Chương 17: Just Be Yourself

The six remaining armored milk-tanks shifted their focus in perfect, terrifying unison. Sixteen twitching eye-stalks swiveled away from the giant and locked onto me with a cold, predatory focus. Apparently, these creatures possessed enough collective brainpower to realize that the scrawny guy with the glowing sapphire pea-shooter was a much bigger problem than the man trying to hug them with a barrel lid. They began to scuttle toward me, their six legs clicking against the earth like a landslide of bone and stone.

Before I could be turned into a stain on the meadow, Dimitri stepped into the center of the circle. He raised his rotting barrel lid high into the air, looking like a titan challenging the heavens to a wrestling match.

"Iron Vow!" he bellowed, his voice carrying the weight of a dozen Russian folk songs. Suddenly, a pulsing, crimson aura erupted from his massive frame, bathing his tracksuit in a rhythmic red glow. It was like someone had shoved a flare gun down his collar. The effect was instantaneous and bizarre. The Bovine Crustacean squad froze in their tracks, their bodies jerking around as if someone had yanked on their leashes.

Their newfound hatred for me evaporated, replaced by an obsessive, burning need to ruin Dimitri's morning. The giant turned his head toward me, that trademark ball of sunshine grin still firmly in place despite being surrounded by six angry tons of crab-beef.

"You know, my small friend Arthur," he rumbled, his accent rolling through the air like a benevolent avalanche.

"The voice of the system tells me that shouting the name of your skill is not technically required for the activation of the magic. However, I find that it feels most excellent for the spirit to announce one's intentions to the world!" I stood there with my revolver hanging limp in my hand, my heart still trying to hammer its way out of my throat. I felt a strange, vibrating sensation in the center of my chest. It wasn't mana depletion or a heart attack.

It was a weird, tingly spark of adrenaline mixed with the realization.

"It is?" I asked, my voice sounding a bit more heroic than I intended.

"It actually feels good to yell like a crazy person in the middle of a field?" A sudden, vivid memory punched me right in the gut, taking me back to a time before I was a professional shut in with a sarcastic streak. I saw a younger, much more energetic version of myself sprinting through the backyard with my arms trailed behind me in a perfect Naruto run, screaming at the top of my lungs about hidden leaf techniques.

I remembered the hours I spent in front of the mirror, straining until my face turned purple as I tried to go Super Saiyan, announcing every power up like the world was watching. Back then, I didn't have any friends to share the lunacy with, and my siblings looked at me like I was a biological defect they were forced to live with. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. They hated the noise and the sheer second hand embarrassment of it all. But honestly?

Standing there in the grass, I realized those were some of the only times I actually felt alive. It was pure, unadulterated joy before the world told me to sit down and be quiet. But just as quickly as the fun memories surfaced, the dark side followed. I saw the highlight reel of every disappointed face I'd ever encountered. I saw my parents' sighs, my teachers' frowns, and the judgmental glares of every "normal" person who ever caught me being myself.

That cold, familiar weight started to settle in my stomach, whispering that I was just a weird loser in a field.

"Do not hold back the song of your soul, my friend!" Dimitri's voice shattered the silence, cutting through my internal monologue like a hot knife through butter.

"Try it! Release the power that dwells within your heart and let the heavens hear your name!" I looked up at him. The disappointment of the past started to fade, replaced by the sheer, overwhelming pressure of Dimitri's encouraging grin. He was currently being used as a chew toy by several armored cows, yet he looked like he was having the time of his life. He wasn't judging me. He was urging me to stop being the guy the world wanted and to start being the guy I actually was.

He was basically giving me a cosmic green light to be a total dork again. It was a terrifying prospect, but for the first time in years, the idea of being "normal" felt a lot more embarrassing than being a hero who shouts his attacks. The situation was deteriorating faster than a cheap umbrella in a hurricane. One of the armored milk tanks was absolutely hounding Dimitri, slamming its stony brow against his rotting barrel lid with a persistent clack-clack-clack that sounded like a jackhammer.

While he was busy playing a high stakes game of patty-cake with that one, a second Bovine Crustacean saw an opening. It lowered its horns and aimed a Tidal Charge straight for Dimitri's midsection, clearly intending to turn his Adidas tracksuit into a very expensive bandage. I felt that weird, tingly spark from earlier swell into a full blown bonfire in my chest.

I planted my feet in the dirt, gripped the weighted handle of my training revolver with both hands, and felt the old, familiar itch of my childhood daydreams bubbling up my throat.

"Hey! You overgrown sushi platter! Eyes on me!" I screamed. I took a deep breath, channeled every ounce of pent-up dork energy I'd been suppressing for years, and let it rip.

"Revolver Style Tier 1: Arcane Discharge!" I pulled the trigger, and the world seemed to slow down for a heartbeat. A chunk of my mana reservoir vanished into the gun, replaced by a surge of sapphire light that was so bright it probably left a permanent mark on my retinas. A projectile of pure, concentrated magical spite hissed out of the barrel, leaving a trail of blue sparks in its wake as it streaked across the meadow.

The mana bullet didn't just hit the second beast; it practically deleted its sense of direction. It caught the monster square in its bovine forehead, bypassing the stony shell entirely. Since these things had the magical resilience of a wet napkin, the effect was instantaneous. The creature's legs turned to jelly, its eyes rolled back into its twitching stalks, and it face-planted into the clover with a satisfyingly heavy thud. Dimitri let out a roar of approval that was louder than the gunshot.

He looked over his shoulder, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated pride.

"Yes! That is the thunder of a soul that has found its voice, my brother!" he bellowed, his Russian accent booming with the joy of a thousand celebrations.

"That is exactly what I am talking about! Let the world tremble at the sound of your spirit!" I could feel the adrenaline dumping into my system like a broken dam. My heart was racing, my hands were steady, and for the first time in my miserable life, the sheer embarrassment of being a total nerd was replaced by the intoxicating high of actually being effective. I wasn't just Arthur Gray, the professional shut-in anymore. I was a guy with a glowing gun and a giant Russian friend.

"You heard the man!" I shouted, feeling a grin of my own finally breaking through my cynical shell.

"Let's turn these stupid, clacking pests into a very expensive seafood buffet! No mercy for the crab-cows!"