David stepped into the classroom, and instantly, it was like someone had hit the mute button on the entire student body.
A second ago, the room was alive with chatter—people arguing about their starter Pokémon, someone loudly claiming Bulbasaur could solo the Elite Four (lies), and Tom tossing Pokéballs at the ceiling fan. Now? Dead silence. A nervous hush settled over the room as all eyes flicked toward David like he was some kind of legendary Pokémon… one with a reputation for verbally drop-kicking your soul.
He said nothing. Just casually walked to his seat like a guy who hadn't just traumatized half the class with sarcastic commentary over the past week. He slumped down, dumped his bag on the floor, and looked around like morning life had personally offended him.
Tom was already there at their shared desk—because of course he was. The school basketball team had morning drills, and Tom was a reliable overachiever when it came to physical effort and absolutely nothing else. He gave David a nod and kept stretching his arms while yawning like a bored Snorlax.
Morning exercises had come and gone. Nothing exciting left to do. David blinked once, dropped his head onto the desk, and without hesitation, entered nap mode. Classic.
Then came a soft knock. Fingertips tapping gently on the wooden desk.
"David, don't sleep! There's a mock exam this afternoon. Are you ready?"
The voice was light, a little worried, and dangerously persistent.
David groaned, slowly lifting his head as if gravity was working overtime. His eyes met the speaker's: a girl with a tidy ponytail, dressed immaculately in her student uniform. Her name was Luna Ling. Resident class committee member. Yesterday, she'd caused chaos in the group chat asking if her Pikachu wasn't shiny because it "looked kinda dusty."
Now she was acting like his personal study manager.
"Huh? There's a mock exam this afternoon?" David mumbled, still blinking sleep out of his brain.
Luna gave him a look—half exasperated, half "you've got to be kidding me." She sighed. "Yeah. And as your deskmate, aren't you going to help Tom with his homework? The college entrance exam is coming soon!"
Tom looked up from trying to poke a hole in his workbook with his pencil. "Wait, there's an exam?"
Luna didn't even acknowledge him.
Everyone knew David and Tom were close. The weird thing was how opposite they were. David hated anything that involved moving his limbs, spent most of his time asleep or trolling people in class, yet always scored top marks. Tom, on the other hand, trained like he was entering the Pokémon Olympics and consistently landed at the bottom of the academic barrel.
"Tom? Isn't it, like, his personal brand to be last in every exam?" David said, barely lifting his head off the desk before letting gravity slam it right back down.
No emotion, no judgment—just pure acceptance of Tom's academic fate. The kind of fate where getting a 50% was considered a personal best.
He sighed contentedly and resumed his nap without another thought. Class was going on, technically, but David had evolved past needing to listen. At this point, lectures were just background noise—like the sound of wild Pidgeys chirping in tall grass.
It wasn't arrogance. The Pokémon college entrance exam had two main parts: theory and actual combat. David had the theory section in a full-body chokehold. Combat, though… that had been his weak spot for a while.
Mainly because he'd gotten Pikachu way later than everyone else. While his classmates were already training, evolving, and accidentally blowing things up with Ember or Water Gun, David was still stuck filing paperwork to get his starter license. Bureaucracy was the true villain in his origin story.
But then something magical happened—his Pikachu swallowed an Electric Seed. Nobody knew how or why, not even David. The point was: Pikachu had gone full Super Saiyan.
Now, none of the other students' starter Pokémon could lay a finger on it. It wasn't just strong—it was disrespectful. Pikachu didn't battle. It humiliated.
So David didn't worry. Not about theory. Not about combat. Not about anything.
By the time the bell rang for lunch, he yawned, stretched like a lazy Luxio, and wandered out of class with Tom.
After all, Tom—despite being the academic equivalent of a Magikarp with stage fright—had one undeniable skill: mooching free food. Or in this case, dragging David to places where other people provided it.
Free lunch? Say no more.
David strolled along with his trusty Ralts in his arms like a smug prince holding court. Meanwhile, Tom walked beside him with the energy of someone trying to impress an invisible judge. Because he wasn't just here for lunch. He was here for Ralts.
Tom's eyes sparkled like a kid seeing a Charizard for the first time. Every few steps, he'd pull out some new ridiculously overpriced Pokémon snack.
"Hey, hey, Ralts! Want this Poké Puff? It's berry-flavored and imported from Kalos. Or—or maybe this premium mochi cube? Organic!"
David watched silently as Tom transformed into a full-blown butler-slash-chef-slash-clown. It was disturbing. Even Ralts seemed deeply unsettled.
She stared at Tom for a long moment, then wordlessly sank deeper into David's arms, looking for protection from the weird snack man.
It was the final blow.
Tom clutched his chest like he'd just been hit by a Hyper Beam to the soul.
[Received negative emotion value from Tom: +100…]
[+100…]
[+100…]
And David? He just held Ralts closer and muttered under his breath.
"…This is better than TV."
***
Tom stood frozen on the spot, like someone had cast "Petrify" on him in real life. His eyes were hollow, his jaw slightly slack. You could practically hear the sad violin music playing in the background. This wasn't just rejection—this was emotional NTR at its peak. And the worst part? The thief wasn't even a rival—it was David. His best friend. His brother. His... lunch buddy.
Meanwhile, David stood there, casually stroking Ralts' head like a smug villain with a purring cat. But suddenly, his eyes narrowed. A thought hit him. A terrifying, gut-wrenching thought.
"Wait," he muttered, turning to Tom, "how are your grades?"
The question came out of nowhere, like a surprise critical hit. Tom blinked. "Huh?"
David tightened his grip on Ralts. This wasn't just about school anymore. This was about survival. High school was almost over. College was around the corner. And if Tom—his lifelong provider of free food, spare coins, and impulsive spending—didn't make it to the same university...
Who would David mooch off?
Sure, you could call it parasitic. But David preferred to think of it as "mutual brotherhood." A sacred bond forged over unpaid lunches and shared mock exams. Losing Tom now would be like losing a rare shiny—tragic, irreversible, and financially inconvenient.
Tom, still reeling from being emotionally third-wheeled by a psychic toddler, looked up and blinked at David's sudden concern. "My grades? Uh… pretty stable, I guess."
David squinted.
Tom scratched his head. "Like, if I do really, really well... I might be able to bump myself up to second-to-last place."
David stared at him.
"…Maybe," Tom added sheepishly.
There was a long pause as David's brain tried to process the sheer scale of academic despair in that sentence.
"I always knew you were holding down the rear," David muttered. "But I didn't realize you were fighting to keep the bottom warm for someone else."
Tom chuckled weakly, but David wasn't laughing. The man was running mental calculations. How many exams left? Could he pull Tom up a few spots with "tactical brotherhood"? Should he start planting cheat sheets in his lunchbox?
Then David got serious.
"So... have you thought about what university you wanna apply to?"
It sounded casual. But David's tone was laced with desperation. Not for Tom's future. For his own economic stability.
Tom paused. Looked at Ralts. His eyes sparkled again like a man struck by divine inspiration.
"I was thinking about Royal Academy," he said. "Heard there's a lot of Gardevoirs there."
David nodded. "Mm. Solid choice. Educational standards, good cafeteria, lots of… psychic-type companionship."
Internally, he sighed in relief. Same school. Same meal ticket. Destiny preserved.
He gently patted Ralts on the head. She yawned in his arms like a baby who didn't know she was the cause of an emotional crisis.
David smiled. Balance had been restored.
At least for now.
A loud, sudden cough erupted from the next table like someone had just inhaled a potato chip sideways. It came right after Tom proudly announced his intention to apply to Royal Academy.
David turned his head just in time to see Luna Ling—student committee member, part-time rule enforcer, and full-time sanity monitor—choking on her juice box. Her eyes were wide, her face red, and the corner of her mouth twitched as she tried to maintain her composure. But it was too late. The damage had been done.
[Obtained Luna Ling's negative emotion value +30...]
[Obtained Luna Ling's negative emotion value +40...]
[Obtained Luna Ling's negative emotion value +50...]
Luna stared at the two boys like she'd just heard someone say they were going to fly to the moon using a Magikarp.
Royal Academy?
The Royal Academy?
Did Tom, a proud veteran of the bottom two ranks of every class ranking sheet since the dawn of time, just casually say he was aiming for that place? And David, who treated school like a nap-friendly obstacle course, just nodded and called it "okay"?
Luna's soul briefly left her body.
Royal Academy wasn't just any school. It was the crown jewel of the Eastern Alliance, the Ivy League for Trainers, the Hogwarts of Pokémon education—except with way more electric shocks and no Hagrid to save you from bad grades. It was the dream. The fantasy. The place where only students with battle instincts like psychic ninjas and IQs that made calculators sweat could hope to enter.
But in David's mouth, it had been demoted to: "Yeah, seems alright."
Luna exhaled slowly and tried to stabilize her blood pressure. With the calm of someone just moments away from flipping a table, she leaned over and said gently, "Tom... Royal Academy requires very high scores."
Her voice was soft, but the message hit like a Hyper Beam.
Tom, however, remained blissfully unaware of reality. "It's okay!" he declared. "David believes in me!"
David, patting him on the shoulder like a mafia boss giving a final blessing, nodded with mock sincerity. "Of course I do. Your brother always believes in you."
Which was code for: "Please don't ruin our meal ticket future, Tom."
Tom's eyes sparkled with newfound determination. "Then I'll definitely work hard from now on. I'll aim higher than ever! This time... I'll sprint to second-to-last place in university!"
Luna made a noise halfway between a groan and a scream and covered her face with both hands. It was the sound of a brain crumbling under the weight of too much absurdity. She sat there, helplessly watching these two knuckleheads map out a fantasy world where Royal Academy took pity admits and miracle dunces.
Royal Academy... from second-to-last?
Absolutely not.
But David looked so serious. And Tom looked so proud. And the sheer audacity of the conversation was enough to leave Luna feeling like she needed a nap, a stress ball, and a transfer request.
After lunch, the trio trudged back to class. Break time was over.
Mock exam time had arrived.
Because if there's one thing this school believed in more than lunch drama, it was relentless academic suffering.
A small test every three days. A big one every seven.
And if you were David, a nap in between each.
The classroom atmosphere shifted instantly when the invigilator strode in like a drill sergeant auditioning for a reality show. No greeting, no smile—just a sharp clap of his hands and a cold command: "Shuffle your seats!"
Cue the chaos. Chairs scraped across the floor like a herd of wild Miltanks, and students groaned as they were relocated like cargo being sorted. After the dust settled, David and Luna Ling were miraculously assigned their usual seats—either by fate or the sheer apathy of the exam gods. Poor Tom, however, got the short end of the stick and was seated right in front of Luna, who already looked like she regretted showing up.
The test papers were distributed like confetti at a funeral, and as Tom stared down at his, his face fell into a deep existential crisis. The first question read:
Q: What does Magnemite rely on for flying?
Tom squinted at the page, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less traumatic. After a long pause, he frowned and scrawled his honest confusion onto his scratch paper:
A: Can Magnemite still fly?
It was a philosophical question now, apparently.
Desperation began to simmer. Just that afternoon, he'd vowed to David that he would study hard and join him at Royal Academy—a school known for its elite standards and its slightly excessive number of Gardevoirs. But now, faced with what looked like alien hieroglyphics, Tom realized he was going to need more than motivation. He needed a miracle.
He glanced to his left. No help there. To the right—nothing but stressed-out classmates aggressively scribbling like their lives depended on it. He dared to look behind.
David was asleep.
Not just "nodding off" asleep—he was fully folded over his desk, arms crossed like a pillow, mouth slightly open, looking like a man halfway into a coma. Drool was likely not far off. Tom's heart sank. His academic lifeline had faceplanted before the test even started.
But he wasn't giving up yet.
Reaching into his pocket, Tom scribbled a note like it was the most important love letter of his life and passed it back to Luna Ling, who was diligently working through her test with the grace of a calculator. She noticed the note, glanced at Tom, and frowned.
He motioned toward David.
Luna sighed. She didn't want to be involved in this criminal exchange of nonsense, but she knew resisting Tom's pitiful puppy eyes was a waste of energy. She opened the note. It read, in tragically large and uneven handwriting:
"Brother , can you do multiple-choice questions?"
With a deep breath of regret, Luna passed the note to David.
David, still barely conscious, opened one eye, read the note, yawned, and lazily scribbled a reply. He didn't even sit up. Just scrawled something and handed the note back without emotion.
Luna peeked at the note before handing it to Tom.
"Don't feel like it."
Luna blinked in disbelief. That was it? No effort. No hesitation. Just a complete and total shutdown of Tom's academic hopes.
Tom, on the other hand, wasn't about to be dissuaded by such an emotionally devastating message. Within seconds, another note made its way back.
[Received +10 negative emotion points from Tom.]
[Received +10 negative emotion points from Luna .]
Luna sighed again as she handed over the next one.
Tom: "Aren't you done yet?"
David: "Finished."
Tom: "Then give me the answers!"
David: "Answer."
Tom: "I mean the multiple-choice ones!"
David: "I'm sleepy."
Luna looked like she was seriously considering launching both of them into orbit. Her eyes twitched with each exchange. She was trying to finish her own test, but now she'd become an unwilling middleman in a paper-based comedy skit.
[Received +20 negative emotion points from Tom.]
[Received +20 negative emotion points from Luna Ling.]
It didn't stop. Notes kept coming. Every single one became more ridiculous than the last, as if they were trying to rewrite the definition of academic failure via notebook paper. Meanwhile, David hadn't lifted his head once.
By the time the test ended, the classroom looked like a storm had hit it. The teacher collected the exams with all the enthusiasm of someone sorting trash, while Tom slumped in his seat, emotionally drained. His dream of entering Royal Academy alongside David—and being reunited with Ralts—had been severely wounded.
And Luna? She looked ready to file a complaint with the United Nations.
She had spent the entire exam relaying absurd handwritten nonsense instead of checking her own answers. Every time she tried to concentrate, another paper would slide onto her desk like a cursed scroll from two morons destined to fail.
As she stood up, she muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "I'm surrounded by idiots." Then she looked away without care, probably trying to figure out how to transfer schools.
Tom remained slumped forward in silent defeat. David, on the other hand, stretched his arms like he'd just woken from the best nap of his life, completely unfazed by the chaos he'd caused.
He hadn't answered a single one of Tom's questions.
But at least he'd gathered half a semester's worth of negative emotion points.
Victory, in its weirdest form.
***
The moment the exam ended, Tom stormed over to David like a man on a mission. His face was a tragic combination of betrayal, frustration, and the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all a bad dream.
"You absolute traitor!" Tom hissed, slamming both hands on David's desk. "I was drowning out there, man! DROWNING! And you? You were out here taking a nap like it was a Sunday picnic!"
David stretched his arms and yawned like he'd just finished a very satisfying spa treatment. "Oh hey, you're still alive? Impressive."
Tom's jaw dropped. "I was dying! DYING! And you didn't even throw me a bone! You just let me flop around like a helpless Magikarp!"
Clearly, Tom had come into the exam with noble intentions. Or at least, semi-noble. He was ready to copy his way into a slightly less humiliating score. But instead, the only thing he walked out with was second-to-last place—and not even that was secure thanks to David's absolute refusal to cooperate.
David leaned back in his chair, a mysterious grin forming on his face. He narrowed his eyes with the calm wisdom of someone who hadn't lifted a pencil in 90 minutes and still wasn't worried. "Tommy, my man," he said in a slow, philosophical tone, "the big Pokémon college entrance exam is coming soon. Let's say I did help you cheat today—what then? Does that help you cheat for the rest of your life?"
Tom blinked. "Uh…"
David continued, growing more dramatic by the second. "Even if you got the highest score on this test, what happens when the real exam comes? You'll be sitting there, staring at the paper, thinking, 'Wait... where's David? Where's the note?' But I won't be there. You'll be alone. With your brain. And that brain will betray you worse than I just did."
Luna Ling, who was standing nearby and had been ready to slap both of them with her exam paper minutes ago, paused. She blinked. Then she slowly nodded. For a brief, bizarre moment, she actually thought David was making a genuinely responsible point.
"Huh," she thought. "Maybe he's not a complete disaster after all. Maybe, just maybe, there's a decent guy hidden under all that laziness and sarcasm."
David then put his arm around Tom and whispered with an air of top-secret mischief, "So! If we're gonna cheat... we wait for the real thing. The big exam. That's when it counts!"
Luna's eyes widened in horror.
"Wait—what?!"
[Shocked.jpg]
Tom froze like someone had just slapped him with an ice-type move. Then, slowly, like a man awakening from a fog, he nodded. "You're right... what's the point of cheating now? This was just a warm-up. The real mission's still ahead. I've been thinking too small."
Luna stood there with a blank stare, like her brain had blue-screened. "Did I just witness the birth of an academic crime syndicate?" Her imaginary image of David—the one where he was secretly noble beneath all the nonsense—was now on fire. Possibly in a dumpster.
David, naturally, didn't stop there. He leaned closer to Tom with a mysterious grin. "Hey, you ever wonder how I never read textbooks, never listen in class, never do homework, and still manage to score at the top of every test?"
Tom rolled his eyes so hard they nearly detached. "Dude. You ask me that every semester."
Still, Luna couldn't help it. Her ears perked up like a Meowth hearing the sound of coins. She leaned a little closer. Even she had been curious. David didn't just slack off—he practically pioneered it as an art form. After school, he worked part-time jobs and barely even touched his study materials. Yet somehow, he always aced the tests. Students gossiped about it. Some believed he was a genius. Others suspected witchcraft.
Tom sighed, already knowing what was coming. "Don't say it. Please don't say it."
David placed his hands on his hips and declared proudly, "Because I'm talented—and I have a photographic memory!"
The words rang out like an insult to anyone who had ever studied.
Luna groaned audibly.
Tom stared at him like he wanted to throw a desk out the window.
[Received +10 negative emotion points from Tom.]
[Received +10 negative emotion points from Luna ]
[Received +20 negative emotion points from Tom.]
[Received +20 negative emotion points from Luna ]
And David? He looked absolutely pleased with himself, basking in the emotional damage like it was sunlight on a beach.
Luna crossed her arms and muttered under her breath, "Give me back my pure feelings..."
By this point, Tom had gone from exasperated to borderline dangerous. He stood off to the side doing warm-up stretches like he was about to step into a boxing ring instead of finishing a school exam. He cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and threw a few air punches so aggressive they produced honest-to-goodness sound effects—whoosh! whoosh!—as if he were auditioning for a martial arts movie.
The gust from one of his punches actually ruffled David's hair.
That was all it took. David froze like a statue. All the smugness on his face drained away faster than a Poké Ball recall. He instantly sobered up, realizing that his usual trolling might actually earn him a black eye this time.
Right. Time to stop being cheeky. Time to play it safe.
He gave a polite cough and leaned in toward Tom, tone suddenly far more professional. "Okay, okay, but don't you want to know why I have a photographic memory?"
Tom crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Wait—don't tell me. Is it because you're... talented?"
David's eyes lit up as if he were talking to the chosen one. He pointed dramatically and nodded with the gravitas of a tenured professor. "Yes! Good! You're finally learning how to answer my setups correctly."
Tom, gripping his water bottle, tightened his fist slightly.
Crack.
That poor plastic cup never stood a chance. It crumpled like origami in one hand. Water dribbled down his wrist as Tom's expression said, 'Try one more smart remark and I swear…'
David took the hint. No more stalling. Time to get straight to the nonsense.
"Alright, alright! I'll tell you. The real reason I have a photographic memory... is because…"
Dramatic pause.
"I can eat books."
Silence.
Luna Ling and Tom stared at him like he'd just announced he was part Snorlax.
"You... eat books?" they both said in unison, blinking rapidly.
Their eyes met. They didn't need to say anything—both were wondering the same thing: Did he just say that? Did we both hear that correctly? Has our school become a fantasy novel?
Tom spoke first, voice cautious, like he was trying not to trigger a lunatic. "Wait... you're telling me, if you eat a textbook, you can magically memorize everything inside? Like those weird sci-fi protagonists?"
David threw on his best surprised Pikachu face. "You—you knew?! How did you know?!"
The silence that followed could be measured in centuries. Tom and Luna stood motionless, frozen in disbelief. It wasn't clear whether they were questioning David's IQ or their own for continuing to listen.
A full thirty seconds ticked by before Tom slowly turned his head.
"David," he said flatly, "do I look like an idiot to you?"
David scratched his chin in exaggerated thought, nodded solemnly, and replied, "Yes. Absolutely."
Tom's eyelid twitched. "No, I mean—do you actually think you can fool me?"
"Yes," David said again, this time without hesitation and with the exact same tone a vending machine would use to decline your coins.
Tom inhaled through his nose like a cartoon bull preparing to charge.
[+30 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
[+40 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
[+50 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
David, completely unbothered, leaned back in his chair like he'd just delivered a TED Talk. Luna sighed and covered her face with both hands, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, "I should've transferred schools when I had the chance…"
Tom rolled up his sleeves like a man preparing to fight for honor, glory, and the last slice of pizza. His face twisted into a look of righteous vengeance, clearly deciding that the only way to restore balance to the universe was to physically clobber David.
Meanwhile, Luna Ling just stood there by the door, sighing like a weary school counselor who had seen this exact disaster scenario play out more times than she could count. She didn't even try to intervene. Not anymore.
She rubbed her temples like she was massaging out the stupidity and muttered, "Here we go again…"
Luna looked at the dynamic duo with the kind of exasperated fondness you'd have for two feral cats who keep fighting in your backyard.
She was still mildly curious, though—what sort of "exclusive learning method" had David promised Tom this time? Some miraculous mind-hack? A legendary study scroll? An educational summoning ritual?
Nope. Just lies. Again.
She sighed again, hoisted her backpack over her shoulder, and turned to leave, tossing a deadpan remark over her shoulder.
"You two clowns better lock the door when you're done smacking each other."
There was not a trace of concern in her voice. Zero. Zilch. She didn't even look back. After three years of witnessing this chaotic duo go at it—verbally, physically, and emotionally—this kind of showdown was practically routine.
There had been a time when Luna would've sprinted off to fetch a teacher, or maybe called an ambulance just in case. That was back in Year One. Now? Now she figured, If one of them ends up unconscious, that's just natural selection doing its job.
As soon as the door closed behind her, the classroom turned into an impromptu MMA octagon. The sound of desks being kicked, chairs screeching, and fists whipping through the air filled the room.
BANG. BANG. WHACK. THUD.
You could've sworn someone was trying to beat the final boss of a video game—with a folding chair.
Ten minutes later…
Tom sat slumped on the ground like a crumpled action figure. His nose was crooked, one eye was puffed shut, and his expression was a perfect mix of shock, betrayal, and mild regret.
He looked at David with his one functioning eye and mumbled through a swollen lip, "Bro… fuck... why're you built like this? When did you get so freakin' strong?"
He sounded less like a dude who lost a fight and more like a disappointed housewife who just found out her husband blew the grocery money on Magic: The Gathering cards.
David blinked at his own fists, flexing them like he had just discovered a hidden superpower. "What the…?"
Even he looked confused. Sure, he talked a big game, but this? This was new. He didn't remember going full-on Street Fighter mode before.
Then it hit him. The system rewards.
"Wait a minute… could it be because of that horse-sized Strength Boost Pill and the Intermediate Stamina Pill I got before?" David whispered to himself, eyes wide like a kid realizing the cheat codes actually worked.
It was true. David had once received two system rewards for successfully annoying everyone in class during a pop quiz. At the time, he just figured they were cool collectibles.
Now, he realized he may have unlocked something dangerously powerful.
And let's not forget—Tom wasn't just any student. This was the powerhouse of the school basketball team. The guy was nearly two meters tall and built like a walking fridge. His slam dunks could cause mild tremors. His punches? Devastating. He was like a beefy, slightly confused dragon.
But somehow, David—skinny, sarcastic, part-time slacker David—had absolutely flattened him. No warm-up. No strategy. Just raw, unfiltered chaos.
David was still lost in awe at his own sudden strength when he caught Tom's pitiful, betrayed expression.
Time to save face.
"Ahem," David said, clearing his throat with theatrical flair. "I've always been this strong. You just never noticed 'cause I was letting you win."
He brushed invisible dust off his shirt and added, "I didn't wanna embarrass you. You know how it is. Gotta keep your morale up. It's what good friends do."
Tom's injured eye twitched.
David doubled down, placing a hand on his chest like a misunderstood anime hero. "Honestly, I was just holding back before. I didn't wanna reveal my true power level. You weren't ready to handle it."
The sarcasm radiated off him in waves.
Tom, still lying on the floor like a defeated Pokémon, gave him a look that could only be described as emotional damage.
[+30 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
[+40 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
[+50 Negative Emotion from Tom...]
David grinned.
He had no idea what part of that last sentence annoyed Tom most—the fact that he said it, or the fact that he said it so convincingly.
Either way, it was music to his ears.
And he didn't stop until he heard the system chime in his head again, alerting him to yet another emotional payout. Cha-ching.
Victory was his.
In more ways than one.