System, would my swordsmanship skills work here?
[Host's Swordsmanship skill appliesin in this world to blade-based combat. Improvised weapons show reduced effectiveness but retain basic principles.]
Noah gripped the bat properly, his muscle memory from Valeria's training kicking in.
The weight distribution was wrong, the balance quite different, but the fundamental stance remained sound.
Level 2 Swordsmanship. Let's see what you're worth.
The mugger lunged forward, his knife leading.
Noah's body responded automatically. He did a quick sidestep, redirect, and counter-strike combo. The bat connected with the man's wrist in a sharp crack.
The knife clattered to concrete.
"What the—" The mugger stared at his empty hand in disbelief.
"Baseball," Noah deadpanned, twirling the bat with confidence. "America's pastime."
No way! That actually worked.
The would-be thief clutched his wrist, his shock delaying the pain. This wasn't how muggings were supposed to go.
"You some kind of ninja?"
Before Noah could respond, the mugger made a quick decision, sprinting away into the gathering dusk.
Noah watched him disappear, adrenaline singing through his veins.
Noah dropped the bat with a dull thud and climbed the stairs to his apartment.
The familiar scent of old carpet and broken dreams greeted him as he reached his floor.
Before Mrs. Henderson could execute her signature three-knock combo—the one that rattled his door like artillery fire, Noah swung it open.
The middle-aged landlord stumbled forward, her raised fist meeting empty air. She caught herself against the doorframe, her white hair askew from her near-tumble.
"It's about time you opened the door." She straightened her floral housecoat.
Her brown eyes blazed behind her wire-rimmed glasses.
"I've been hunting you down like a common criminal, Noah Carter!"
Noah's tone remained perfectly neutral, as if she'd dropped by for afternoon tea instead of eviction.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?"
Kill her with kindness.
"Don't you dare try that sweet talk on me!" She waggled a finger inches from his nose.
"A month behind, plus this month's payment. That's two thousand four hundred dollars, young man!"
Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
"I've been really busy,"
"You know how it is in the startup world."
"Startup my wrinkled behind!"
Mrs. Henderson's voice climbed toward outrage.
"I've seen more failed entrepreneurs than you've had hot dinners. They all say the same thing—'next week, Mrs. Henderson,' 'big deal coming through, Mrs. Henderson.'"
She stepped closer, invading his personal space.
"Well, I'm done being patient. Sunset means eviction papers, boy. Hope your precious startup can provide you with a cardboard box!"
She is always quite dramatic. I'll give her that.
Noah reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers closing around the envelope. The paper crinkled softly.
"Actually," he said, pulling out the cash.
"I think we can settle this right now."
Mrs. Henderson's tirade died mid-syllable. Her eyes locked onto the envelope like a hawk spotting its prey.
Money talks, louder than than you do.
"Is that..." She blinked rapidly, as if the envelope might vanish if she looked away.
"Two thousand four hundred dollars."
Seeing her expression, Noah thought.
'Sometimes the best revenge is paying your bills.'
Mrs. Henderson's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish, her prepared eviction speech crumbling into nothing.
"Well," she managed finally, "it's about damn time."
The envelope passed between them.
"Since you paid, I will forgive you for your past deeds. But, don't you dare give a late payment again. I won't be so polite next time."
After paying the rent dues, Noah returned to his apartment and collapsed onto his couch.
His phone buzzed against th table, an unknown number flashing across the cracked screen.
Noah considered ignoring it but his curiosity won.
"Noah! Dude, it's Marcus from university!"
"Marcus?" Noah's mind scrolled through college memories.
"The one and only! Man, I tracked you down through like six different social media platforms. You're harder to find than a decent parking spot."
Well...That was intentional.
"Class reunion, baby! Two weeks from now. The whole gang's getting together at the Marriott downtown. You remember Sarah? She's organizing the whole thing."
"Listen, I appreciate you calling, but—"
"Come on, man! It'll be epic. Jessica's flying in from Seattle, Tom's bringing his new Porsche, and get this—Kevin made partner at his law firm!"
And here comes the humble bragging.
Noah rubbed his temples. "That's great for everyone, but I'm not really interested."
"Not interested?" Marcus's voice cracked with disbelief. "Dude, it's been years! Don't you want to see how everyone turned out?"
I can imagine. Suits, luxury cars, and conversations about their quarterly earnings.
"I've got stuff to do that weekend."
"Stuff? What kind of stuff is more important than reconnecting with old friends?"
'Running a shop in another world. Managing employees with legendary talents. Learning magic from a medieval princess.'
"Work stuff. Big project."
"Still coding in that basement apartment? Man, you need to get out more. Sarah mentioned she's bringing her husband—he's a doctor, super successful guy. And remember Lisa from sophomore year? She's in marketing now, making bank."
Oh god...the success parade continues.
"Look, I get it. Maybe things haven't gone exactly as planned for you. But that's what reunions are for! Fresh starts, new connections. Who knows? Maybe someone's looking for a programmer for their startup."
"I'm doing fine, thanks."
"Define fine. Because Jessica mentioned she saw your LinkedOut, and it still says 'seeking opportunities.' No judgment, man, but—"
"I'm hanging up now."
"Wait! Noah, just think about it, okay? Two weeks. One night. Free dinner, open bar, and I promise the stories will be worth it. Remember when Jess tried to ask Professor Williams on a date?"
Actually, that was pretty funny.
Noah's resolve wavered for exactly three seconds before reality reasserted itself. A room full of college classmates comparing achievements while he sat there sounded like torture.
"I've got stuff to do, Marcus. Thanks for calling."
Noah stared at his phone, imagining the scene he'd just avoided.
The couch embraced him like an old friend as he settled deeper into its worn cushions. In two weeks, his classmates would gather to compare bank accounts and career trajectories.
Meanwhile, he'd be in another world.
Different kinds of success, I suppose.
His phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.
This time, Noah didn't hesitate to decline the call.
Some battles aren't worth fighting.