Max stared at the name flashing across his phone for another second before answering the call and bringing it to his ear.
"That was quick," a feminine voice said immediately.
Max stopped halfway down the steps of the Association building.
"What was?"
"Oh, don’t start."
There was amusement in her voice, which told Max she already knew exactly what had happened, though that only made him more curious about how she’d learned so quickly.
He continued walking, slipping his free hand into the pocket that held his new Player card. "I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about."
"Oh, don’t start. You awaken in an Academy laboratory, get carried into the hospital, and somehow the next thing I hear is that you’re already walking around with a Player license."
Max glanced down at the black-and-silver card still in his hand.
"News travels fast."
"Apparently faster than you do, because you somehow had enough time to register but not enough time to tell your favorite person."
"My favorite person?"
There was a brief silence from the other end and then a chuckle from Max.
"Keep talking like that and I’m putting the chicken back in the freezer."
Max stopped laughing immediately. "Wait, what chicken?"
"I thought you didn’t know who your favorite person was."
"I can reconsider."
"How generous."
A grin spread across Max’s face as he slipped the license into his pocket and continued toward the road.
The evening was still young enough for him to get something useful done. Now that his registration was complete, there was nothing stopping him from checking the Academy Gate listings and finding out what beginner Gates were available.
He didn’t necessarily have to enter one tonight.
Although if there was an opening...
Max’s thoughts drifted back to [Glutton].
He had only used Devour once and already gained something that had changed the way his body reacted.
There were still Stats, Skills, Memories and Class to test, and the sooner he got his hands on another monster, the sooner he could start understanding what his Class was actually capable of.
"So," the voice continued, "are you coming over, or are you planning to spend your first evening as a Player doing something stupid?"
"That depends on what you consider stupid."
"Whatever you’re thinking about right now."
Max frowned.
"That’s a very broad definition."
"Was I wrong?"
He didn’t answer immediately and the two eventually settled into a laugh.
"I was just thinking of checking the Academy Gate board," he admitted. "I don’t have to enter anything tonight. I mostly want to know what’s available."
"You awakened yesterday, Max."
"Yep, more than twenty-four hours ago."
"Wonderful. Then you’ve clearly accumulated decades of experience since I last checked."
Max ignored the sarcasm and looked toward the Academy district.
The Gates would still be there tomorrow... Probably.
"How’s the farm?"
The woman went quiet for a moment. Then she laughed.
"No. Don’t suddenly pretend you care about my farm because you’re deciding whether dinner is worth changing your plans."
"I’ve always cared about agriculture."
"You care about the part where agriculture becomes food."
"That’s still an important stage."
"To you, it’s the only stage."
Max smiled.
"So how is it?"
"The tomatoes came out yesterday, and I harvested most of the peppers this morning. The onions are finally ready too, though if you complain about them this year, I’m banning you from the farm."
"I’ll be the judge of that when I get there. How about the chicken?"
The voice continued, "I picked up an assorted tray on the way back this afternoon. I was planning to cook before you called."
Max looked toward the Academy one last time. He had already made up his mind. The Gates could wait until tomorrow.
"I’ll be there soon."
***
The bus dropped him off near the edge of the residential district roughly ten minutes later.
From there, Max walked the rest of the way.
He had made this trip enough times that he barely needed to think about the route anymore.
The taller buildings disappeared first, then the wider roads, until he was moving through a quieter part of the city where houses sat farther apart and patches of open land still survived between them.
The property came into view near the end of the road.
A low fence surrounded several acres of farmland, with the main house sitting close to the front and a greenhouse farther behind it.
Most of the fields had been divided into clean rows, and even from outside the gate Max could see fresh gaps where crops had recently been harvested.
A few empty crates were stacked near the porch.
Max pushed through the gate and started toward the house.
Before he reached the porch, the front door opened and a woman stepped outside carrying a small basket filled with peppers.
Her name was Odessa.
She had long dark hair loosely gathered behind her head, and her skin was pale enough that people often assumed she barely spent any time outdoors until they learned she owned a farm.
Odessa also claimed to be retired.
Max had never received a satisfying explanation for what she had retired from, and considering she looked somewhere around thirty despite speaking about events from decades ago as though she’d been there yesterday, he had stopped asking a long time ago.
High-ranked Players were strange. That explanation covered enough things in life.
Odessa looked him over as he came up the path, then gave a small nod.
"Well, at least you look alive. The way people were talking, I was expecting them to wheel you in here."
"It wasn’t that bad," Max said, taking the porch steps two at a time.
Odessa rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "I’ve told you a dozen times that your reckless experiments were going to get you killed one day. You’re lucky an awakening pulled you back from the brink, or I’d be stuck tending this entire farm with one less person to complain about my peppers."
Max gave a slow, exaggerated yawn, reaching out to lift the heavy basket of peppers from her arms. "What if this, imagine that, it could have been. Well, it didn’t go that way, Odessa."
She huffed at his dismissive shrug, giving him a flat, unimpressed look before stepping aside to let him through. "Get inside before you drop those."
The house hadn’t changed at all since his last visit. Odessa was allergic to replacing anything that still functioned.
Max had personally repaired at least three fixtures in this room over the past two years. Four, if he counted the kitchen light that Odessa stubbornly forgot existed.
The kitchen was pitch black as always. Max flipped the switch, flooding the room with a warm glow, and set the pepper basket on the counter.
Odessa had already prepped the workspace. A stainless-steel bowl held pieces of cleaned chicken, partitioned neatly.
Nearby sat several whole yellow onions, cloves of garlic, bundles of fresh herbs, and a cluster of ripe red tomatoes.
Max picked up one of the tomatoes, sliced off a thin wedge with a small paring knife, and popped it into his mouth.
The sharp, sweet taste burst across his tongue, infinitely better than the bland, chalky nutrient paste the Academy pushed on everyone.
Odessa leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "Well?"
"Much better than last season," Max said with a grin.
"Means I did a good job then," Odessa smiled proudly.
Max washed his hands at the sink, pulled the chicken closer, and began tossing it with salt and spices.
Odessa moved in beside him without a word. They had spent enough evenings doing this that neither needed to direct the other; whenever Max took over the stove, Odessa quietly handled whatever prep remained.
Odessa told him one of the pumps near the greenhouse had started making noise again and they started going back and forth about whether to fix it.
"I swear, if your new Class makes you even more annoying, I’m reporting it to the Association."
"If anything, they already think it’s useless."
That stopped her knife mid-chop. Odessa glanced over and her dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Do they?"
"Apparently."
Max didn’t explain further, and Odessa didn’t press. That was one of the things he appreciated most about her: she was curious about plenty of things, but she never dragged answers out of him before he was ready to give them.
The next half hour settled quietly. The kitchen was soon filled with a rich aroma as Max built the sauce around the meat.
Odessa hovered nearby, her quick reflexes testing Max’s patience as she repeatedly tried to swipe bits of food from the pan before he slapped her hand away with a wooden spoon.
By the time the sauce had reduced to a thick glaze and the food was ready, the sky outside the window had faded into complete darkness.
Max carried two heaping plates to the dining table and sat across from her.
Odessa blew on a forkful of chicken, tasted it, and let out a quiet breath of pure approval. "I still don’t understand how a nerd raised on orphanage rations knows how to cook like this."
"It’s called survival instinct," Max replied around a mouthful of rice. "Eat gray sludge for twelve years and you figure out the value of real seasoning pretty fast."
They ate comfortably, sharing easy conversation as the night wore on. Odessa did most of the talking, sharing trivial gossip about the neighboring plots.
Max enjoyed listening, but his primary focus remained entirely on his meal.
By the time Odessa finished her single plate, Max was already polishing off his third.
He leaned back in his chair with a deeply satisfied sigh, finally feeling properly fed for the first time since waking up in the infirmary.
Odessa rested her chin in one hand, watching him with an amused smirk that gradually quieted into something more observant.
"You know," she suddenly said, "I was wondering how long you’d manage to avoid talking about yesterday."