A Veteran Gamer’s Criteria for Course Registration

For all her foul temper, Mahabharata made sure the students received every shred of information they actually needed to know.

“Moving forward, your curriculum at the Academy will consist of Common Courses, Faculty Courses, and Elective Courses.”

“Common Courses are mandatory requirements for every single student. You have zero freedom of choice.”

“Faculty Courses require you to register for a predetermined number of credits within the specific faculty you select.”

“Elective Courses, on the other hand, are classes you may choose at your own discretion. They exist purely to broaden your general education. Some students register with the impure motive of converting credits into Points, but I expect all of you to enroll out of pure, unadulterated academic passion.”

Isabelle scribbled furiously on a notepad and tilted the page toward me.

I gave Isabelle the pitying look of a seasoned professor watching a starry-eyed grad student sign their own death warrant.

“You’ll regret it later.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t pick up extra classes just to grind Points.”

“Why not?”

“Because the Point penalties you rack up during the lectures might end up way bigger than whatever you earn from passing.”

“…Wait, really?”

“Think I’m kidding?”

Well, I gave my warning. Whether she actually listened was entirely up to her.

“Faculty Courses vary depending on your department,” Mahabharata continued from the podium. “First off…”

The Academy was divided into five distinct faculties: the Knight Faculty, the Magic Faculty, the Administration Faculty, the Adventure Faculty, and the Production Faculty.

Knights, Mages, Administrators, Adventurers, and Artisans.

Each division aimed to nurture a completely different class archetype. Dig a little deeper into the sub-branches, and you’d find field knights who roamed active warzones, feudal knights sworn to territorial lords, royal knights serving the crown, and guardian knights dedicated to protecting specific beast races.

Depending on one’s ultimate career path, the titles and required skill sets shifted drastically even within the exact same baseline vocation.

Though none of those specialized sub-branches really align with the 'world's greatest paragons' Gift Academy claims to foster.

Even an elite institution like the Academy needed external funding to keep its doors open. Most of those minor, tailored classes were merely window-dressing, created to appease the geopolitical whims of sponsoring nations.

…At least, that was the canon explanation in the original game.

Considering the Dragon Principal’s greedy little speech earlier, I couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that they were just half-baked, bargain-bin trash tiers whipped up to fleece underperforming students for extra tuition.

The gulf between a base class and an advanced class, huh?

Regardless of the Headmaster’s true motives, course registration was where the promising sprouts were ruthlessly culled from the weeds. This was the blueprint of the talent the Academy truly sought. To graduate at the absolute top of the class, one had to unlock a specialized prestige ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠class and become the personal disciple of a world-renowned master, absorbing their apex knowledge directly.

A true Knight, bound by self-imposed taboos to uphold their sacred code of chivalry, stood on an entirely different plane compared to some hired thug who merely swung a sword for a living. The same went for Mages, Administrators, Artisans, and Adventurers alike.

In short, if you tried to coast through registration by hunting for free-credit blow-off classes, your future build was completely ruined.

“You now have one hour to deliberate on your schedules,” Mahabharata announced. “Consult the syllabi posted on the magical clock’s bulletin boards and choose wisely.”

Isabelle turned to me. “Which faculty are you joining, Orknodi?”

“What about you, big sis?”

“Need you even ask? The Adventure Faculty.”

“Right. You’re an adventurer through and through.”

“Come with me! I know for a fact you’d make ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an incredible adventurer, Orknodi.”

She wasn’t wrong. Armed with my encyclopedic meta-knowledge of this world’s deepest secrets, the sheer volume of hidden treasures, secret dungeons, arcane mysteries, and deadly encounters waiting for me as an adventurer was staggering. Imagining the boundless wealth and glory alone was enough to set my gamer heart racing. But there was one glaring issue.

“I’m actually leaning toward the Knight Faculty.”

“The Knight Faculty? Ah! You were brilliant with a blade during the entrance duel, and a sword is the only weapon you carry. You want to study proper swordsmanship, don’t you?”

“Huh? No, not really.”

Think about it for a second. An armored female knight whose curves were accentuated by tailored steel plate versus an adventurer clad in the utilitarian, fully covered, zero-skin-showing standard-issue dungeon explorer set.

In terms of visual aesthetics, wasn't the former an overwhelming landslide victory? How could any red-blooded veteran pass up the chance to attend lectures surrounded by lovely female knight classmates?

“So you’re really going to abandon me?” Isabelle pouted.

“Ugh… don’t look at me with those puppy eyes. We can always meet up in shared lectures!”

Seeing that guilt-tripping wouldn't work, Isabelle immediately switched tactics. “Besides, with your height, the Knight Faculty is totally out of the question. They won’t even have armor small enough to fit you!”

“I might grow thirty centimeters by next year, you know!”

“Yeah, not happening. Never.”

“I will so grow!”

Naturally, the petty provocation completely backfired.

Fine then! I’m definitely not taking any classes with you!

Snacking on the sweet berries Isabelle handed me with loud, happy nibbles, I walked hand in hand with her down the corridor toward the registration hall. Ahead of us, the hallway was descending into absolute pandemonium as desperate freshmen scrambled to claim their seats.

“Bwahaha! Out of the way, you puny runts! Move!”

“Aaaaargh!”

“That brainless ape is body-checking everyone in sight!”

It was Son Ocheon, the hulking monkey beastman, plowing through the crowded corridor like a living siege engine on the most direct line to the lecture halls.

“Gyahaha! Anyone who wants a lead supplement, step right up! Cross ahead of me, and I’ll ventilate your skulls!”

“Eek! A lunatic!”

“W-Wait! We stopped and waited for you to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pass, so why the hell are you charging at us?!”

“Because nobody’s standing in front of me, which means I don’t have an excuse to shoot anyone! Get your asses back in front of me so I can kill you!”

It was Jigoku, the unhinged privateer pirate, actively sprinting backwards against the traffic just to hunt down fleeing students.

“What a madhouse,” Isabelle murmured. “Should we hurry up too?”

“Our pace is fine,” I replied casually. “I’d rather not get caught by a proctor and lose Points for nothing.”

While they wouldn’t hand out catastrophic, entrance-ceremony-level penalties, causing a disturbance in the hallways could easily shave off anywhere from ten to a hundred Points depending on severity. If you acted like a reckless speed demon, you’d quickly learn how it felt to get nailed by an automated traffic camera, watching your savings drain away beneath a mountain of fines.

“Are you sure you want your first registered class to be from the Adventure Faculty?” Isabelle asked.

“Doesn’t bother me. I never cared about the high-competition, mainstream courses anyway.”

What bothered me far more was Giselle, who had been quietly tagging along behind us in the exact same direction.

“Hey, Uncle Giselle. What business does a black market merchant have tailing us into the Adventure wing? Wouldn’t you be better off taking Merchant classes over in the Production Faculty?”

“Heheh. Lady Orknodi, your youth betrays you. When an adventurer is desperate for aid in the harsh wilderness, offering them a swift chance to shed their encumbrance allows one to easily extract profit margins exceeding one thousand percent. For a merchant, a lecture that unravels the psychological mindset of an adventurer is worth its weight in diamonds.”

“…Are you a literal demon?”

So this was the kind of scum responsible for those traveling RPG field vendors who sold regular potions at extortionate markups and bought priceless boss drops for pocket change! Running ticket scalping schemes in the off-season and morphing into a predatory traveling merchant during term time… He truly was an industrious little villain.

“Here we are. This is the Adventure Faculty wing,” Isabelle announced.

“There’s the notice board.”

Can you feel the cold, unromantic slap of reality stinging your cheeks? Exactly. Nowhere on that roster was there a glamorous course titled Dungeon Delving and Exploration. If a prestigious academy offered high-risk dungeon diving in the foundational curriculum of the very first semester, the school board would have been sued into oblivion.

Of course, there was a workaround if you were desperate enough.

If you skip a grade, you can unlock access to second-year courses. As long as you have the Points and credits, applying for early advancement is always an option.

Attending lectures alongside upperclassmen was a niche strategy occasionally deployed by hardcore speedrunners who wanted to trigger specific NPC rescue flags or unlock exclusive hidden events early. Naturally, as a dyed-in-the-wool veteran grinder, I had pulled off that trick more times than I could count. But right now, I felt zero desire to repeat it.

It’s not like humanity is teetering on the brink of imminent annihilation. This playthrough rolled remarkably good RNG.

None of the catastrophic, realm-wide Calamity Events in the four frontier sectors had triggered. Without those failures, the world-ending Imperial Invasion scenario wouldn't manifest either. There was no Savior of the Realm quest born from the Empire standing on the verge of ruin, nor was there a Hero of the Shattered West chain resulting from regional balkanization.

There was no need to run a high-stress time attack, weeping into my pillow while crying, ‘Waaah, I only scored a B on today’s quiz, my brainless incompetence is going to cost the lives of tens of thousands of frontier peasants!’

If I’d enrolled during the wartime generation, I would’ve been stuck in that exact living hell. I should count my blessings.

In short, the continent was currently on a tranquil Peace Route. Threats existed, of course, but humanity was neither on the verge of collapse nor staring down an apocalyptic menace. It was a world locked in a comfortable status quo. In settings like this, martial and combat arts stagnated, while cultural and theological pursuits experienced a massive golden age.

Which means the trendiest, highest-demand courses will be the theological studies shaping Imperial high culture.

The course catalogue for those subjects was etched firmly in my memory.

A few of those were actually hilarious to play through. The last one on the list was particularly infamous.

‘If your base physical stats are freakishly superhuman, you can effortlessly stick a twenty-meter landing without relying on divine protection.’

‘Pardon? You lack those physical capabilities, yet you still want a passing grade?’

‘Then place your faith in Maluk, the God of War, surrender your spirit to his doctrine, and activate Iron Mass to hit the pavement unscathed. For the record, any novice acolyte who enlists in the Maluk Warband is guaranteed a solid B.’

Swallow your pride, pledge your soul to a brutal war cult, and secure an easy B, or endure hellish physical conditioning and leap off a twenty-meter cliff raw without divine magic to pass the final exam. After sitting through that predatory bait-and-switch lecture, students either wept bitter tears as they signed the god's conversion papers, or fiercely swore off religion altogether as they spent the rest of the semester nursing multiple compound fractures in the infirmary.

“Hmm. Channeling divine arts without relying on the grace of the gods? How intriguing.”

“His Grace, Grand Duke Andersen’s heir, is enrolling in Manifesting Divine Arts Without Faith!”

“Quick, we should register for it too!”

A chorus of sycophantic gasps echoed nearby. I could only shake my head in pity at the clueless freshmen swarming like moths to a flame, blindly trailing behind the Western Noble Coalition’s top scion straight into a catastrophic trap.

“Orknodi, I’ve made my pick,” Isabelle declared, pointing at the board.

“Oh, look at that! We picked the exact same one!”

Isabelle had tapped her finger against Cultivating an Evaluator's Eye. Compared to Andersen’s impending trainwreck, this course was an infinitely superior choice.

“I picked it because the other basics are things I already picked up during my adventurer days,” Isabelle said, tilting her head. “What made you choose Cultivating an Evaluator's Eye, Orknodi? I was sure you’d jump straight into Wilderness Culinary Arts.”

“I love eating food, not sweating over a hot camp stove all day.”

Of course, I had another, far more legitimate reason.

“My, what an oddity. Freshmen signing up for this course? You do realize it’s nearly impossible for first-years to secure ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a decent grade when you’re competing directly against second-years, don’t you?”

Leaning languidly against the classroom podium stood a female professor draped in a tailored white suit, a pristine silk top hat tilted rakishly over her brow. She stood with her arms crossed, a posture that did absolutely nothing to conceal the breathtaking volume resting atop her chest.

The grading rubric was famously ruthless. The curriculum was notoriously dense. The classroom was tucked away in the most remote, forgotten corner of the Adventure Faculty. Yet, this was the exact reason I had sought it out.

No matter which lecture I picked, the academic material was stuff I already knew inside and out from thousands of hours of gameplay. Therefore, a veteran player’s top priority when selecting a class had nothing to do with easy credit farming, optimizing a daily schedule, or tracking down an instructor with great pedagogical reviews.

Difficult exams?

A disastrous timetable?

Terrible teaching skills? None of that mattered.

A drop-dead gorgeous, D-cup professor rocking a white suit? How could any cultured gamer say no?

To a seasoned veteran, as long as the professor was top-tier eye candy, literally everything else was forgiven.