Entry Ban

A silence that even the warmth of spring could not thaw settled, cold, over the auditorium.

Students. Faculty. Even the half-retired exorcists of the generation before. Every one of them was simply staring at him without a word.

Whoever stood in that place would have felt it. Ah. I really screwed this up. Do I reroll the character?

But Bihyung looked at that silence, listened to it, and found a satisfaction of his own in it.

This is it.

A hidden piece the developers had planted, and a derivative story that could trigger only once—and only if you claimed the top seat at admission.

Vrrr!

The phone tucked in his inner pocket buzzed. Unable to check it with his eyes, it whispered the contents straight into his ear, as if confiding a secret.

This is it!

Bihyung could not keep the joy off his face at the message brushing his ear. The derivative story, Path of the Apex. It opened once you had taken the top seat and then provoked everyone in your speech. Provoke the entire incoming class, and then defend that seat even once, and you could permanently obtain the single most broken effect in the game.

Once is enough.

Fortunately, he remembered what the midterms covered. Even if the main story shifted, the academy's curriculum did not. So long as I remember that much, holding the top seat through the first semester won't be hard.

Bihyung inclined his ear to the notification, as if it were urging him to read on.

Genuinely broken.

He had thought so the first time he saw what the developers posted, and he had never once encountered a derivative story with an effect as absurd as Path of the Apex. It raises potential. That is, quite literally, the same as lifting the rank cap.

In Dokja Jeon-gi, potential meant limit. The game's power inflation, running from 1st Rank all the way to 9th Rank, applied to every skill as well. The lowest-grade techniques sat at 1st Rank. The finer a technique was, the closer it climbed toward 9th Rank.

Normally you never break that inborn ceiling. A technique born at 1st Rank could be grown only that far. You could study it afterward, graft other arts onto it, and force it into a higher grade—but almost no one went to the trouble. Put in that much effort, and it's faster and easier to just acquire a higher-grade skill.

Path of the Apex possessed the power to deny that fundamental rule. I've taken the top seat once, so even a skill born at 1st Rank has started to hold potential up through 2nd Rank. In theory, if you claimed both the midterm and the year-end top seat in every year, even a basic skill could reach 9th Rank and beyond.

Impossible, though. How was anyone supposed to hold the top seat for all four years? Getting past the midterm and still keeping it through the first-year finals was already a maybe.

Bihyung woke from the brief, sweet dream and looked the cold reality in the face. Silence still circled the auditorium.

Grabbing this hidden piece is insane. Think it over again and it was nothing but absurd. Dokja Jeon-gi was, at its core, a game you played alone. That did not mean you were forbidden from forming a party inside it. NPCs—promising incoming students, retired exorcists, faculty still on the job. You could raise the affinity of all sorts of people and recruit them.

Later on, there were stories you couldn't even clear without a party. So if you didn't want to raise a trash build, early affinity was one of those requirements that weren't quite requirements. And still the developers had made a thing like this and slipped it in on the quiet. You could practically feel how underhanded they were.

Are the developers crazy, or am I, for actually doing it? Maybe both of them were. Ugh. Look at this atmosphere. Everyone in the auditorium staring straight at him. His stomach felt ready to knot. He was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still sitting in that cold hush, about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to finish the speech and step back, when—

"Waaaaah!!"

"He's—crazy! He's actually crazy!"

A roar like thunder broke, and applause even grander than the one that had followed Mina's speech came crashing down.

Huh? What was this? Had they all taken something together? It was a situation he simply could not parse, and he was still staring blankly at it when the incoming students began to turn his words over, eyes bright.

"If you're top of the class, you've earned the right!"

"Didn't he take down the subway anomaly too?"

"I heard the professors talking. They said he beat it into paste."

"I heard he tore its limbs off!"

All he had done was get refused a ride, like anyone else, and somewhere along the way he had become the man who ripped an anomaly apart limb from limb.

...What even is this mood. Half bewilderment, half dismay, sloshed through his chest. He turned that look on the incoming students and the faculty, and the ones who met his eyes only grew more fervent.

"I nearly walked away with trauma because of that thing!"

"I just missed my stop a little, and the passenger next to me cut my arm off! Think about that bastard's face and I just—!"

"I know, I know. Even if it's an illusion, that's trauma-tier."

The incoming students who had suffered the subway anomaly looked up at Bihyung, every last one of them.

"Heh. With power like that, of course ambitions of that size come out."

"At that level of skill, arrogance like his practically counts as modesty."

The professors smacked their lips as they watched him. No, but why were they smacking their lips? It was unsettling.

Still... at least the mood isn't bad. That's a relief. He looked over the incoming students. They, too, were cadets who had entered Yeongwol to become exorcists. A classmate who had already put down an anomaly was, to them, an adult a step ahead—and a rival they wanted to surpass. A few clearly didn't see it that way, but the atmosphere was decent enough.

Feeling the cheers roll on, Bihyung let a small smile touch his mouth. In that instant—

Ding!

The classmates' roar condensed into a single message alert, and Bihyung had no choice but to open his eyes wide at the whisper in his ear.

A Unique Story? Why was that popping up already?

The entrance ceremony ended. The crowd that had packed the auditorium drained away like the tide, and Bihyung let that current carry him into the academy proper.

Excitement. Elation. Tension toward the future, and expectation of it. While the incoming students, brimming with every kind of feeling, failed to hide any of it, Bihyung kept his mouth shut and brooded.

Unique Story. Why is that showing already? A story, to put it simply, occupied a position much like a quest in other games. The main story is the largest frame for clearing the work. Derivative stories were the quests operating inside that frame, and sudden stories and hidden ones differed a little from derivative stories—but in being quests you had to clear, their nature was the same.

Sudden and hidden stories can be obtained even if you aren't a user. He didn't know their contents, but NPCs, too, could acquire stories, resolve them, and grow stronger. Rewards were handed out as well. Mina, who had delivered the speech on learning at the entrance ceremony, was the prime example.

Unique Story. That one, though, was a little different. A story belonging to the character alone. A story unique to the user, which NPCs could not obtain. The users of Dokja Jeon-gi had called them assignments. You don't have to clear them, but it's good if you do.

Failing to clear a Unique Story did not affect the main story. When you cleared the game, however, how many Unique Stories you had resolved was folded into the settlement. Pass a certain settlement threshold, and benefits are granted. On the small side, you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could gain more of the Karma spent on reincarnation. On the large side, you could leave a character's trace inside the game ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠itself.

Unique Story. Clear this, and maybe something good comes of it. This world was no longer a game. It was reality. He had no need of currency for reincarnation, and no need to carve his trace into the world. The reward for a Unique Story, then, would be a little different as well. I'll try clearing it. Now that this is reality, I need to see what kind of change it makes—and how favorably that change would work on him. Whether to ignore it or clear it, I'll decide after that.

In any case, he was enrolled. When would the next story open? Top-seat admission. I pulled off something nearly impossible, so the clear-rank judgment ought to be generous, right?

When you cleared each story, your grade changed according to how outstanding an achievement you had cleared it with. From F, up to SSS at the highest. Bihyung himself had seen an SSS grade only three times in all his play. The rewards were enormous.

Those grades had come in the late story, so he could hardly compare their rewards to this early stretch—but remembering that what he had received then was a 9th Rank skill selection ticket, expectation rose on its own. They won't hand out 9th Rank right from the start. But whatever I get is broken in the early game. Depending on what came of it, the plan to stop at the first-year midterm top seat might have to be revised. All the way to the end of the first year.

Come on. Show yourself.

He waited for the notification window with a trembling heart. Only for a moment.

Ding!

At the familiar chime, Bihyung opened the message with his excitement still in his hands. But what it said was this.

What.

...No. Did it bug out? Bihyung stared down at his phone and felt a pull start at the back of his skull. Whatever it is, give me something I can use right now!

Resentment filled him, but this, too, he could only swallow. What else was there to do? The notification was carrying on like that because he had been outstanding. Cool off a little. This isn't a bad situation.

Even when he had received an SSS grade, settlement had never once been delayed. Which meant the thing that notification was implying was exactly one thing.

There's something above that?

The realm of possibility. And wasn't Bihyung himself the living proof of that possibility?

Dokkaebi. Rank EX.

The moment he recalled it, a thrilling current seemed to run through his heart. If a grade like that exists... what could I receive? He hadn't even been given the reward yet, and still the dopamine seemed to soak past his brain and prickle all the way down his spine. Right. Settlement can take a while.

With a considerably lighter heart, he turned his steps toward the library. If the reward is delayed, focus on the problem that needs solving now.

What had jutted up in front of Bihyung like a stone in the road was, as ever, the nature of a yokai. Perfect neutrality is holding for the moment, but there isn't much time left in it. Eleven days remained. From the end of the briefing to the entrance ceremony, barely three days had passed. The other incoming students would have felt that span as short. To Bihyung, it had been endlessly long.

They call it the loss of perfect neutrality, but in reality it's just a terminal countdown. Bihyung did not care for being put in that position. A time limit? They had dragged him here however they pleased, so why were they slapping a demerit like that on him and making a fuss? I'll get out of it somehow. And he would smash the skull of the bastard who had gifted him this fate. Mess with a veteran, will you? Fine. Come and try.

Bihyung calmly turned over the plan ahead. Obtain the hidden-piece cultivation manual in the library. With just that, I can suppress anomalies and the yokai nature both.

One of the things by which the exorcists of this world grew stronger, and a power set against anomalies—and among those, a cultivation method classified as a hidden piece. Obtain it, and he would be able to walk around boldly calling himself human.

Except.

"Oh my. I'm so sorry, what am I supposed to do? The library can't be used right now."

From the very first step, a crack was running through that grand plan.

"We're inspecting the anomaly inside the library. And the library committee chair took a mission and stepped outside the academy for a bit, so it's going to take some time."

"Couldn't I go in for just a moment, check, and come back out? There's a book I really want to read..."

"It's lovely to see such a hunger for study... but looking at your name tag, you've only just enrolled. It's dangerous, so no."

Along with the advice to treasure his life, he was hit with an entry ban.