Final Evaluation Results
The final evaluation grades were announced more plainly than expected. In the spacious lobby on the first floor of the academy’s main building, where the bulletin board stood, a short announcement crackled over the speakers as students crowded around without forming any proper lines. A sheet of paper was posted, names were listed, and grades were written beside them. That was all. No details on how well anyone had fought, what decisions they had made, or where they had gone wrong. The only thing placed before the students was a single line of results: their grades, and nothing more.
I searched for my name over the shoulders of the crowd. Han Do-yoon. Next to it was a single letter—C. Exactly that. Right. My shoulders neither tensed nor relaxed. I wasn’t surprised. Even to myself, it was clear I had exploded in power but failed to sustain it. Before the boss fight, I had barely moved within the team formation. A C for that result made sense. I accepted it.
Voices erupted around me.
“Hey, I got a B!”
“No way, you were that good?”
“Ah… I’m totally screwed.”
Laughter and sighs mixed together. Someone sniffled, while someone else laughed too loudly for no reason. Even though a single sheet of paper was dividing people, it felt strangely unreal. Maybe because the tension of the final evaluation still lingered in everyone’s bodies, their faces still carried the weight of expectations.
Lee Tae-geon’s voice came from beside me. “Hey! Do-yoon!”
I turned to see him pushing through the crowd. “How’d you do? Oh, there it is.”
He stepped right up next to me and scanned the board. His eyes found the name instantly. Then his eyebrows shot up.
“Hey.” He pointed at the C beside my name. “What’s this?”
“My grade.”
“No, I know that much.” He waved his hand in the air. “Dude, you took down the boss. You finished it with that last hit.”
I answered shortly. “It’s a team evaluation. Can’t be helped.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t get it.” His expression was genuinely indignant. I was the one who received the grade, yet he looked angrier than I did. “If you asked who carried the boss fight, it was you.”
“I didn’t do much before the boss fight.”
“That’s…” He faltered for a moment, then burst out again. “Still! So you have to go wild from the very start to get a good score? Is that how it’s supposed to work?”
I didn’t answer. Once Lee Tae-geon’s thoughts caught fire like this, it was hard for anyone else to stop him. Arguing would only make it worse. Instead, I looked elsewhere.
Park Eun-seo stood quietly on the opposite side of the lobby. She wasn’t pushing through the crowd or getting close, just watching the board from a distance. Our eyes met. She didn’t look away immediately. After a brief pause, she gave a small nod and began walking toward me.
Lee Tae-geon noticed where I was looking and changed the subject. “Oh, Eun-seo. What’d you get?”
She glanced at him, then at me. Her answer was brief. “Mine… wasn’t bad.”
He grinned. “Healers really are consistent, huh.”
Park Eun-seo didn’t force a smile at that. She simply nodded. “Yeah.” Typical of her.
I said, “You’re always good at these things.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, she answered quietly. “Thanks. I’m glad you… didn’t get hurt and did well, Do-yoon.”
Her words came through clearly even amid the lobby noise.
Lee Tae-geon suddenly cut in, ruining the mood. “But seriously, isn’t a C way too harsh? If I were the instructor—”
“Tae-geon.” Park Eun-seo spoke softly.
He stopped. “Huh?”
“People… can hear you.”
Her voice was small, but that only made it more effective. Lee Tae-geon finally looked around. Nearby students were glancing over. Some were holding back laughter; others just walked past with tired faces. He coughed once. “Ah… right.” Then he added in a smaller voice, looking at me, “Still, I’m the one who feels wronged. Seriously.”
I didn’t shrug. I just nodded. “I’m fine.”
That single sentence eased the tension on his face. Even without fixing the injustice, that was the kind of person he was. Understanding how he felt was half the battle.
As we left the lobby, I glanced back at the board one more time. C. It didn’t feel bad. But it was certain. This isn’t enough.
At the same time, inside an academy conference room, reports lay spread across a long table. Students only saw the final scores, but the instructors had the full reasoning behind them—combat logs, movement records, skill usage counts, hit rates, and team contribution metrics.
“Han Do-yoon.” Kim Young-soo tapped a line on the report with his finger. His tone was as indifferent as ever, laced with clear reluctance to be involved. “Looking at the results alone… it’s ambiguous.”
The instructor across from him flipped a page. His eyes were sharp. “It really is ambiguous.”
“His destructive power is definitely top-tier,” the instructor continued. “His contribution to taking down the Orc Warrior was overwhelming.”
Another instructor added, “But he contributed almost nothing before the boss fight. He was stuck inside the team formation, and his skill usage count was extremely low.”
“That’s probably because of his mana capacity,” someone said.
“It’s also a problem that his skills seem to require precise alignment to activate.”
The first instructor went on. “Most critically, his skill proficiency is still low. His accuracy fluctuates too much depending on his condition. In a real situation, the chance of failure would be high.”
“But he did produce results.”
“That’s true,” the instructor nodded. “The question is whether he can keep producing them. Right now, he can do it once. Twice would be unreliable. Who would want to use such an unstable Hunter?”
A brief silence followed. Only the sound of pages turning filled the room.
Another instructor broke it. “Still—his talent is obvious.”
“He has talent,” the first instructor agreed. “That’s why it’s a C. Neither an overestimation nor an underestimation. At his current level, that’s exactly where he belongs.”
Kim Young-soo let out a sigh. “Let’s watch how he grows for a bit.”
Someone chuckled quietly. The meeting moved on to the next student.
The walk home felt strangely light. I had thought seeing the score would change something, but the world remained the same. The sun set as usual, the bus stop was as crowded as ever, and students chattered just like always.
Lee Tae-geon still couldn’t accept my grade. “Hey, you were seriously good though. I can vouch for that.”
“Got it.”
“No, don’t just say ‘got it.’ Get mad or something.”
“There’s no reason to be mad.”
“Ah… seriously.” He scratched his head in frustration, then suddenly changed his tone while looking at Park Eun-seo. “Eun-seo, say something. He’ll at least listen to you.”
“Do-yoon probably has his own thoughts. He’s smart, after all.”
Park Eun-seo gave a small smile. It was brief, but it lingered.
After some idle talk, we parted ways with Lee Tae-geon first. He waved and said, “Hey, text me later. Let’s grab something to eat.”
“Sure.”
Once he was gone, only Park Eun-seo and I remained. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. Without thinking, I asked, “Why? Is something wrong?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
“Then… do you have a little time right now?”
The fact that I had spoken first felt unfamiliar even to me. Her eyes widened. “…Huh?”
“There’s a park near my place that isn’t too crowded. Want to take a walk before heading home?”
She couldn’t answer right away. Her expression was flustered, neither nodding nor refusing. Then, very slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
At that single word, my throat suddenly felt dry.
The evening park was quiet. Paths crowded during the day grew emptier once the sun set. Streetlamp light formed round circles on the ground, with darkness settling between them. We walked until we found a bench. Park Eun-seo sat down first, resting her hands on her knees. I could feel both of us tensing to hide some unknown awkwardness. I stood beside the bench, hesitated, then sat down. Sitting too close would feel burdensome, but too far would look strange. In the end, I settled at an ambiguous distance.
“Aren’t you cold?” I asked first.
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
A short silence. Wind rustled the leaves, and from the exercise area came the sound of someone gripping the pull-up bar.
Park Eun-seo asked quietly, “Was the grade… okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not upset?”
“Not really. I think it was a fair evaluation.”
She looked at my face. Her gaze lingered. Even though I didn’t look away, she lowered her eyes first. “Still…” Her fingers fidgeted. “I’m… a little angry. You were more amazing than me.”
I said, “I think you were more amazing.”
She stopped, unable to continue, then laughed lightly. The silence that followed was less awkward than before. There were moments when being with her made silence feel comfortable. Strangely, I liked that.
She suddenly spoke. “Tae-geon… was loud today too, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“But… he’s a good friend.”
“He is.”
I chuckled briefly at that, and she laughed along. Neither of us laughed loudly. We laughed quietly. That suited her more.
For a moment, she looked at my hand—the one that had gripped the sword. The fingers were still slightly stiff. “Does your hand… hurt?”
“It’s fine.”
“Liar.”
I flexed my hand instead of answering. It was a habit born from impatience before awakening, and also a kind of proof that I was enduring hardship. She spoke like a sigh. “Then…” She chose her words carefully before saying in a very small voice, “No matter what you do, don’t get hurt.”
The words felt odd. It didn’t seem like she was only talking about physical wounds. So I turned to look at her. She was looking at me too. Under the streetlight, her eyes sparkled faintly. I couldn’t tell if it was tears or just the light. Instead, I answered shortly. “You shouldn’t get hurt either.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Another silence. This time, it wasn’t awkwardness but an air where words weren’t needed.
After some time, she stood up. “Should we head in now?”
“Yeah.”
“Today…” She hesitated, then said, “Thanks for speaking up first.”
The words felt fresh. Was there really anything to thank me for? We had only walked and sat together. I answered briefly. “I’m grateful you stayed with me too.”
She took two steps, then looked back. “Do-yoon.”
“Yeah.”
“Next time…” She stopped. The end of her sentence hung in the air. Looking embarrassed, she lowered her head and said, “Can we… just take a walk together again?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I answered right away. At that, her shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. She gave a small wave and turned away. I watched her retreating figure and let out a breath.
When I reached my front door, reality finally caught up. I got through this final evaluation, at least. But the next thought followed immediately. This isn’t enough.
I sat at my desk and flexed my palm again. The warmth from the park still lingered, yet cold calculations rose over it. My skill proficiency was still lacking. To improve accuracy, I needed repetition. But repetition required mana. With insufficient mana, repetition itself was impossible. Skill usage count: twice. Three times at most. That was all I had managed this time. One crisis prevention, one finishing blow. Nothing more.
In a real fight… I stopped the thought there. But the conclusion was clear. I need a different kind of growth than what I have now.
At that moment, a name surfaced. Seo Yu-ri. A name known to everyone at the academy. The youngest daughter of the White Night Group. Someone whose skill, background, and rumors all sounded exaggerated. And—the words she had once said to me.
I recalled those words and thought quietly. Should I go see her? I didn’t know if she was truly the person who could solve my problems. But at the very least, it was better than doing nothing. I drew in a slow breath. And within my heart, I rolled a small resolve. Maybe… I should ask her directly at least once.