"You are sneaky…. A real sneaky little thing, Bella Delgado." I reached out and poked her in the side, making her yelp and giggle, dodging away from my finger.
"Hey! No fair!" she laughed, but her eyes were shining with victory. She'd pulled it off.
"Alright, fine," I said, feigning a sigh of resignation that wasn't resigned at all. "You got me. I'll be your pack mule for this double's thing…. But you're buying the greasy mall fries after as payment."
"Deal!" she said, clapping her hands together.
But as we stepped out of the lobby and into the cavernous, shadowy street level of our apartment complex, my mind was already whirring. I might have been playing the cool, casual cousin, but the competitive otaku inside me saw a challenge.
I might have a new god-tier body, but that didn't automatically mean I could bowl. What if I was terrible? What if I embarrassed her? The old gamer instinct to min-max every situation kicked in.
'Sunday,' I thought, the mental connection as natural as breathing.
"Yes, Sir?" her voice chimed softly in my mind.
You got anything in that vast skill shop of yours for sports? Like, a 'Not Totally Suck at Bowling' package?'
"Scanning," she replied instantly. "I possess nothing sport-specific, as my core programming is entertainment-focused. However, I do have a generalized skill that may suit your needs. 'Pro-Sport Variety Show Star.' It is designed to grant the user a high degree of baseline proficiency and natural-looking aptitude in any athletic endeavor they attempt, making them appear talented and coordinated for television appearances. It will not make you a true professional, but paired with your current physical conditioning, it should be more than sufficient for a local amateur tournament."
I nearly laughed out loud. A skill for variety shows. Of course that was a thing. It was perfect. I didn't need to be a pro; I just needed to not look like a complete spaz.
'How much?'
"One thousand dollars, Sir."
'Sold.'
Without a second thought, I mentally approved the purchase. A subtle, cool sensation washed over me, like a gentle wave of information. It wasn't a flood of bowling knowledge, but a deep-seated understanding of kinetic energy, of weight transfer, of how to make my body move in a coordinated, athletic way. I looked at my hands, flexing them. They felt like they knew what to do.
"Transaction complete. Skill integrated. Enjoy your game, Sir."
Best grand I ever spent.
Stepping out from the relative shelter of our building's overhang was like walking onto a movie set for the bleakest cyberpunk film ever made. The air was cool and carried the faint, metallic tang of pollution and recycled oxygen. Towering residential skyscrapers, each one a vertical city housing tens of thousands, rose on every side, their tops lost in the perpetual smog layer that passed for a sky. The sunlight that reached the street level was weak and diluted, casting everything in a dull grey light.
I'd seen it all through the old Sael's memories, but experiencing it firsthand was something else. The sheer, oppressive scale of it was breathtaking. And the people… it was a sea of women.
Groups of friends heading to work, mothers with children, older women shopping. Men were there, but they were scattered, rare exceptions in the crowd. I saw one guy across the street, looking harried as he tried to manage three little kids. Another was a delivery driver, hustling a cart full of packages. It was a quiet, constant reminder of the world's screwed-up demographics.
We walked to the bus stop, and even in my low-profile outfit, I could feel eyes on me. My height and the breadth of my shoulders were hard to completely hide. A few women glanced over, their gazes lingering appreciatively on the way my t-shirt stretched across my back or the definition in my arms. Bella noticed it too. When the bus hissed to a stop and the doors slid open, she practically shoved me towards a two-person bench seat near the back.
"You sit on the inside," she commanded, her voice low.
"Why? I'm fine," I said, confused.
"Because if you sit on the aisle, you're gonna cause a traffic jam of women 'accidentally' brushing past you," she said, rolling her eyes but with a hint of a smile. "Just get in."
"Hah, okay, you win," I chuckled and slid over next to the window. She was probably right. Bella plopped down next to me, creating a protective barrier between me and the rest of the bus. It was a weird feeling. Being treated like a precious commodity that needed guarding. A little annoying, but also… kinda nice.
The Mega-Mall on 12th was less a building and more a monument to controlled chaos. The bus dropped us off at a cavernous entrance on the 7th floor, and we were immediately swallowed by the crowd. The air hummed with a thousand conversations, blaring advertisements from holographic kiosks, and the underlying beat of music from a dozen different stores.
It was packed. Every store was open; every aisle was a river of people. The smells were a wild mix of synthetic perfumes, greasy food court fare, and the ozone smell of electronics. It was overwhelming, but there was a strange order to it all. No one was shoving or panicking. This was just… normal.
"Don't let go," Bella said, her voice barely audibles over the din. She slipped her hand into mine. Her grip was firm and confident.
"Wasn't planning on it," I said, giving her hand a slight squeeze. It felt natural. Right.
She led the way, a small but determined force navigating the human current. We passed a dizzying array of shops—everything from nano-fabricator boutiques to stores selling live, genetically modified glowing fish. We found a bank of elevators and squeezed in with a crowd of people, all heading up.
The elevator didn't have buttons for floors 1-12. It started at 7 and went up to 50. We got off on the 13th floor.
The change was immediate. The chaotic commercial noise was replaced by the distinctive sound of rolling balls and crashing pins. The air smelled of disinfectant, rented shoes, and fried food. We had arrived at the bowling alley.
A banner hung over the entrance: "MORNING GLORY OPEN TOURNAMENT - REGISTRATION THIS WAY". Bella, now in her element, dropped my hand and strode confidently to the registration desk. I hung back, taking it all in. There were already dozens of people here, mostly women in athletic wear, stretching and chatting. A few men dotted the crowd, but I stood out immediately. I could feel glances shifting from the lanes to me.
Bella came back a few minutes later, triumphantly holding a pair of truly hideous red and blue rental shoes and a paper competitor tag with the number '47' on it.
"Here you go, partner," she said, handing them over with a grin. "You're all official. Don't let me down."