“Yeah, and after having to deal with another day of my boss creeping on me like I’m just a pair of hams and a cheap rack of melons at the farmer’s market, I need it, and I really don’t care what that hideous, stupid, ugly, perverted freaking . . .” Liu spat out a series of profanities that Lucas didn’t think he’d ever heard from the usually friendly woman. “You know what? Never mind. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, let me set this up for you.” She opened up the bags that Lucas had set down on the table and produced a new corkscrew, bottles of wine which were a lot more expensive than anything Lucas was used to drinking—even in the game—and several blocks of cheese that looked like they had been imported. She also set out a small package of red plastic cups, the same cheap type that could be found at any college party, and those at least fit right at home in Lucas’s sparsely-furnished apartment.

Lucas picked up one of the bottles to look at what was on the label, and he felt a small layer of dust covering it.

“Just set it down. I’ll get it,” Liu insisted.

Looks like she just bought these, but she’s had them for a while, Lucas thought as he put the bottle back down and watched Liu finish setting up the table.

“Been playing games?” she asked, gesturing with a plate in her hand at the dive machine.

“A bit,” Lucas replied, nodding.

Liu began arranging and slicing the cheese with a knife that she produced from somewhere and began stacking them on top of the crackers with almost frantic quickness. She seemed to be fine with the small talk at the moment, but the nervous energy pouring over into the setting up of lunch—the way she didn’t let her hands stay still for a second—let him know that she was feeling just as awkward and uncomfortable as he was. They hadn’t spoken since the funeral, and even then, Lucas hadn’t spared her more than a few cursory formalities since he hadn’t wanted to say something that he’d regret or that Yu Hua would have hated hearing him say. Even if he blamed Liu, his wife had always been the understanding and forgiving type.

“What class are you?” she asked, her eyes darting over to the machine again.

“The system says I’m a mage for some reason, but I actually haven’t selected anything yet,” he answered.

“But . . . Hah. That can’t be. Everyone chooses one right at the start. Without a focus, how do you turn your resource pool into damage quickly?”