Ruho walked over to Plato's three briefcases, exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually—every possible way a person could be tired, he was that. The philosopher sat there looking serene and contemplative, stroking his beard like he was about to drop some profound wisdom.
"Look," Ruho said, his voice flat. "I'm done with this. I'm tired. I've been chased by a giant crocodile, I've butchered a corpse, I've watched gods... do things I can never unsee. Can you just give it to me straight? Which one has the cool stuff? Which briefcase should I pick?"
Plato looked up at him with those ancient, thoughtful eyes. He stroked his beard again, clearly preparing to deliver some philosophical insight.
"The mind," Plato began, his voice carrying that measured, educational tone of someone who'd spent their entire life teaching, "chooses how to turn anything given to it into true usefulness. A hammer in the hands of a builder creates shelter. The same hammer in the hands of a destroyer creates ruin. The tool itself is neutral. It is the wisdom of the wielder that determines its—"
"OH MY GOD," Ruho interrupted, his patience completely evaporated. "I just asked which box to pick! I didn't ask for a lecture on epistemology or whatever! Just point! Use your finger! Point at a box!"
"But you see," Plato continued, completely unfazed, "the very act of choosing is itself a reflection of your inner character. To ask another to choose for you is to abdicate your own agency, to deny the fundamental human capacity for—"
"MIDDLE ONE!" Ruho shouted, grabbing the middle briefcase before Plato could finish his sentence. "I'm picking the middle one because I'm tired and I want this to be over!"
The crowd made various noises, some supportive, some disappointed that they didn't get to hear the rest of Plato's philosophical rambling.
Showbiz teleported next to him in a burst of sparkles. "OOOOH, going with your GUT! I like it! Gut feelings are just your INTESTINES voting! Get it? Because guts? Intestines? I'm on FIRE tonight!" (Im never making her appear again I hate her)
Ruho opened the briefcase with shaking hands.
Golden light spilled out. Text appeared. His eyes scanned it once. Then again, because surely he'd read it wrong.
REMOVAL OF RANDOM SKILL: SOLID JUMP
The light pulsed once, and Ruho felt something... leave. It was a weird sensation, like someone had reached into his chest and pulled out a small piece of his soul. The knowledge of how to use Solid Jump the muscle memory, the instinctive understanding of the spell just evaporated.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Ruho's eye twitched.
"Are you FUCKING kidding me?!" His voice cracked. "The ONE spell I had! The ONE ability I got from spinning that stupid wheel! The jump spell that I got instead of fireball or summoning or literally anything useful! And you're taking it AWAY?!"
"Well, technically it was pretty useless—" Showbiz started.
"I DON'T CARE IF IT WAS USELESS!" Ruho screamed. "IT WAS MINE! I traded nine thousand calories for that spell! I gave up a week's worth of food! And now it's just GONE?!"
The crowd was making sympathetic noises now, though some people were definitely laughing. Probably the ones who'd bet on him getting screwed.
"Aw, come ON!" Showbiz put her arm around his shoulders, teleporting to his side. "Don't be such a SORE LOSER! You've still got great stuff! The mana boost! The killing intent thing! You're doing WAY better than most contestants!"
"Most contestants don't START with nothing!" Ruho shot back. "Most contestants probably had more than one spell to begin with! Now I'm back to having ZERO combat abilities except 'sense when things want to kill me' which is ALWAYS because EVERYTHING wants to kill me!"
"Look at it this way," Showbiz said, her voice taking on that aggressively cheerful tone of someone trying to put a positive spin on disaster. "Now you've got more room for NEW abilities! You're not locked into the jump thing! It's like... clearing space on your hard drive! Digital decluttering! Minimalism! It's very TRENDY!"
"I don't WANT minimalism! I want POWER! I want to NOT DIE!"
"You're already dead, though!" Showbiz pointed out. "Technically! So mission accomplished!"
Ruho buried his face in his hands. Three briefcases down. He'd gotten a stick-throwing power that everyone mocked, a genuinely good mana boost, a useful survival skill, and now a REMOVAL of his only spell. Net result: still pathetic, just slightly less pathetic than before, but also more pathetic than five minutes ago.
"You know what they call someone who loses something valuable?" Showbiz said, clearly unable to stop herself. "A LOSS-ER! Get it? Loser? Loss? I'm KILLING it with these jokes!"
"Please stop," Ruho muttered into his palms.
"Aw, where's that FIGHTING SPIRIT?" Showbiz teleported in front of him, leaning down to look at where his face would be if he wasn't hiding it. "You've got ONE more briefcase to pick! ONE more chance! And it's the BEST guest too! The one who's been waiting so PATIENTLY!"
She gestured dramatically toward the femboy, who was still sitting there, still looking supportive despite everything, still completely unaware that Ruho thought they were a girl.
"The mysterious STRANGER!" Showbiz announced. "The NEWCOMER to the afterlife! The one who died from a heart attack just LAST WEEK and is still figuring out this whole 'being dead' thing! Let's see what FATE has in store with our FINAL selection!"
Ruho slowly lowered his hands from his face and looked at the femboy, who gave him an encouraging smile and a little wave.
One more briefcase. One more choice. One more chance to either salvage this disaster or make it so much worse.
"Fine," Ruho said quietly. "Let's get this over with."