I finished my triple portion of food just as the girls wrapped up their simpler meals. As we joined the line to return our trays, a scrawny young boy stepped in front of me, his hopeful expression catching my attention.

  "Hello?" he said tentatively.

  I glanced at him, raising a brow that silently asked, "Who the hell are you?" But my actual response was more polite: "Hi?"

  While he stood in my path, the girls slipped past me, depositing their trays. They waved as they left.

  “Bye, Dolores!”

  “See you tomorrow!”

  “Bye!”

  “Bye!”

  I hadn’t made any plans with the girls for the rest of the day, but I would’ve preferred heading back to class with them to grab my things. Instead, I was left standing alone. I gave the boy an appraising look, hoping he had a good reason for stopping me. Sure, I could have ignored him—but I’m not that rude. Not yet, anyway.

  He seemed to muster all his courage before speaking.

  "May I talk to you for a moment?" he finally asked.

  Standing there with the tray in my hands, I almost rolled my eyes. He talks to me just to ask if he can talk to me instead of getting straight to the point. This means he’s going to keep talking.

  “What’s it?” I asked with a sigh, but keeping my tone as neutral as I could.

  His face was vaguely familiar. Well, I was in the school’s canteen, where I saw everyone every day—it’d be odd if his face wasn’t familiar. Still, there was something else about him, a faint recognition tugging at the back of my mind.

  “I’m Michael Steward... we... ahm... we’re cousins,” he stammered.

  Uh, oh. That was unexpected. I stared at him for a moment longer, then gasped. My brain unearthed a dusty memory from a family reunion two or three years ago. One of my cousins had gotten married—one of the rare family gatherings I’d actually attended. If my memory served me right—and it was a big if—he’d been there with his parents. I vaguely recalled my mom nudging me to talk to him back then.

  "The little cousin who asked me to dance?" I mused aloud.

  His cheeks flushed instantly, and he gave a small, embarrassed nod. I let out a long breath, a smile tugging at my lips.

  "Oh, yes, I remember!"

  A girl walking past snickered behind him—probably one of his classmates. Great, maybe I shouldn’t have said that out loud. Pushing the awkwardness aside, I set my tray down and offered him my hand.

  "Nice to meet you, Michael. Are you studying here too? What year are you in?"

  Wow, Ma would be proud of me for how smoothly I turned that around!

  The friendlier tone seemed to put him at ease, and soon we were chatting. Once he got over his initial awkwardness, he loosened up, becoming surprisingly talkative. There was even a hint of wit in the way he spoke.

  I learned he was four years younger than me, something I probably should have figured out sooner, but it didn’t really click until he said:

  "You know, I’m Spartacius!"

  "Oh... oops... sorry... uh..." I stammered, unsure of how to respond.

  He kept going, clearly not fazed by my awkwardness.

  "I’m sorry; I should have told you earlier. I just thought... well, maybe you didn’t want to talk to me."

  That caught me off guard, and I raised a brow.

  "Why would I not want to talk to you?"

  "Well, you ignored me once. I greeted you, and you just walked away..."

  "Did I not greet you back?"

  "Oh, yes, you did, but..."

  I let out a sigh of relief. At least I greeted back.

  "Sorry, that’s on me," I admitted with a small shrug. "Shame on me, but I honestly didn’t recognize you. It’s been, what, three years since we last met? And you’ve grown at least ten centimeters taller. You’ve changed."

  I glanced around at the constant flow of students, trays clattering as they discarded them. The noise made it hard to ignore that we had an audience, however unintentional.

  "Can we go somewhere else to chat?" he asked, a hint of unease in his voice.

  I nodded, and we moved toward a quieter corner of the canteen. On the way, I took the opportunity to skip the line and grab a couple of desserts—an unapologetic little perk of the situation. Once we settled at a table, I tore open my crème br?lée container and glanced at him.

  "What's up?" I asked, spoon at the ready.

  He sighed, the weight of something clearly on his chest.

  "Well, I wanted to talk to you... You know, after that mess I made with Noviel. I landed in jail, logged out, and..."

  His words trailed off as he glanced at me with a guilty look. I nudged the second crème br?lée toward him.

  "You want some?" I asked, feigning nonchalance.

  He shook his head. Who doesn't like crème br?lée? I wondered

  "I couldn’t log into the game after that," he admitted, his voice low. "I tried to contact you in Dreamland, but I couldn’t get through."

  I shrugged, swirling the caramelized top of my dessert with the spoon.

  "Pity," I replied casually. "Spartacius actually did really well after that. He's not in jail anymore—Alice freed him."

  I finished off my crème br?lée and glanced at the second one I’d grabbed for him.

  "You really don’t want this?" I asked, giving him one last chance.

  He shook his head again, firm this time.

  "Really? Alice actually freed me?" he wondered, his tone tinged with disbelief. "I mean... Spartacius? She did that even though I caused... uh... Noviel’s death?"

  "Well," I replied, leaning back a little. "She’s my merc, and I asked her to do it. But, for the record, Noviel survived. So technically, you owe me a high-level anti-poison potion."

  His face shifted from relief to mild panic. "Ugh, I’m glad to hear that—about Noviel, I mean—even if I can’t pay you right now. Those potions are expensive; you’ll have to give me some time..."

  I shrugged, keeping the fact that I mainly did it for Alice to myself. So, this is Michael—my forgotten little cousin.

  "Hey," I asked, curiosity tugging at me, "how did you figure out it was me in Dreamland? How’d you know Cala was me?"

  He winced a little, giving me that guilty look again. "Oh... I, uh, searched images with your photo. It matched one from your Dreamland user profile. When we talked in Dreamland about Mephisto, you mentioned having a high-level character there."

  "Zetta?" I blinked, caught off guard. "Did I upload photos of myself with that profile?"

  He nodded. "Yep. There were a couple, and that was enough to confirm it."

  Before I could ask more, he glanced at his watch and shot up from his seat. "Well, I’m late! I have to run to my next class. Thanks again, see you!"

  He bolted, leaving me with my unfinished questions and a lingering sense of curiosity. I sighed, turning back to my second crème br?lée. As I polished it off, I mulled over whether to grab a third one.

  *

  Well, my school day was officially over, but I found myself hesitating, unsure what to do next. Cala wasn’t satisfied with the sports I’d done so far. It had been fun, sure, but she insisted it wasn’t enough. She needed more.

  The thought nagged at me. Is her body even similar to a human’s? Do muscles shrink when they’re not used, even for Cala? Does she really need to exercise her muscles like we do?

  Curiosity pushed me to ask Flo for clarity:

  “Why does she need more sport?”

  “I don’t know,” Flo admitted. “It’s what she says. What you’ve done so far hasn’t really addressed her muscles. She feels they’re unused, and she says that’s bad.”

  “Okay, but how are we supposed to give her a proper workout? If she exercises at her speed and power, I’ll be instantly outed as a freak.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Yes, I know… we know,” Flo replied, her tone carrying a blend of resigned exasperation, “But she still needs to do more.”

  I sighed, tempted to brush it off. But Cala? Stubborn as ever, she wasn’t going to let it slide.

  Luckily, Flo came up with a solution: she could place a curse on me—yes, a curse—that would temporarily nullify Cala’s muscle magic. The effect would last for one minute at a time, and after a four-minute break, it could be reapplied.

  “Cala should focus on exercising intensively during the curse,” Flo explained.

  It wasn’t an ideal fix, but it was something. And knowing Cala, she’d make sure I stuck to it.

  Instead of heading home, I found myself walking toward the sports hall, mulling over the conversation with my alter ego.

  “Does Cala always train this much?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Flo replied matter-of-factly. “She trains regularly, but since she’s been here, you haven’t done anything.”

  I sighed. Was I really about to break a sweat in the sports hall?

  “This environment is so low on magic,” I countered, hoping to find an excuse. “She won’t make any progress here. This won’t help.”

  “That’s true,” Flo admitted, her tone resonating calm and firm in my mind, “but she still needs to maintain her muscles. Besides, I talked with Cala, and we came up with an idea. I can block my aura at the skin level, creating a high-level, magic-saturated environment for Cala to exercise in. It’ll be similar to what basic aura users do during training.”

  I stopped in my tracks, surprised. “Wait. You talked to Cala about this?”

  “Yes,” Flo replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  I blinked, momentarily shocked. Flo and Cala were collaborating behind my back? After a second, I realized how silly my reaction was. Of course, they were. It wasn’t like they were strangers. Cala was my avatar, and Flo was my alter ego. They were both me, after all.

  Still, the fact that they’d had this whole conversation without me knowing left me feeling... oddly out of the loop.

  I headed back to the locker room and changed into my sports clothes again. My blouse was damaged, so I grabbed Theresa's, it would have to do for now.

  The sports hall was nearly empty at this hour, with just a couple of boys working out in the weight area. After hours, students could use the hall under certain conditions—one person had to get the key from the sports teacher and take responsibility for locking up afterward. Judging by the scene, one of these guys must have the key. Both of them were from the final year, either a year older than me or possibly my age.

  “Hey,” I called out, walking toward them, “you mind if I use the space to do some sports?”

  One of them glanced over, smirking. “Suit yourself, Dolores!”

  I froze for half a second. Crap. They knew my name, but I had no idea what theirs were.

  “Thanks!” I said, keeping my tone casual.

  After a quick warm-up, Flo cast her curse, and I got down to business with push-ups. As I let Cala the lead she banged out twenty regular ones in no time and then switched to one-arm push-ups.

  Was this a thing for her too? She moved slower, but she was doing them just fine.

  The boy who had spoken earlier was now watching me, leaning slightly against the weight rack. Please, Cala, don't go full superhero mode on me now. He smiled when he saw the one-arm push-ups.

  “Nice workout, Dolores!” he said with an amused tone.

  Cala grinned, and I relaxed a little. At least this didn’t scream “superhuman.” I couldn’t help but wonder—are there really people who can do one-arm push-ups casually? Maybe Joe could. I’d have to ask him later.

  But, of course, Cala being Cala, she decided to raise the stakes.

  “Hey! Could I borrow some weight?” she asked.

  The boy raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to do?”

  “I’d like to try some pull-ups, maybe with added weight,” Cala replied matter-of-factly.

  “Whoa, whoa.” He put up his hands as if to warn me. “You can get some tendi... tendo... you’ll tear your elbow tendons if you go too hard.”

  The second boy snickered, shaking his head. “Tendinitis? Oh, come on, Daniel. She’s good—better than you at one-arm push-ups, anyway!”

  "Oh!" Cala exclaimed, visibly disappointed. "Maybe some added weight for push-ups then?" she suggested, clearly unwilling to back down.

  "Are you sure your curse is working?" I asked Flo, doubtful that what Cala was doing could really be non-magical.

  Flo sighed. "Yes, this is her natural strength, unamplified by magic. She’s just... strong."

  Daniel turned to me with a shrug. "You could use Helen for push-ups."

  “Helen?” I repeated, confused. Did they name a weight ‘Helen,’ or was this some kind of weird workout device?

  “I’m here!” a voice called out, and I turned toward the direction it came from. Helen, the slim girl from my class, was perched on a stack of gym mats, reading a book. She waved cheerfully at me. Only now did I realize she’d been there the whole time.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. "Yes, please! I already ate your lunch, so we should definitely continue this collaboration!"

  Once I stretched out on the floor, she giggled as she climbed on my back, careful but clearly amused by the situation and settled herself lightly on top.

  “Think you can handle this?” she teased.

  “Let’s find out,” Cala replied, waiting for Flo to cast the curse.

  As I started my push-ups, Helen still balanced on me, a familiar voice rang out from behind.

  “What exactly are you doing to my girl?”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

  “Joe? You fucking idiot! You left me alone with that bastard at Tim’s party!” Cala snapped, her words cutting through the air like a blade.

  Oh, for the love of—Joe picked the worst possible moment to show up. With Cala in control, this wasn’t going to go smoothly. I cringed internally, screaming silently from the back of my mind, but there was no stopping her. Cala knew everything, and she wasn’t about to let it slide.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Joe’s expression twist with guilt.

  “Uh… oof, yeah, I guess I had that coming,” he muttered, scratching his neck awkwardly.

  Helen, ever the troublemaker, grinned and poured gasoline on the fire.

  “Huh, it’s definitely heating up down here. I think her push-ups got stronger the second you showed up. What did you do this time, Joe?”

  I groaned internally. This was going to be difficult moment for me. He lingered for a moment, watching me struggle through another push-up before finally breaking the silence.

  “It was kind of like what happened to Simon a few weeks ago,” he said casually.

  I paused mid-push-up, frowning.

  “Simon?” I echoed.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” came the quick response, accompanied by a wave from the other guy standing next to Daniel.

  Oh. So that was Simon. I really should’ve known that. They clearly knew my name, which meant we’d probably crossed paths before. Maybe they were in Joe’s class? I suppose it wasn’t surprising—Dolores always did have a talent for missing the obvious.

  Helen just hummed in mild recognition, offering no further commentary, which meant I had to dig.

  “What happened to you, Simon?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

  Simon let out a long breath.

  “We were at this bar, right? Kate was wearing her brand-new leather jacket and pants—the ones she saved up for months to buy. And out of nowhere, some idiot threw a glass of red wine all over her. Claimed he tripped, but I saw him do it on purpose. His whole group was there, egging him on, filming it, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.” Simon’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing as if the memory alone reignited the anger. “So I broke his nose. One punch. Now I’m banned from all sports events, and the school’s trying to kick me off the football team.” He shrugged and glanced at Joe. “What about you?”

  I guessed Kate was either his girlfriend or sister, but I didn’t ask. I was too curious to hear what Joe had to say.

  Joe shifted his weight, arms crossing.

  “Some guy from Heatvy. Probably still salty we won the last game—and that I scored. I guess he thought messing with Dolores would get to me.”

  I almost snorted. Yeah, sure. Everything revolves around you, Joe.

  Simon raised an eyebrow at me. “Wait—attacked Dolores? Is the guy still breathing? What did you do to him?”

  I shrugged, feeling an unexpected twinge of embarrassment. Cala wasn’t proud of this one. “I… ran.”

  Simon burst out laughing. “Hah! Lucky bastard.”

  Joe, however, frowned. “Did you know him?”

  “No,” I replied, leveling him with a look. “And you thought leaving me there was the best move?”

  Joe shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… panicked, okay?”

  Simon nearly doubled over, wheezing between laughs. “That’s Joe for you.”

  Helen, resting her chin on her palm, smirked. “You know, Joe, an apology wouldn’t kill you. Flowers, chocolate... maybe a heartfelt poem?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, write me a poem, Joe. Make it rhyme.”

  Joe groaned dramatically, but the faint smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

  Helen leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. “I’d settle for a sonnet. Nothing too complicated.” then she pressed me slightly "Another one? Come on, you can do it!”

  Joe shot her a glare but then glanced at me, eyes softening. “Alright, alright… I owe you. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

  Simon grinned. “You hear that, Dolores? That’s as close to ‘I’m sorry’ as Joe gets. Cherish it.”

  I pretended to consider it. “Hmm. I’ll wait for the poem first.”

  Joe scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the floor. “I’m sorry, Doll. I thought it was better not to engage with the idiot. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He glanced at the others, clearly eager to change the subject. “I’m outside with some guys—handball. We’re short one for five-on-five. Any takers?”

  Daniel’s hand shot up immediately, as if answering a call for a high-five. “Whoa! A rare sighting—Joe actually apologizing! Miracles do happen.” He grinned, then shrugged. “But if I’m in, Simon’s coming too.”

  Simon arched a brow. “You know what? Let’s bring Dolores along. We’ll make it six-on-six.”

  Joe’s head whipped around to me, surprised. “Wait, you play handball?”

  Before I could answer, Simon clapped him on the back. “I’ve seen her play. She’s good. Maybe better than you.”

  Joe squinted at me like I’d been hiding some secret talent. “Oh, come on. Don’t hype her up.”

  I turned toward Helen. “What about you? You playing?”

  Helen’s voice floated from behind me, light and amused. “Nah, I’m sticking with my book. But I’ll cheer for you when you score.”

  And that’s how I found myself playing handball with the boys. Helen happily relocated outside, lounging on the grass with her book while Simon locked up the sports hall.

  We played for nearly two hours, and I swear I was floating. Ninth heaven kind of floating. Things with Joe felt smoothed over, and Cala was content after getting her workout in. Only Flo remained a little grumpy, quietly sulking that we let Joe off the hook so easily for the whole warlock fiasco.

  By the time I headed home, the sun was dipping low. But instead of heading straight back, I veered toward a nearby construction store I’d passed before. They’d plastered some ads on the window, and one particular tool had caught my eye—a battery-powered circular saw designed to cut stone. The blade was ten centimeters wide, sharp enough to slice through just about anything. Including, say… horns.

  It was on sale, half off, marked down to fifteen. I could afford that.

  The catch? The battery and charger weren’t included, and those would set me back another ten. That dulled my enthusiasm just a little. But I bought it anyway.

  No horns, no problems. Right? Maybe I could actually stand next to someone without worrying they’d graze against them. Maybe even kiss someone.

  Joe, for instance?

  After all, he did call me “my girl,” didn’t he?