A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

“—But you understand why I had to do it, right?”

“...Of course,” Moleman says, head in his hands, back hunched.

“I didn’t mean it,” I lie. “I was just making things up to—you know. Seem horrible. More than I really am, that is. But I didn’t mean it. If I went back in time, I’d clearly do the right thing, not this. I mean, can you imagine? Going back in time and not changing anything? That would be totally—”

“Hey, Kitty?” Moleman says.

“Yeah?”

He peeks up from between his fingers, eyes dark. “Could you please be quiet for a moment?”

“Oh,” I say. “Y—yeah. Of course. No problem. I’ll be…” A pause. He doesn’t move from where he sits. “...Quiet.”

He puts his face back in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. I quietly, very quietly, take a seat next to him. I don’t know why, but I’m surprised that they’ve got such comfortable couches in a courthouse of all places. Maybe I should tell Moleman? Something like, ‘Hey, why do they think they have couches in a courthouse? For all the non-existent criminals to sit on? Haha!’ maybe? Yeah, that might be good!

I turn to Moleman, mouth open only to feel it instantly snap shut as I notice his back trembling.

M—Moleman…?

I touch a hand to his back only for him to jerk away, breathing heavily, eyes RED and dark, and his head snapped to face mine, his features holding so many different emotions and thoughts and frustrations that they all become weighted down into a single all-powerful frown. My hand retreats.

In his eyes, I see a mirrored version of my own face, my terrible, horrible, infinitely pained face. His eyelids tremble wide and all of a sudden he doesn’t look like that anymore, he’s just Moleman again, my friend, and the regret overwhelms everything else. “I—I’m sorry, I—” He grits his teeth. I pull my hand to my chest. He looks back down at the floor. “I just… have to think… for a little while.”

The unsaid word rings out and I realize that’s my cue. “Oh—yeah. Yeah. Sorry, I’m… Yeah.” I stand up again. Back turned to him, I wonder if there’s something I could do to fix this. Some magic word I could say to make everything right again, to make Moleman smile, to put the planet back into orbit. Oh, and maybe solve world hunger, too. Aw, heck, while I’m at it, why not create world peace?

I walk away. I didn’t even say bye. Then again, neither did he.

I leave the courthouse through the back door, emerging into an empty alleyway. The final words of the court proceedings echo through the back of my head, accompanied by a chorus of cheers.

‘The final sentencing will occur tomorrow, alongside any possible penalties.’

One more day. Is this what it feels like to be on death row? Endless tomorrows that all feel as final as the last? It’s enough to make a man give himself the death penalty. As I stand here in this shaded, somewhat cool alley, a thought appears to me. If I just showed up in the middle of a crowd, could I realistically be executed by lynching? Sure, it wouldn’t be pretty, but I can be fairly certain that a good number are far, far stronger than I am, in stats and equipment and everything else. If I just get killed by one of those, I don’t have to bother with any of this anymore. No paperwork for the leadership, the goblins will be happy, and Moleman—

Moleman…

—Actually, nevermind. I’ll stick to back alleys and rooftops. I sort of wish there was some way of procuring a skin to wear without upsetting Moleman or the general human moral consensus. As is, I suppose I’ll simply have to try to be a bit careful about being in public and all that.

Making sure to avoid crowds and to abuse the fetal position and my other stealth skills, I make my way to the colosseum.

Hidden Lv.10>

Unnoticed Lv.1>

It isn’t as loud as it usually is, which is nice. Since things are the way they are, I have no choice but to go in through the front door. I’m almost surprised that nobody bodily attacks me on the spot, which is very likely to be a result of the new skill. Nevertheless, I make my way over to the wall, which shows the results of the group tournament.

Let’s see here, the winner of the whole group tournament was… ‘ChemistsStink’? First up, weird name. Secondly, I really thought that Moleman’s group would be number one! Instead, they’re actually second place, and that’s only because they were the final obstacle in the spiral of death gauntlet. That’s…

“You really are still up to your old tricks, aren’t you?”

First instinct: stab. Second thought that follows: ‘but Moleman wouldn’t like that.’ Resulting action: do a mid-jump pirouette to face the voice; affix with glare.

…Hm? This woman… haven’t I seen her before?

“But less talkative,” Ursula comments. “I don’t know which I prefer: chatty but harmless, or… this.” I’m not sure what she’s talking about. I’m the same as I was when we last met and she tried to have me arrested. I’ve changed a little, sure, but I’m still me. Putting a thumb to her chin, she rubs it in circles. “Let’s see, going by what you were looking at and what’s been happening lately…” Her eyes fall on the group tournament results. “—You’re wondering why our team didn’t cream those yankee bastards, aren’t you?”

I don’t nod, or show any other sign that she’s completely correct, but she still takes my silence as affirmative, which it is.

“The answer is simple. Mole didn’t show up for the semi-finals or the finals. We could handle the semi-finals on our own, but the finalists were able to beat us since we were already tired.” As she speaks, I listen in stunned silence. Moleman left his team to lose? Why? “Going by the look on your face, I can’t believe that that actually surprises you, considering that you were the one he prioritized over winning the tournament.”

I stare at her. I… what?

She crosses her arms and looks back at the wall, to the list of when the solo all-skirmishes are going to take place. “Well, would you look at that? Nobody wants to play with you anymore.”

I follow her gaze, my eyes falling on the list of skirmishes. The eighteenth floor isn’t there. I quickly turn to look at the tournament results so far. They’re only at the thirteenth-floor skirmish, but the eighteenth-floor results are already tallied.

I won by default. Nobody else signed up, or they all withdrew before the match even began.

“Poor, poor Kitty-cat. How will you sharpen your claws now?” Ursula tuts at me condescendingly. I draw back, away from her. She steps towards me, closing the distance again. “Will you even be able to survive going a whoo~oole day without killing anyone? Is that even possible?”

I reconsider the choice of not trying to kill her on the spot.

She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re an animal. I could tell it the moment we met first. In that sense, you haven’t changed a bit.” Something sad shines in her eye. “But there used to be something else in there, too. I can’t see it anymore. What happened to that little glint, Kitty?”

I turn away from her and run away.

A few hours later I return to watch the floor forty-five all-skirmish, getting a good seat and view by climbing up the side of the building, leaving a few fingers chiseled between the stones in a trail. The match is… interesting. I think, all and all, only a few people were actually turned to ash. The rest either surrendered and lost or were injured and willingly went out of bounds. There were a lot less people than there were at my skirmish. I count less than a hundred, I think. With more space, people were able to fight in a much different way compared to the chaos of my match. Most people were defeated by being forced out of bounds.

Nobody booed for anyone.

And I saw Rice. I saw her be a flurry of arrows and clever tricks. Not much in the long range. People would rush at her to try to close the gap as quickly as possible only for her to engage them in close-quarters as willingly as long-distance. But the real highlight was her archery. Skilled, quick, and most damning of all, accurate. If she put her eye on someone, they would undoubtedly get an arrow to a shoulder or knee or elbow. Never anywhere truly dangerous. Just enough to incapacitate them long enough to surrender.

And surrender they did. As people became exhausted from the fighting, she remained active, ready, always moving, always acting. It was mesmerizing. Not like a dance of death, or anything like that. It was more so like watching a peerless musician, moving in incomprehensible but deeply purposeful ways to create music that moved the soul. It was simply that. Beautiful, like a flower caught in a dust devil. And the audience roared for her. She would shoot someone clean through the shoulder and receive the praise of thousands.

Effortlessly beloved.

In the end, when all was said and done, could I really say I was surprised when she emerged victorious? And then she stood there, looking around at the cheering as though it was a mysterious new noise coming from an old television.

“And there we have the winner of the floor forty-five solo all-skirmish, our lovely BeatriceTheAngel, of the Hard Difficulty!” the God of Pain announces happily. “Let’s all give a big hand to her and the other valiant fighters!”

‘A hand’ is more or less an understatement. The whole arena is in a joyous uproar, making noise for a girl who doesn’t even seem to realize that they’re clapping for her. Instead, she’s going around the stage, pulling people to their feet, shaking hands and smiling broadly at anyone and everyone who put up an interesting fight. And they love it. The atmosphere is incomparable to anything I have ever produced.

Even back in my pro-gamer days, although people were clearly awed by my skill and tenacity, they still refrained from cheering. So I’d cheer for myself. I’d pat myself on the back by gloating at the losers. ‘Better luck next time’ was used as a sarcastic insult, because we both knew there’d be no next time.

But these people, with her…

Clapping, and they bow together. Even the losers are still happy. That shouldn’t even be possible, but she makes it possible.

And as the fighters wave and pat each other on the back, I feel a pair of eyes train in on me where I sit on the wall above everyone else. A pair of crystal-blue eyes that light up when I turn to her. She waves at me. Tentatively, I wave back at her. Her smile grows broader, and when everyone else leaves the arena, she hesitates to go, shooting me a quick, happy look before doing so.

I watch her back fade into the darkness of the colosseum, a sense of nauseous bitterness forming in the pit of my stomach.

Before meeting Moleman—no, LetsFraternizeTogether, I hadn’t felt much of anything. Another foolish enemy to be defeated, to prove my overwhelming might against. Only once he’d already beaten me did it sink in that he was on a different level. But now, with Rice, it’s completely different.

For some reason, I’ve got a feeling that she’s one of few opponents I can’t defeat.

And it makes me excited.