11 — Nova
Level
9 arrived faster than expected. Vincent and Melo had developed a
formidable efficiency—not because of revolutionary techniques or
complex strategies, but simply because they functioned well together.
Like two parts of a mechanism manufactured to interlock perfectly.
Exactly
like when Garou masters the Monster style, Vincent thought.
Technically, he was rationalizing his growing dependence on another
human being as an "optimal game strategy." But then again,
Olympic champions of mental gymnastics had to start somewhere.
Melo
cooked after every hunt, transforming raw loot into meals that didn't
just restore, but IMPROVED. His cooking had become an art form—or
perhaps an exact science disguised as art. Each dish was calibrated
to maximize Psyché recovery while providing useful buffs for the
next fight.
[Item
Consumed: Weaver Sauté with Spore Reduction]
[+25% Psyché
regeneration (5 hours)]
[+15 HP Stock]
[+10% Attack Speed]
[Psyché:
78% → 81%]
They
reached Level 9 together, at the exact same moment, after defeating a
mini-boss—a Level 10 Creeping Amalgam that had required fifteen
minutes of coordinated combat and three instrument changes from Melo:
harp for defensive buffs, jaw harp for offensive boosts, and at one
point, a pipe that slowed the enemy's movements.
[Level
Up!]
[EchoZero: Level 8 → 9]
[Melodream: Level 8 → 9]
[XP to
Level 10: 340/12,000]
Vincent
sat on a rock—still in his favorite Watchdog Man pose,
obviously—watching the XP bar with a satisfaction he tried not to
show.
— Level 9. One more and we unlock the class quests.
The word had changed meaning over the last few days. "We"
was no longer an abstraction. It was concrete. It was him and Melo. A
unit.
They
headed toward the [Agent’s] clearing to prepare for the search for
the three missing members of their team. The Agent was there, as
always, immobile, his cracked mask reflecting everything and nothing
at once. He activated as they approached, his functions flickering
into the interface.
[Zone
Agent]
Active Functions:
[Buy / Sell]
[Objectives]
[Techniques]
[Resurgence Point]
[Class Quests — NEW]
Vincent
immediately selected [Class Quests], an anticipation he refused to
call excitement bubbling in his chest. The Agent spoke, his flat,
synthesized voice echoing in the air:
— Access to Level 10 class
quests available. Prerequisites: minimum group of five players, all
Level 9 or higher. No member may exceed Level 12.
A
pause, then:
— Your current group: two members. Insufficient. You
must recruit three additional players before accessing class quests.
Melo
sighed.
— Yeah, we expected that. So, how do we do this? Do we put
out a general call? Look for other players in the zone?
— There
is a bulletin board, — the Agent continued. — Accessible in all
Agent clearings. Players can post notices to form groups. I recommend
this approach for efficient recruitment.
The
Agent gestured, and a holographic interface appeared—a virtual
board filled with messages from players seeking groups, proposing
trades, or simply... talking. Most were desperate. "Need help
lvl 3 south zone." "Trading rare ingredients for
protection." "SOS entire group wiped need resurrection."
But
a few were more structured. "Looking for lvl 8+ tank for
Amalgam farming." "Support lvl 9 LFG class quest."
"Ranged DPS available for raids."
Vincent
scanned the ads. They’re all struggling. All trying not to
become monsters. Or maybe some have already given up.
[Psyché:
83% → 82%]
Melo
placed a hand on his shoulder.
— Hey. We’ll find the right
people. Trust me.
Vincent
nodded and began drafting an announcement:
“Level 9 Group (DPS +
Support) looking for 3 players for Level 10 class quests. Coordinated
build, communication essential. Raid experience appreciated.”
He
hesitated, then added: “
Because
if they’re going to see me transform, they might as well know what
they’re getting into. Partly, at least. Melo read the draft and
smiled.
— Perfect. Professional but honest. Exactly what we need.
Vincent
posted the ad, and they waited. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Nothing.
Vincent was starting to think they should rephrase when a
notification popped up.
[Message
Received: Nova_Strider]
“Hi. Level 9, Elite Hunter. I saw your ad.
Your composition is unusual—very unusual—and I have questions
before meeting you. Available to chat.”
Vincent
and Melo exchanged a look.
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— Elite Hunter?
Melo whispered.
—
That’s a rare class. High mobility, very versatile.
— She
says she has questions. — Vincent narrowed the three holes of his
mask. — Not "happy to meet you." Questions.
— That’s
normal, isn't it? She wants to make sure the group is good before
committing.
— Or
she knows something she wants to verify.
Melo
looked at him, then shrugged.
— We answer anyway. Meet here, at the
Agent.
Vincent
replied: “OK. Agent Clearing, northwest sector. Fifteen
minutes.”
[Message
Sent]
[Nova_Strider: “Good. See you soon.”]
She
arrived exactly on time.
Small. Lean. Her silhouette emerged from the
skin-trees with a discretion that suggested she was built—or had
built herself—not to be seen until she chose to be. Black hair,
short in front, tied back in two tight braids against her neck.
Violet eyes—a color that wasn't natural, even for this game—scanned
the clearing in exactly two seconds: Vincent, Melo, the Agent, the
exits, the angles.
She
was dressed lightly—supple leather armor that hugged her form
without hindering movement. At her hips, a rapier and a main-gauche
dagger in their sheaths. Strapped to her lower back were two single-shot pistols, short and stocky, with flared barrels.
She
stopped at three meters. No more, no less. A chosen distance.
—
EchoZero. Melodream.
Her
voice was crisp. Small, but sharp. Not sweet. Direct in a way that
left no room for ambiguity.
— I am Nova. She didn't smile.
Melo,
for his part, did smile. Obviously. — Hi Nova! Welcome. We’re
glad you’re interested in our ad.
— Interested,
— she repeated, and the word came out neutral, without irony but
without warmth. — That’s a strong word. Let’s say I’m...
curious.
She
looked at Vincent. Really looked at him. Not his stats, not his
level, not his username. Him. The mask. The claws. The translucent
wax. The three black holes. Her violet eyes didn't blink.
—
Wìdjigò-Phase, — she said. It wasn't a question.
— Yeah,
— Vincent replied, his voice dryer than he intended.
—Progression... — she narrowed her eyes for a second. —
Five out of ten, minimum on some Predator Way. Maybe more.
— Seven.
— Seven.
— She nodded once. — And him? She looked at Melo. —
Troubadour-Sutler. Mandatory sleep, seven hours, active absorption
during rest cycles. Buff-amplified cooking. Multi-buff harp.
Anchoring jaw harp.
The
silence that followed lasted exactly three seconds. Melo didn't
flinch. But his hands—the ones that usually held a pot or a
spoon—clenched imperceptibly at his sides. — You’ve got good
sources, — he said softly.
— I
do my research before committing, — Nova said. She didn't look
away. — For everyone.
Vincent
stared at her. The three black holes couldn't express much, but the
gaze behind them—the one seeking, analyzing, compiling—was very,
very active. She knows. She knows about the absorption. She knows
about the sleep. And she’s still here. Why?
— Right,
— Nova said after a moment. — I have other questions. But not
here. Not now. She pulled a small device from her inventory—a sort
of digital, translucent notebook—and jotted something down with a
stylus. — I’m going to check something. I’ll contact you in a
few hours. Don't worry.
— We’re
not worried, — Vincent said, his voice carrying an arrogance that
wasn't entirely natural. — We’re Level 9. We’ve been crushing
it without you.
Nova
looked at him. And for the first time, something passed over her
face—not a smile, not quite—that looked like amusement. — I
know, — she said. And she disappeared between the skin-trees with
the same discretion she had used to enter.
They
stood in silence for ten seconds.
— So, — Melo said. — She’s...
— Creepy,
— Vincent finished.
— I
was going to say "interesting."
— She
KNOWS, Melo. About you. The sleep. The absorption. She guessed
everything in ten seconds.
Melo
remained calm. Too calm, perhaps—the kind of calm that isn't
carelessness, but mastery.
— I know.
— And
you... you’re not worried?
— No.
— Why?
Melo
looked at him—that soft, constant gaze that never wavered.
—
Because she’s still here. She could have left. She could have
posted a hateful message on the board. She could have blacklisted us.
She did none of those things. She said "I’m going to check
something." That means she’s thinking, not running.
Vincent
chewed on that answer for a moment. He might be right. But she’s
scary.
[Psyché:
82% → 81%]
— We wait, — Vincent said.
— We wait, — Melo confirmed.
The
message arrived four hours later. Not a long message. No enthusiasm,
no "cool, let's meet up!" Just two sentences.
[Message
Received: Nova_Strider]
“I checked. Your duo is... complicated. But
the risk/reward ratio is in your favor if you’re honest. I don't
accept yet. But I’m not saying no.”
Vincent
read the message three times. She doesn't accept. She says "not
yet."
He
didn't know why that thought—the fear of Nova, this small girl with
her daggers and single-shot pistols—touched him in a way that
wasn't pride. Not exactly. It was something else.
Melo
read the message over his shoulder and nodded.
— That’s good.
Very good, even.
— How
so?
— Because
she would say "no" if she didn't want to. She’d say "no"
and disappear. The "not yet"... it means she’s looking
for a reason to say yes. We give her that reason, and she’ll be
with us.
Vincent
looked at the message—those two sharp, factual sentences—and
noted something. She’s afraid of the duo. Not of me. Not of
Melo. Of the duo. Of what we are together. She’s right to be
afraid.
[Psyché:
81%]
He
didn't reply to the message. Not yet. He needed to think. Melo,
beside him, began cooking dinner—a simple dish this time, a basic
stew, his movements mechanical and comforting. And in the grey light
that was neither day nor night, two players waited for a third to
decide if it was worth the risk.