Putting My Heart and Soul into Midterms (3)
The tedious recovery period finally ended, and on the day of my discharge an unwelcome message arrived in the year group chat.
The following students are requested to report to the professor’s research office by 10 a.m. tomorrow (May 9): Lim Sowon, Ashley Philin, Yeom Junhyuk, Irving Serena
What the hell is this? A message that felt like it had been waiting for the exact moment I left the hospital.
Calling the four of us who had formed the midterm team back together again already felt ominous. Just remembering the sweat I had poured into holding this disaster of a lineup together made irritation surge. We had been filthy together, and I had hoped never to see them again.
When we met the next day, it seemed I was the only one who found the situation awkward.
“Everyone looks healthy. That’s a relief.”
“Lim Sowon. I enjoyed the apples.”
“Philin! What are we eating for lunch today?”
The four of us milling about in front of the cramped corridor outside the professor’s office made my head spin on its own. What were they so cheerful about?
Come to think of it, the other three all had reasons to welcome this combination. Sowon could create opportunities to get closer to Junhyuk while keeping me from getting any closer to him.
Junhyuk, well—no explanation needed.
And Serena… just seemed happy to be around me.
In the end, only I, who wanted distance from Junhyuk, found the lineup uncomfortable.
They say a bad premonition is never wrong. The moment we stepped into the professor’s office, that cheeky bald professor opened his mouth and said the exact words I had never wanted to hear.
“As the first-year advisor, I intend to recommend the four of you as the year-representative raid team.”
“All four of us at once?”
Sowon asked, eyes round. The professor nodded, smiling as brightly as his bare scalp.
“You’re all familiar with the benefits of the year-representative raid team, yes?”
“There are benefits?”
At the word “benefits,” Serena’s eyes lit up—the same Serena who never missed a single point at the supermarket.
And then:
“Selection alone grants a full scholarship for the next semester. If you make the academy-representative raid team, full scholarship through graduation.”
“Whoa! I’m in!”
She folded instantly.
I had no idea how high the tuition actually was, but complete exemption until graduation was clearly an enormous perk. Even Junhyuk’s expression sparkled at that point.
Yet after quietly gauging my reaction, he didn’t simply rejoice.
“Is that the only benefit provided?”
He asked in a cool, measured tone.
He probably couldn’t afford to keep paying tuition either. Knowing how much I disliked this combination, the way he held back his happiness made me feel a little sorry for him.
However—
“As year-raid-team welfare, close-combat members receive unlimited access to the campus gym, protein, and fatigue-recovery agents for one year. Ranged combatants receive—”
“I’ll do it too.”
So the bastard was a gym rat. He nodded without even waiting for the rest of the sentence after “ranged combatants.”
And so the four pairs of eyes—including the sly bald professor’s—turned on me.
Expressions that clearly asked, Still not agreeing?
I heaved a long sigh and asked the professor,
“But Professor, why does it have to be these four of us together?”
“Well…”
“If it isn’t absolutely necessary, I’ll sit this one out. There are plenty of better healers than me.”
It was an excuse, but it was also true. Coldly speaking, I had contributed the least during the midterms.
My absence wouldn’t cripple the team; putting in a healer who was actually better at recovery magic would improve efficiency far more.
But the bald professor rose briefly, fetched a document from his desk, and held it out to me.
“What’s this?”
“The grading sheet from this midterm.”
I wasn’t sure he was even allowed to show us this, but I took it and checked the results.
And froze in shock.
“Why only me…?”
At those words the other three crowded in and looked at the sheet as well.
“Hmm.”
“Oh my.”
“Whoa! I got an A!”
Junhyuk had an A-minus. Serena and Sowon both had A’s.
And I—the one who had thought my contribution lowest—was the only one with an A-plus.
“I will now explain those results. Once you hear it, Philin, you will also understand why you absolutely cannot drop out.”
Hearing that, my curiosity about the scores evaporated, but from the start my will hadn’t carried much weight in this room. As a petty act of rebellion I crossed my legs, put on the most arrogant face I could manage, and stared at the professor.
Junhyuk saw it and let out a quiet snort of laughter. I glared at him and growled low.
“…What. Why are you laughing.”
“Nothing.”
It was the look of someone watching a five-year-old nephew throw a pointless tantrum, and somehow that irritated me even more.
The professor cleared his throat once, looking between me and Junhyuk to reclaim our attention.
“Ahem. First, the reason Philin’s score is highest is twofold. One: she was the only one among the four who noticed the strategy.”
The other three nodded in agreement. If we hadn’t seen through the countermeasure, we would all have been picked off one by one.
“Two: she actually put that strategy into practice. That is the largest bonus factor.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“In reality, many teams figured out the method yet still failed the raid because they couldn’t bring themselves to execute it.”
“Failed the raid means…”
Don’t tell me people actually die during the exam. My expression turned grim, but the professor shook his head, denying the possibility.
“No one dies during the exam. They are simply ‘processed as dead in the system’ and receive an F. The space you were in was a mock testing ground to begin with, and the monsters you fought were dummy dolls.”
“…What?”
“Ah, you didn’t know? Watching you cast healing magic on yourself, I assumed you had already seen through that as well. Apparently not.”
The testing ground was configured to permit only injuries that recovery magic could fully heal within a week at most. If even one teammate “died,” they were processed as deceased and forcibly ejected from the exam site.
“Facing monsters is not an audition to show off individual talent. Depending on the situation, you can find yourselves at the crossroads of life and death.”
“……”
“In those moments, what a team needs most is a mind that can reverse an unfavorable situation, the leadership to convey one’s thoughts to teammates, convince them, and lead them into action—and, when necessary, the resolve to sacrifice oneself.”
The professor fixed me with a solemn gaze.
“Philin, you possess all three. You are an excellent leader.”
“Leader…? What?”
Something was going very, terribly wrong. I wanted to stop the three who were already nodding as if fully persuaded, but they had been completely enchanted by the professor’s words and were no longer in their right minds.
“Ashley Philin. As first-year advisor, I hereby—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it. Stop.”
“—appoint you team leader of the first-year representative raid team.”
At the professor’s decree I let out a wail.
“Why?! Find a new team leader! I’m not the person for that!”
“If Philin declines… these three will have to abandon the year-competition selection match at finals immediately. Finding someone willing to take the leader role on short notice is difficult…”
If you don’t do it, these guys are all out. That was what he meant.
I sighed deeply and lowered my head.
“Fine. I’ll do it. Happy now…?”
I was screwed.
I had simply not wanted a dog’s death.
No sense of mission, nothing of the sort—I had only wanted to get out alive and dream of a no-romance ending.
So why arbitrarily give me an A-plus and build a team around me?!
Sowon celebrated the honor of being first-year representative, Serena celebrated the scholarship, and Junhyuk celebrated the gym-rat triple set by deciding to throw a congratulatory party.
“Leave me out.”
“Can the team leader really skip?”
“Come on, Philin. Just sit for a little while.”
I rejected every invitation and headed home. Sowon had probably only invited me so she could perform her fox-like act in front of me, so I felt little guilt refusing her.
“Still, stay a little longer.”
Why did Junhyuk’s words bother me even a little? I already knew a drinking party would stretch into the evening…
If I didn’t settle this restless feeling, strange thoughts would start swirling the moment I got home, so I decided to give myself a modest reward for having endured so fiercely until now.
A short walk down from the busy street led to a well-kept park along the river. Couples already sat everywhere, drinking beer and murmuring to each other.
I bought two cans of beer and a bag of snacks from a convenience store, sat on a bench, and cracked one open. From about half a can the mild tipsiness felt pleasant.
The setting sun was beautiful. I stared blankly at the red sky, then glanced around and realized I was the only person occupying a bench alone in such a pitiful fashion.
Was this bench always this wide? The thought rose unbidden.
Like a ripple on water, a familiar face floated through my mind for a moment and then scattered.
“Mind if I sit next to you for a bit?”
A strange woman’s voice came from beside me. Before I could even react with an “uh,” she said “eucha,” shoved my beer and snacks aside, and sat right up against me.
Blue natural hair fluttering, she smiled slyly. She wore the academy uniform. She leaned a long Hwan-do against the side of the bench and asked,
“You’re Ashley Philin, right?”
“Ah… yes.”
How did she know without a name tag? Reading the question on my face, she grinned and pointed above my head.
“Horned first-year. They say you’re the only one.”
“Are you… a senior?”
“Third-year. Min Yukyung.”
At the word “senior,” my shoulders and knees unconsciously shrank. I had spent enough time in this world that academy seniors now registered as seniors, and combined with my origins in the land of Eastern etiquette, I had become a “miserable slave of authoritarian culture who submits to hazing even inside a game.”
Fortunately the reaction seemed to please her. The blue-haired senior who had introduced herself as Yukyung smiled slyly and crossed her legs.
“Don’t tense up too much. I came with a good offer.”
What good offer would a third-year bring a green first-year? Religious recruitment? Club invitation? The reason various thoughts kept spinning messily through my head was simple.
She was a character who never appeared in the game. An original of the “hidden route.”
With zero information, I first had to decide whether she was ally or enemy.
“What’s the good offer?”
She gently patted my shoulder and spoke slowly.
“I want to recruit you to our third-year raid team.”
“Me…?”
“You got the only A-plus among the first-years on the midterm evaluation. The rumor’s already everywhere.”
Ah. So that was it.
I didn’t fully understand the system, but just as I had tried to leave the first-year team, it seemed the reverse—recruiting members—was also possible. I had no idea how the rumor had already leaked, but a scout offer I had never received even in my previous life left me not knowing where to put myself.
Which made the next part even more regrettable.
“I’m sorry.”
I had to refuse.
Her expression twisted slightly in bewilderment.
“Why? Our team’s good. We don’t just dump dirty work on first-years. We happen to need a healer like you right now.”
“I’m overrated. There are plenty of better, smarter healers than me.”
“You know the third-year raid team is the academy representative team, right? Join us, play one tournament, and it’s full scholarship right away!”
“I have plenty of money. I’m really sorry.”
Of course they were all excuses. Having money was true, being overrated was true, but the biggest reason was simpler.
Even a worthless person like me had already been appointed first-year team leader.
Sowon’s hunger for honor was none of my business, but Serena’s tuition and Junhyuk’s gym-rat triple set vanishing because of my whim would leave me feeling guilty. Especially Junhyuk—he hadn’t said anything, but his ears had clearly perked up at the scholarship talk.
So I couldn’t accept her offer.
“That so? Shame.”
She grinned. And to me, who bowed my head once more in apology—
her hand shot out like lightning and seized one of my horns.
“Uh…?”
There was no pain, yet the sudden grab made me gasp as if someone had yanked my hair; she dragged me right up to her face.
A bitter edge spread across the face that had been smiling the entire time.
“I’ve been dying to know what happens if I cut this horn off.”
With her free hand she drew the Hwan-do with practiced ease. For an instant the air parted along the blade’s path like heat haze and then sealed again, as though she had swung a sword through water.
Only then did the fierce killing intent overwhelm my entire body; I began trembling uncontrollably.
“It would be nice if you just listened. I’m offering to uniquely save you from a team I’m going to wipe out anyway—you should say ‘yes, thank you’ and follow. Where does this arrogant bitch get off?”
“It… hurts. Wait a second. Please calm down…”
“Let’s calm down after I cut just one horn. Does this hurt a lot when it’s cut? Have you ever had one cut off?”
“Wait—wait a second!”
“I’ll try first, so give me a review.”
I screamed and flailed, so everyone nearby was staring, yet no one stepped forward. The grin on her face and the madness radiating from the tip of the blade made them too afraid to intervene.
They only took photos and videos.
There was no one to save me.
She brought the blade to the horn.
“Please—just a moment…!”
Just before the scream could turn into a cry of pure pain—
someone boldly seized the sword with bare hands and slowly pulled it away from the horn.
The edge was so sharp that simply gripping it made blood drip steadily down the wrist.
That reckless man glared at Yukyung with eyes blazing beneath the almost-set sun.
“Put the sword away. You crazy bitch.”
It was Yeom Junhyuk.