The One-Star Pull

The interdimensional portal hummed with the exact same irritating drone as the failing fluorescent ballasts in classroom 302 at Santa Librada high school. Mr. Moncayo had just handed out the quarterly trigonometry exam papers when the polished granite floor dissolved into a swirling vortex of prismatic sparks, swallowing thirty metal desks, two ceiling fans that had been rattling since 1998, and half a potato pastry I had stashed in my pencil pouch for the ten o'clock recess.

We landed on a field of bioluminescent grass under three lilac moons. The air smelled of artificial vanilla and carnival fireworks, while an ornate gold sign in gothic lettering floated ten feet above our heads: WELCOME TO THE KINGDOM OF CARDONA. TUTORIAL SUMMONING STAGE.

The ceiling fans ground to an abrupt halt with a sharp electronic pop, and for a fleeting second the familiar scents of damp chalk and tropical morning rain were wiped away by the biting static ozone of a thousand cathode-ray television sets sparking in unison.

Sebastián Martínez, the volleyball captain who consistently flunked chemistry and showed off expensive running shoes, was the first to touch the crystal orb hovering before his chest. The sky rumbled with orchestral brass and a golden lightning bolt split the clouds. From the radiance emerged a seven-foot paladin clad in filigreed plate armor, carrying a blazing broadsword the size of a surfboard and a crimson cape billowing without a hint of wind. SSR RANK: AURION, THE SOLAR SENTINEL. BASE LEVEL 80. Sebastián burst into a triumphant laugh, barking orders as if he had just been appointed regional governor of the valley.

Then Mariana took her turn, pulling a silver-haired elven archmage with an ice staff, followed by Juan Camilo, who summoned an obsidian golem with glowing ruby eyes. The whole class cheered, high-fived, and formed improvised guilds within five minutes, divvying up future castle conquests with the solemn gravity usually reserved for negotiating soccer field shifts at recess, promising endless loot to whoever commanded top stats.

I was dead last in line. My crystal was neither gold nor silver; it had the muddy gray hue of a burned-out lightbulb and crackled with a feeble click, like an ancient toaster refusing to latch down. When I squeezed it with both hands, there were no thunderclaps or Gregorian chants. Only a muffled 'pop', a pathetic puff of cinnamon-scented gray smoke, and a meow that sounded like a union grievance filed before the labor board.

—Good heavens —said a dry, measured voice with impeccable British diction rising from the turf—. The rookie summoning routine once again. And onto damp meadow grass, no less. My sciatica is ill-suited to these high-fantasy theatrics.

Parting the smoke stood an ash-gray tabby cat. He wore an immaculately ironed white apron embroidered with 'Tea & Empathy', circular wire spectacles perched upon his snout, and a brass tray strapped to his flank holding three chipped porcelain teacups. Above his ears hung a dingy gray window:

NAME: DON TIBURCIO. RANK: COMMON (★). CLASS: TABLE ATTENDANT. ACTIVE SKILL: SERVE HOT TEA (Restores 5 mana points and relieves mild nervous strain).

Sebastián and his new guild strode over, stared at the cat, and erupted into laughter that scattered a flock of crystal doves from the nearby birch grove.

—A one-star, Andrea? —Sebastián sneered, resting his hand on the fiery hilt of his sentinel's blade—. I told you that you should have studied trigonometry. Stay here and tend the lawn while we clear the first tutorial dungeon. We wouldn't want your cat getting his whiskers ruffled by a goblin.

Thirty classmates marched toward the stone fortress cresting the ridge, leaving behind trampled grass and echoing jeers. I sat on the damp earth, my pleated uniform skirt smeared with mud, tasting the bitter sting of being discarded before the match had even begun.

Don Tiburcio inspected me from head to toe, nudged his spectacles with a front paw, and produced a steaming cast-iron kettle out of thin air.

—Do not fret so deeply, young lady —the cat murmured, pouring an amber stream into one of the porcelain cups—. Those boys will not survive three weeks. They rely on five-star champions balanced around patch 1.04, yet this server runs on the unpatched physics engine of the 2019 closed beta. The codebase here is an embarrassing disgrace held together by masking tape and the hubris of unpaid interns.

—What on earth are you talking about? —I asked, cradling the warm cup between my trembling fingers as the soothing aroma of bergamot cut through the morning chill.

—I mean, Miss Andrea, that a paladin burns three hundred energy points to ignite a mystical candle —Don Tiburcio replied with a whiskered, tranquil grin—, whereas my hot tea skill generates infinite heat without consuming ambient mana due to a severe arithmetic overflow in the thermodynamic library. Drink your tea, Miss Andrea. We are going to dismantle this realm bolt by bolt.