Luke’s grip tightened as anger pushed through the fear, though his hands still trembled around the mop handle.

The deliveryman noticed, and a satisfied smile pulled at his mouth.

"There it is. You’re scared."

Luke could not deny it.

His body remembered the alley. Three teenagers had surrounded him, sprayed something into his eyes, and kicked him while they searched his clothes. He remembered reaching for the money afterward and finding nothing.

Back then, he had been helpless.

Only a few days had passed since that attack. One dungeon had not turned him into a skilled fighter, and he had not suddenly become fearless, but he had learned something. He knew how to watch an opponent’s shoulders, control the distance with a long weapon, and continue moving after making a mistake.

More importantly, Lauren was behind him. There was no chance he would leave her alone with this man.

"You’re right," Luke said. "I’m scared."

The deliveryman sneered.

"But I’m still here."

His sneer vanished as he charged.

Luke’s mind went blank when the crowbar rose above the man’s shoulder. Although the intruder was still several steps away, Luke lifted the mop too early and prepared to block.

"Don’t let him dictate the pace, Luke!"

Lauren’s voice cut through his panic.

He had heard something similar before. Inside the Dungeon of Truth, Yvonne had told him about the lessons her daughters received during combat training. Once an enemy decided where he stood, when he moved, and how he responded, the fight had already begun slipping out of his control.

Yvonne had shared that knowledge because she wanted him to survive.

Now Lauren was giving him the same warning.

The familiar words and the urgency behind them sharpened Luke’s focus, even as the deliveryman rushed toward him.

He stepped forward.

The intruder had clearly expected him to retreat and give the crowbar room to build momentum. Luke refused to let him.

Driving off his rear foot, he thrust the jagged handle toward the man’s shoulder. The tile cracked beneath his shoe as warmth gathered inside his chest and flowed down both arms.

Blue light flickered around his fingers before spreading along the mop handle.

Luke’s eyes widened.

No status window appeared, and the system did not announce a skill. Nothing told him how much mana he had left or whether the attack would work.

He was standing inside a real café, yet the blue light remained.

The jagged point struck the deliveryman’s left shoulder. Wood should have cracked against bone and thick fabric, but the glowing tip punched through the hoodie and sank into flesh.

The man’s breath burst from him in a broken cry. His entire body twisted around the weapon, and the crowbar slipped lower in his right hand.

Luke almost released the mop.

Blood ran down the shaft and across his knuckles, warm enough that he felt it even through the haze of adrenaline. The deliveryman stumbled backward, staring at the length of wood lodged in his shoulder.

"What the hell did you do?"

Luke had no answer, but his body moved before his thoughts could catch up. The monsters inside the dungeon had trapped his spear whenever he hesitated, so he twisted the shaft and pulled it free immediately.

The deliveryman’s knees bent as another strangled sound escaped him.

Luke staggered backward. The attack had landed, but the resistance of muscle and bone remained in his hands. His shoulders felt numb, and his grip threatened to loosen around the blood-slick shaft.

Then the metallic smell reached him.

His stomach tightened.

Fighting here felt nothing like fighting in the dungeon. The blood did not vanish into drifting light, and no system waited to restore either of them after the battle. If Luke made one wrong move, someone could die on the café floor.

The deliveryman lunged before Luke could steady his breathing.

The crowbar came swinging toward his head.

Luke jerked the mop upward, and metal struck wood with enough force to send a painful jolt through his wrists. The impact shoved his hands toward his face and knocked him sideways, sending his hip crashing into a chair.

Wood scraped across the tiles as the chair skidded away beneath him.

The deliveryman swung again.

Luke ducked just in time, allowing the crowbar to pass above his head and smash into one of the hanging lights. Glass rained down around them. Several pieces struck Luke’s shoulders and bounced from his hair as he backed away too quickly, his heel catching against the leg of another chair.

He barely recovered his balance.

The deliveryman saw the mistake. "You got lucky!"

He kicked a table toward Luke.

The heavy furniture slid across the floor and slammed into his thighs. Luke folded over the tabletop, catching himself with one hand before his knees struck the tiles.

Pain spread through both legs.

The man came around the other side with the crowbar raised. Luke tried to move the mop between them, but the table trapped most of the shaft against his body. Before he could pull it free, the deliveryman grabbed the edge with his other hand and flipped the table.

The tabletop lurched upward.

Luke lost sight of the man and stumbled backward, dragging the mop free while chairs toppled around his legs.

Behind the counter, violet light flashed.

Lauren gasped as the café blurred around her. Several overlapping images filled her vision, showing the table falling, Luke stepping aside, and the deliveryman crouching behind the overturned furniture before sweeping the crowbar toward Luke’s legs.

A sharp pressure drove into her temples. The sensation was unmistakable.

Oracle’s Glimpse had activated outside the game.

"Luke, careful!" she shouted. "He’ll strike from below!"

Luke did not stop to ask how she knew.

He lowered the mop across his body just as the crowbar swept beneath the falling table. Metal slammed against the wooden shaft, wrenching Luke’s shoulders downward.

His arms buckled.

The bar stopped inches from his shin, close enough that he felt the air move against his pants.

The deliveryman froze and turned toward the counter.

"How did she..."

"She’s amazing."

The moment the man looked toward Lauren, Luke moved.

He shoved the crowbar aside, stepped around the table, and shortened his grip. The blunt end of the mop struck the deliveryman’s injured shoulder.

The man recoiled with a hoarse gasp. His wounded left arm folded against his chest, but his right hand kept hold of the crowbar.

He swung wildly.

Luke leaned back, yet the hooked end still clipped his upper arm. Pain tore through the muscle, sudden and hot, and nearly knocked the weapon from his fingers.