Mentoring

Helping Arcadia craft her training gear had actually leveled up my Good Girl stat. Since I’d never seen this event trigger before, I’d bolted over to participate just to see what would happen. The rewards were middling at best, but it had been surprisingly fun. That was the beauty of hidden events—you just had to dive in!

Frankly, I hadn't planned on taking it this far. Helping random Lower-Class students I’d never met before was purely for Arcadia’s sake; I had zero personal interest in babysitting them. Even if this follow-up also aided Arcadia, the investment of time and effort was on an entirely different scale. I stood to gain vastly more by spending those hours on personal grinding or completing other quests.

A long-term chain quest sounds tempting, but the expected payout is garbage!

Stockpiling antidotes versus receiving a polite thank-you from some failing scrub? No matter how I crunched the numbers, the former was infinitely more profitable. But just as I was about to walk away, my eyes caught a familiar name on the applicant roster.

The boy who shared my Ranged Weapon Mastery lecture. The very same Mob I’d run into alongside Zhuang at the secret training ground. Recalling the sheer loyalty and self-sacrifice he’d shown me during the obstacle course sprint, turning a blind eye now would make me absolute human scum.

"Arcadia. I'll take this one!"

"Mob? Ah. The friend from your Ranged Weapon Mastery class, correct?"

"Whoa. You remember Mob, Arcadia?"

"I do attend the firearm lectures for that course, after all."

I had briefly forgotten. Arcadia was a character whose primary stat builds changed without rhyme or reason across every single playthrough. There was the Aristocratic Lady Arcadia, who min-maxed entirely into high-society networking. There was the Commander Arcadia, whose tech tree branched from politics straight into military strategy. And then there was Martial Artist Arcadia, who diverted from military tactics right into bare-knuckle brawling.

In this run, she was supposed to be the mashed-up disaster: Jack-of-All-Trades, Master-of-None Arcadia. Or so it should have been. Yet somehow, against all odds, she had rolled the ultra-rare All-Around Genius Arcadia, possessing staggering competence in every single discipline. It felt like hitting a 0.01% unique jackpot after breezing past a 0.1% rare flag.

When things go too well early on, the game engine usually balances it with apocalyptic bullshit later. This is definitely going to bite me, isn't it?

Lately, the way Arcadia looked at me seemed glazed over, her eyes occasionally void of vitality, weighed down by some unfathomable sorrow. She wasn't suddenly going to turn evil or transform into a yandere who locked people in basements, was she?

"I shall deliver the training gear the moment it is finished," Arcadia said smoothly, fluttering her fan. "For now, pray seek out Mob and inform him directly that his personal mentor has been assigned."

"Okey-dokey!"

Whatever was lurking in her head, getting Mob up to speed took top priority.

Lately, Mob’s life had been a spiral of mounting dread.

"Between the swarms of vicious mosquitoes and the grounds being locked down, we can’t even use the training field. Aren't we completely screwed?"

"Not really," Zaku replied, leaning against the wall. "I'm more worried about practical exams than written homework."

"Ugh, you bonehead! Who told you to completely tank the practical evaluation in Ranged Weapon Mastery? Looking cool lasts five seconds, but paying for it takes a lifetime!"

"I don't regret it," Mob snapped, clenching his fists. "Even if I had to go back to that moment, I’d do the exact same thing for Orknodi."

"Give me a break. She's the Upper Class top student! She set the all-time record for the youngest top scorer in academy history! Do you honestly think someone like her gives a single damn about a nobody like you? You're sticking your neck out for nothing."

Zaku was his closest friend—the kind of buddy who had joined the Hunting Club with him and resigned alongside him. But the cold splash of reality stung Mob to his core.

Is he right? Does Orknodi really think nothing of me?

Even if that were true, it didn't change the dire predicament he faced. His academic standing hovered on the razor's edge of disaster. At this rate, he couldn't guarantee he’d survive to see the second semester. Struggling just to keep up with the baseline curriculum, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his body felt perpetually worn to the bone.

If he vanished one day without a trace, Orknodi would simply continue her climb toward ever-greater heights. Sharing a lecture hall with her would fade into a distant, hazy memory, and just as Zaku had warned, the day might come when he cursed the choice he had made on that running track.

Yet he refused to let himself believe it.

He knew they weren't equals. The gulf between the year's undisputed top prodigy and an academic failure was as wide as the heavens. Even so, she had called him her friend. That bright, beaming smile of hers had been the greatest comfort in his bleak academy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life.

—At this rate, you won't last past this semester.

A few days prior, Zhuang had already given him a blunt warning: on his current trajectory, even remaining by Orknodi’s side as an acquaintance would be an impossible dream. Grinding alone wasn't cutting it anymore. He needed something more—something drastic.

He had nothing left to lose. He had to grasp at whatever straw presented itself.

That desperation was the sole reason he had submitted an application to the Lower-Class Relief Project advertised on a bulletin board by a shadowy student group calling itself the Dark Merchant Guild. If they turned out to be actual underworld crooks who tried to force him into shady criminal labor, he would pull out immediately. But until then—

"Hiya, Mob!"

"Orknodi?! What... what are you doing here...?"

"I'm your private tutor!"

Mob froze, his brain struggling to process the tiny girl standing before him with her hands on her hips. The mentor dispatched by the Dark Merchant Guild was... Orknodi?!

The emotion surging through his chest was nothing short of overwhelming, reverent gratitude.

Bless you, Dark Merchant Guild! I will never speak ill of your shady name again!

Beside him, Zaku choked on his spit. "Holy crap. Talk about twisted fate. How did you end up getting tutored by the exact girl you were desperately trying to look cool in front of?"

"Zaku, shut your mouth and get lost."

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Hurry up and scram!"

Harboring deep gratitude toward Orknodi was one thing; having his pathetic yearning exposed right to her face was another entirely. Mob shoved his smirking friend away, his cheeks burning red, while Orknodi watched them with a bright, innocent grin.

"All done talking with your friend?"

"Sorry about him," Mob mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Remember that guy who helped us out during the Hunting Club mess? He just loves sticking his nose into other people's business."

"No worries! More importantly, you're on the verge of failing out because you ate a massive point penalty on the Ranged Weapon practical exam, right?"

"I wish I could deny it... but yeah. That was the killing blow. I was already lagging behind, and taking such a brutal point deduction pretty much broke my back."

"I already know how hard you work, Mob! We crossed paths late at night in the secret training ground, remember?"

"Thanks, Orknodi... It means ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a lot that you think well of me."

"Hehe, it's nothing! Don't mention it."

"So, uh, about this mentoring... where do you plan to start? What are you going to teach me?"

Orknodi was the top student of the entire cohort. Obviously, she had a brilliant mind, but being a genius and being a competent instructor were two entirely different beasts. Rumors about prodigy teachers were notorious across the continent:

"You just do it like whoosh, then bam! Easy!"

"Just follow the textbook perfectly!"

Their advice was incomprehensible without superhuman instincts, or so textbook-rigid that an ordinary person attempting it ended up with entirely different results.

"Don't be so nervous!" Orknodi chirped, waving a small hand dismissively. "We’ll start with the basics. First, show me your current course schedule."

Without hesitation, Mob pulled out his registration slip and handed it over.

"So you're aiming for the Knight Department, Mob?"

"Yeah. Though my skills aren't really anything to write home about."

"What's your specialty?"

"I'm confident with shield arts," Mob answered, his voice gaining a sliver of pride. "Back in my hometown, beating monsters into paste with a heavy shield was the one thing I did better than anyone."

"??"

Orknodi ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tilted her head, her round eyes blinking in sheer bewilderment. Did city folk not bludgeon monsters to death with shields?

"Then let's do a quick baseline test! A light sparring match."

"Are you sure about that?" Mob asked hesitantly. "In close-quarters combat, someone might get hurt..."

"Hmph! You'd better worry about not getting hurt yourself!"

Seeing the little girl boast so boldly, Mob raised his shield, determined to prove his worth. He charged forward—

CRACK!

Within five seconds, his reinforced shield crumpled inward like cheap foil, and the primary strike plate of his chest armor blew off with a deafening snap. Mob stood frozen in utter stupefaction, the wind knocked clean out of his lungs.

"This time, slow motion!" Orknodi called out cheerfully.

As she dialed back her speed to an instructional pace, Mob finally understood what was happening. Her raw strength and technique existed on a plane beyond his comprehension. Where he exerted a force of ten, Orknodi countered with twenty. Before his strikes could even reach their peak momentum, her footwork effortlessly breached his guard.

She danced into his blind spots with terrifying precision. A featherlight step closed the distance; a sudden sidestep left him swinging at empty air. A single, pinpoint tap to a pressure point drained all the strength from his limbs. She toyed with him so effortlessly that the agonizing, infinite chasm between the Upper Class and the Lower Class crashed down upon him like an avalanche.

"Hmm. Not bad at all!"

"Seriously...?" Mob gasped, clutching his bruised ribs. "After I got dismantled like that?"

"Well, duh! I'm the top student in our entire grade! Unless you're an absolute monster like Hestia or Son Ocheon, losing to me is practically a law of physics!"

Having completed her diagnostic, Orknodi crossed her arms and nodded decisively. She had pinpointed the root cause of his stagnation.

"Mob, your base stat supplementation is totally lacking!"

"What? But I train like a demon every single day!"

"Stats aren't raised by sweat alone, silly!" Orknodi fixed him with a deeply judgmental scowl. "Tell me your daily diet. What do you eat?"

"Fish, hardtack, and dried jerky."

"And?"

"One of those three."

"...You don't eat at the academy cafeteria?"

"Orknodi, do you have any idea how expensive that is? A single cafeteria meal costs five whole points! Meanwhile, you can buy a massive bag of hardtack at the commissary for just one point."

"...Haaah." Orknodi let out a long, tragic sigh, clutching her forehead in sheer gamer agony. "This is why clueless newbies drive me crazy. You don't even know how to fill out your codex!"

With the physical assessment concluded, the true curriculum was established.

"Mob! Starting this week, we are grinding your food encyclopedia!"