The receptionist's words hung in the air, heavier than a golem's fist. "Skeletons, for tax and census purposes, do not count towards that quota."
From a nearby table, a burst of mocking laughter erupted. Keldric didn't have to look to know who it was.
"Struggling with the diversity charter, are we?" Lysander Thorne called out, his voice a smug drawl. He leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, looking utterly unimpressed. "They don't hand out guild flags just for showing up with a box of bones, crypt-keeper."
His companions, Grak and Corvin, roared with laughter.
"Maybe try recruiting someone with a pulse," Lysander added with a sneer. "Come back when you have a real party."
The collective stare of every adventurer in the hall felt like a physical weight. Humiliation burned hot on Keldric's cheeks. He grabbed Bones by the arm and, with a hissed "We're leaving," herded his entire dejected party out of the Guild Hall and into the relative privacy of the first grimy alleyway he could find.
He leaned against the cold, damp brick, taking a deep breath. "Okay, team," he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "New mission, top priority: we need to find one human female to join our guild. How... how do we do that?"
The skeletons exchanged glances.
"It's simple, Mr. Hero!" Bones said, his optimism completely undented. "We shall find a woman in peril, rescue her from a great danger, and in her gratitude, she will surely join our noble cause! Preferably from a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon!"
"Nah, bro," Chad countered, cracking his knuckles. "You gotta show strength. Chicks dig strength. I'll find the buffest chick in this city and impress her with my deadlift max. She'll be begging to join the 'Swole Skulls'."
"Darlings, for starters, we are not calling our guild the 'Swole Skulls', that is just pure ick," Strut sighed from her chaise lounge. "Secondly, you are all hopelessly primitive. You don't ask. You attract. We must create an air of exclusivity. The most fabulous woman will be invited to join our elite circle."
"All of these methods are statistically inefficient and rely on chance," Specs stated flatly. "The optimal strategy is to conduct a city-wide survey, create a psychographic profile of potential candidates, and approach the most statistically compatible individual with a formal proposal."
"We could just stand here looking tragic," Linkin murmured from the shadows. "Projecting our silent, angsty 'Where are you?' into the void. Eventually, a kindred spirit is bound to answer."
Keldric stared at them. "'Damsels in distress' aren't just standing around on street corners, Bones! And Chad, I'm pretty sure trying to 'impress' a woman with heavy lifting isn't a recruitment strategy! And Specs, we don't have time to conduct a city-wide census! We need this guild so we can get money!" He let out a sigh of pure frustration. "I wish I could just walk up to someone, tell them they must come with us, and they would, without question."
"On it, Mr. Hero!"
A cold dread washed over Keldric. "On it? On what? What do you mean on it? Bones?"
But Bones was gone. He was already back in the street, pulling gently on the sleeve of a startled librarian.
"Greetings, fair maiden!"
Keldric's head snapped up. Bones was pointing right at him. Panicked, Keldric managed a pathetic little wave. SHIT, WHAT IS HE DOING!?
"My Hero, the great and powerful Keldric, has decreed that you MUST accompany us on our noble quest! At once! Without question!"
WHAT?! WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT!!!?
The woman froze. Her eyes darted from the tiny, talking skeleton, to the creepy-looking man waving awkwardly from a dark alleyway surrounded by other skeletons, then back again. The books trembled in her hands. She opened her mouth and let out a piercing scream.
"HELP! I'M BEING KIDNAPPED BY A GANG OF NECROMANTIC PERVERTS!"
The stack of books exploded in a shower of paper as the woman fled for her life, her screams of "KIDNAPPER!" echoing down the street. Mortification hit Keldric like a physical blow.
Nope. Nope, nope, nope! His mind went blank. All thoughts of leadership were replaced by a single, primal instinct. Screw the team, screw the mission, every man for himself!
He spun on his heel and bolted, not even looking back.
"MR. HERO, WAIT FOR US!!!" Bones's panicked shriek cut through the air as the entire party scrambled after him, a chaotic clatter of bone and spectral accessories, frantically making a run for it down a different alley as the first sounds of a City Watch whistle grew closer.
Huddled behind a stack of barrels, the others finally staggered into view. With a final, desperate heave, Snap and Serve dropped Strut's chaise lounge with a loud CLANG on the cobblestone. They both collapsed into a heap beside it, their tiny ribcages heaving.
"Gasp... We...," Snap wheezed.
"...cannot...," Serve hacked.
"...do that... again...!" they gasped in unison.
"Bones!" Keldric whisper-yelled, rounding on his tiny sidekick. "You can't just walk up to people and tell them they must come with us!"
"But that's the proper heroic protocol!" Bones replied, genuinely confused. "It's exactly what the hero does in 'Prince Dashing's Quest for the Princess'!"
He tilted his head. "Plus, you said it, too. Just a minute ago. You muttered, 'I wish I could just tell them they MUST accompany us at once, without question!'"
Keldric just stared, a profound, soul-deep weariness settling over him. He felt a vein begin to throb in his temple. It wasn't even anger anymore. It was the calm acceptance that his life was now a never-ending series of misunderstandings powered by cartoon logic.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID!!" he finally yelled, the sound more tired than furious. "I SAID— You know what. Doesn't matter. Bones! NEVER do that again without asking me first."
Keldric sighed, rubbing his temples. "Right, that's it! Clearly, I have to do this myself. I'll just... I'll go up to someone and be charming. How hard can it be?"
"Charming? Darling, no." Strut's voice cut through his desperate planning. "The problem isn't the method, it's the messenger. Your posture is apologetic, your aura is beige, and that outfit... it doesn't say 'Join my legendary guild,' it says, 'My mother still does my laundry'."
Using her [Fashion Manifestation] skill, she summoned a cloud of glittering dust that enveloped Keldric. His hair was suddenly slicked back with ectoplasmic gel, and a ridiculously flamboyant, shimmering scarf was now draped around his neck. "There. A quick touch-up. Now go, be fabulous."
Pushed by Chad out into the street and feeling like a greasy, sparkly mess, Keldric saw a woman inspecting apples at a market stall. Alright Keldric, you've got this. You've talked to women before. Just be charming. Cooooool. Laid-back.
The charming smile he aimed for came out as a grimace. His eyebrows pumped twice. His opening "Greetings" cracked like a pre-pubescent teen.
"Fine pair of apples!" he blurted out, his eyes immediately darting down and back up in a move so obvious it practically announced itself with airhorns. Panicking, he tried to mash all his words together into a coherent sentence to fix it. "But-not-as-fine-as-the-assets-you-could-bring-to-my-guild!"
He finished the verbal catastrophe by snapping both hands into finger guns and winking. A wink that made his eye twitch violently. He stood there, frozen in his terrible pose, a monument to social disasters everywhere.
For a long moment, the woman said nothing. She simply stared, her expression a mask of utter revulsion. Her gaze swept over the glistening hair, the twitching eye, and the sad finger guns. The crack of her hand against his cheek was sharp and sudden, a final, emphatic full stop on the most embarrassing moment of his life. She turned and walked away without a backward glance.
From the alleyway came a loud, synchronised, "Ooooooooh."
"Wait! That's not what I meant!" Keldric yelped, his cheek stinging.
The apple vendor just shook his head slowly. "Move along, you creep."
Keldric tried to save face. "It was all a misunderstanding!" But the vendor had already turned away, pointedly ignoring him.
Keldric stumbled back into the alley, nursing a bright red cheek. The skeletons stared at him.
"Well," Strut said, "the slap had excellent form. A solid 7 out of 10 for impact."
"His attempt at 'charm' registered a 9.8 on the Awkward Scale," Specs noted, scribbling on a spectral clipboard. "A new record."
"Don't worry, Mr. Hero!" Bones chirped. "Sometimes the princess slaps the hero before she falls in love with him! It's a classic sign!"
"Your methodology was flawed," Specs stated, adjusting his glasses with an air of profound disappointment. "You approached a social interaction as if it were a game of chance. It is not. It is a system of applied psychology. You must bypass the subject's emotional defences by appealing to their logic and curiosity. Present the offer not as a desperate plea, but as an intriguing intellectual puzzle."
Keldric, desperate and willing to try anything, approached a different woman, who was reading a book on a bench. He struck a pose he'd seen once in an anime, leaning against a nearby wall. "Pardon the intrusion," he recited, the words feeling stiff and unnatural in his mouth. "I perceive from your choice of literature that you possess a discerning intellect. My associates and I are currently engaged in a practical field study of, shall we say, 'applied chaotic problem-solving.' We have a vacancy for an individual whose cognitive input would prove... synergistic. The logical conclusion is that a trial partnership would be mutually beneficial. Would you care to test that hypothesis?"
The woman slowly lowered her book, stared at him in disgust, then deliberately stood up, gathered her things, and walked away without a word.
"Fascinating," Specs mused as Keldric shuffled back. "The data was sound, the proposal was logical. Her rejection is an anomaly. Perhaps my initial assessment of her baseline intelligence was... overly optimistic."
"Maybe you shouldn't have called it a 'field study', Mr. Hero," Bones offered helpfully. "It makes it sound like we're going to go out and catch bugs in a jar!"
"Darling, that pose," Strut critiqued, shuddering theatrically. "So derivative! It screamed 'second-rate protagonist from a forgotten mid-season filler arc.' Absolutely no originality. You looked less like a mysterious hero and more like you had a painful back spasm."
"Bro, you're all overthinking it!" Chad finally roared, shoving Keldric aside. "It's not about poses or weird words, it's about primal strength! Chicks dig primal strength! Follow me. I'll show you how it's done."
He led them to a large, open-air gym he saw earlier with a sign that read "The Iron Temple." "Watch how the pro does it," Chad said with a confident smirk.
He spotted his target: three powerful-looking warrior women chattering as they appeared to be taking turns on the rack. He found the largest dumbbell he could find. A ridiculous chunk of raw iron. Positioned himself perfectly within their view.
With a theatrical grunt, he began a set of single-arm bicep curls, each repetition accompanied by a loud, self-motivating yell. "YEAH! FEEL THAT PUMP! ONE MORE FOR THE GAINS GODS!"
After his final rep, he let the massive dumbbell drop to the dusty floor with a floor-shaking THUD! He breathed heavily, flexing his arm, and then turned to the women with what he clearly thought was a smooth, casual look.
"Oh, hey," he said, his voice a theatrical attempt at nonchalance. "Didn't even see you three there." He gestured with a thumb-bone at the weight. "Just repping out a quick set with this... uh... three-hundred-pounder. You know how it is. Light work."
One of the women, who had been watching him with a critical eye, crossed her arms. "You're swinging your whole body into it. You're using momentum, not isolated muscle contraction. And you're not controlling your breathing."
A second woman chimed in, "Plus, your grip is all wrong for that kind of weight. You're going to strain your spectral wrist."
The third woman just shook her head. "Terrible form. 2 out of 10. My grandma has better technique than that."
They left, leaving Chad deflated. Instantly. He had been expecting admiration, but instead, he got a brutal, unsolicited form check.
However, a well-built young man with stars in his eyes rushed forward. "Bro! That was awesome! Are you looking for a new gym-bro? My spotter just moved away."
Chad, dejected from his failures, sighed. "Sorry, man, I'm busy. Trying to find a new guild member."
"A guild member? I can join!" the young man, Leo, interjected excitedly. "I'll do anything!"
Keldric stepped in. "Sorry, Leo," he said gently. "We appreciate the enthusiasm, but... we're specifically looking for a female member right now. Guild quota. It's... complicated."
Chad patted the crestfallen Leo on the shoulder. "Guild rules, bro. It's a whole... macro-balancing thing. We've hit our protein quota for the day, but we're critically low on our... uh... estrogen macro. You get it."
"Chad, we're leaving," Keldric said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the exit. "Your recruitment strategy is a bust. Time to move on."
Back in the alley, the mood was grim.
"Well, darling," Strut said, breaking the silence. "That was a truly brutish and utterly ineffective display. So much sweat."
"His methodology was predicated on the flawed assumption that physical prowess is the primary metric for recruitment appeal," Specs added. "A statistically dubious hypothesis."
"I thought your lifting was very heroic, Chad!" Bones chirped, patting Chad's back.
Specs sighed. "As I stated earlier," Specs said, back in the safety of yet another alley. "My theoretical approach remains sound. Keldric's execution was simply... lacking. Allow me to demonstrate the correct application."
Before Keldric could stop him, Specs confidently approached a scholarly-looking woman leaving the library. Keldric quickly hid behind a nearby column to eavesdrop.
"Salutations," Specs began. "I couldn't help but notice the suboptimal placement of the primary keystone in that archway. A classic error in post-Cataclysmic architecture, suggesting the architect misunderstood fundamental principles of gravitational load distribution."
The woman, who had a sharp, intelligent face, turned to him. "Oh, really? And which principles would those be?"
"The principles outlined in 'Gravimetric Engineering for the Masses'," Specs said with absolute certainty. "It posits that..."
"A fictional text," the woman interrupted calmly. "One written by a satirist to mock amateur architects like yourself. I should know; I wrote the definitive rebuttal. The keystone is perfectly placed to channel ambient magical energy, a principle you would understand if you'd ever read actual, peer-reviewed journals on thaumaturgic architecture instead of pop-culture pamphlets. Good day, sir."
She turned and walked away, leaving Specs standing completely still, his jaw slack. He had been out-nerded. He retreated to the alley in a state of academic shock.
Huddled back in the alley for what felt like the fifth time, Keldric slumped against the cold brick. They had failed. Every single attempt, a unique and spectacular catastrophe. He looked at his companions: a hero from a cartoon, a fashionista, a gym bro, an academic fraud, and an emo poet. Then he looked at his own hands, remembering his fumbled words, the sting of the slap, the sheer cringing awkwardness of it all.
It's not just them, he thought, a wave of cold, bleak clarity washing over him. I'm part of the problem. I've read a thousand stories about the hero gathering his party, but I have no idea how to actually... talk to people. Especially women. I've become the trope.
He was the socially awkward Isekai protagonist. And he had absolutely no idea what to do next.
A soft voice suddenly came from the entrance of the alley.
"Um... Excuse me."