READ NOVEL ONLINE Buff 3.10
Buff 3.10
7:12 PM
Greg stood slumped against the wall of Sparky's living room with a bottle of blue Gatorade in one hand, catching his breath as his Will began to recover.
Sparky sat on the couch, writing a bunch of notes into that same stupid notebook. All the data he had put down had been everything from the speed Greg could run (25 mph), to the length of time he could keep that speed up before his will gave out (20 minutes) and everything else like that, leading to the long-haired teen theorizing that Greg's speed stat seemed to increase by 1.25 mph with every point, most likely.
All those running tests had led to Sparky asking Greg all sorts of questions that he didn't really think were necessary, like, "Does that mean your Will usage rate stays constant given your new level of top ability or do you use more Will now that your physical stats are higher?".
When Greg had replied with a shrug, Sparky had shaken his head and waved him off. After Greg thought about it though, he thought it generally stayed constant, but Sparky didn't want to take his word for it.
So, he had him run back and forth until his Will dropped to zero. While Sparky didn't really get any new information from his tests other than Greg's top speed, Greg did get something out of it.
Through intense physical training, your SPD has increased by 1.
Through intense physical training, your STR has increased by 1.
Stamina has leveled up x 3.
So, at least it wasn't a total waste.
From there, Sparky had Greg showing off his skills on the punching bag in the basement and Sparky concluded that while his Will-based attacks seemed to increase alongside his strength, they didn't necessarily seem to scale with them.
Greg had to admit that Sparky's point did make some sense. If it did scale, he wouldn't need a critical hit to one-shot most Merchants at this point with 28 STR, considering he'd been doing above 20 damage with 2 STR already.
Sparky had gotten a quick run through on his Mana-based skills, too, with Greg blasting him in the face with his currently max-leveled Aerokinesis. Apparently, just like Brawling, it didn't seem to go past Level 5 for some reason. Even then, Sparky didn't think that was too much of a hindrance for now. Greg didn't really agree, though. I mean, eighty miles per hour winds sounds cool on paper but it wasn't even strong enough to do more than knock Sparky back a little, he had thought to himself, air swirling around his fists. Not exactly Stormtiger-level stuff.
The Aerokinesis reveal led to Sparky silently writing in his notebook for a good five minutes, sneaking glances at Greg while the blonde tried to blast air from somewhere else other than his hands. In the end, Sparky told him to keep practicing with it, in the hope of getting more control over it. Greg shrugged, barely paying attention, but he agreed to at least try.
After taking notes on the rest of his skills and abilities, Sparky started asking questions about his last two stats, the ones that he could think of no way to reasonably measure; WIS and CHA. Specifically, he wanted to know why they were so low and why Greg hadn't yet sunk points into them.
All it took was for Greg to read his traits out loud for Sparky to take a step back, eyes wide. He let out air through gritted teeth and shook his head, simply saying, "Rough luck, brah."
Greg was forced to agree with that assessment.
Now, thankfully, they were done with all the pointless testing and he could finally relax.
"Greg…"
What now? The blond let out a groan, raising his head. "Yeah?"
"Those… uhh… those Gatorades…" Greg perked his head up as Sparky began talking, the mixed teen staring at him with wide eyes.
Greg gestured at him, confused. "You want one?"
"Nah, I'm fine." Sparky shook his head slightly. "It's just… that last one… I'm pretty sure you pulled that out of your shorts. The shorts I gave you." Sparky's eyes were locked tightly onto the bottle in Greg's hands. "How?"
"Oh, that," Greg replied, his tone light as he waved the bottle in his hands. "I forgot I didn't mention that."
"Mention what?"
"My inventory."
"...your what?"
Greg blinked. "My inventory?"
"... your what?"
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"So," Sparky let out a long sigh, "you have a personal dimension… tiny universe… thing… whatever... that can carry your stuff for you?"
"Uhhh…" Greg blinked, still leaning against the wall.
"And you just… you just thought this was so not-important that you didn't mention it?" he continued, voice rising slightly. "A literal personal inventory?"
"... yeah."
"Perks, stats, quests and an inventory?" Sparky dropped his face into his open palms and let out a long, tired groan. "So, instead of a power that makes sense, you're just… a game character? That's so fucking… you that it's not even funny."
"I mean…" Greg tilted his head, mulling over the statement in his head for a moment before he shrugged. "I guess so."
"I don't even know anymore." Sparky let out a sigh, leaning back on the couch. Stretching out his body, he glanced back at Greg again, the blond simply looking confused as he stood there, drink in hand. "So… you can carry anything in there, right?"
"Yup," he responded, taking another swig of the Gatorade.
"There a limit?" Sparky brushed some hair out of his eyes, leaning forward on the couch until he was literally at the edge of his seat.
"Uhhh…" Greg responded with a shrug, "I honestly don't know. There's like 25 slots and I haven't used up all of them but if I put the same thing in twice, it only uses one box."
Sparky nodded, touching the pen to the notebook once again when he paused, glancing up at Greg again. "Can you carry anything?"
"Anything I can lift, I think," Greg replied, head tilting slightly.
Sparky's mouth rose in a slight smile. "What about… people?"
Greg tensed, his face paling as he recalled exactly what he did have in his inventory. "... Idontthinkso!"
"Okaaay, just trynna make a joke." His friend raised an eyebrow and Greg tried his hardest not to gulp. "Brah, what do you have in that inventory anyway?"
Greg could hear the confusion in Sparky's voice, something about him giving his friend a clear hint that something was off. "Uhh, n-nothing really big," Greg began, glancing down at his bare feet. "Just some random stuff. A baseball bat, hockey stick, some cigarettes and knives I got off a few Merchants, my costume…" Greg let his voice trail off.
"Hold up," Sparky turned his full attention to Greg, head cocked to the side. "Costume? Lemme see, brah."
"Sure," Greg blinked, relaxing at the change of topic. Oh, that was close. "No problem. [Inventory: Equip Aluminum Bat, Jason Mask, Pretentious Scarf, Nike Zoom, Thick Hoodie, Kickboxing Gloves.]
"Holy shit, brah!" Sparky exclaimed, jumping up from the couch as a set of torn and bloodstained clothes appeared on Greg's body with visible flashes of blue light. A hand went to his chest as he stared at Greg, wide-eyed and obviously freaked out. "Why does it look like you just got off the set of Friday the 13th?"
"I mean," Greg shrugged, gesturing with the bat in his hands. "I told you I fought some guys."
"Okaaaay," Sparky goggled, stepping back even further to avoid being touched by the bat. "You look like you did a hell of a lot more than fight 'em, brah."
The silence stretched between them for a long moment before Greg let out a trickle of nervous laughter. "What? No way. C'mon."
"Whatever," Sparky shook his head, plopping himself back onto the couch.
That was close. Greg let out another sigh of relief, letting his head fall. "[Inventory: Equip Last Outfit.]" With that vocal command, his bloody clothes vanished in another flare of blue, replaced by the pair of black shorts Sparky had loaned him. I gotta get rid of that body somehow. It's taking up space in my inventory, anyway.
"You know," Sparky spoke up a moment later, raising his head again, "I can probably get you something better than that."
"Hmm?"
"A costume, brah," Sparky continued, "I could make you a better one than… what you had on before." He shook his head slightly, tilting it toward Greg as he shot his friend a look. "Something that won't make you look like a knockoff serial killer, you know."
"Thanks, Sparks." Greg replied, smiling brightly.
"Don't mention it," his friend remarked. "Seriously, it's the least I can do to make sure that a. You don't get yourself killed out there, and b. You don't fucking embarrass yourself."
Greg's smile brightened further, widening into an impressive grin. "Thanks, man. That's super awesome of you!"
"Mmhmm, speaking of embarrassing yourself," Sparky gave him a wry glance, "you got a date tomorrow, right?"
Greg nodded, his smile shifting into nervousness. "Oh, yeah. That's… tomorrow."
"It is. Being a good bro, I gotta make sure you make a good impression, right?" Strands of brown hair fell in front of his eyes, giving him a slightly shadowed expression.
"...I guess so," Greg hedged, shrinking against the wall as his friend stood up, wearing a smile on his face that could only be described as… eager.
"Good."
For some reason, Greg found himself wincing at the way Sparky dragged out the word.
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7:42 PM
"..." Greg stared at his reflection in Sparky's bathroom mirror, eyes wide.
"Well," Sparky's hands clasped his towel-covered shoulders, leaning over him and flashing a wry smile into the mirror, "whaddya think? Am I good or what?"
"...or what."
His response was met with a snort as Sparky reached over and dropped the scissors into the sink. "Don't lie. You love it."
Greg blinked. "I mean, it's not objectively bad." He narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to stare at the sides of the cut. "It's just…"
Sparky rolled his eyes. "Just what, blondie?"
"Does it have to be so spiky?"
"What's wrong with spiky?"
Greg let out a groan, his now-incredibly spiky head falling into his open palms. "I look like the mayor of Flavortown."
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Spoiler: STATUS