Mako and Dren watched from the rear path, first with worry, then with awe, then with the quiet terror of men realizing their new boss might actually be worse than the rumors they planned to spread about him.
At one point, Mako whispered, "Is boss actually human?"
Dren watched Jimmy make two redrats collide by stepping backward onto a half-buried stone at exactly the wrong-looking angle.
"Expensive question," he said.
"What does that mean?"
"Means don't ask things you can't afford the answer to."
Mako nodded solemnly.
By the time the sun rose higher, Bobby's arms trembled from exhaustion.
Jimmy was breathing harder too, though he hid it better.
His body was not endgame.
Not even close.
The movements were still there in his mind, clean and perfect, but his muscles lagged behind them. He had to choose smaller steps, shorter cuts, safer angles. He could feel the limits constantly, like weights tied to every old instinct.
It annoyed him.
So he optimized around it.
He took fewer actions.
Forced monsters into each other.
Used terrain instead of strength.
Let Bobby take controlled finishing windows whenever possible.
He was not powerful enough yet to ignore weakness.
Fine.
He would make weakness irrelevant.
The quest counter climbed.
Progress: 24/100
Then:
Progress: 78/100
Until:
Progress: 99/100
The hundredth redrat came from the upper den, larger than the others, with one torn ear and a strip of pale scar tissue down its snout. It paused at the edge of the slope, suspicious.
Good.
An ordinary hunter would have hated cautious monsters.
Jimmy preferred them.
Caution made them predictable in different ways.
He shifted his weight onto his back foot and deliberately showed a gap near his right side.
Bobby saw it.
"What are you doing?"
"Just watch."
The redrat crept lower.
Jimmy waited.
One breath.
Two.
Three.
The redrat lunged.
Jimmy's dull knife flashed.
This cut was different.
Not stronger.
Cleaner.
It entered under the redrat's jaw and ended at the base of the skull in a single smooth line.
The monster dropped without a sound.
The panel appeared.
Objective Complete
Defeat 100 Redrats: 100/100
Reward Granted
Skill Restoration - Basic Slash
Something opened inside Jimmy.
Not like Adaptive Combat Assistance.
That had been clarity.
This was memory with teeth.
His fingers tightened around the knife.
For a moment, he felt the old rhythm of a thousand fights. The system took a tiny piece of what he had been and returned it in a form his current body could hold.
Small.
Beginner-grade.
Almost insulting.
Jimmy loved it immediately.
Bobby leaned on the wooden blade, panting.
"Is it done?"
"The quest?"
"The torture."
"Both."
Bobby closed his eyes.
"Thank you."
Another redrat rustled from the brush.
Bobby opened his eyes.
"No."
Jimmy lifted the dull knife.
"Perfect timing."
"I said no."
"Watch."
The redrat sprang.
Jimmy stepped forward and activated the skill.
There was no thunder.
No glowing sword.
No heroic beam splitting the forest.
His arm simply moved with impossible finality.
The dull knife cut through the air.
For one brief instant, Bobby saw the line of it before it landed, as if the world had already agreed to be severed.
The redrat passed Jimmy's side in two pieces.
Blood struck the grass.
The body hit the ground behind him.
Bobby stared.
Mako made a small noise near the rear path.
Dren said nothing, which somehow meant more.
Jimmy lowered the knife and looked at the edge.
Still dull.
Just as expected.
The skill was not sharpening the weapon directly. It was reinforcing the path of the strike and borrowing momentum from the completed motion.
Beginner skill.
Useful beginner skill.
Bobby slowly raised one hand.
"Bro."
"Yes?"
"Did you just cut a monster in half with a butter knife?"
"This isn't a butter knife."
"That is not the important part."
Jimmy flicked blood from the blade.
"It's called a Basic Slash."
"Basic?"
"Very."
Bobby looked at the two pieces of redrat.
Jimmy smiled.
Then the forest went quiet.
Not normal quiet.
Wrong quiet.
The kind of quiet that arrived when smaller things remembered they were small.
Jimmy's smile faded.
Somewhere deeper in the thicket, something howled.
Low.
Long.
Hungry.
Bobby's knuckles whitened around the practice blade.
"That doesn't sound like a redrat."
Jimmy did not look back to the rear path.
"Retreat! Now!"
Dren understood before Mako did. He grabbed Mako by the shoulder and the two goons ran out of the zone.
Jimmy stared into the trees.
Of course.
Of course the world would do this.
Rare spawn tables still existed.
Beginner-region punishment mechanics still existed.
And if this world really followed Monster Hunters 5 as closely as it had so far, then excessive redrat scent in one area had a tiny chance to draw one very specific monster.
"Badwolf," Jimmy said.
Bobby turned his head slowly.
"Bad... wolf?"
"Rare spawn."
"Rare sounds good."
"Rare means people die before learning the pattern."
The brush ahead shifted.
Then it shifted again, higher than any redrat had a right to reach.
Jimmy tightened his grip around the dull knife.
The tutorial was over.