Bob hated his grandmother's reprimands. She always said harsh words that cut a bit too deep and were a bit too personal. Brutal emotional damage in thirty words, and it then kept going. But it was never without reason. That was the problem.

  Bob hated to admit it, but he had issues. He knew he was a sorry piece of trash, but that was yesterday when everything was normal. In a literal fantasy, everything should have been different. But it was not. His grandmother was truly resistant to the change. But worst of all, his grandmother always yelled his issues to the heavens. She never bothered to close the door at all.

  “I wake to the smell of burning and see you and Jill outside too early in the morning, ramping around. If you were not out, maybe those things wouldn’t have attacked you. What did you do, Bob? They wouldn’t just attack.” She said bitterly.

  “I needed to know about the rules of this world,” Bob said.

  “Don’t give me that, Jill is shaking in panic. Plus, you didn’t even wash your plates. Who do you expect to clean them ?”

  Jill could only watch as this monster cowered to mere words. That was concerning at least for her. Goblins knew strength and the aftereffects of it. Not even the Orcs shattered as quickly as they needed a blow or two. Bob's head hung low, and he didn’t bother to talk too loudly or bother with any retort. No matter what, he seemed to whimper under the old lady's talk. But he was a strange monster and somehow, he was as scary then as he was weak now.

  “So no more back talk, just clean up the kitchen and check if the filter is still good,” Dexter commanded like an orc chief.

  “Yes Grandma, I understand. Can I-” Bob begged, looking at her.

  “NO! You're a man damn it.” She growled. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but you need to act like one.”

  That sentence was a brutal assault on Bob’s damaged pride. It was worse than any stab or attack from any enemy he had faced. He almost retorted, but he bottled it. Any comment would make it worse, he and his grandmother would rain down death literary on him if he was not careful. Still, it festered. He growled, stomping off bitter and annoyed with boiling rage. Dexter didn’t even bother to look at her puffing grandson. A tantrum was not important to her. Her aged eyes looked down at the goblin that merely watched in fear of Bob.

  “And you! Come with me,” Dexter said. “We need to have a word.”

  >>>>

  Bob’s anger slowly boiled as he moved back to the kitchen. His bitter stomps slowly echoed through the house like a drumbeat of frustration. His eyes narrowed as he cleaned.

  Why was the rant aimed at him? He had nearly died twice in the past two days, and she acted the same. Somehow, it was worse. No mere knife stab, but her disappointment was always painful. She saw him as a failure, like everyone else did.

  Didn’t she get it? Why was he still doing dishes in another world? Bob growled in his mind.

  Puffing like a boiling pot, he kept going, muttering about the facts. No matter the words, it seemed to Bob he was in the wrong. Growling he scrubbed his mind, simply consumed by the biting words.

  She never gave him good faith or bothered to look at him. Never him, but everyone else got the best virtue, all the understanding. It was infuriating, and it never changed. Even in another world, Bob was the butt of reality fumed.

  Growling he cleaned the counters, leaving a faint heat trail. Sliding down, he cleaned wiping with bitter rage. His annoyance kept him moving, using the water to flush any remaining particles into the sink. But something new burned his mind. How did the lights work?

  It was not like there were power lines. He had seen none in the forest and even if they were out there that would raise another question. What would they connect to? And if they were, who was running the electricity station or supplying the gas? Bob thought. He couldn’t remember ever seeing any connecting power lines within the forest. Something was afoot, and that made him curious. His eyes looked at the television that sat in the living room, which seemed to do nothing.

  Bob never used the wide-screen television that sat in the middle of the living room. But his grandmother always used it by watching the news and then shutting it off. It was both discolored and had poor audio balance. The sounds kept having the Electric hum of static that seemed to make every work just as annoying as possible to him. All he could do was wait it out. But now the little red light still glowed.

  Inching closer, Bob ignored his grandmother and Jill's talk, his attention squarely on the television. That gave him a strange thought. Gingerly, he grabbed the remote, gulping as he looked at the TV. His mind ran over the possibilities and dangers.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  It could explode or send him to hell. It could be your grandmother's thoughts, It could be. Those words erupted in his mind, and for a moment, he almost gave it up. But with the rending of teeth, he pushed the one button. His legs shuffled back, expecting something horrific to happen. But nothing happened, at least for a moment. Exhaling, Bob almost laughed. But a zap and crackle silenced him. Wide-eyed, he stared transfixed at the device that turned on. Static appeared on the screen, the black and white dots battling for control, as he expected. However, with a wave of strange brown light, it went away.

  “Oh, no,” Bob muttered as pain flared within his head.

  He was smart, or he wouldn't have done this. Desperately, he held back the scream; after all, whatever that was wouldn’t be worse than what his grandmother would do. But the pain was gone as soon as it came. Staring up at the television, all he could see was the brown background with words that were not quite formed, like silhouettes without proper outlines. Grinning, he looked at it only to see it change. The words slowly faded in like a bad word effect and were almost too distracting for him.

  “Damn why the shit effects?” he muttered only to notice the simple fact it gave him the information he always wanted. On the screen, a simple console menu appeared, written in simple Times New Roman text. His frustration became joy as he read that his gaming experience was finally useful.

  User stat

  Class information

  Known information

  Mini realm 1

  Sitting back, he pointed the remote at the television and hoped it worked normally. Flicking through the menu, he stopped at the class information. He couldn't help but smile. A former avid gamer and designer knows that most TTRPGs are imbalanced in their games. The most common, at least at first, didn’t give the player all the mechanics; it was the domain of the reference. But this world had some strange design choices. There was some known info, but he needed to know his status and if some exploitation could be done.

  “Well, hope no system shock happens,” He quipped, pressing the ok button with his thumb.

  The screen flashed once more, only to reveal a simple blue screen. Then the lettering appeared on it, morphing before his every eye in order of strength to charisma. The classic six was paired with some other additions.

  Str 16, Dex 9, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 13

  *Exceptional Strength 16+ Exceptional Consuition +14

  Exceptional charisma. +13

  Traits. Ever the student.

  Coward escape

  So the classic six but again the mash-up. Bob thought. There seems to be a bit of trait knowledge too, but it looks similar to psychic rules. It would not be the best, but not too bad.

  With the practiced skill of years of channel searching, he maneuvered to the traits section. Gulping he tapped the ok.

  Traits. A creature may have unique traits or abilities based on its environment or natural skill. The creature known as Bob Dexter has these traits. Because of this, creatures with these trait’s ability to cast spells will be reduced by 1 spell slot for each trait.

  Coward escape. You have an increased chance of running away from battle.

  Ever a student. You have a ten percent chance to learn one trait/ spell each time you level up.

  No magic or effect has been learned.

  Ok. So that was practically useless until I got something. Bob thought. That, and my ability to do magic was reduced. Great. Still need to find out my class info.

  Biting his lip, he attempted to move back, only to be confounded. The remote stopped only to hold the menu in place.

  “Damn it,” Bob muttered. With practised ease, he typed in another command. The cursor leapt off his number and onto his class.

  Flame warrior.

  He had never read the lore about the class, only the quick and dirty synopsis with a healthy assumption. It was rather easy to understand, but he needed to know more. It could help him avoid more targeted traps. So with a click, he explored his most defining job.

  Flame warrior.

  A warrior who radiates the power of fire and the fury of flame. Hot-headed and reckless, they often fight without shields, preferring heavier weapons in combat to cleave through enemies. This has led to them being known as fools but they simply believe it is better to destroy an enemy so they do not become a threat later. These combatants are the first into battle, plunging deep into the furnace of war. All who become flame warriors become true terrors, leaving only ash and death in their wake.

  With a shout from his grandmother, Bob read, confused. His previous idea was not incorrect, but it lacked some key details. Bob had thought his class was more paladin like but based on the description, he was closer to a berserker. It had all the underpinnings of that class or at least how others saw it. Bob tried to scroll down, but it held on that paragraph. Scowling, he glared at the television, attempting to willing it to move. It had the opposite effect; sparks sputtering around the television. Panicking, he leapt up his hand around the television cord. Plugging it out, he sighed.

  “Bob, what are you doing ?” Dexter yelled.

  “Going to the pump don’t worry.”

  Sighing, Bob simply plugged it out. Standing was painful, but he had more things to do. After all, it would be a long day and he needed to get ready.

  “That was enough for today.”