When Leonard pushed open the apartment door, Ethan was sprawled on the couch watching Sheldon tinker with the fish tank.
"Hey," Leonard said. "I just ran into Penny. She seemed upset."
"Probably her time of the month." Sheldon didn't look up. "I've marked it on the calendar for future reference."
"Sheldon, I've told you a hundred times: that's a gross invasion of privacy and incredibly rude," Ethan drawled from the sofa.
"Also," he added, "take that 'Penny Mood Forecast' chart off the fridge. Every time I grab a soda I feel like I'm walking into a serial-killer lab."
"Why?" Sheldon shot back. "Are you suggesting the chart lacks scientific merit?"
"I'm saying it's rude. If Penny sees it, we're dead," Ethan replied.
"Remember what happened when you pulled the same stunt on Peggy? Her revenge?"
Sheldon froze, then bolted to the fridge and shredded the chart.
"You're right," he said solemnly. "We keep the data in here." He tapped his temple. "No need to inform the subject."
Leonard watched them, decided to ignore the detour, and pointed at the tank. "So… what's with the fish?"
Sheldon returned to his aquarium. "It's an experiment."
"What happened to your scrambled-egg research?"
"Dead end." Sheldon waved the notion away. "Eggs are eggs; protein flavor plateaus. I've hit the theoretical ceiling."
Leonard frowned. "So… now fish?"
"I read that Japanese scientists spliced glowing-jellyfish DNA into other animals. I thought: 'Luminescent goldfish!'"
"Glow-in-the-dark fish?" Leonard looked at Ethan, who shrugged.
Sheldon was earnest. "Fortune-maker! Shhh!"
Leonard raised both hands. "I won't tell."
Ethan sighed. "His exact words were: 'If nature can bioluminesce, why are we still paying Edison?' I tried explaining cost-benefit ratios, but he was already planning fish farms in Africa to solve global lighting."
"Africa?" Leonard echoed.
"Energy-poor regions need innovation," Sheldon said.
Leonard couldn't help himself. "Sheldon, sure you don't want to apologize to the department head and come back to work?"
"No-no-no. Too much to do."
"Like… raising glow-fish in Africa?"
"Shhh! Leonard!" Sheldon hissed, finger to lips. "That's just phase one. I also have a bulk feminine-hygiene subscription company—and—"
Ethan cut in fast. "Sheldon! Don't say it!"
Too late.
Sheldon announced, "Glow-stick tampons!"
Leonard's jaw dropped.
"Ethan thinks this declares war on womankind," Sheldon said, glancing over. "Leonard?"
"We'll be rich! Picture perfect placement in total darkness! Utility meets tech!"
Ethan buried his face in a cushion, groaning.
Leonard stood speechless.
Only after frantic intervention did Sheldon abandon his "revolutionary" feminine-care empire.
Leonard turned to Ethan. "Penny's worried about you. Says you seem off. You okay?"
"Thanks, Leonard. Just figuring out my next move."
"Okay. Holler if you need anything."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three sun-drenched weeks slipped by.
Outside, brilliant light; inside, curtains sealed tight.
Ethan carried coffee into the living room and found Sheldon seated before three curved monitors, eyes closed.
Forest scenes looped onscreen; a fan whirred; a diffuser pumped out "pine-and-loam" mist.
Ethan surveyed the setup, hesitated, then asked, "Sheldon… watching the Weather Channel?"
"No." Sheldon opened his eyes. "Virtual reality. I've reconstructed Yosemite: twenty-two degrees Celsius, forty-seven percent humidity, gentle breeze, forest scent.
Sitting here, I experience nature without UV rays or human contamination."
Ethan stared. "Most people cure three-week cabin fever by stepping outside."
"I have no biological 'outside requirement.' I possess food, internet, sanitizer, and—best of all—zero human interaction."
"But people need contact to stay—"
Ethan paused, searching, "—sane."
"Incorrect. Psychologists peddle that to sell textbooks.
You and I know the human brain functions in isolation for weeks. My EEG is steadier than ever."
Ethan rubbed his temples. "So you're really never leaving…"
Sheldon glanced up. "I'm fine. At least I'm not staring at pigeons two hours a day."
"That's meditation."
"Yet when one flew in and stole your earbuds, you chased it."
"Reflex," Ethan muttered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Click-clack, click-clack—Sheldon wove fabric at the loom.
Ethan sat nearby, coffee in hand, eyes on the pothos plant.
Automatically he lifted both hands to cast his favorite spell—Restore.
Back in his pre-transmigration game it had been instant, cheap, enduring.
In this world it remained his most-used, most-practiced spell, a daily reflex.
Usually warm, gentle light flowed smoothly.
This time the holy light flickered, then barely glimmered over him. Instead of healing, it jittered inside his chest, leaving palpitations and vertigo.
He frowned.
Ever since the shadow force had proven impossible to purge, his healing spells had destabilized.
At first he blamed simple mana exhaustion.
Weeks passed; nothing improved.
He lowered his hands, bewildered—his most reliable spell now chaotic and useless.
"Great. Holy Light's on strike."