I imagined myself covered in runic tattoos, wearing nothing but the loincloth and my white eyes blazing. The image came uninvited and vivid, the kind that settled in and refused to leave once it formed. I would look like a wild man in the future, feral and stripped down, more creature than person, and I still would not have a beard. If my genes followed my father’s line, I would be beardless for the rest of my life. That fact lodged itself in my mind far more stubbornly than it deserved. It was not the criminal look or the loincloth that bothered me. It was the beard, or rather the lack of one. Of all the indignities fate could offer, that felt personal.

  I shook the thought loose and dragged my attention back to the present. The group was still there, milling around, talking in low voices and casting glances toward the instructors’ table. “Now that everything’s settled, do you think we should go see what Greta’s got for us?” I asked. “She said she wouldn’t be back until she had something important, and it looks like the rest of the class is gathering for whatever announcement she’s about to make.”

  We headed over together, drifting toward our instructor with the rest of our class filing in behind us. One by one, we took our places in front of the table where the instructors were talking among themselves. We did not interrupt. We just stood there and waited. It was awkward every single time, standing so close and pretending not to listen, but we did it anyway. We always did it. Every time Greta came back from somewhere, we clustered around like a school of fish waiting to be fed, pretending we were not desperate for whatever scraps of information she was about to throw our way.

  Greta turned away from the conversation she was in the middle of and smiled at us, her expression sharp and amused all at once. “You couldn’t wait another thirty minutes?” she asked, folding her arms loosely.

  Sean cut in before anyone else could even open their mouth. “No. You said when you were back, you’d have something important to tell us. None of us want to wait any longer. We’ve been waiting for three days. Three days!”

  Several people nodded, not in unison, but close enough to make the point clear. A few of them shifted their weight, restless, like they were afraid the moment would slip away if they did not hold onto it tightly enough.

  Greta laughed under her breath and shook her head. “Alright,” she said. “Who remembers when they chose their class cards?”

  I remembered mine immediately. I had chosen it at the registrar’s office when I was younger. I was not that much younger, at least not compared to my actual lifespan, but I had been young enough that I barely understood what I was choosing. Back then, the decision had felt abstract, almost theoretical. I had picked something like a pugilist, guided more by instinct than understanding. I still did not fully understand the class system now. It was not something from my first life, and it felt new even to this one, especially as something formalized and categorized by the Adventurers’ Guild.

  Greta continued, her voice shifting into the tone she used when she was teaching instead of scolding. “Each of those class cards represents a specific fighting style. You’ll be taught by specialized instructors who know that style inside and out. I’m going to post a list on the quest board. You can go check your name and see when your assigned instructor will be teaching you.”

  “That’s it?” someone asked, disbelief plain in their voice.

  “Is that all?” another voice added from the back.

  Greta stared at us like we had collectively lost our minds. “How is that not something to celebrate?” she said. “You’re growing up. You’re getting stronger. Soon enough, you’ll all surpass me. You won’t need any of this anymore, and you’ll be teaching classes yourselves, like Azolo is right now.”

  She laughed and looked directly at me, clearly enjoying herself and the reaction she was getting.

  The rest of them laughed too, some louder than others. I laughed with them, because it had become a running joke ever since Randall had told Greta and Myrda what I had asked of him. Both of them had agreed that it might have been better for the students if I had actually been allowed to teach. Randall had even agreed openly. It just was not permitted, and so it never happened.

  It was our joke now, the idea that I wanted to be an instructor. Honestly, if I did not have a goal that involved murdering a traitor god, I probably would have loved it. I liked teaching. I liked watching people understand something they had not understood before. But my path in this life had been set long before I ever stepped foot in this place. That future was never going to be mine, no matter how appealing it sounded in passing.

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  “There’s no way that’s all,” Clarice said, crossing her arms. “We know you.”

  Greta’s smile widened. “You’re right. I have news about the tournament.”

  She let the words hang in the air for a moment, long enough for the tension to build. “You have one month before the first Copper tournament opens for your group.”

  We stared at her, trying to process that, a dozen questions rising at once.

  “Don’t we only need to do one?” someone asked. “Shouldn’t we just wait until the last possible moment and be stronger than everyone else?”

  “That’s one option,” Greta said. “Or you can win prizes, then go back and win prizes again. There’s no limit on how many you can enter. If you win, you win. If you lose, better luck next time.”

  She folded her arms, her tone turning serious. “If you win three tournaments, you qualify for the Grand Championship. Win that, and you get to choose where your next posting is when you finish your Iron training.”

  Her expression hardened slightly, the humor draining away. “Remember this. When you become Iron, tournaments are locked out for you. If you do not finish at least one before that happens, the guild assigns your posting.”

  She paused, then added dryly, “They usually pick terrible ones. Copper dungeons, dead ends, places where you never reach your potential. Don’t let that happen.”

  Koo looked at Greta forlornly and said, “Where did you go for so long?” There was genuine sadness in his voice, the kind that made it clear this was not just idle curiosity.

  She had rejected his proposal violently, though not with an angry dismissal. But with something far far worse. She had done it with laughter. She had laughed without stopping, patted him on the head, and told him, “Oh, that’s so cute,” before continuing to laugh even harder. It had been brutal to watch. It was also hilarious, because I had known it was coming and could not warn him. Sometimes you needed to have your heart broken by a woman to understand that you never stood a chance. Koo never did, not even a little.

  Still, I wanted to hear her answer to his question.

  Greta said, “While we’re in this zone and not the Iron zone for the entrance area, the Sea of Trees isn’t perfectly aligned when it comes to zoning. We’re actually closer to a Steel zone. That means I can take quests from the Delwood’s Guildhall over there as part of my time off.”

  She shrugged, casual as if she were talking about the weather. “I like training all of you, but it’s better that you start flapping your own wings. There are more than enough staff here to keep a hundred of you lot safe at once.”

  She rolled her shoulders, stretching slightly. “And honestly, it’s good for me to stretch my abilities too. It keeps them warm instead of letting them go stagnant.”

  “Greta,” I asked, stepping forward a little, “wasn’t part of the deal for getting Meka into our class that Randall sponsored her for the Copper tournament?” I hesitated, then added, “It sounds like there’s more than one.”

  “There is more than one,” Greta said easily. “But if Randall hadn’t signed off on her paperwork, she wouldn’t be able to join any of them.”

  That clicked immediately. She needed his signature because I could not sign for her myself. The rules were clear, even if they were annoying. “That makes sense,” I said. “Thank you for doing that.”

  Randall chose that moment to step out from behind the instructors’ area, hands spread wide in mock offense. “What am I?” he said. “Chopped chicken?”

  Clarice reacted instantly. She bounced off the floor and ran straight at him. “Randy, you’re back!” she said, practically launching herself into his arms.

  He caught her without missing a beat and spun her around once. He was wearing an outfit so aggressively gaudy it bordered on criminal, a clash of colors and textures that should not have worked. Somehow, on him, it did. Randall had a talent for pulling off the most garish, flamboyant dandy look imaginable, as if he had been born specifically to wear it and never once care what anyone thought.

  “So,” he said, holding Clarice at arm’s length for a moment, “how is everyone treating you?” He smiled, eyes softening. “You’ve gotten big.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because I’m twelve,” she said. “I should be big.”

  “Stop growing,” he said immediately. He set her down, patted her on the head, and looked genuinely affronted by the passage of time.

  He turned his attention back to me. “Yes, Azolo, I did sign Meka up for the Copper tournament circuits,” he said. “She’s allowed to participate. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “Good,” I said, relieved.

  He glanced around the group. “So,” he added, “how are you all doing at watching over my sister?”

  Clarice answered that by punching him lightly in the shoulder. “We’re looking after him,” she said firmly. “He’s the runt, remember? It’s not the other way around.”

  Randall rubbed his shoulder, exaggerating the motion. “Ow,” he said. “You got really strong.” He paused, then added, “He’s also a reincarnator. Don’t forget that. Age isn’t everything when it comes to them.”

  “We know,” Glim said. “But he’s still the littlest one here. Still a runt. A good runt, but still a runt.”

  I laughed at that despite myself. He was trying to be supportive, and he almost managed it. It only went so far when everyone kept calling me runt. I did not mind anymore, not really. Still, kids were kids.