The woods didn't hum. That was the first thing Gideon noticed, and the first thing that made his skin crawl.

  Back in the sub-basement of the Helios Nexus, silence was a heavy, engineered thing. It was the sound of air scrubbers and cooling fans, a white noise that cost more than the GDP of a small nation. It was safe. It was predictable. Here, the silence was jagged. It was perforated by the snap of dry twigs, the rustle of unseen movement, and the wet, rhythmic squelch of something that defied the laws of friction.

  Gideon Vance, Ph.D. candidate (pending indefinite hiatus), adjusted the straps of his backpack. He felt less like the protagonist of an epic saga and more like an NPC in an escort mission who keeps getting stuck on the geometry.

  "Okay," he muttered, his voice sounding thin and unauthorized in the open air. "Okay. Plan. Survive. Find a tutorial NPC who makes sense and doesn't get me eaten by the wildlife."

  He stepped over a moss-covered log, his "tired eyes" scanning the undergrowth with the frantic intensity of a student looking for a missing variable in a equation. Without his tablet, without the comforting blue glow of the PNI telemetry, he felt functionally blind. Reality here didn't have a HUD. There were no red warning indicators for thermal variances. Just dirt. High-resolution, bump-mapped, unoptimized dirt.

  Squelch.

  The sound came from the left. It was wet and heavy, like a boot being pulled out of deep mud, but faster.

  Gideon froze. He did what any rational scientist with zero combat training would do: he scrambled behind the nearest oak tree and peeked out, trying to minimize his hitbox.

  Two shapes emerged from the ferns. They were roughly spherical, translucent, and the color of aggressive window cleaner. They wobbled with a disturbing gelatinous physics that suggested their render engine was struggling to maintain a constant frame rate.

  They looked like oversized raindrops that had gained sentience and chosen violence.

  "Slimes," Gideon whispered, the word tasting ridiculous in his mouth. The classic starter enemy. The "Hello World" of monster coding.

  He narrowed his eyes, instinctively trying to "click" on them with his mind. Analyze. Scan. Query. Ctrl+F? System, give me the data.

  Nothing happened. No blue box floated above their heads. No health bars. No level indicators telling him if these were harmless level 1s or level 50 man-eaters.

  "Great," Gideon hissed, pressing his back against the bark. "UI is bugged. Or I didn't spec into Perception. Blind playthrough it is."

  The slimes moved in tandem, sliding over the leaf litter without leaving a trail. They were about the size of medicine balls, but denser. Gideon’s brain, still wired for "Non-Linear Optical Dynamics", immediately started calculating surface tension and viscosity.

  They wobble. Like jelly. If I hit them hard, they should firm up. Cutting might just split them. Fire? Do I have fire? No. I have anxiety and a bent sword.

  He gripped the sword tightly. It felt like more of a prop, than weapon.

  The leading slime paused. It didn't have eyes, but Gideon felt it looking at him. It pulsed, a ripple of intent traveling through its membrane. It was the biological equivalent of a red exclamation mark appearing over a guard's head.

  Aggro range entered, Gideon thought, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Initiate combat protocol. Or running. Running is good.

  The slime lunged.

  It didn't jump so much as launch itself, converting potential elastic energy into kinetic force with terrifying efficiency. Gideon yelped—a sound that was decidedly un-heroic—and scrambled backward, tripping over a root.

  "Shield!" he screamed, thrusting his hand out.

  It wasn't a prayer; it was a command. He didn't ask the universe for protection; he tried to code a patch for it in real-time. He visualized the Seam. He pictured the air in front of him not as empty space, but as a lattice of light. He needed to wrap that light in a blanket, to give it an infinite refractive index so the slime would just... slide off.

  Flash.

  A shimmer of hexagonal light snapped into existence before his palm. It wasn't the perfect, stable sphere he had created in the Nexus to protect his father. It was jagged, flickering like a monitor with a loose cable.

  He felt the energy rip out of him—a sudden, nauseating drop in his blood sugar, as if he’d just run a sprint on an empty stomach. 100 MP. Gone. Just like that.

  The slime collided with the barrier.

  THWACK.

  The barrier held—barely. The slime didn't slide off; it bounced. The kinetic energy of its impact hit the high-refractive boundary and was rejected. A ripple of force—10% Damage Reflection—shot back into the jelly.

  The slime shuddered, its blue surface rippling violently as if it had been slapped. It landed in the dirt, rolling backward, looking confused.

  But the "global cooldown" on reality was nonexistent. The second slime was already airborne.

  Gideon scrambled to adjust his aim, but the "lag" in his own nervous system was too high. He couldn't pivot the shield in time.

  The blue blob hit him square in the chest.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The damage is "minor" (5 HP), but the sensory detail is crucial. It isn't just a number; it is a physical sensation.

  It felt like being tackled by a wet sandbag. Gideon went down, the air leaving his lungs in a wheeze. The slime didn't bite; it burned. Where its membrane touched his itchy shirt, he felt a stinging heat, like aggressive static electricity mixed with mild acid.

  -5 HP.

  "Ow! Hey!" Gideon kicked at it, scrambling backward on his elbows. "Personal space! Clipping issues! Get off!"

  He swung his sword, a desperate, flailing arc. The steel connected with the slime’s side with a satisfying splat. The creature deformed around the sword, absorbing the blow, then jiggled back into shape.

  It wasn't dead. It wasn't even slowing down.

  " Okay, hitting it isn't working," Gideon panted, scrambling to his feet. He backed up against a large oak tree, putting the geometry between him and the flankers. "Think, Gideon. You’re a scientist. You solve problems. This is just a physics problem with teeth."

  The first slime, the one that had bounced off his shield, was recovering. It looked... smaller? Less coherent?

  The second one was coiling for another jump.

  He checked his internal "battery." The first shield had cost him a massive chunk of energy. He could feel the hollowness in his chest, the mana debt piling up. I can do one more. Maybe two if I want to pass out and get eaten.

  "Come on, you wobbling phlegm-wads," Gideon taunted, his voice shaking but finding a rhythm in the absurdity of it all. " Let’s see how you handle a wall of hard light"

  Both slimes jumped at once.

  Gideon waited. Timing. Frame perfect input.

  "Shield!"

  The hexagonal barrier flared again, brighter this time. 100 MP.

  The first slime hit the center of the shield. The reflection damage triggered instantly. The slime’s membrane rippled violently, the feedback loop of kinetic energy tearing its molecular bonds apart.

  POP.

  It didn't explode; it lost cohesion. The surface tension failed, and the creature dissolved into a puddle of inert blue goo.

  Gideon stared at it, blinking. "Wait. That’s it?"

  He had expected a boss fight. He had expected a grind. But the thing had popped like a cheap balloon.

  Calculation: If the reflection dealt 10% of the impact force... and it died... that means its max HP is incredibly low. Maybe 12? 15 tops?

  He laughed, a hysterical, breathless sound that bubbled up from his chest. "You guys are glass cannons! You're all torque and no chassis!"

  The realization changed everything. The terror evaporated, replaced by the cold, calculating arrogance of a gamer who has figured out the exploit.

  The second slime, having hit the edge of the shield and slid off, was reorienting itself. Gideon dropped the shield, canceling the mana drain. He didn't need magic for this. He needed leverage.

  He stepped forward, raising his boot. The slime looked up (metaphorically), sensing the shift in the power dynamic.

  "This is for the shirt," Gideon said.

  He stomped.

  SPLAT.

  The second slime burst under his heel, leaving a stain of blue residue and a small, shiny crystal.

  Gideon slumped against the tree, sliding down until he hit the dirt. His chest heaved. He checked his own status mentally. Two bruises forming on his ribs. A mild chemical burn on his arm. And a mana pool that was nearly empty.

  "200 MP for two slimes," he muttered, rubbing his face. "That efficiency rating is abysmal. AETHER would have a stroke. 'Inefficient release of binding energy,' my ass."

  He crawled over to the puddle of the first slime. Floating in the goo was a small, glowing notification box. It was fading, but he could just make out the text.

  [ XP Gained ]

  "Blue Slime," Gideon read aloud. "Creative naming convention. Really pushing the literary boundaries there, System. What's next? 'Green Tree'?"

  He picked up the small crystal dropped by the second one. It felt cool to the touch. Loot. A drop. Probably a crafting material he had no inventory space for.

  Suddenly, a chime rang out—not from the woods, but inside his skull. It was a familiar, digital sound, like a microwave finishing its cycle, but louder.

  [ Level Up! ]

  Gideon grinned tiredly. "Finally. Give me the stats. I need to spec into something that isn't 'Panic'."

  A blue window expanded in his vision, filling his field of view. It was crisp, high-definition, contrasting sharply with the organic mess of the forest.

  The soothing blue light then turned a harsh, warning red. The window jittered, mimicking a system crash.

  [Error]

  [Maximum Stat Points Per Level Exceeds Users Maximum Limit at this level]

  [Restricted]

  [Attempting to balance... ]

  Gideon stared at the floating text. "Excuse me? Restricted? You're nerfing me? I just got here! I haven't even exploited the economy yet!"

  He waved his hand through the hologram, but the words stayed, mocking him with their red font.

  "I'm being patch-balanced in real-time," he groaned, letting his head thunk back against the tree bark. "Unbelievable. I'm not a hero. I'm a balancing issue."

  The screen turned back to a light blue.

  [ Level Up! ]

  [10 Free Stat Point's Earned!]

  Gideon stared at the little glowing menu like it was a vending machine that only accepted existential dread and sarcasm. Ten free stat points hovered above his name, neat and clinical:

  Looking more closely at the statis, he noticed some correlations.

  1 point in Constitution gives you 10 Health Points, same with Intelligence to MP, and Endurance to Stamina.

  He replayed the slime fight in his head. Two gelatinous blobs, more sticky than threatening, had bounced off his armor and left him with a bruise and a bruised ego. They hadn’t done much damage. The bent sword he’d been handed was more of a conversation piece than a weapon. His shield spell, however, had burned through his mana like a college student through instant ramen.

  Decision made. Five points into Intelligence. He watched the MP bar tick up 400 MP now enough to cast the shield four times before collapsing into a puddle of exhausted heroism. He muttered, “four shields, one awkwardly bent sword. That’s a start,” and felt like a man who’d just bought a slightly better insurance policy for his life.

  The other five points went into Stamina—because swinging that bent sword might be more cardio than combat. He didn’t know how many times he’d have to heave it, and he preferred not to find out the hard way. Endurance and stamina were cousins; he liked cousins who could carry him through a long, boring grind.

  "I'll save anymore free stat points I get until level 5, and then I'll re-access and look more closely at the other stats. I mean level two came so fast, it shouldn't take that long."

  Gideon’s optimism about a quick level-up evaporated faster than his MP after a shield. The game’s next milestones were mercilessly simple and exponentially boring: 4 slimes, then 8, then 16. He did the math in his head while swinging, because old habits die hard and because math is the only thing that still made sense.

  He’d already killed 2 slimes in the tutorial skirmish, so the sequence added up to the promised total—30 slimes to reach level 5. Gideon counted them like a sleep-deprived accountant: 2 (already dead) + 4 + 8 + 16 = 30. He tried to make the arithmetic sound heroic and failed.

  The fights were repetitive in the way of chores and sitcom reruns. Slime 1: wobble, hit, squelch. Slime 2: wobble, hit, squelch. Repeat. He only used his shield a few times, just to practice using it. He learned to angle the bent sword so it didn’t get stuck in the ground. He learned to breathe through the tedium and tell himself that every slime was a tiny, gelatinous step toward something better.

  Endurance paid off. The extra stamina meant he could keep swinging without his arms turning into jelly before the slimes did. He still felt like a man in a cosplay of competence, but at least the cosplay was holding together.

  By the time the last of the slimes dissolved into a puddle of offended goo, Gideon’s shirt was damp, his hair was a mess, and his sense of humor was operating on fumes. He slumped against a tree that had the audacity to be scenic, and the level-up chime chimed like a tiny, smug bell.

  Level 5 unlocked. Thirty new stat points blinked at him like a promise and a threat.