Chapter 1: Lightning, Lies, and the Comment Section

After I used the heroine to block the lightning strike, it finally dawned on the comment section that I could see every word they typed.

A beat of silence, then the chat exploded. Emojis, caps-lock, and all. For once, I wished I couldn’t read a thing.

When I named my sword "Hold Up a Sec," the comments piled on with meme-worthy jokes: [If you named it "Caught Red-Handed Peeping at Coach Showering," anyone would be stunned for at least two seconds hearing that.]

When I gave my older teammate the Heartless Pill, the comments couldn’t help themselves: [Since he’s all about being emotionless, why not just hand him a neuter pill and call it a day?]

Honestly, strangers on the internet always find new ways to be terrible together.

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I was up on the ridge, staring down my lightning trial like it was Friday night lights and I was the only one on the field.

The sky was out for blood, hurling thunderbolts like they were buy-one-get-one-free at the apocalypse.

Other than my battered public school hoodie—frayed at the cuffs and three sizes too big—I had nothing else on me. Everyone knows swordfighters are always broke.

Long before this, I’d already pawned or stashed away anything worth more than a nickel.

Above me, the sky was packed tight with thunderclouds, lightning flickering and thunder booming so loud my ribs rattled.

Thirty-six bolts of judgment lightning, every single one zeroed in on my head like I’d pissed off the weather gods personally.

My whole body was roasted on the outside and aching inside—crispy and tender, like I’d just rolled off a rotisserie spit at the local grocery store.

After the thirty-fifth bolt hit, a line of text flashed across my vision:

[As expected of the golden child—while others look like they got run over by a truck after their trial, she ends up with nothing but a slightly dirty skirt hem.]

I glanced over at the girl not far away—also stuck in her own trial. She wore a pastel-pink dress, her face heartbreakingly pretty, trembling as a thread-thin bolt struck her. She bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes—a fragile, pitiful beauty.

I looked down at myself—black as charcoal. If someone said I’d just finished a double shift in a West Virginia coal mine, people would believe it.

God, are you seriously out to get me?

My skin sizzled, my hair was fried into a crunchy mess, and my sneakers had melted in sticky patches to the mud. The air reeked of ozone and burnt plastic. I glared up at the clouds, muttering curses under my breath, fists stuffed in my hoodie pocket.

Sensing my silent rage ramping up, the universe seemed to go for broke. Purple lightning coiled through the clouds, winding up for one last, show-stopping strike.

This was the Heaven and Earth Judgment—the final boss. Survive this, and I’d level up for good.

The universe was petty as hell; this bolt looked meaner than all the rest combined.

If it landed, at best I’d lose all my skills; at worst, I’d be toast—literally.

My fingers twitched—was this really what it meant to be a survivor? I almost laughed, but my throat was too tight. At this critical moment, I braced myself—

—and hoisted the heroine onto my shoulder. Her dress crackled with static against my arm, and for a second, I caught the scent of burnt sugar and fear. My heart hammered so hard I could taste it, but I was out of options.