Bruce Tyson stood outside his daughter’s room, shaking his hands and puffing out quick bursts of air from his mouth.

  “You can do this, it’s no big deal. Just a talk,” he muttered to himself. It was the decisive moment, all he had to do is reach out his hand and knock on her door. Then wait. She was always very clear on that. Knock. Wait. Then enter. Don’t just knock while opening the door.

  He could hear her music playing. She was definitely in there, unfortunately. Marla was somewhere downstairs, promising not to eavesdrop on his conversation with their daughter, but forced him to come up here in the first place. She was sick of listening to his worrying and fretting and future ‘what-if’ horror stories.

  “Just go up and talk to her. I can’t promise it’ll go over well, but you’ll at least get it out there. She’s a smart girl, she’s got good stats, maybe it’ll go better than you think. At the very least you can stop talking to me about it,” his wife had finally said.

  Easier said than done that is, she’s not the one that has to raid that instance of hormonal vipers, he thought.

  “Dad, can you just come in and stop bouncing around in front of my door like a weirdo?” her voice came from inside of her room.

  Bruce froze. It was now or never. He reached up and knocked. Then waited. Very important that he wait.

  “Yes! Come in!” she said, louder and far more frustrated.

  With a few more puffs, Bruce opened the door. He was hit by a brief moment of deja vu. This was a door he had opened a million times in his life, it had always been his daughter’s room. Once, behind this door was an endless expanse of possibilities. Would we be pretending to be Unicorns today? Or Clerics? Would she be on a Warlock kick, or suddenly into Summoner classes after one appeared on TV, and commanding her stuffed animals? Would she be awake or asleep? Sad or happy? Whatever it was, and it could have been anything, it was his little girl waiting behind this door.

  “Hey pumpkin?” said Bruce, poking his head in. His nose was immediately assaulted by the scent of some perfume or incense that smelled like a glob of strawberry jam shoved up his nostril.

  “Hi daddy,” said Monica, “you can come all the way in. Why are you stealthing?” Bruce’s little princess sat on her bed, an array of pamphlets and manuals arrayed before her. There were ones for tower climber academies, centers for deck building arts, endless adventurer university pamphlets, and even a few for the more mundane crafting schools.

  They really shouldn’t hand all these out at school, thought Bruce, It’s overwhelming for kids.

  Bruce cleared some space on the bed and sat down, his daughter curling her legs up to make room. Her expression changed from curiosity to concern as he folded his hands between his knees.

  “Daddy…what is it?” said Monica, with rising tension.

  “Everythings fine! Dont worry!” said Bruce, raising his hands to calm her. It occurred to him that the last time he sat down with her just like this it was to tell her Grandma had been unexpectedly ganked. “I just wanted to talk to you about something,” he finished.

  Monica visibly relaxed, but some tension was still floating about her like an aura debuff. “Okay…what about?” Talks with dad were still apparently a scary thing.

  Bruce reached for the words, and instead found his daughter's little black Overslime plushy. It was old as she was, with little frays here and there. The squeaker no longer worked, but that was okay, Bruce had always thought it sounded too much like a dog toy.

  “I wanted to talk about-” he started

  Monica reached out with an eager open hand, “Eh! Eh!” She squawked. Bruce was, for just a moment, briefly taken back in time when he had first shown her Overslime, all tucked in and ready for nigh-nighs. Her reaction was exactly the same.

  “Oh, yeah, here,” he handed Overslime to her. She squeezed it to her chest, taking some comfort in the presence of her precious Overslime. “I wanted to talk to you about your future plans. You're 12th level now, almost 13th, so you've got some big choices to make ahead of you. Are you still planning on going for a Support class?”

  She nodded, brightening a little, “Yeah! So I've been reading up on some of the programs,” she picked up a fistful of pamphlets and spoke rapidly, “I don't think a Deck Builder program is for me, and there’s no way I could do a Cultivator course. So I'm looking at some Tower Climber academies and Dungeon Diver tech schools. I've got my Cleric levels all sorted, so I was thinking of going for a Healer build, maybe an Aura Buffer? But I don’t know, my meta-game counselor says Aura programs are really hard to get into nowadays.”

  “Right, right,” said Bruce. Here we go, he thought, “I wanted to know if you'd be willing to maybe…consider a different build?”

  She looked up from her pamphlets, puzzled, “Huh? What do you mean? Like a… Bard build? Cause I looked into that and there's no way my Charisma is high enough to get into anything but like, the crappiest Farm-to-Fighter school. And they all have the requirement, ‘If you know, you know’, and apparently I don't.”

  “No no, I mean a different build path entirely. One that maybe, has a bit more…potential?” said Bruce. He let the question hang in the air, watched his daughter slowly process what he was saying.

  “You’re…worried about my potential?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Tread carefully now, thought Bruce. “Not your potential sweety, the potential of the build. You’re talking about becoming a Support class, and they’re not exactly known for their ability to rank up.”

  Monica rolled her eyes, “There’s more to life than ‘ranking up’ dad. I want to do important work and help people and save lives.”

  Bruce nodded along, “Of course of course, I know that. It’s just, I know ranking up isn’t everything, but it’s certainly something you have to consider if you want to be comfortable and secure in your life.”

  “Dad, I can be comfortable as a Support. Becky’s mom is a Support, and they do just fine,” she said.

  Bruce sighed, he knew that was going to come up. As close as Becky was to his daughter, she likely either didn’t talk about or didn’t know about the stresses their family was under. Her mother, Shauna, was only a C-Silver rank. At her age that was almost embarrassing. Their ‘comfort’ was dependent on Becky’s dad, who was at least a B-Bronze rank. Nothing special, but certainly not C rank. It was an open secret in the neighborhood that they were struggling.

  “I just want you to consider some alternatives,” Brue continued, picking up a pamphlet for Hyper-L33T University, “Take HLU for example, they’ve got a great Ranged DPS program! You could-”

  His daughter stopped him with a raised hand, “Dad, gross. I don’t want to be a Gunner or something. They rank up fast, I know, but it’s absolutely soulless.”

  The frustration appeared slowly, not at the defiance but at the dismissal. “Okay, well how about Polymorph Tech? They’ve got a Shapeshifter tank program I’ve heard good things about. And you would be close to home! We could visit. Ooh! You could do laundry here!”

  “No dad, I’m not doing a tech school. I’d never be a good tank anyways,” she sighed, pushing the ocean of pamphlets away from herself and bringing her knees to her chest.

  “Fine, what about…” Bruce filtered through the pamphlets, “Ah! Here we go!” he flashed up the pamphlet like it was a big reveal, “Rollen High Academy!” he smiled wide, this is what he wanted to recommend anyways.

  “Your alma mater?” Bruce’s daughter said, “A Fighter school?”

  Even the name was enough to give Bruce a rush of pleasant memories of his days at Rollen. The camaraderie, the parties, the freedom, the girls…which he was now suggesting his daughter be one of. He shook off the cognitive dissonance. “Exactly! The work is challenging, but fun, and you can Prestige in all kinds of directions. I still have connections to! The Tyson name can still open a lot of doors for you.”

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  “Pass.”

  That stoked the frustration, “Honey, you can still do what you want and have a build that will let you rank up. I don’t want to see you grind on copper dungeons for years handing out Blessing buffs to noobs that blow past you without a second thought.”

  “Those noobs are people too Dad,” she said with some fire, “and frankly, that’s kind of Rankist of you to say isn’t it?”

  “It’s not Rankist if it’s true hon. You’re not going to have any damage potential. Take your Uncle Martin for example-”

  “Oh sysop, again with Uncle Martin…”

  “He’s a rank A-Gold! He got there soloing Blackrock Depths as a Sorlock with a Paladip! They said-”

  “Said it couldn’t be done but he made it happen-”

  “With some grit and determination, exactly,” finished Bruce. The frustration transforming fully now into anger.

  “Dad, it’s not like that anymore,” she said, “no one's soloing raid dungeons. There’s guilds now, people working together.”

  “Some things don’t change hon,” said Bruce, his ire rising, “Having a secure rank-up plan is the key to having a better life.”

  “I don’t need a better life Dad, I’m happy with my life! The system apocalypse happened when you were only a kid, that was a long time ago,” she held up a hand to stop Bruce from interrupting, “and while I know that was a very troubling time for you and Grandma and Grandpa, things are different now. We’ve got a handle on things, there’s institutions now, and things like guilds, and build guides, and optimization counselors.”

  “Yes, hon, I understand that, I know things are different. But they’re not that different. You’re happy with your life because your mom and I gave it to you, you don't know anything different. You need to be thinking about how you're going to take care of yourself. It's not safe out there.”

  “Dad, where is ‘out there'? You mean life? The world? I'm not going to avoid that. I'm grateful for the life you and mom give me, I really am, but I want to give back as well.” She rose from the bed, her own agitation climbing.

  Bruce stayed seated, as angry as he was becoming, and that had not been part of the plan. He didn't want to come to a shouting match with his daughter. “Yes! Out there! Your mom and I take care of you, in the real world no ones going to Buff you or Support you. That's just how it is.”

  Monica crossed her arms and cocked her head the way she had done since she was a toddler when she got angry. It was comical then, a tiny little opinion, so precious to her and so worth fighting for.

  It's only different now because it's louder, she still doesn't know any better, thought Bruce.

  “That's ‘just how it is’ because people like you are out there making it that way! If you weren't so concerned about protecting your own personal ranks you'd see more people could live better lives with only a little Support.”

  “Hey! I Tank just as hard as the next guy! Those are my Hit Points that get lost!” and just like that, the shouting started.

  “Dad, don't martyr yourself for doing your job. That's what you're supposed to be doing! There's classes out there that need actual help, not just a Smurf to Carry and soak damage!”

  The gall. The disrespect. Bruce couldn't sit idly by while his own daughter raised her voice to him. He stood up to face her, still towering over her diminutive frame. “Young lady, you will not Debuff my contributions or the build that keeps our family comfortable! I am trying to stop you from making a mistake! You will listen to what I have to say, you will respect it, and you'll thank me for it!” Bruce barked in his loudest, daddest voice, one reserved for only emergencies.

  Monica flinched at his volume and stepped back as he stood over her. She cast her eyes down and folded her hands behind her back.

  There, thought Bruce, Now she knows that if she talks to me then…

  Then what? She was small again. Before his anger and frustration she was reduced to a little girl, cowed and fearful. She was curled inward, chastened, probably even had some Fear stacks.

  This isn't what I want, thought Bruce. He was suddenly ashamed. He had brow beat his daughter, a strong and beautiful woman, back into a scared little girl. I miss my little girl, he thought. It had come unbidden, but some part of him missed her this way. Missed the deference, missed the power, missed a time when his displeasure was the worst thing in the world.

  It made him feel sick, hypocritical even. He slumped back onto the bed.

  “I'm sorry Monica. I lost my temper. I don't appreciate you talking to me like that, but…..I shouldn't yell at you. You're not a kid anymore.” That hurt to say. It hurt a lot. In a way he didn't expect. Monica came back to him, releasing the submissive curl and looking surprised.

  “Thanks. I, uh, accept your apology,” she said. Her eyes darted around the room like it was some sort of trick, and she was looking for hidden cameras.

  Yeah, apologies from Dad might be a rare thing, he thought. He could feel a barking anger struggle to the surface, one that was begging him to say, “And why should I apologize!?” He tamped that down, the ease with which it appeared told him a lot about himself, something he’d have to think about later.

  “I just…..I see you continuing down this path and ending up as some….some….”

  Cursing around his children had never been easy, but there was no other way to put it.

  “Some backpack for a mono-classed Smite-o-din Spellblade!” Bruce spit out the words.

  Monica’s eyes went wide, her mouth fell open, it had been a step too far.

  “Excuse me?!” she said, aghast. The look on her face, the tone, the pronunciation, she was a carbon copy of her mother.

  Oooh we’re gonna pay for that one, thought Bruce.

  “Did you just call me a backpack?! Me?! Your own daughter?!” Her voice rose with each indignant question.

  “Well, no, I didn’t say you were a b-back, a, one of those. Just that I was afraid you’d end up as one-”

  Monica stomped away from him and nearly, only nearly, slammed the door of her room. She turned back to him, still enraged, but let the shout come through her teeth as a hiss. Again, a perfect replica of her mother. It was terrifying. “A backpack! Do you think so little of me that you just assume I’d become some guy's backpack at the drop of a hat?”

  “No! Honey of course not! I just mean…” What did he mean? He stalled, trying to find the words, trying to find the feelings to figure out which category of words he even wanted. “I mean like, I’m afraid for your future.” Yeah, that sounded right, he thought, That sums it up nicely.

  “You’ve got fear stacks,” said Monica, crossing her arms and glaring.

  That didn’t sound right. “Well no I don’t have fear stacks, I’m just worried,” said Bruce scoffing. Fear stacks were something for children and noobs. He was an adult with wisdom buffs to distribute, definitely not fear stacks.

  “Your words!” said Monica, incredulous, “‘I am afraid’, is what you said. Now Dad, I ask, why do you feel the need to make that my problem?”

  Problem? What is she talking about? Thought Bruce. This was starting to get confusing. “I’m not making it your problem honey, and-no wait, and I’m not afraid,” said Bruce, he was beginning to get flustered.

  “You came to me, loaded with fear stacks, and dumped a bunch of debuffs on me. All your concerns and worries, stealthing as build optimization concerns,” said Monica, like it was obvious and not ridiculous.

  “What? Honey calm down, I’m trying to help you,” said Bruce. The agitation was creeping back in, she was skirting dangerously close to disrespectful, something he couldn’t abide even at his most patient.

  “Dad, you know how you can help?” Bruce leaned forward, he was all ears, “You can run support for me. I know this stuff. I know the Support grind is hard. It’s not a secret, and I’m not so dumb as to have not figured that out yet, as you’re suggesting.”

  “Hey wait, I never said-”

  “I don’t need your fear stacks Dad, I need your morale bonuses,” said Monica. She was slowing down, and she came to sit beside him on the bed again, “I’m under enough stress as it is. I don’t want you to come and add to that. I want to know that no matter how hard it gets, I can rely on my Dad for the Assist.”

  “Hon, I’m not…” Bruce sighed and ran his hands through his thinning hair, “I don’t think I…shit.” Was she right? What did it mean for him if she was? “I’m just trying to help!”

  “And what I’m telling you is; you’re not!” said his daughter. But she said gently, almost amused at the revelation.

  “I’m sorry,” said Bruce, sullen. None of this was going the way he wanted it to go.

  Monica shrugged, “It’s okay, Dad. Try something else.”

  “Something else?” said Bruce. Every word out of her mouth was jerking him in a new direction.

  “Yeah. You’re not helping, but you want to. I told you how you can help. Try that,” said Monica. She put a hand on his shoulder. Bruce looked down at it. Since when had her hands gotten so big? He could still see the scar on her thumb from when daddy’s little buffer had gotten too enthusiastic to help with a crafting recipe for the car.

  “I…umm,” How do I help with this? Bruce thought, How do I give her a morale bonus when I don’t think it’s a good idea? She could end up grossly underleveled, or spend years squiring in D rank dungeons, or yeah, backpacking some–ok yeah I'm afraid. I hear it now. “Monica,” he started, pulling her into a hug that she took up with eagerness, “I'll love you no matter what. You Are a brilliant young woman, and I trust you to know what you're doing, and make your own mistakes. I'm here if you need me.”

  “Thanks Dad,” she said into his shoulder. Somehow, her head still fit there just right. “I know you're just worried about me.”

  “It's my job,” he said.

  She gave a little hiccup of a sob, Bruce pretended not to notice. They pulled apart at last.

  “So, do you have any advice for me?” Monica asked, her eyes shining just for a moment before she wiped them across her sleeve.

  “I do, if you're in the market for some,” said Bruce. She was giving him a respawn, with a little Wisdom boost this time.

  “Wouldn't ask if I didn't want it,” she said with a half smile and a shrug.

  Bruce thought for a long moment, “Consider at least dipping into a Path of Shadow Warlock, that's a great debuff class to fall back on.”

  She winced, “I don't know Dad, I'm going to be pretty busy as is, and Warlocking has never really come easy for me.”

  “I will give you my +4 Amulet of the Bear if you dip Sha-lock,” Bruce immediately declared.

  Monica's eyes went wide, she took in a quick breath, “Your bear amulet. You would give me your bear amulet for dipping Sha-lock?”

  Hooked, now reel her in, “You don't even need to take it the first year, if you just promise me you will, you can have it.”

  “I'd be a freshman with an amulet…” she said to herself, her voice a whisper, awed by the possibilities, “Deal!” She shouted, snapping back to the here and now.

  They shook on it. That's my girl, thought Bruce, that's Monica Tyson, but no matter what, that's my little girl.