I'm Not Some Pitiable Child

Graduating the Academy on Pure Luck featured a pre-enrollment training system.

It was not some benevolent gesture from the developers designed to let players buff their specs for an easier early game. Rather, it was a brutal grace period warning players to grit their teeth and prepare, lest they get slapped with an entrance gate lockout and bounced before setting foot inside.

Man, back when I was a noob, things were wild.

Training meant practical combat; becoming an adventurer meant rapid growth.

Lured in by flashy slogans aimed at greenhorns, countless rookies joined the Adventurer's Guild as if following an official quest marker, marching straight into untamed forests and dark caverns. Over ninety percent of them were annihilated on their very first mission, returning either in a body bag or beaten within an inch of their lives.

Seriously, how does a five-man party end up with four people backstabbing each other?

It was a trash-tier RNG party mechanic where every companion had a flat 9.9 percent betrayal chance. Memories of the run where I hit the cursed jackpot—the one where every single party member turned traitor simultaneously and left me completely dumbfounded—came flooding back like nostalgic war stories.

Compared to that legendary, utterly hopeless circus of a team, grinding away in a private training ground was pure luxury.

"The facilities are quite nice."

"The Master prepared them personally. Every year ahead of the entrance exams, he dispatches personnel to maintain the grounds."

"Every year?"

The butler’s brow twitched with mild annoyance. It was the exact look an assassin gave when an unexpected witness wandered onto the scene, creating another throat that needlessly had to be cut.

"The mirror is in this room."

It was a blatant change of subject, but a welcome one nonetheless. I was genuinely curious about what Orknodi looked like, considering this body bore no resemblance to the avatar I had custom-built in character creation.

"Oh."

A full-length mirror stood in a corner of the training hall, placed there to check posture. Reflected in the glass was a tiny, blonde-haired girl staring back at me.

A frail, skinny little thing who looked like a single solid soccer kick would send her tumbling across the floor like a bowling pin. If I raised my palm, my entire face vanished behind it. She had the kind of absurdly pretty face that would go viral on TikTok under the caption Middle School Ulzzang.

Yes, middle school. Definitely not high school.

Her physical age appeared that young. She was a total child.

"Haaah..."

When I looked up, the butler was gazing down at me with an expression that screamed, How could such a pitiful creature exist?

"You have never once looked into a mirror in your entire life, have you?"

"Excuse me? I've looked in mirrors tons of times!"

"There is no need to put on a brave front. That reaction was, without question, that of a person seeing their own face for the very first time."

God damn it. That's only because it's my first time seeing this character's face!

I wanted to clear up this ridiculous misunderstanding, but the butler paid my protests no heed, striding ahead with long, deliberate steps.

"I believe I can roughly deduce what sort of life you have endured until now. For now, let us have a meal before we begin training."

I did not appreciate being treated like a charity case, but the moment the word 'meal' came up, I snapped my mouth shut.

This game featured an encyclopedia system. Filling out the compendium by collecting all manner of items granted passive bonuses, increasing base attributes, skill proficiencies, and rare item drop rates.

You can never grind the Food Compendium too early.

Sitting idly at the table was boring, so I scanned my surroundings until I noticed the deep shadow beneath the broad dining table. Time before enrollment was pure gold. If I wanted to avoid getting blindsided by the game's merciless RNG, I needed to level my utility skills whenever an opportunity presented itself.

Poking my head out from under the tablecloth, I spotted a massive grandfather clock with enough interior space to comfortably fit a grown man.

Hiding experience increased by one point every time you remained concealed in a novel hiding spot for at least a full minute. When the game's RNG went completely haywire and an elite boss monster spawned in an area meant for low-level trash mobs, Stealth and Hiding were the only lifelines you could rely on. That was the reality of Graduating the Academy on Pure Luck; if you did not grind these proficiencies beforehand, you were bound to get screwed over eventually.

Where to next? Just as an empty wine cask crossed my mind, the wardrobe door creaked open.

"What in heaven's name are you doing in there?"

"Just looking for a good hiding spot..."

"......"

His gaze burned holes into me. A beat too late, I realized how my actions must look from his perspective. Refusing to sleep on a soft bed, seeing a mirror for the 'first time,' and hiding inside a dark closet the moment food was promised.

"I'm not a weird person, okay?"

"I said nothing. Please, just take your seat at the table."

This is so ridiculously unfair.

Grumbling internally about how the universe was conspiring against my dignity, I climbed into a chair. Resting before me was an aromatic beef stew and a freshly baked baguette that looked positively mouthwatering.

Unfortunately, it was not rare cuisine that offered direct stat gains upon consumption. It was a common-grade meal that contributed toward the passive collection milestone awarded for every ten unique dishes eaten.

Chomp, chomp, gulp.

Whether you ate slowly or inhaled it in seconds, the collection count was the same. However, the system required you to consume the entire allotted portion down to the last crumb for the dish to register in the compendium. Therefore, rather than leisurely savoring the flavor, wolfing it down at breakneck speed was optimal for time efficiency.

"You eat with tremendous haste."

"...Don't look at me like that. I'm just naturally a fast eater."

"You may eat slowly. No one here will steal your food from you, Milady."

"Really?"

It was all well and good to say that, but if he suddenly asked for a bite, I would be in deep trouble. If someone else took even a single spoonful of your meal, the system ruled it a collection failure. My guard surged; I practically curled my arms around the soup bowl and inhaled the stew like a vacuum, causing the butler's eyes to turn even more painfully sorrowful.

"Was the meal to your liking?"

"It was delicious."

"Then I shall prepare the exact same meal tomorrow."

Ah. Hell no.

"Can't I try a different dish?"

"...If that is your wish."

Success! With that, I could effortlessly knock out another entry in the Food Compendium. As I celebrated in silent triumph, the butler cleared the empty dishes with an expression that said, I'll humor you simply because you are so pitiful.

Training commenced shortly thereafter.

"This is basic conditioning. Your pace need not be swift, so run along the outer perimeter of the yellow boundary line for as long as your endurance permits."

The moment the butler finished speaking, a sharp throb spiked through my temples.

"Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine. Just a passing headache."

Once the brief pain subsided, a familiar event prompt flickered into view.

It popped! The prime training event that allowed players to overcome a deficit in pure luck—a growth opportunity strictly reserved for the wealthy. Normally, taking advantage of this event required grinding part-time gigs or taking on low-level mercenary work to scrape together funds. But right now? I was swimming in cash.

Clink.

Digging into my pocket, I held out a single gold coin. The butler stared down blankly at my outstretched palm.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"The training fee."

"I am your butler, Milady, not a mercenary drill instructor at a private guild. You do not need to pay me."

"...Oh."

"Put the gold coin away and begin running at once."

Hehe, free training!

I thought I caught a faint mutter behind me—To think she has never once known kindness without a price tag...—but whatever he was whispering was entirely irrelevant right now.

In this hyper-realistic world where a floating status window would not open at the snap of a finger, the only way to gauge your capabilities was through honest physical effort. Despite her fragile appearance, Orknodi's body possessed surprising endurance. Tuning in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with my veteran gamer instincts, it felt as though the stats I had invested during my build were preserved intact, even if the exterior shell had drastically transformed.

Ugh, what a waste.

That realization only annoyed me further. The physical power exerted by a hulking mass of muscle was vastly different from the torque produced by a petite girl. If I had known I was going to be stuck with this frame, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I would have invested in something else, but unfortunately, my starting stat distribution was heavily front-loaded into Strength and Endurance.

"That should suffice. Your baseline stamina is remarkably robust, contrary to appearances."

"I'm actually pretty confident in my stamina. It'd be troublesome to be slow when you're chasing something or being chased, right?"

I boasted with a proud grin, yet the butler's eyes softened into an even more agonizingly pitying look. I had no idea what kind of horrific manhunt he imagined I was referring to, but I was dead certain he wasn't picturing monster hunts or chasing down NPC pickpockets.

"Now, select a weapon you know how to wield."

Conditioning was followed by weapon arts. Without hesitation, I grabbed a sword first. Stealing a sidelong glance, I saw the butler standing impassively, looking like an examiner waiting to see what a fledging chick would attempt. In response, I casually scooped up a bow as well.

Still, not a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

Normally, during a child's first-birthday grab, the adults would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠squeal in delight if the baby grabbed two objects at once, shouting about what a prodigy the kid was. Since I wasn't an actual infant, his stone-faced reaction felt underwhelmingly dull by comparison. A bit disappointing, honestly.

...Would he stay that calm if I picked up a wand as my third weapon?

"That is not a club."

"I know. It's a wand."

The butler's expression instantly darkened.

"You recognize magical implements?"

"Yep."

"Are you telling me you have wielded a wand before?"

"Of course."

He clearly never anticipated that I would touch a mage's tool. Heh. Finally, a reaction! Was he awestruck by my boundless talent?

"Have you ever taken jobs in the back alleys involving drawing your blood or consuming experimental narcotics?"

"Nope."

"Speak honestly."

"I really haven't!"

Wait, his reaction wasn't awe. He looked utterly furious.

"Milady. I despise dishonesty above all else."

"I'm telling the truth..."

As the words left my mouth, a memory suddenly prickled at my conscience. In my previous playthrough, when I was desperately short on starting capital, I had indeed grinded clinical trial gigs and illegal blood donation part-time jobs in the slums...

"Ah. Actually, I did do that once. A super long time ago."

"No matter how desperate you were to learn magic, dabbling in the craft of back-alley hedge wizards is extraordinarily dangerous."

"I didn't learn magic from them, though!"

"Then where did you learn how to handle a wand?"

"That's, well..."

At the Academy! But in this run, I haven't even enrolled yet!

My hesitation only caused the butler's visage to twist into something terrifying.

"Understood. I must step out for a brief errand. Please continue with your independent training while I am away."

With an aura that suggested he was fully prepared to bash someone's skull in before sundown, the butler turned on his heel and vanished.

"......"

Sorry, random back-alley hedge mage. Looks like today is your memorial service. But hey, you completely wrecked me with that bunk poison potion back in my last run, so let's just call it even, okay?

"You have been training diligently on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your own. Splendidly done, Milady."

When the butler returned, his face was a picture of serene composure.

I decided it was in my best interest to pretend I didn't smell the faint tang of fresh blood clinging to his coat.