CHAPTER 42: CUSTOMIZING

Jelo examined the display. Most of the timers showed significant remaining time—thirty minutes, forty-five minutes, over an hour for some. But two of them were down to just a few minutes.

"So we wait for one of those two to finish," Mira said, "and then we can take their spots."

"How long is the daily maximum?" Jelo asked.

"Two hours per day for regular students," Mira replied. "Though I’ve heard that higher-ranked students or those with special permissions can get extended time. And teachers, obviously, have unrestricted access."

Two hours. Jelo filed that information away. It wasn’t as much time as he’d like—he could easily imagine wanting to train for four or five hours straight—but it was better than nothing. And if he used those two hours efficiently every single day, the cumulative effect would be significant.

They found a spot along the wall where they could wait without being in the way. Jelo leaned against the smooth surface, his eyes fixed on the two players whose timers were counting down. One had four minutes left. The other had six.

The minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. Jelo watched the screens, studying the combat displayed there, trying to glean whatever information he could just from observation. The fights were intense—fast-paced, with combatants using abilities similar to what he’d seen in real life but with an extra layer of polish and precision that spoke to extensive practice.

Finally, a chime sounded softly through the room. The player with the four-minute timer suddenly went still in his chair, and the screen in front of him faded to black. A moment later, the neural interface device disengaged with a soft hiss, and the player’s eyes opened.

He looked disoriented for a second, blinking rapidly as he readjusted to reality. Then he stood up, stretched, and headed for the exit without a word.

Thirty seconds later, the same process repeated with the second player.

"That’s us," Mira said, already moving toward the now-empty stations.

They each claimed one of the vacant chairs. Jelo sat down cautiously, finding it surprisingly comfortable despite its futuristic appearance. The seat adjusted automatically to his body, and armrests moved into optimal position.

Mira came over to help him, clearly more familiar with the process. "First time can be a little disorienting," she warned. "Just relax and let the system do its work. Don’t fight the connection."

She picked up the neural interface device and carefully positioned it over Jelo’s head. The device settled into place with a soft click, and he felt gentle pressure points against his scalp—not uncomfortable, just... present.

"Ready?" Mira asked.

"Yeah," Jelo said, though his heart was racing with anticipation and a touch of nervousness.

"See you inside," Mira said with a smile.

She went to her own chair and performed the same process on herself, strapping in and placing the neural interface device over her head. Within seconds, her body went still, her eyes closing as her consciousness transferred into the virtual world.

Jelo took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for whatever came next.

As Jelo entered the Arena Nexus, the transition from physical reality to virtual space was disorienting but not unpleasant. It felt like falling backward into water—a moment of weightlessness, a rush of sensation, and then suddenly he was standing somewhere entirely different.

The loading process was surprisingly smooth. No jarring disconnection, no painful neural shock, just a gradual shift from one state of being to another. Within seconds, Jelo found himself standing in what appeared to be a massive lobby—an expansive virtual space with towering walls that seemed to stretch infinitely upward, glowing with soft ambient light in shades of blue and silver.

Other players were scattered throughout the lobby, some standing in groups chatting, others browsing what looked like holographic menus floating in the air before them. The detail was incredible—everything looked and felt real, from the texture of the floor beneath his feet to the slight breeze that seemed to blow through the virtual space.

Jelo looked down at himself and was immediately underwhelmed.

He was dressed in plain white clothes—a simple tunic and pants that looked like default starter equipment from the most basic character creation screen imaginable. His hands looked generic, his body proportions were average, and when he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby mirrored surface, he saw that his face was equally bland—features that were technically present but completely unmemorable, like someone had designed "Generic Human Male #47" and called it a day.

Above his head floated text: **[Player_2847]**

Not even a proper name. Just a number.

Before he could process his disappointment, a figure approached him, waving enthusiastically.

She was dressed entirely in purple—a striking outfit that included fitted pants, a tailored jacket, boots, gloves, and even a nose-and-mouth mask that covered the lower half of her face in the same rich purple shade. Her eyes were visible above the mask, bright and mischievous, and her hair was styled in an elaborate way that somehow still fit the purple aesthetic. The entire look was cohesive and intentional, giving off serious "mysterious rogue" vibes.

Above her head, her username glowed: **[The Purple Bandit]**

"Mira?" Jelo asked, recognizing her despite the dramatic change in appearance.

"In the virtual flesh," she replied, her voice coming through with perfect clarity despite the mask. "Though in here, I go by The Purple Bandit. Or just Bandit, if you prefer."

Jelo gestured at her outfit. "Why do you look like that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The Purple Bandit—Mira—struck a pose. "Because it fits my character," she said proudly. "In here, you can be whoever you want. I chose to be a mysterious thief with impeccable fashion sense. It’s fun, it’s memorable, and honestly? The purple just works."

She looked Jelo up and down, and even with half her face covered, he could tell she was not impressed. "You, on the other hand, need to customize your appearance. Right now you have no proper name and you look incredibly bland. Like, aggressively bland."

Jelo looked down at himself again. "What’s wrong with me?" he asked defensively. "I’m dressed in normal clothes. I look fine."

"You’re dressed in default white clothes," Mira corrected. "And you have a generic face that the system generates when someone doesn’t bother customizing. Those two things combined basically scream ’new player who doesn’t know what they’re doing.’ You need to fix that."

She pulled up a menu in the air between them with a gesture, and suddenly Jelo was looking at what appeared to be a character customization interface. Options for changing his appearance, selecting clothing, adjusting features—dozens of possibilities appeared before him.

"First things first," Mira said. "What do you want your username to be? Your actual name, your identity in here?"