Cuddles

The next morning, Steven shuffled into the dining hall, the barracks’ clamor still buzzing in his ears. He grabbed the free fare—stale bread and a strip of honey jerky, tough but sweet—and joined Franz and Bobert at a table. Franz, already digging into a 1-copper meal of scrambled eggs and a thick sausage, nodded at him. They chewed and chatted, Franz grumbling about Bobert’s timid swings. “Kid’s got heart, just needs to grow a spine.” After eating, they headed to the training pit, Bobert trailing like a nervous shadow.

Training was a grind. When Bobert faltered—missing blocks or freezing mid-strike—Franz sparred with Steven, their fists a blur of controlled chaos to show the kid how it’s done. Once, Bobert took a nasty hit, crumpling with a bruised arm. Steven knelt, channeling Holy Magic outward for the first time. The golden light flowed sluggishly, unpracticed, but it seeped into Bobert, easing the swelling. Slow work, but enough to get him back on his feet. By day’s end, a chime rang—Holy Magic Lvl 11. The second day mirrored the first, Bobert improving until Franz clapped his back with a bruising slap. “Passed, ye scrawny git. Good work.” To Steven, he tossed 6 copper coins—3 per day. “Thanks, Steve. Here’s yer pay. Saw ye sparrin’—got some new moves brewin’?” Steven grinned. “Yeah, a few ideas. Gonna test ‘em adventuring.” Franz smirked. “Can’t wait to see ‘em next class. 5 copper a day—35 for the week.”

Dinner came, and Steven grabbed the free slop, settling at an empty table. Melissa slid in beside him, her hand brushing his shoulder with a sultry, “Can I sit here?” He quipped, “I dunno, can you?”—an old-world jab that caught her off guard. She blushed crimson, plopping across from him. “Never heard that one. You’re full of surprises.” He smirked, noting her 62 years against her youthful glow—seasoned, yet fresh to his tricks. They flirted over gruel, her giggles punctuating his playful barbs.

Back in the barracks, the room teemed with bodies—bunks claimed, air thick with snores. “Shit,” Melissa muttered, spotting her spot taken. Only one bunk remained. She whispered, “Steve, I know it’s weird, but… mind sharing?” He shot back, “Not at all,” his tone smooth as silk. They approached the lone lower bunk; he slid in, and she climbed atop him, blushing furiously. “I like this view,” he purred, eyeing her curves against the dim light. Her flush deepened, and in a surge of heat, she crawled closer, pressing her lips to his. The kiss ignited—fierce, hungry—his hand caressing her face, fingers tracing her jaw. “You’re somethin’ weird, Steve,” she breathed. “Better weird than normal,” he quipped, and she nodded, melting into him. They talked, her ambition spilling out—dreams of arcane breakthroughs, her name etched in magical lore. She sighed about her shoulder-length hair, envying gnomes with flowing locks tied in elaborate knots. As she drifted off in his arms, Steven hesitated, then tested Fleshsculpting. Focusing his intent—no sigil, just instinct—he willed her hair to grow. It stretched two inches, effortless, a subtle gift. Sleep claimed him soon after.

Morning broke to stares—jealousy, disgust. A whisper hissed, “Gnome-lover, freak.” Steven shrugged it off as Melissa stirred, murmuring, “Good morning, Steve.” “Good morning indeed,” he replied, shifting—only for her to roll against his morning wood. Groggy, she pawed at it, confusion morphing to shock as she grabbed a handful. Her eyes snapped to his, wide and mortified. “I’m so sorry!” she squeaked. He smirked, unfazed. “Nothin’ to apologize for—grab a handful anytime, it’s there for the takin’.” Her blush erupted, a scarlet storm, and in her flustered heat, she kept exploring—hands roaming his bulge through the cloth, her gaze locked on it. Her silver hair framed a face alight with shy awe, lips parted, breath quickening, glasses fogging as she bit her lip. Then—snap—her eyes darted up, catching the room’s stares. She bolted, a flustered blur, leaving Steven chuckling inwardly as he waited out his teenage arousal.

Moments later, a wiry adventurer—Travis, maybe 16, all swagger—strode up. “So, you’re into gnomes, freak?” His sneer dripped venom. “Why, jealous?” Steven quipped. Travis snarled, yanking him by the collar. Steven broke free, slamming a gloved fist into Travis’s nose—crunch—blood spurting. “Didn’t your parents teach you manners?” Travis squared up, hand on his sword, when Franz burst in. “ENOUGH!” he roared, storming between them. “Downstairs, now!”

In the sand pit, Franz glared. “Bare knuckles—no swords, Travis. Settle it like men. Three, two, one—fight. Knockout wins.” His smirk hinted at glee. Travis lunged, sloppy and wild, aiming a haymaker. Steven ducked, his Unarmed Combat Lvl 16 singing—gloves amplifying each move. He weaved, landing a jab to Travis’s ribs, then an uppercut that rocked his jaw. Travis swung again, a **** hook—Steven sidestepped, driving a straight punch to his temple. Travis crumpled, out cold, face-first in the sand. Franz whooped. “Been wantin’ to teach this brat a lesson—tutors can’t swing, but you? Fair game. Thanks, Steve.” He tossed him 1 copper, then splashed a bucket of water on Travis. “Wake up, idiot.”

Travis jolted upright, spluttering. “He cheated!” Franz rounded on him. “Cheated? Steve’s got holy magic—could’ve lit his fists up and wrecked ye proper. Self-heals in a fight, too—a one-man wreckin’ crew. Ye ain’t the hottest shit here, boy. Learn humility.” Travis spat, “Gnome-fucker don’t deserve respect—she was gropin’ him right there!” Franz turned to Steven, brow cocked. “That true?” Steven shrugged, sheepish. “She got handsy this mornin’. Bunks were full—she didn’t wanna sleep on the floor, so we shared.” Franz guffawed. “No rule ‘gainst barracks fun—I’ve had wild nights myself. Takes guts to get frisky in a crowd.” He glared at Travis. “Stop whinin’, ye tattletale. Train like Steve, maybe ye’d win. Hot air’ll get ye killed someday.” He stalked off, gesturing. “Breakfast, Steve.”

Franz paid 1 copper for a hearty plate—fried eggs, sausage, and a buttered roll. Steven took the free fare: gruel and a dried apple slice, bland but filling. They sat, and Franz grinned. “So, you and the gnome?” “Yeah, she’s cute as hell,” Steven quipped. “She’s old enough to be yer ma,” Franz teased. “So? Ain’t my ma,” Steven shot back. Franz roared, raising his tea mug. “True adventurer!” They clinked—tea to water. “What’s next?” Franz asked. “Gonna grab a quest or two—earn some coin,” Steven said. Franz nodded. “Ten F-rank quests, ye hit E-rank. Barracks’ll cost 1 copper then—side room, not the bunks. No more free food either, but it’s better grub.” Steven agreed, filing it away.

After eating, he beelined for the bounty board, 10 copper jingling in his pocket, ready for his next move.