Book 4: Chapter 37: Edgelord

    I whirled, my senses returning the moment the boat’s transformation was complete. I caught Paul with ease, intending on lowering him to the ground. Instead, I froze, scanning the surrounding bubbles of chi with my core and eyes both.

    “Ruh-roh, Raggy.”

    They slammed into Paul’s abdomen. I raised shields around him, preparing to protect against whatever was happening, but there was no need; as with his core, the System had placed a limit on his power—breakthrough or not. Paul’s insight, the ideal that had facilitated this advancement, was similarly muted. Because of the suppression, I couldn’t get a clear reading.

    Paul was a... designer?

    That couldn’t be it. As Paul opened his eyes and looked around, though, I instinctively scraped his surface thoughts.

    Well I’ll be...

    He had to be a designer. It was the first thing that came to his mind upon awakening. Still struggling to believe it, I tried to sense any chi coming from his core, but the breakthrough he’d experienced—and the System’s subsequent interference—left me unable to glean anything.

    “Paul!” Barry appeared at our side. “Are you—” He cut off, his eyes went wide when he felt the changes. “... How?”

    Paul just grinned and rubbed the back of his head.

    “Well done, mate,” I said. “I know people have all sorts of ideals, but I can’t say I expected to have a young designer on our hands.”

    His eyes flicked away from mine, losing focus as they roved the surrounding sands. I suspected he was exploring his core—not that the System’s interference let me say for sure.

    “Before you get too lost in thought,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”

    His stare snapped back to mine, a hint of gravity visible that belied his age. “Of course.”

    “Good.” I slung an arm over his shoulder and spun him toward the ship. “It’s a short one, so listen up.” I swept a hand in a wide arc, gesturing at the giant vessel’s deck. “What in Poseidon’s salt-washed booty did you do to my fishing boat?”

    “What do you mean?”

    I swiveled my head to look at Paul, then at the deck, then at Paul again. “I didn’t think I’d need to elaborate...”

    “Well, if you’re talking about the changes—” The smile on his face was even brighter than Tropica’s future. “I made it way cooler!”

    Maria stifled a laugh, looking away when Barry shot her a warning glare. Cinnamon was much less polite. She rolled in the grass—yes, the deck was grassy—absolutely losing herself to a fit of high-pitched giggles. Even Borks was amused, his enjoyment only shown via a slight wag of the tail.

    “I guess cool is subjective...” Crossing my arms, I reassessed the ship’s features, choosing to see it through the eyes of a young man.

    First, the deck was covered in grass. That alone wasn’t exactly too weird; if it was good enough for Luffy and the Thousand Sunny, it was good enough for us. What made this particular patch of seafaring grass so abnormal was its color. Blood red, its blades swayed in a soft breeze, more beautiful than they had any right being.

    I had to ask. “Why red?”

    “Uhhh, because I couldn’t use fire?” He gave an expression that implied I was an idiot. “And it needed some color. I’ve seen red trees before, so why not grass?”

    I considered replying, getting so far as half-raising a finger, but let it go instead. I couldn’t knock the use of rubescent leaves over open flames.

    The rest of the ship had some visible patches of wood, but most of it was covered in gothic metal trim right out of a My Chemical Romance music video. Rather than milled trees, its railings were made of fused chain, each link as big as my hand. That same material was used to hang lanterns, whose sharp edges and deadly points would’ve looked at home on the end of a mace. The door to the cabin was now a gray alloy, and if it wasn’t on a boat, I’d have thought it led to a dungeon.

    The only completely wooden parts I could see were twin staircases connecting the lower and upper deck. Following them, my eyes landed on a round object on top of the cabin. I stared at its gleaming surface as I climbed the port-side stairs. When I reached it, I rested a hand on its metal rungs.

    It was real. The cheeky little bugger—he’d given my ship a chain steering wheel from a 90s lowrider!

    I exhaled and took a stop back, turning to gaze down at the lower deck. I tried to look at the boat with objectivity now that I had a bird''s-eye view. The audacity of Paul’s creation had made me see through my own eyes; I was supposed to be looking at it through his. To a young man like Paul, this boat was unquestionably cool. Perhaps the coolest thing imaginable. If I was given leave to create a custom ship at his age, there was no way I’d have been able to create something so cohesive.

    Say what you would about his creative choices—Paul had kept things thematic. Sure, said theme could be misinterpreted as ‘edgelord billionaire headed for international waters’, but it was the thought that counted. Besides, it was also my fault—he’d gotten these ideas from my mind. Each element was consistent in its adherence to the ‘rule of cool’, and it made me excited about what he would make when he was a little more... How should I put it? Seasoned in his travels?

    I shot Barry some side-eye, having not hidden that musing. He just shook his head.

    “All right,” I said, striding down to rejoin everyone else. “I take it back, Paul. You’ve made something objectively cool.” I omitted the ‘for a preteen’ from the end of my sentence, earning a full-toothed grin in reply.

    “I’m so glad you like it! Wait until you see the cabin! It’s even better!”

    Damn. I’d forgotten about the inside.

    I fought down a grimace as he dashed forward and threw open the dungeon-esque door, revealing a world of color. Well, a color, anyway. Red, to be exact. Carpet—who puts carpet on a... Never mind. Tapestries, a half dozen beds on the starboard wall, and a door leading to what was likely the privy. Red, red, red. Even the damned kitchen bench on the port-side wall was made of an auburn wood.

    The door to the bathroom appeared to be mahogany, but its vibrant hue wasn’t what had my attention after Paul yanked open its black handle. Beyond, the scene that met us put the rest of the boat’s extravagance to shame.

    Everyone crowding in, peering around the bathroom and admiring its opulence. Cinnamon leaped atop my shoulder, her head jolting back as she tried to take it all in at once.

    “Paul...” Maria said, pausing to choose her words carefully. “Why did you change thecolor scheme in here?”

    The toilet and shower were almost entirely gold. Not colored, mind you—they were literally made of the precious metal. The floor, roof, and walls were all a black alloy, as were the shower knobs, head, and the toilet’s flush lever. Everything else, every single surface, was golden.

    “Well,” Paul answered, all too happy to explain, “people always refer to Fischer’s magical toilets as thrones, and when I was in his head—”

    “When you were what?” Barry interrupted. “What did you see?”

    “Relax, mate. Paul here was only having a peek at some design choices.”

    “... You’re saying this aesthetic is your doing?”

    “This totally cool aesthetic that we all agree is singular in theme and wonderfully unique?” I gave him a pointed look, to which Barry nodded slowly.

    “Then yes,” I continued. “They were inspired by things I’ve seen before. You were saying, Paul?”

    “Think about it. You’re the youngest cultivator Tropica has, and though your core is a little limited, you just had a breakthrough.” I tapped him lightly in the center of his forehead. “Stop feeling bad for a moment. Consider why I’m saying it’s a good idea.”

    “Because we have a fire cultivator? Trent would rather stay here, though...”

    “How do you know that?”

    “Because every time someone mentions family—even if it''s not his—he gets sad. He won’t want to leave his mother and sister while they’re still locked up.”

    “Paul, if I didn’t know better, I’d think your breakthrough was as some sort of master strategist.” I tapped him again, twice this time. “Think, mister. You’ve got an annoyingly perceptive head on your shoulders. Why would I call it a win that we have a single uncorrupted fire cultivator, who is overly obsessed with talking to his definitely-corrupted-and-maybe-also-evil family that we’ve got locked up in a magical not-a-prison?”

    I was pretty sure Rocky could fuel it if he was careful with his chi, but Paul didn’t need to know that. It took him a second to actually listen, but when my words finally pierced through the self-recrimination afflicting him, the wisdom from earlier flashed in his eyes.

    “You’ve made a vehicle that only he can power, so he’ll have to come...”

    “Nah, mate. You’ve made a vehicle that only he can power. Tropica’s youngest cultivator, who has a System-limited core and just experienced a breakthrough, caused that requirement without my instruction.” I shot him a wink. “I have complete deniability.”

    “Devious...” Barry said, to which Cinnamon, Borks, and Maria nodded.

    Not denying the claim, I looked up at the sky. “This one’s for you, Claws.” No response came, but that wasn’t surprising given how focused she was on whatever forsaken experiments she was currently conducting. I tried to see what she was up to through her eyes. This earned a reply—the mental equivalent of a rough flick on the nose.

    I shook my head, dismissing the sensation. “By the way, Barry... weren’t you supposed to get Paul home?” I pointed at the sky, its subtle shift in color noticeable to our enhanced awareness. “I reckon it’s only a couple hours until dawn.”

    I was pretty sure he tried to swear, but it came out as a garbled mess. He scooped up his son and sprinted away. “Helen’s gonna kill me!” His muscular legs chewed through the sand back toward his home.

    “Bye!” Paul yelled, waving energetically over his dad’s shoulder.

    “Huh.” Maria crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Was that Poseidon’s name he tried to invoke?”

    “I thought it was Triton,” I answered. “What did you hear, Bonnie?”

    “Definitely Poseidon.”

    “Hmm. I wonder where the ‘t’ sound came from then...”

    “Taint, of course,” she replied, smiling as she stared at the giant-claw that her brainchild had become. “That was the noun, but the adjective between is anyone’s guess.”

    ***

    The following morning, I nodded, undeterred by the scowl Trent was giving me. “Yep! That about sums it up! Paul swooped in and saved the day, made it so only you can power the ship, and that’s about it.”

    “And the toilet is gold,” Maria added.

    “Right! Yes! The toilet is gold—can’t forget that. Still, what really matters is that I am unilaterally and unreservedly disappointed that you are encouraged, if not obligated, to stop lingering around your family’s cells, and instead have to come fishing with me.”

    The sun was beaming down from above, heralding another beautiful day in Tropica. Despite how well-lit my face was, Trent looked at the person beside me. “Maria, Fischer knows that I can feel his emotions, right?”

    “Ah-huh. If I’m not mistaken, I think he may even be amplifying them.”

    I nodded gravely. “I may be doing that.”

    “So he knows I can feel exactly how happy it’s making him?”

    “I believe that might be the point.”

    “It is,” I agreed, still nodding.

    Trent ran his fingers through his hair, reminding me just how damn good looking he was after becoming a cultivator. He froze, squinting at me.

    “What?” I asked. “You’re a good-looking rooster! You used to look like a thrice-stubbed toe.”

    “That’s not the problem—the problem is you messing with me by broadcasting those thoughts.”

    “What, a bloke can’t pay another bloke a compliment?”

    “Not when it’s being used as a diversionary tactic, no. That robs it of its sincerity.”

    “I... Huh. You’ve got me there.” I turned to Maria. “Help?”

    Not hiding her amusement, she shook her head at me, her sun-bleached hair swaying beautifully and making me remember the other night when we... aaand now she was squinting at me too.

    “Sorry!” I held up both hands. “That one was actually an accident!”

    Her disapproving look lingered a moment before she turned to Trent. “I’m not going on the first trip. I’m staying here.” Her face was riddled with meaning as she paused for effect. He went rigid, immediately understanding.

    I threw my arms high. “Oh, suuure, your best mate in the entire world offers you a fishing trip and you couldn’t care less. But a healer staying behind with your definitely-corrupted-and-maybe-also-evil family? That gets your attention?”

    “Keith is my best friend, Fischer,” was his only reply, his words cutting deeper than any sword.

    I stumbled as if struck, leaning on Maria for support as I let out an indignant gasp. “Darling, take me from this place. I fear my legs won’t work after I was so viciously stabbed in the back.”

    “Yes, dear,” she replied, hauling me into a fireman’s carry. “I’ll come see you about your family soon, Trent. I’d better get this delicate flower some caffeine—he’s pretty useless pre-coffee.”

    “I am,” I agreed, waving goodbye as Maria turned and marched away, still carrying me like a sack of unroasted beans.