A week of intense training passed in the Thieves' Guild. Drake barely slept, barely ate, pushing himself harder than even Urokodaki ever demanded. And finally—
[Ding!]
A bright window appeared before him.
[Class section unlocked!]
[Rearranging the Status Window for a more organized setup…]
[Ability section has been merged into Skills.]
[Skills have been divided into Active Skills and Passive Skills.]
A fully updated display unfolded before Drake's eyes:
[Status Window]
[Name: Drake Curtis]
[Age: 16]
[Gender: Male]
[Race: Human]
[Class: Thief (Ordinary)]
[Stats:
Strength: 25 (F)
Agility: 28 (F)
Vitality: 24 (F)
Intelligence: 6 (F)
Charm: 40 (F)
Luck: 20 (F)]
[Active Skills: Pick Lock (Lv. 37), Slap (Lv. 10), Backstab (Lv. 6), Swat (Lv. 6)]
Passive Skills: Sword Mastery (Lv. 63), Heightened Senses (Lv. 29)]
[Trait: Swordsman (Common)]
Drake grinned—immediately forced to flinch as a blur of steel flashed toward him.
Barbara attacked relentlessly, her dual daggers whistling through the air in a vicious rhythm. Drake parried one, ducked under the other, and backstepped only to be pressured again, her strikes fast, sharp, unpredictable.
This… this is the Assault skill.
Drake recognized it from the anime instantly.
He could barely keep up. Only his Heightened Senses and the footwork drilled into him by both Urokodaki and Barbara allowed him to survive this storm of blades.
But surviving wasn't enough.
He needed to hit her.
Because Barbara had made him a deal.
She had quickly discovered Drake's… difficulty focusing during training. His eyes kept wandering over her body, and she had caught him more than once staring, blushing, nearly walking into trees.
So she made him a promise:
Land one hit on her within a week, and she'd let him touch her chest.
It was the most motivation Drake had ever felt in his entire life.
So he trained. Harder than ever. Harder than Urokodaki had worked him. Harder than he trained for actual life-or-death battles.
Now—the deadline had arrived.
Today was the last day.
And Drake still had not touched her even once.
He blocked another strike, but sweat dripped down his temples.
At this rate… I won't get a chance…
Then—
Drake made a sudden decision.
He dropped his katana.
Barbara's eyes widened—her steps faltering for just a fraction of a second.
That was all Drake needed.
"Slap!"
He activated the skill. His hand snapped forward faster than she expected, striking her wrist with precision. One of her daggers flew from her hand, clattering to the floor.
But before Drake could celebrate, something cold pressed against his throat.
Her second dagger.
Barbara stared at him. "…You really did it."
She withdrew her blade, letting him breathe again.
"You actually managed to pull it off," she admitted. "I honestly didn't think you'd succeed."
Drake didn't hear her.
His hands were already twitching with anticipation.
Barbara sighed. "Fine. I promised. Touch them."
Drake instantly lunged forward, both hands reaching.
He grabbed—
And was immediately kicked across the room.
"GAH!"
He crashed into the wall and slid down in a heap.
"Why?!" Drake wheezed, clutching his ribs. "We had a deal!"
Barbara leaned forward, arms folded beneath her chest, pushing them up in a teasing, mocking display.
"I said you could touch them. Not grab and squeeze them like you're kneading bread."
Drake groaned.
Barbara approached, crouched in front of him, and lifted his chin with one finger.
"Why is a handsome guy like you such a hopeless pervert?" she teased. "If you were a little cooler… a little more mysterious… you'd have plenty of these to play with."
She squeezed her arms together, making them bounce slightly. Drake's eyes nearly rolled back.
He sighed softly. "I know… but… I prefer being myself."
Barbara paused.
Then leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.
"Then beat me one day…" she whispered. "If you can do that, I'll let you do whatever you want to me."
Drake's whole face turned crimson. "W-Whatever I want…?"
"Anything."
She dragged a finger across his chest, slow and tempting.
"Everything."
Drake froze—then his eyes sharpened with determination.
"I'm taking a quest," he declared.
He stood up abruptly, snatched his katana, and stormed off—covering himself down there with his free hand as he walked.
Barbara watched him go, laughing softly.
Behind her, a shy voice stammered:
"U-Um… Sensei… d-don't you think you're… going a little overboard?"
Barbara turned and smiled at the hesitant boy behind her.
Haruhiro stood there, awkward posture, brown messy hair, and a perpetually anxious expression. His eyes wide with embarrassment at what he had just witnessed.
"Don't worry, Haruhiro," Barbara said with a smirk. "By the time he ever reaches my level… he'll have matured. Probably."
Haruhiro just stared at her, utterly dumbfounded.
To be continued...
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