Inbound Baggage Security Check

Gift Academy was situated upon a peculiar, isolated island.

The only way in or out was through a Dimensional Gate, an arcane threshold that maintained a semi-permanent spatial displacement matrix. The administration offered plenty of ostensible reasons for this setup—chief among them being the safety of the student body and absolute defense against external incursions.

To an experienced player, such claims were utterly laughable.

Defense against incursions, my foot. In how many playthroughs did I meet my end right here inside the academy? Any time a plot event triggers, intruders breach the perimeter like clockwork!

The real motive was far more pragmatic.

Nobles and commoners, humans and demi-humans—the continent was packed with uncultured barbarians who refused to treat anyone slightly different as equal sentient beings. The gate was designed to tame them. By completely severing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the students from the wealth, aristocratic pedigree, and external influence they enjoyed in society, the academy fostered an environment where they had no choice but to cultivate their raw, unadorned talent.

The first step in that conditioning was a blanket ban on imported magical equipment.

Unless an item was life-preserving medical apparatus, an emergency containment regulator, or designated rescue gear, everything was subject to immediate confiscation.

"Prohibited item."

"Good grief."

Giselle's spatial magic backpack, naturally, failed to clear the checkpoint.

"Bwahaha! Relying on pay-to-win gear to cheese your way through the exam, only to get collared at the gate! How tragic, my esteemed employer!"

"You there. You are permitted to retain custody of that large staff, but should you attempt to use it for anything other than individual conditioning, you must obtain formal authorization from campus authorities. We are issuing a possession permit only."

"Come now, isn't that excessive?!"

Son Ocheon's massive staff was reduced to an oversized paperweight. In the end, it was the pot calling the kettle black.

"Freshman Isabelle, your belongings are subject to the same regulations."

The security mages operating the checkpoint showed no mercy, methodically sorting all manner of personal effects into parcel storage bins. Having spent my few days of recess gathering every conceivable survival tool, it was only natural that my luggage received special scrutiny.

"In all my years processing incoming cohorts, I have never witnessed such an eccentric requisition list."

The security mage stared in disbelief as he laid out the contents of my pack: an orientation compass, a cloth-wrapped luminous stone, an emergency signaling mirror in a protective case, an iron striker rod, and a bundle of utility knives. Laid beside Isabelle's gear—and she was an actual former vanguard of an adventuring party—my inventory made me look like the seasoned dungeon crawler.

"Did you enroll here to conquer an uncharted labyrinth?"

"Well, I am an adventurer at heart."

Why else would I have donned this ruthlessly functional, aesthetic-free beginner adventurer set? Precisely for a moment like this. Just as a chef naturally keeps a wok and cleaver close at hand, an adventurer naturally travels with the tools of the trade. Even if onlookers found the level of preparedness bizarre, they would chalk it up to professional eccentricity and let it slide.

Keep everything prepared, and a use will ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠present itself eventually.

If Gift Academy were classified as a dungeon, its descriptors would undoubtedly read Extra-Large, Living Hell, Inescapable, and Super-High-Level Zone. An institution dedicated to forging the world's foremost prodigies was naturally teeming with the continent's most monstrous powerhouses. The faculty alone boasted figures vastly superior to the final bosses of most open-world dungeons. Surviving their curriculum was bound to be an ordeal, and forewarned was forearmed. One had to stock up well in advance.

"You intend to seize all of this?"

"It is standard procedure. Any equipment you require must be fabricated within campus facilities, procured through internal channels, or registered after earning the necessary points to purchase authorization."

"Points, you say?"

Now that caught my attention. Points were the very currency awarded upon reaching the admission testing grounds.

"The scores you achieved during the entrance examination have been converted directly into points."

In the original game, the point exchange was a periodic pop-up shop that appeared on campus every few months. In this reality, it had been integrated into the institutional economy, serving as legal tender for bringing outside items past the gates.

"You may review your current balance on the enchanted chronometer issued to every freshman."

The enchanted chronometer. Far beyond a simple timepiece, it was essentially a magical smartphone strapped to the wrist, capable of tracking point ledgers, displaying lecture timetables, and receiving administrative announcements.

High performance on exams truly was the supreme virtue. Before I knew it, my account was overflowing with funds.

With wealth like this, there was zero reason to pinch pennies. Just as I prepared to flex my purchasing power, cold, unforgiving reality came crashing down like an overdue tax notice.

"???"

A painting of a rice cake. A pie in the sky. The quintessential banquet laid out before a starving man, locked behind unbreakable glass. It was torture by false hope.

"The cruelty..."

"My condolences," the inspector said flatly. "Though I am afraid your grievances are about to multiply."

Without blinking, the security mage picked up both my pouch of treats and my satchel of stones, setting them squarely atop the contraband counter.

The sheer injustice burned behind my eyes. Seeing me on the verge of tears, Isabelle rushed over and rested a broad, comforting hand on my trembling shoulder.

"Inspector," Giselle called out smoothly, having witnessed the entire debacle. "A word in private, if you would be so kind."

The squinty-eyed merchant drew the examiner aside. What could they possibly be discussing? For several moments, their expressions shifted with grave intensity. Then, the security mage—a man who previously looked like he would die on the spot if he failed to confiscate every pebble and crumb within a ten-mile radius—turned back and retrieved both the candy pouch and the stone satchel.

"You have my apologies," the mage said, his tone laden with heavy remorse. "Had I been informed of such circumstances from the start... Here. Take them back."

"Circumstances?"

"Lady Orknodi," Giselle whispered gently, stepping up beside me. "At times like this, one simply smiles and says thank you."

Well, why look a gift horse in the mouth? He had preserved the precious confections Leaf packed for me, along with the Stat Stone pouch that housed my hard-earned treasures.

"Thank you very much!"

Overflowing with profound gratitude, I folded both hands neatly over my stomach and bowed deeply from the waist in a pristine belly-button greeting. Giselle looked on with an expression of supreme, paternal satisfaction.

To think he's delighted by a little kid's bow. Giselle really is an old man at heart.

Still, if I teased him for being a late-blooming mature student, he might reconsider his intervention and let my pouches get impounded, so I wisely held my tongue.

"Did the security screening conclude without incident? I trust we had no repeat of last year—no infiltrated agitators packing explosives or examinees smuggling illicit long-range telepathic foci."

"There is one anomalous case, sir. An urgent report concerning Freshman Orknodi of Group A."

Monk Myeongho stepped forward, a serene, innocent smile gracing his ascetic features.

"Orknodi. She has captured my interest as well. If memory serves, she was the exceptional talent who secured early matriculation during the primary trial. What does the report state?"

"It appears the child has been subjected to intensive systemic poison resistance conditioning. Should her specialized confections be confiscated, her ability to suppress internal toxins would collapse, precipitating severe metabolic failure and physical disharmony."

"...A child of her tender years is compelled to ingest such virulent poisons?"

The security mage broke into a cold sweat. Though Myeongho maintained his gentle smile, the aura suddenly radiating from his frame was suffocating—like coming face-to-face with an ancient, apex beast. The air grew so dense with lethal pressure that a single misstep felt as though it would invite immediate destruction. Sensing the inspector's terror, the monk gasped softly and withdrew his presence.

"This humble monk's spiritual discipline remains woefully deficient," Myeongho murmured, lowering his gaze. "To permit my inner equilibrium to shatter over worldly matters... It is disgraceful to display such unseemly conduct."

"N-Not at all! I was equally perturbed upon hearing the news."

The security mage exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. To command and disperse such terrifying qi with a single respiration—this Eastern monk was an unfathomable master, far beyond what Western prejudices assumed. For such an ascetic to pay personal attention to a student confirmed that Orknodi's constitution was anything but ordinary.

"Furthermore," the mage continued in hushed tones, "it was reported that the child exhibits a compulsion to ingest raw stones."

"She ingests stones?"

"The informant expressed grave concern that it is a manifestation of severe psychological trauma, an illness born from her spirit fracturing under draconian training. It was cautioned that wrenching those stones from her grasp could cause her fragile mental state to completely crumble..."

"Heavens above..."

What a tragic, ill-fated child.

"Compelled to sustain the physical vessel through poison, while tethering the soul to cold, lifeless pebbles... To endure such bitter hardship, stripped of self-worth and genuine autonomy—it is an agony far too monstrous for young shoulders to bear!"

In that moment, Monk Myeongho experienced Universal Compassion—the sacred state where the agony and sorrow of all living beings pierced his heart as if they were his own.

Just as druids harmonized with nature, summoners with elemental spirits, wizards with the flow of mana, and swordmasters with the will of their steel, Myeongho had achieved profound communion through spiritual resonance. His focus was the sentient multitude of the secular world—every breathing soul navigating the cycle of suffering. Because his communion encompassed all living life, his empathetic resonance ran deeper than that of any martial or arcane adept across the continent.

"Would it be possible," Myeongho asked softly, "to maintain silence regarding this matter? To keep it from the ears of other instructors, the faculty, and the higher administration?"

"Monk Myeongho... While I sympathize with your intentions, institutional protocol dictates that all anomalies must be submitted up the chain of command."

"This humble monk shall assume full personal responsibility for her oversight. When one offers absolute devotion, spiritual resonance inevitably follows. If living souls do not regard one another through the grace of reciprocal empathy, for whose benefit do our laws and regulations exist?"

To banish and penalize those who fell short of clinical standards—such was the rigid, elitist orthodoxy of the West. Yet an unyielding law that brooked not the slightest imperfection would only plunge sentient beings deeper into despair and ruin.

Faced with the monk's pure, unwavering conviction, the security mage found himself wanting to aid the cause. His conscience refused to oppose a true guardian who stood ready to shoulder the burdens of a suffering child.

"May your path remain unhindered and safe, Master."

"May boundless peace accompany your days."

The two men pressed their palms together in mutual reverence, their resolves forged in silence. One chose to bury the record and look away; the other took the weight upon his own back, determined to see it through to the end.