Regardless, in a complete princess moment, Roberto found himself walking until he reached the entrance a second time. He hadn't gotten that far consciously, but going mostly at random while, thanks to the walk and the quiet, he was having his period.

In fact, I feel obliged to say this just to be fair, he himself realized how stupid and exaggerated was his way of reacting when someone else tried to analyze or understand him. As mentioned earlier, sometimes sweeping the dust under the carpet helps to ignore the problem. However, in the same vein, actively trying to clean up the mess was bound to result in an obligation to observe the ugly pile up that had been building up over the years.

Then, there was another little thing to take into account; maybe the real reason behind his way of seeing things had its origin in his will not to seek help or to avoid going to therapy that had always accompanied him hand in hand since he was a teenager. In fact, as an intelligent man capable of understanding, up to a certain limit of course, the tendencies of human beings, he certainly couldn't bear the idea of so openly showing a weakness of his to others. No, letting others know too much about one's own cocks and being hammered for it had to remain the prerogative of the unintelligent, the weak of character and, at the limit, of historians. Regarding the last point, however, Roberto was speaking more from personal experience than anything else.

Of course, some people might laugh or consider it a sin to have such a mentality, but personally I think that in the end everyone has the right to decide what kind of death to die. In my opinion, there are very few 'healthy' or 'normal' people left in the world.

Avoiding further beating an already dying horse, Roberto slowly stopped thinking about the subject and returned to focus on something that could actually improve.

In fact, having the advantage of owning [Mental Training] meant that he had at least six to eight hours of practice per day compared to others. This practice was done in the best possible conditions, since he could determine the variables of his imaginary world himself. However, it had already become quite clear to him that if he wanted to recreate objects or people there he would first have to experience them in the real world, so that he could later form a replica as faithful as possible.

Therefore he made [Shifting Blade] appear from the Terminal, holding it tightly in his hand and began to beat it around as best he could. Of course, his experience with bladed weapons was zero, but with a little bit of creativity he could always improve.

"Okay... I'll have Pen Pen do this one," or at least he thought so for a few minutes before realizing that, with the kind of motions he was performing, he would probably dislocate his wrist on the first impact on a solid surface. Lucky for him, however, that his virtual assistant, perhaps, could put a patch on it and, perhaps, show him what the correct technique might be. Of course, he would have had to wait several hours to do so, but it was better than nothing.

Having reached that conclusion, and feeling a bit down in the dumps considering that usually those kinds of problems were almost never on the radar of the protagonists of the fantasy stories he read, he decided to change his approach. So, rather than wasting time and dislocating his shoulder unnecessarily, he focused on efficiency and began a thorough study of his System weapon, the Terminal and the knives he had previously stolen.

Within the limits of what an asshole with more tongue than specific information on the subject could do, he then did his best to familiarize himself with the length and weight of his [Shifting Blade], while trying out various handles to test how much more comfortable one might be than the other. The knives, on the other hand, began to be thrown in the direction of a small wall not too far away, experiencing for the first time how much a single session of [Mental Training] could make a difference in performance from the previous day.

Finally, as far as the Terminal was concerned, he only started using it again when he got a bit tired, using the excuse of looking for possible new options to catch his breath.

"Hey! Hey boss! What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" Several times later, however, a loud voice that by now had become familiar interrupted his moment of rest... I mean, study. Roberto, however, had found himself a fairly comfortable position sheltered from the wind in which he could rest his back and relieve his legs, all this with a small collection of cigarette butts placed in a small altar near his side that protected him from the misfortunes of the world. Reason why, when Mario called him, his first instinct was to ignore him.

"Oh! Come on they made food. Consider that I came all the way here to call you! Get your ass up!" The giant with a heart of gold, however, knew very well how to be both loud and pushy, which made the weary smoker turn on his side. Indeed, that and the fact that they were talking about food; all the movement of the last few hours had made him a bit peckish if he had to be honest.

"Coming, coming..." He then replied to him with a snort and a failed attempt to get on his feet, followed soon after by one who managed to have a more fortunate end. Seeing Mario, however, both in the face and towards the sides, Roberto found himself looking at him with a strange face, asking perplexed: "How did you manage to reduce yourself in this condition? And what should be that white stuff you have stuck on your sleeves? Tell me it's glue or silicone, please. I don't think a healthy person would produce all that crap in such a few hours."

Mario obviously didn't know anything about the little prima donna moment that had taken place between Roberto and Sabrina since he was already off on his very important personal crusade, but even if he had known somehow he would still have avoided putting his nose in it. However, the fact that his new partner had gone off to isolate himself so randomly had raised a couple of questions for him, which is why he had volunteered to go and retrieve him.

In any case, seeing him say the usual crap and without too much muzzle, he put aside the few concerns he had brought with him, responding with a dismissive tone: "Eh... Training is everything in life," shaking the arm indicated by Roberto's finger to highlight even more his stance on the subject.

"Ah, then you and I will sit as far apart at the table as possible. I haven't been a teenager for a while and I'd like to avoid being assailed by nostalgia." Said Roberto then, scratching his head in the process, not really having too much interest in finding out what the fuck Mario had gotten himself into instead of taking the current situation a minimum of more seriously.

The two later returned inside the mall, walking side by side on their way back. At least until Roberto had one of the first sensible doubts of his career and asked with sincere curiosity, "Wait... Wait a minute. Have you been going in circles for a while or what? Why do I get the impression that you already knew where you were?"

The big man, on the other hand, instead of laughing as Roberto expected him to do, returned the puzzled look, almost not expecting to receive such a trivial question. The silence between the two lasted for a few long seconds, interrupted only by the sounds of their footsteps and the shards of cement they were walking on.

Until Mario said: "Eh... The Terminal? You mean to tell me that you discovered the storage functionality but not the search functionality of your own team members? Are you fucking with me or are you more of an idiot than I thought you were?" causing his Terminal to appear as he spoke to show the procedure required to bring up a translucent map with various glowing dots that signaled the current location of team members.

"Ah..." Roberto mumbled without adding much to the conversation, testing that new feature soon after. Mario, however, had not yet finished saying his opinion and, staring at him from the corner of his eye, came back to say: "I saw you fucking around with the Terminal when I arrived. What the fuck were you doing? I thought you had it in your hand because I was getting close."

The other genius for once in his life found himself at a loss for words or bullshit, as if there was any difference between the two considering the subject at hand. "Actually..." He then mumbled with the Terminal still in his hand, looking at the glowing map like a moron and saying with a conviction that would have been better for Alex than him, "That's a good question. What the fuck was I doing?"

Not understanding what the problem was, however, and quickly blaming it on the stress derived from their having been catapulted into a bullshit mockery complete with levels and Magic Abilities, sweet Mario didn't investigate further and, instead, returned to using a louder, more goliardic tone repeating such moronic shenanigans as, "Ah! Tonight I'll show you paradise," or, "Forget the pros! Later you'll see what I can do with these hands!"

Exclamations not at all equivocal or disturbing. Although, while denouncing homophobia with the same passion I would use towards socialism, I personally would have moved away, at least a few feet.

That said, the desperate couple managed after a few more minutes of walking to get back to the others. And, surprisingly, Roberto found out that this time they were going to eat outdoors, with a lot of tables recovered who knows where, in the same place where Alex had tried to activate his new Ability. The motivation behind so much unnecessary work it seemed, and Roberto would only find out later, was that Camilla had already resented having to sleep with the smell of oil, food and gas still in the room. A much more ladylike position than one might have expected looking at her.

With that detail out of the way, lunch began and continued without any major problems. Sabrina had kept up her end of the deal by cooking as best she could the various anonymous and industrial products at her disposal. Even though it was a sort of insult to her good taste, she ended up preparing one of those infamous and terrifying half-cooked pastas buried in a plastic sarcophagus that, and I'll add my own to this, should have been sold together with an ash tree stake, just to be safe, in the supermarkets.

However, pretending to remain serious, she used that disgrace as a base and, mixing a couple of packages with a decent tomato sauce, two sautéed vegetables and some grated cheese, she succeeded in the unthinkable, creating a final dish worthy of the name.

Of course, everything that had been prepared by the girl was finished in one way or another. Considering, in fact, how bad things were at the moment, food at least helped to lift the mood.

The only thing that initially kept Sabrina at a distance from the newly arrived smoker was her concern that he was still in a bad mood because of their brief discussion. However, to her surprise, the boy acted as if nothing had happened, addressing everyone, including her, in the same swinging ways as always.

Not that it was particularly welcome or pleasant company to have around, but at least you were hardly bored when Camilla or Alex responded to his provocations. For Sabrina, as much as she didn't think she should have found it amusing, it was a good way to relieve tension and relax her nerves; just as it must have been for Mario, who had chosen like her to stay on the sidelines and be entertained as a very inactive spectator.

Once lunch was over, the rest of the day began to follow the morning's tracks. Mario disappeared once again, running to the upper floors, barking several times on the way exaggerated phrases both in tone and content, while the couple returned to its still unsuccessful attempts.

Roberto and Sabrina were the only ones to remain seated at the table, arranging at best the few things that had not already evaporated in a cloud of light and exchanging a few words, mostly during those brief household chores. After a few more cigarette and bathroom breaks on the part of the boy, he too went back to his business, dragging a very badly reduced sofa out of a nearby store to test with his own hands what it might mean to hit and cut a solid and bulky object.

Gradually, time continued to pass, but it became an obvious fact only when the sun slowly began to set. According to the time of the clocks it could not be much later than half past five or six in the afternoon, depending on which genius had set his device wrong, but in winter it was like that.

Realizing that another day was drawing to a close, and not wanting to risk harming themselves by playing in the dark, the four of them, still on the ground floor, rolled up their sleeves and once again transported tables, gas stoves and dishes to the upper floor, choosing, however, this time to prepare dinner and eat in the place immediately next to their base. Obviously, always under complaints from Camilla, who on that subject seemed to have become even more inflexible.

Well, ladies' things.

In any case, when the preparations were almost complete, and the only two boys present were committed not to use their hands or mouths in order to avoid any trouble, Mario finally appeared at the entrance of the store, reduced to an even more disastrous state.

"Oh... Smell good! Smell good" He exclaimed before the others even noticed him, raising his voice with a happiness that certainly had nothing to do with the vegetables and rice that was being cooked in a manner I'd rather not describe. "After dinner I will show you the wonderful thing I managed to make with my little golden hands!" He then yelled a second time, clenching his fists and bringing them in front of him with vigor and blissful ignorance.