I shuffled out of the bathroom in my favorite faded pajamas (the ones with little cartoon swords all over them), hair still damp and sticking up in every direction. Dad was exactly where I left him, feet up, movie explosions lighting his face blue.
I stopped in front of him, dug the faintly glowing mana crystal out of my pocket, and held it out.
He plucked it from my fingers without looking, flicked it into the storage ring on his right hand (a casual motion he's done a million times), then tapped two fingers against his phone.
*Ping.*
My own phone buzzed in the living-room charger: transfer received—3,400 credits.
"Pocket money," I said, trying to sound casual and failing.
Dad just grunted, eyes still on the screen.
"Thanks, Dad!" I beamed.
He gave the tiniest nod.
From the floor, my sister looked up with the smuggest grin in the universe. "Aww, look at Mr. Grown-Up Warrior, already contributing to the family~ So responsible!"
Heat rushed to my cheeks again. "Shut up," I groaned, flicking a cushion at her head.
She dodged, stuck her tongue out, and went right back to her game.
"Dinner's ready!" Mom called, carrying a huge pot of spicy noodle soup to the table.
We all migrated over like it was the most natural thing in the world. Bowls clinked, steam rose, and within seconds Mom and Dad were deep into the latest aunt-uncle-cousin drama ("Did you hear Rina's husband ran off with the guild receptionist?"). My sister kept sneaking little jabs at me ("Pass the chili oil, Mr. Slime-Slayer"), and I fired right back ("Only if you say 'pretty please' first, gremlin").
Chopsticks clacked, someone accidentally snorted soup laughing, Dad stole the last piece of pork from my bowl and I stole it right back. The kitchen light was warm and yellow, the windows fogged from the heat, and the whole house smelled like home.
For the first time all day, the word "common" didn't sting even a little.
I finished my second bowl, leaned back in my chair, and let the noise of my ridiculous family wash over me.
Tomorrow I'll grind harder.
Tomorrow I'll get stronger.
But tonight?
Tonight is perfect
Dad set his chopsticks down and looked at me, serious for once.
"Tomorrow I'm bringing over my old party (Uncle Torren, Aunt Lysa, and Uncle Jace). You know the ones I used to run dungeons with. Their kids all awakened the same classes as their parents: Healer, Mage, and Thief. Perfect balance. I told them about you, and they want to introduce you guys. Thought you four could form a proper party, grow together."
My spoon froze halfway to my mouth. "A real party…?"
Dad nodded. "Exactly. You'd be the tank. Frontline warrior. What do you say, son?"
I swallowed hard. "That would be great, Dad. But… I'm just a common warrior. You sure they'll accept me?"
Dad actually smiled (small, proud, the kind he almost never shows).
"Listen. Those three kids are meeting each other for the first time tomorrow too. They're just as nervous as you. Just be yourself, stand tall, and remember: a warrior's job is to protect the people behind him. Show them you can do that, and they'll follow you anywhere."
Something warm bloomed in my chest. I straightened up. "I won't let you down, Dad."
He ruffled my still-damp hair. "I know you won't."
"Good night, everyone!" I called, already halfway up the stairs, heart racing in a completely different way than it had this morning.
In my room I flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.
A real party.
A healer who'll keep me alive.
A mage who can blow things up.
A thief to watch our backs (and probably steal my snacks).
Tomorrow I won't be hunting slimes alone.
Tomorrow I get teammates.
I hugged my pillow, grinning like an idiot, kicking my feet under the blanket. A quiet, giddy laugh slipped out.
I can't wait.
Sleep finally dragged me under, dreams full of swords, spells, and four silhouettes standing side-by-side against something huge
Inside the Nightshade house, the sun was already blazing through the curtains like it had a personal grudge. Zev Nightshade (twenty years old, freshly awakened Thief, future legend) was sprawled across his bed in bright yellow Pikachu pajamas, one leg sticking out, mouth open, snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. He looked less "master rogue" and more "dead possum wearing merchandise."
Seryn Nightshade, legendary Shadow Assassin and current Mom On A Mission, poked her head in.
"Sweetheart, time to wake up," she cooed, voice soft as silk.
Zev answered with a snore that sounded suspiciously like a dying walrus.
She tried again, sweeter. "Honey, the party meeting is in an hour…"
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
Seryn's eye twitched. She glided to the bathroom, filled a bucket with water cold enough to make penguins file complaints, and returned. One last chance:
"Zev, my precious little angel, please get up or Mommy will be very sad."
Zev's only response was to roll over, smack his lips, and mutter, "Five more quests…"
Seryn's gentle smile vanished.
"Disrespectful little gremlin," she hissed under her breath, sweet voice gone like a dagger into the dark.
Downstairs in the hall, thirteen-year-old Kipp Nightshade was proudly presenting his latest masterpiece: an extremely fat, extremely confused tabby cat that definitely belonged to the neighbors.
"Look, Dad! Personal best: twenty meters, two fences, one very angry grandma!"
Rowan Nightshade, Master Thief and Proud Father, wiped away a dramatic tear.
"That's my boy. Already out-thieving me at your age. I'm retiring tomorrow."
Kipp beamed, bouncing the grumpy cat like a basketball. The cat gave him a look that promised revenge in nine lifetimes.
That's when the scream came.
A high-pitched, inhuman, pig-being-butchered-at-3-a.m. wail exploded from upstairs, followed by frantic splashing and creative swearing in three languages.
Rowan and Kipp froze, looked at each other, then burst into identical evil grins.
Rowan wiped another fake tear. "And that's my wife. Still got the touch."
Kipp hugged the stolen cat tighter. "Best. Morning. Ever."
Upstairs, a soaked Pikachu gremlin staggered into the hallway, hair plastered to his face, dignity drowned somewhere between the bedsheets and the bucket.
"MOOOOM!"
From the bottom of the stairs, Seryn called back, perfectly calm again, "Language, dear. Breakfast in ten. Try not to drown on the way down.
In the Silverwind house, the morning air crackled with pure, unfiltered anxiety.
Liora Silverwind (twenty years old, brand-new Healer, usually the calmest person alive) was pacing the living room like a caged hamster on espresso.
"What if they hate me? What if they think I'm useless? What if they reject me and I die alone surrounded by cats—"
Her father, Jace Silverwind (legendary Holy Priest, savior of a thousand raids, currently sweating bullets), trailed after her doing laps of his own.
"It's fine, sweetheart! They'll definitely accept you! Totally! One hundred percent!"
His voice climbed half an octave with every lap, betraying that he was approximately 300 % more nervous than his daughter.
In the kitchen, Elira Silverwind (battlefield medic, terror of demons, currently wearing a frilly apron) and little Mira (fifteen, future healer, current agent of chaos) were chopping vegetables with the dead-eyed precision of executioners.
"Breakfast is ready," Elira called, perfectly flat.
The second the words left her mouth, Liora and Jace bolted for the dining table like it was the last helicopter out of a war zone.
Mira glanced up, expression unchanged, and delivered the killing blow in the most monotone voice possible:
"They're probably going to reject you, sis."
Liora froze mid-step.
Jace froze mid-step.
Father and daughter exchanged one horrified look, inhaled, and visibly wound up for another frantic lap around the house.
Elira slowly turned, wooden spoon in hand, and gave them The Mom Stare™ (equal parts disappointment and holy judgment).
Three things happened instantly:
1. Liora sat down so fast the chair squeaked.
2. Jace sat down with the posture of a scolded cadet.
3. Mira smirked like a tiny evil mastermind who'd just won the morning.
Elira placed a plate of perfectly golden pancakes in the center of the table.
"Eat," she said, voice sweet, smile terrifying. "And no one is getting rejected until I say so."
The Silverwind family ate their breakfast in complete, angelic silence.
Outside, birds chirped. Inside, three very good children tried to become one with their chairs.