It turns out I really didn't need to worry about paperwork after all.
Small victories, right?
Around me, goblin corpses started dissolving—melting away like snowflakes hitting a blowtorch. Slow. Dreamy. Extremely gross.
Ding!
Dungeon Conquered!
Level Up!
Level Up!
Skill Acquired: Dual Wield – Lv. 1
Now you can swing two weapons at once like a fantasy game protagonist with too much confidence.
Effect: +10% efficiency.
Also increases your chances of accidentally hitting yourself by 27%.
You got...
Buy or Die Shopping Maul VIP Card!
Congratulations! You now own the shopping maul.
You are the major shareholder.
Shareholder meetings will be held... whenever the goblins stop trying to stab people.
Enjoy super discounts at all participating stores! (Assuming they haven't been blown up.)
Access to the Shopping Maul is available through your system panel twice daily.
Have a nice shopping trip!
I blinked at the screen.
"...Cool. So when do I get my tacky gold nameplate?"
Ding!
System Remark: Nameplates are reserved for employees of the month. Try not to blow up the merchandise first.
I stared at it.
"Wow. Judgy and passive-aggressive. Nice."
Then I checked my inventory. Spoiler: there was a lot of stuff.
Ancient coins? Yep. A bunch. Alchemy ingredients? Of course. Goblin junk? You bet. And just about every kind of weapon you could imagine, including firecrackers and fireworks. But the real standouts were:
10 x HP, MP, SP potions (E-grade): Each one fills 500 HP, MP, and SP. They're... brighter? I think.
Orc Chainmail (Rare): +30 Def, +10 Vit, +10 Str. Basically, it's the best armor I've ever seen that doesn't have a pizza stain on it.
Goblin Leather Boots (Green, of course. Ew...): +5 Def, +5 Stealth, +5 Smell. (Because, you know, smell is totally a stat you want to level up.)
---
Ding!
System Remark: The goblin boots come with an extra bonus—"aroma of goblin." Don't ask for a refund.
And then, I saw something where Bubble the Ogre had disappeared. It was a real treasure chest.
Appraisal Skill: Final Dungeon Treasure Chest - Enjoy.
System Remark: A treasure chest? After all that chaos, it better come with a vacation package, too.
Naturally, the moment I saw the ancient bronze chest, I did what any self-respecting, gaming-obsessed teenager would do.
I sprinted to it like it owed me money.
The thing was massive, old, heavy, and radiating pure loot energy. You know the kind: half-cursed, half-jackpot, all "open me and hope for the best." I flipped it open, bracing for a fireball to the face. Instead, I found:
Banana Peel of Instant Regret (??? Item)
Causes guaranteed enemy slip. One use. Bright yellow. Weirdly menacing.
System Remark: "Don't ask how it works. We don't know either. Please stop emailing support."
Weapon Upgrade Coupon: One Free Upgrade (Single Use)
Printed in glittery gold letters: "Valid until the end of time. Or Tuesday."
Better use it before the universe changes its mind.
Then, under a suspiciously glowing hay pile, I found:
Potion Recipe Pack (Common)
Basic Healing Potion
Basic Mana Potion
Basic Stamina Potion
Includes: XL Potion Ingredient Pack
Overflowing with herbs, mushrooms, and roots. Some were even labeled.
System Remark: "Now you too can pretend you're a responsible alchemist! Try not to poison yourself."
I stared at the haul, grinning like I just pulled a legendary drop from a loot box.
"Okay, treasure chest. You win this round."
And then I saw it—a shimmering portal pulsing with light just past the treasure chest.
Finally. An exit.
Since this wasn't one of those "Congratulations, you've been kidnapped from your bed!" emergency dungeons, there was actually a return portal waiting. Lucky me.
I stepped through and instantly found myself back at the dungeon's entry point—the same dark patch of forest I'd wandered into earlier tonight. The trees were still here. The moon still hung in the sky. An owl gave me a mildly judgmental look.
The whole dungeon run had taken five, maybe six hours—thanks to a few breaks, a snack, some spell upgrades, and, you know, multiple near-death experiences.
Outside, though?
Only about thirty or forty minutes had passed.
"Right. Dungeon time weirdness," I muttered. "Totally normal. Nothing to unpack there."
I dragged myself out of the forest, limbs aching in ways full health bars couldn't fix. My HP, MP, and SP were all maxed out but mental exhaustion? That one doesn't come with a potion.
So I did what any modern teen adventurer would do.
I hailed a taxi.
The cab pulled up with a low growl, and I flopped into the back seat like a sack of potatoes with trust issues.
The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
"Rough night, kid?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
He snorted.
"Try me. Last guy I picked up said he wrestled a raccoon spirit over a cursed lottery ticket."
"…Okay, fair."
We drove in silence for a minute before he squinted at me again.
"You smell like smoke, meatballs, and… fireworks?"
"Long story."
"Let me guess, mall food court fight?"
I blinked. "…What."
He gave a slow, knowing nod.
"Yeah. You've got the look."
I decided not to ask.
Instead, I leaned back, stared out the window, and tried not to think about goblins, Bubble, or banana-themed explosives.
The system pinged softly in my ear:
[Tip: Don't forget to check your new shareholder privileges.]
I groaned. "I swear, if this ends with me hosting a goblin stockholder meeting…"
The driver raised an eyebrow. "Did you say 'goblin'?"
"Radio, please," I said.
He turned it on. The song playing?
"Burnin' Down the House."
Of course.
I finally got home, dragging my feet like I'd just completed a marathon made entirely of explosions.
It was late, but thankfully, Mom hadn't left me a passive-aggressive sticky note wall of doom. Just a single Post-it on the fridge that said:
"Left your chores. Thanks, sweetheart."
Translation:
"I love you, but if you don't wash those dishes, I will go full Final Boss on you."
So yeah. I washed them. My Dishwashing Skill was already at Level 5. I'm technically better at it than Mom now—according to her, anyway. Personally, I think she's just trying to trick me into doing it more often.
Quest Complete: Chores
+1 Clean Freak Rep
+20 XP
No loot, just wet hands.
After that, I stumbled into my bedroom like a fantasy war veteran. My bed looked like the glowing goal at the end of a dungeon.
And with no goblins, explosions, or system pop-ups in sight… I flopped face-first onto it and passed out.
....
I woke up to the most annoyingly cheerful sound in existence.
Ding!
> "Good Sleep Bonus: HP, MP, and SP fully restored! You may now spin the Daily Fortune Wheel!"
Oh, great. The Scam Wheel again.
"Sure. Why not," I muttered, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. "Let's roll the dice of fate and disappointment."
Spinning…
The digital wheel spun with the grace of a caffeinated squirrel, then slowed... clicked... clicked...
You got: One (1) Emergency Backup Rubber Chicken!
> Item Description: Can be used as a distraction, makes loud squeaky noise. May or may not terrify small monsters.
System Remark: "Don't question it. Just be grateful it's not another coupon for Goblin Yoga Classes."
I stared at the rubber chicken now floating in my inventory. It looked judgmental.
"...Why does it have teeth?"
....
Breakfast was kind of a blur. Probably because I inhaled it like a vacuum on fast-forward.
Eating Enthusiast (Lv. 4) – Passive
Digest food slightly faster. Absorb more nutrients.
System Remark: "Basically, you're now a supercharged goat. Congratulations."
Every teenager's dream, right?
After I licked the last crumbs off my plate (no judgment), Mom handed me a $10 bill for doing all my chores perfectly.
Of course, I couldn't help doing them perfectly. Because the moment Mom gave a verbal command or slapped a post-it on the fridge, it auto-registered as a Quest. And I hate the feeling of Quest Fail penalties hanging over my head. Thanks, gamified life.
I pushed the ten-dollar bill into my pocket… except, as soon as my hand went in, the money just plopped into my inventory.
Nice. Instant savings. Also excellent for sneaking snacks.
My current budget? Over $30,000. No clue what to do with it. My teenager needs rarely exceed twenty bucks. Most kids my age dream of a $500 gaming console or a new phone. Me?
I accidentally own a haunted shopping mall and have enough cash to buy a small island.
Seriously. What happened to me?
...
School.
Not exactly my favorite dungeon, but at least the chairs didn't bite.
I got there early and claimed my usual seat in the back row—the throne of the chronically unbothered. Someone sat down at the desk next to mine, but I didn't look. I was too busy checking yesterday's loot like a squirrel counting acorns.
Potion recipes? Check. Goblin boots that probably still smelled like regret? Also check.
Then I heard it. A whisper.
"Hey... hey. You're the boy with the fire, right?"
My head jerked up.
"Huh?"
I turned to the side—and there she was.
The girl from last night. The one I'd pulled out of the goblin ambush like some half-baked video game hero. She looked very real, very awake, and very much not memory-wiped.
Which made zero sense.
LETI's cleanup crew didn't just clear the battlefield. They scrubbed memories cleaner than a hard drive in a spy movie. Victims weren't supposed to remember anything.
But she remembered me.
"Hi. I'm Azalea Quinn. New transfer student."
She smiled, but her eyes were laser-focused. "You're him, right? The one with the fire?"
I blinked.
"Uhhh... I don't know what you're talking about. I—I don't even own a match. Matches are dangerous. School policy. Very strict."
I held up my hands like they might check me for lighters.
Azalea raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"Right. And I suppose the fireballs just spontaneously combusted around you yesterday?"
"I mean... global warming?"
She didn't laugh.
Great. Not only was she not buying it, she looked like she might start interrogating me under a single dangling light bulb.
I tried to look extremely normal and not like someone who had turned a goblin squad into ash twelve hours ago.
I smiled. The kind of smile that says "Please don't call the fire department."
Inside, I was full-blown panicking.
Wait—she remembers?!
No, no, no. That's not how this is supposed to go. LETI cleanup crews are like memory ninjas. Their whole thing is erasing goblin trauma and replacing it with dreams about homework or puppies or whatever.
So how in the flaming banana peel does she remember me?
"I, uh…" I cleared my throat.
"Maybe you mistook me for someone else? Someone with a… campfire? Or, like, a dramatic barbecue?"
She stared at me.
"Could've been fireworks? Illegal ones. I hear raccoons can light them now."
Nothing.
I was dying. I considered faking a seizure or jumping out the window.
Azalea leaned in, lowering her voice.
"I saw you. You literally exploded a goblin with your finger."
I laughed nervously.
"Haha, right, but like metaphorically? Maybe it was just... emotional combustion?"
She didn't blink.
Welp. Time to panic harder.
"Well… gob—goblin?" I stammered. "Oh, yeah! I see those all the time. In, uh, online RPGs! Yep."
My brain was speedrunning excuses now.
"I'm a mage. In Emberlands: Fire Mayhem Online—very niche game. Super realistic. Full fireball chaos, total blast. You should, um… try it! If you're into, you know, pixels exploding and stuff."
Azalea raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.
Somewhere deep in my soul, my dignity curled up and died.
Azalea didn't blink.
"So… you're saying last night's goblins were in a video game?"
I let out a laugh that sounded like a dying balloon.
"Yeah! Totally. Just, uh, really immersive graphics. Like, ultra 8K. Smell-o-vision. Trauma plug-in. Y'know."
She leaned closer, her eyes narrowing.
"Because I swear I saw you throw an actual fireball. From your actual hands. At actual monsters."
"Coincidence," I said, voice cracking like a broken flute.
"You know how dreams are. Stress. Hallucinations. Gas leaks, probably."
She wasn't joking anymore.
Her voice cracked. "That's what my parents believe too. They said it was a gas leak. Some explosion in the ducts. But… I saw it. I saw a goblin or maybe an ogre, I don't know, it was chasing me. And then you were there. With fire."
I froze.
My fingers gripped the edge of my desk like it was a lifeboat. This wasn't just awkward anymore. This was LETI-level dangerous.
They were supposed to wipe memories. That's the whole point of a clean-up team: remove the monsters, patch the damage, and scrub every brain like a whiteboard before finals.
Craaaack.
My "lifeboat" gave up on life.
The desk split right down the middle, wood, aluminum, dignity, all gone in one crunch. Half of it collapsed to the floor with a clatter loud enough to wake the dead. Or at least alert the teacher three classrooms away.
Azalea froze mid-breath. I froze mid-regret.
The class went silent. Heads turned. Eyebrows levitated. One kid muttered, "Bro's been working out," and I hated everything.
"Oh look," I said, attempting a grin, "public school construction strikes again! Definitely not me crushing desks with stress. Totally normal."
Azalea just blinked at the ruins of my desk, then looked back at me, deadpan. "You broke a desk. With your bare hands."
"Nervous calcium deficiency," I blurted. "Runs in the family. We just… disassemble furniture sometimes."
Even I wasn't buying it.
The system, unhelpfully, chose that moment to chime in:
[Achievement Unlocked: Oops, My Strength Again]
+1 Strength
Warning: You break it, you explain it. Good luck with the "it just snapped on its own" defense.
Side effect: Your desk now identifies as "firewood."
Fantastic. I had to explain to the teacher why I accidentally turned a desk into modern art, and also convince the girl I maybe saved from goblins that I wasn't hacking reality with cheat codes.
Spoiler: Even I wasn't buying that.
Azalea's voice cracked.
"Please... I'm scared. Just tell me what happened."
I panicked. And like any totally rational person under pressure, I used Appraisal on her.
Azalea Quinn – Lv. 4
Just a normal girl… with abnormally high mental defenses.
HP: 180/180
MP: 540/540
SP: 170/170
What. The. Actual. Heck.
"MP?" I muttered. "You have magic points? Are you cheating?! Where are your cheat codes?!"
That explained it. No wonder the memory wipe hadn't worked. She had enough mana to block a government-sponsored mind eraser. Probably by accident. Or stubbornness. Or both.
I looked at her again. She wasn't running. Or screaming. Just… scared.
Brave.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay, I'll explain. Just not here."
Because the teacher was coming. And getting labeled the kid who breaks desks and believes in goblins? Yeah, no thanks. I was barely surviving algebra as it was.
Before I could panic-flail my way into a worse excuse, the classroom door creaked open like the final boss had entered the arena.
"Mr. Kyle," said my homeroom teacher, eyeing the desk remains like they'd personally insulted her. "Is there a reason your workspace looks like a medieval siege weapon test site?"
I raised a hand. "Spontaneous gravity malfunction?"
Her stare said: Try again.
I gave my best innocent smile. You know, the kind you use when you definitely didn't just commit minor property destruction with your bare hands.
"Uh… faulty craftsmanship?" I tried.
"I was just sitting, and boom! The desk folded like a lawn chair at a sumo wrestling convention."
The class snickered.
The teacher didn't.
"Congratulations, Kyle," she said dryly. "You've been promoted to sitting on the floor until maintenance arrives."
I gave a thumbs-up.
"Perfect. I work better closer to the earth. Very grounding."
Azalea, bless her brave but confused soul, covered her mouth to hide a laugh. At least someone thought I was funny.
As I slid awkwardly to the floor with what was left of my dignity, she leaned down and whispered, "We're talking after class. No more excuses."
Great. First, a goblin dungeon. Now a boss fight in homeroom.
...
Kyle Walker (Lv. 29 )
HP: 920/920
MP: 1320/1320
SP: 920/920
Stats:
STR: 95 (+3 from Arm Guard) ( +5 leather armor ) ( Orc Chainmail +10) ( Achievement +1 ) ( 113 )
VIT: 74 (+3 from Arm Guard ) ( +5 leather armor ) ( Orc Chainmail +10) ( 92 )
DEX: 46 (+1 from Title ) ( 47 )
INT: 122
WIS: 47
LUK: 30
Unassigned Stat Points: 59
Unassigned Skill Points: 88
Att: 113 ( weapon+20 ) ( 133 )
Def: 92 ( Leather Armor +20 ) ( Orc Chainmail +30) ( 142 )
Eva: 47