As Ashok descended the stairs leading to his dorm, the weight of exhaustion pressed heavily upon him, his muscles screaming in protest with every step.
Pain pulsed through his body, each movement demanding far more effort than it should—and yet, to anyone watching, he appeared completely composed.
Despite being drenched in sweat, there was no trace of odor, his overwhelming Charisma weaving an illusion of effortless grace.
His breathing, though slightly labored, resembled that of someone returning from a casual jog, rather than someone battling the limits of his body.
Even his steps—though his legs felt as heavy as lead—remained smooth, unwavering, lacking even the slightest hint of fatigue-induced imbalance.
And as he finally entered his room, a thought flickered in his mind—
'Did Morrathis look into future before giving me this blessing?'
Ashok understood Charisma's role within the game, acknowledged its influence over social interactions, negotiations, and presence.
