The inside of the house is exactly as Table feared. Cramped, dimly lit, and barely held together, it smells of damp wood, stale bread that probably worth less than four shillings, and something vaguely resembling cabbage. Cabbage! One should only eat this unholy abomination if they’re actively seeking to sucker-punch themselves.
The walls are uneven, made of rough, untreated timber, and the floor creaks with every step the old man takes. At the center of the room, a stone fireplace flutters, its flames doing little to warm the space. A single iron pot hangs over the fire, bubbling with a stew that Table can only assume has been simmering for several days too long.
Two people sit near the fire—a young man and a woman, probably in their twenties. The woman leans her head against the man’s shoulder, sobbing miserably. Not because they’re poor, this time, but there’s another reason.
“The big viper lunged toward me.” She hiccups. “But the army of kitties valiantly fought against it. But then the viper… it… it… it bit Tabbycat! And Tabbycat died!”
The man jolts. “Tabbycat? Our tabby cat?”
“Our tabby cat!” She hollers, hands clutching her face. “The viper retreated…But when I, when I hold Tabbycat in my hand… He was cold! He was gone, Rob! He was gonnneeeeeeeee….”
Rob doesn’t move for a moment. His face contorts, like a man caught between concern, disbelief, and creeping suspicion.
Before he can say anything, the door creaks open. A small shadow slinks inside. A tabby cat. Tabby. Very alive.
He casually strolls past them and hops onto Table, curling up like he owns the place.
Rob watches, then looks at the woman. She is still sobbing.
“Lena,” Rob says.
She sniffles. “Yes?”
He gestures. “Tabby’s right there.”
Lena freezes. Her hands slowly lower from her tear-streaked face. Her red-rimmed eyes flick to the cat. The very alive cat.
Tabby, meanwhile, has started licking his paw. His tail wags, radiating sheer feline indifference.
There is a long, long pause.
Then, Lena throws herself into Rob’s chest. “Rob, it was awful,” she wails.
Rob looks at the ceiling, fingers tapping on the floor. “Lena. Tabby is alive.”
“But in my dream, he died!” she insists, gripping his shirt. “He was cold, Rob! Cold! He was gone! You don’t understand the emotional trauma I have endured! The sorrow! The loss!”
Tabby sneezes and rolls onto his back.
Rob sighs. “Lena.”
Lena clutches his arm. “I need you to hold me. I need comfort. I need pampering.” She lifts her head, peeking up at him. “And pats.”
Rob stares at her. Then at Biscuit. Then back at her.
Biscuit, still lounging on Table, starts kneading his claws into the wood.
Table internally howls in despair. FOUL CREATURE! HAVE YOU NO MERCY? DO NOT SCRATCH ME YOU FELONIOUS FELINE!
Rob, meanwhile, accepts his fate. With a sigh, he reaches up and gently pats Lena’s head.
She sniffles theatrically and melts into his chest. “Mmm. More.”
Rob pats her again.
Tabby stretches, purrs contentedly, scratches Table, and goes back to sleep.
Table is seething. If anyone needs pampering, it is HIM.
Not this overly dramatic woman. Not the useless cat. HIM.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: You have taken damage. Strength -1.]
Table screams internally.
WHAT? HOW?
He has 5 HP! HEALTH. POINT. What are the health points for if the universe is just going to deduct strength from him?
The cat—the absolute menace—stretches again, dragging its claws lazily along Table’s surface before settling down with a contented sigh.
His stats beam before his eyes:
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 99.9817%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Name</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Table</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Race</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Animated Furniture (Table)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Class</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Level</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">HP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">5/5</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">MP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">STR</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">0 (-1)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">END</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">AGI</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">PER</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Skills</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
ZERO. He has zero strength. He is now physically incapable of being strong.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Endurance Training in Progress.]
Table pauses his internal wailing. What?
[STR reduced to 0. Temporary stat loss detected. If structural integrity remains intact with minimal HP loss, STR will increase upon recovery.]Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Hold on. This is a thing? Losing stats is… training? This LitRPG system is messed up.
The system really could’ve led with that line.
His mind races. Does this mean if I endure this suffering, I’ll get stronger?
A fire ignites in Table’s wooden heart. No, not fire—that would be terrible—but determination. If this is a system feature, that means there’s hope. He can regain his strength. Maybe even surpass it. Maybe… he could one day become a mighty table.
He steels himself.
Yeah, Tabby. Yeahhh. Keep scratching, boy. I do love getting mauled by a cat. Give it to me.
Biscuit stirs, stretches again, and—SCRATCH.
[HP: 5 → 4]
Table screams.
Wait. NO. NO HP LOSS. I’m supposed to tank it! What kind of third-grade throwaway wood am I made from?
[Training Canceled. No stat gains achieved. STR returned, +1]
Table goes silent.
Biscuit stretches one last time, lets out a long, exaggerated yawn, and hops off him as if he’s nothing more than a common piece of furniture—which, technically, he is, but that’s beside the point.
Table waits, heart—or whatever the equivalent of a heart is for a table—pounding.
Come back. Scratch me again.
The cat does not come back.
COME BACK AND FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED, YOU LAZY FELINE.
Tabby has moved on with his life, tail flicking as he saunters over to Lena, who immediately scoops him up, rubbing her face against his fur.
“Ohhh, you’re so soft,” she coos, all previous grief forgotten. “Such a strong little warrior, aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
Table seethes.
Out of nowhere the old man claps his hands together. “Alright, time for dinner.” Table, with his garbage
[Stealth Detection Failed. PER is too low.]
What even is PER? He’s been thrown into this world with no explanation of the stats. Where is DEX? Where is INT? Where are the common stats in the common games he’s played before?
A sense of impending doom washes over Table. No. No, no, no. Surely, they wouldn’t—
“Let’s break in the new table, then.”
They would.
Rob and Lena start moving about the house, gathering plates, bowls, and a heavy-looking pot from the fireplace. The old man places a firm, calloused hand on Table’s surface and gives him a gentle pat. “Solid thing. Should last us years.”
LAST ME YEARS? I’M GOING TO DIE IN MINUTES!
Then the first plate lands. Then another. Then a heavy ceramic mug. Then the pot—which is filled with steaming, sloshing stew that smells vaguely of cabbage.
Table’s body groans under the weight.
Do not. Do not!
[Endurance Training Initiated. Hold Steady.]
Hold steady? HOLD STEADY?! WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?
More weight presses down as the family takes their seats, resting their arms on him. Elbows. Cutlery. Hands tapping idly against his wood. Tabby leaps back onto the table—finally—but instead of scratching, he simply curls up and purrs, vibrating directly against Table’s already distressed frame.
[+1 Endurance]
Wait. Wait, that actually worked?
The realization dawns on him. This is how training works in this world. The more stress he endures with minimal HP loss, the stronger he becomes. Pain is gain.
Finally, something makes sense.
He focuses. The stew sloshes. Lena leans too hard on one side, making one of his legs creak. But he endures.
[+1 Endurance]
A strange feeling bubbles up within him—pride? Triumph?
Determination. Sheer, sweltering determination.
He refuses to accept this fate. He is not some lowly table destined to spend his existence supporting bowls of bland cabbage stew in a house that barely holds itself together. No. He must rise to the top, not just of this household, but of the world. If this is the form he has been cursed with, then he will make it legendary.
There is no other option. To stagnate is to rot, and he is not about to let himself become firewood. He will grow. He will endure. This isn’t the life he’s asked for, but he will play the hand he’s been dealt. He will become the strongest, sturdiest, most unbreakable table in history.
After dinner, Table feels… different. Jacked. Shredded. Enduring the weight of plates, bowls, and elbows leaning on him has fundamentally changed his very essence, lifting him to the stature of elites.
A familiar chime rings in his head.
[Status Updated.]
A translucent screen flickers into view.
<hr>
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 99.9817%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Name</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Table</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Race</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Animated Furniture (Table)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Class</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Level</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">EXP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">2/10</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">HP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">5/5</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">MP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">STR</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">END</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">2 (+2)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">AGI</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">PER</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Skills</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Finally. Growth. He is no longer just a mere table—he is now a slightly more durable table.
There is even an experience tab now. He hasn’t a clue when it showed up, but it’s nice being able to track his leveling up progress.
Does this mean if he keeps getting used, he’ll get even stronger?
Use me more! Abuse me! Let me become the mightiest piece of furniture in existence!
Lena yawns and stretches. “That was a good meal.”
Rob rubs his stomach. “Mmm. This thing’s creaky, and not in a good way. Maybe I’ll reinforce the table’s legs tomorrow.”
Reinforce?
Table buzzes with excitement.
Yes. Reinforce me. Make me indestructible. Upgrade me until I become the most glorious centerpiece this world has ever seen!
Little does he know, they just meant adding a couple of wooden pegs to keep his legs from wobbling.
[MAX HP 5->6]
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 99.9817%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Name</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Table</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Race</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Animated Furniture (Table)</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Class</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Level</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">EXP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">2/10</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">HP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">6/6</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">MP</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">0</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">STR</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">END</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">2</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">AGI</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">PER</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">1</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">Skills</td>
<td style="width: 48.9863%">None</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>