Hallway Brawl 2: Brawl Harder

((Author's Note: Hello dear readers. As you may recall, I had some internet issues starting back in October which resulted in me putting the addition of system windows such as John's character sheet on hold. At the time, I didn't expect that to be an issue for long, but as it turns out, the situation was only fixed recently. But, that does mean we're back to getting sheet images, so in celebration of that, I'm putting John's current stats before the start of the chapter proper. And once again, thank you for bearing with me.))

So far, finding Moira had been a failure. But as far as he knew, she usually checked the student council’s suggestions and complaints boxes at the end of the lunch break before heading to class. Why the student council even had physical boxes for that purpose and not just an email was a mystery, but also one John didn’t care to ponder.

On the plus side, he hadn’t had to deal with Frank yet either. At least keeping Enhance Muscle going just in case was good for training. On the topic of which, adjusting his Background Create speed so he’d have the mana regeneration to keep it up had reminded him to check on his progress there during the night.

He was close to a gallon of alchemist’s fire when he checked, and probably over now, meaning he could reasonably start using it to grind Arena barriers. Once he found the free time to do so, that was. Both Low Alchemy and Craft were on the cusp of leveling up to 4 and 3, respectively, when he checked too, and had closed the last of the gap during his morning math class.

For the moment, he was heading to French class, after which was lunch break. His pl-

-18 HP

The punch to the back of the head came out of the blue. It sent a flash of red through his vision, but he instinctively moved a few steps away from his assailant and whipped around, which saved him from the followup of a pair of jocks trying to grab his arms.

Obviously, Frank was involved in this. John had realized as much before his vision even cleared again, let alone before he was finished turning. And sure enough, the moron athlete swaggered towards him with a balled fist and enough self satisfaction mixed into his angry expression to make it clear who threw the sucker punch.

King Meathead was flanked by no less than four of his footballer minions, which was way more than John had a chance to take on in a fight. The goons’ Levels being 6s and 7s didn’t change that. Five people also made it a losing bet to make a run for it. Even if his stat growth made the chance of success higher than 0, it wasn’t high either. Besides, John had no idea where to find one of the grand total of three persons of authority who could be counted on to actually step in.

He had to fight now, and he had to remove the goons from the equation before they did anything useful. The only option that he could think of at a moment’s notice was a gamble. Specifically, he was gambling that Vanessa had instructed the dumb muscle and left instead of lingering somewhere. Because there was no way Frank had put together a better ambush than ‘stand in the open somewhere John will have to pass and wait’ on his own.

“Coward!” John didn’t quite yell it, but he spoke loudly enough to make sure that even the people nearby who hadn’t noticed that things were happening would hear.

“The fuck are you talking about, Nerdman?” Frank practically spat the question at John, the smug aspect to the jerk’s demeanor withering as he smacked his fist into his palm. The flanking flunkies fanned out at the same time, clearly intent on surrounding him.

“Five against one and a sucker punch? Clearly, you’re afraid to face me like a man. And making it so obvious you might as well write ‘Scared of John’ on your forehead.”

“That’s stupid. Just look at me. Ain’t no scrawny nerd can beat this.” The braggart even paused his menacing swagger to pose for a moment at that. Meanwhile, two of his lackeys approached from the side and grabbed his arms again. This time, John **** himself to stand still and let it happen. If the taunts didn’t work out, he would lose anyway. Meanwhile, the taunts would probably get extra weight from him keeping at it even now.

“Go ahead and prove me right, then. Prove that you’re a chicken.” As the situation moved closer to where John had gotten used to expecting pain, it became harder to maintain the tone of disdainful superiority. Thinking of the countless times that Frank had proven himself an idiot in class over the years helped though. “Baaawk, I’m Frank. Bawk, I’m a chicken. Bawk, I’m a footballer that’s scared of scrawny nerds.”

Frank had closed in and was poised to strike, jaw visibly clenching with fury, when he stopped. Whether it was repeatedly driving in the ‘coward’ accusation or some social instinct of his that noticed that the mood of the crowd and the tone of the murmuring was different than usual, John didn’t know. But a different kind of frustration made its way into the anger on Frank’s face and he practically growled, “Fine, screw it. I’ll beat you to a pulp myself.”

The henchmen hesitated for a moment before letting go, thus providing further proof that Vanessa had been involved in the planning. But they did let go, which was what mattered at the moment.

-13 HP

5 blunt damage

In a rather unsporting fashion, Frank threw the first punch practically as soon as the asshole understudies let go. Which meant John had basically no chance to block or evade, but he could roll a bit with it and hit back.

While John could’ve been in a better stance and thus hit harder, those damage notifications still told the Gamer that trading blows was a losing proposition. But they also told him that the gap had narrowed further. More importantly, the feel of the motions told him that even though he had no Skill for unarmed combat, there were commonalities to moving in combat and exerting **** that was shared between the two he had, and some of that understanding transferred to fist fighting as well.

In short, John had not only improved physically but also gotten better at making the most of what he had. Enough so to not only compensate for Frank being a bit less tilted than Tuesday, too. The next exchange of punches and blocks showed John that while he was still feeling an impact shock in his arms from blocking, he no longer took damage from it. At least not when staying fully on the defensive.

Of course, an outlast strategy was a losing bet as well because John would almost certainly get tired first. But it gave him a lot more time to work with than taking chip damage with every other block would have. Time for some careful offensive experimentation.

-4 HP

7 blunt damage

-2 HP

2 blunt damage

Keeping a fist and a different wrist position but otherwise mimicking the movements for a shallow stab worked well enough for quick jabs. It took more deliberate focus than the raw muscle memory experience of using it with a knife though.

Beyond that, countering when Frank struck with his right hand was the thing to do. While John did take more damage from compromising his defense to strike then, the damage trade was in John’s favor, as opposed to the even trade when the bully had his main hand available to defend himself.

After another two exchanges like that, John realized that while he was coming out on top of the exchanges themselves, it wasn’t enough to make up for Frank’s damage lead and being generally tougher. Fortunately, Frank decided to mix it up with his signature gut punch, and while it wasn’t as heavily telegraphed as when the bully charged up the stairs two days ago, it was telegraphed enough.

11 blunt damage

A good hit that sent an ‘ow’ rippling through the crowd as Frank roared angrily and launched immediately into a tackle. Remembering how that turned out earlier, John abandoned all tough guy pretenses and threw himself out of the way.

Not only did that get him fully out of the way, it also surprised Frank enough that John could get back on his feet before the bully capitalized on the opening. The triumphant smirk on Frank’s face, however, strongly suggested that the Gamer wouldn’t be so lucky twice.

He needed to either do a clean dodge without hitting the deck or make Frank drop as well and hope.

2 blunt damage

-7 HP

The best John had been able to think of was to try to shift to the side so Frank wouldn’t land on him and try to kick at the oaf’s legs. It had been a limited success, in that the bully did fall over as well, and not on top of him. The damage trade made it clear that this was another losing strategy, however.

In short, John needed the serum. Or whatever was behind the notification that just dropped, but the latter part was too big a gamble. He did open it and let it fade though, so he’d at least get the contents if it somehow helped passively. With practically the same act of will, and while still rising to his feet, he swallowed the taste of bile at taking something that would increase his LIB and lower his inhibitions. Then he pushed the mental button.

For a moment, the not entirely dispelled imaginary bile was replaced with a real taste that John could best describe as ‘being facefucked by a lime’. In a fraction of a second, that was replaced by fire and lightning coursing from his stomach and chest and out through his entire body, but in a good, satisfying way.

As he completed the motion to get on his feet, he could feel how his body was faster and more responsive. He felt powerful in a visceral way that Enhance Muscle had never caused, like his every muscle fiber was bursting at the seams with energy just waiting to be unleashed. A small part of his mind noted that he could easily see how this intoxicating feeling could get addictive.

As he and Frank both got to their feet again and John’s focus returned to his adversary, that concern and the elation alike were burned away by the harsher flame of wrath. In the time it took the jock to take a single step, a thousand memories had flashed through John’s mind.

Pain and indignities he had suffered himself. Former friends being tormented by the bully and eventually being driven away. Frank tauntingly circling Christie, her stolen white cane in hand. And another one he had thought forgotten, from the first time he came home from school with a black eye and a dozen bruises.

His mom had spent the rest of the afternoon and all of the evening angrily on the phone, and distracted enough by it to burn dinner. But the part that played out in the mind’s eye of the Gamer, in a moment stretched beyond reason, was of how utterly exhausted Brenda had looked that night when she put him to bed. And the moment after she closed his door, where he could just barely hear her muffled sobbing.

Back then, he hadn’t understood. Now, he knew exactly what it was about. His mom had tried to get him some sort of justice, or just some sort of assurance that it would be a one time occurrence. And she had run face first into the wall that was Frank coming from a line of local star athletes. Wealthy star athletes.

As John clenched both his fist and his jaw and got ready to receive the oncoming tackle, Quests and EXP and strategizing had completely departed his conscious thoughts. At that moment, all he cared about was one thing: