My Skill Is Too Damn Effective

"Hmm..."

I came to on the bed, sitting up with a pained groan. Nothing was wrong. No Nyarlathotep, no That Thing clawing at the edges of my mind.

"Whew."

So it really was a dream, huh?

Right as I was thinking that, a status window popped up out of nowhere.

'That wasn't a dream?'

So everything that just happened was real? Hold on — hostile to ALL Constellations?

"Insane."

What that message meant was very simple: every single Constellation — the ones who couldn't wait to shower gifts on any human they saw, and the ones who'd forgive a human no matter what atrocities they committed — all of them wanted me dead. If even the kind-hearted Constellations felt that way, imagine what the evil-aligned ones were thinking. They'd probably be screaming at their incarnations to kill me on sight right about now.

Ding.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a notification from That's Code, the video chat app I used.

A message from Nyarlathotep. Startled out of my wits, my fingers started moving at the speed of light.

But she ignored my question and just kept nagging me to open the status window.

"...Ugh, fine. Status window."

Realizing the conversation wasn't going anywhere unless I complied, I opened it.

"What the hell is this?"

The status window had changed beyond anything I could have imagined, and I had no choice but to doubt my own eyes.

"SAN Value?"

First of all, the perfectly normal MP stat was gone, replaced by this bizarre thing called a SAN Value.

"Fuck, why the hell would they put THIS in?"

I tried drawing up mana through my whole body with all my strength. And then...

"Ugh?!"

It felt like something that should never leave me was draining right out. It was exactly like the sensation of getting jump-scared in a horror game — my mental state was being chipped away on its own.

Vwooooom.

"Whoa, what the hell is this..."

Flustered, I trembled and panted raggedly for a moment.

Nyarlathotep typed, as if she were watching me flail in real time.

"...Fine. If you say so, I guess that's how it is."

From way back, there had never been anything to gain from ignoring her advice. Listening to her was always the far better option.

...I'll just pretend I didn't see that last one.

{8:10 A.M}

There probably wasn't time to check my remaining abilities. It was already time to head to the Academy.

"I'll look at the rest later. I've got to get to the Academy."

At her reply, I shoved my phone carelessly into my pocket.

And so, I didn't see them.

Messages ringing across the chat window like a madwoman's screams.

"Hey, look, it's..."

"..."

Whew. Yeah, the stares inside the Academy were anything but friendly.

Not that I'd done anything wrong. I was merely, well, dead last in the entire Academy. And that was the only sin they thought I'd committed.

This Academy was obsessed with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠meritocracy to a disturbing degree. The weaker you were, the worse you were treated — beneath even the lowest caste of some untouchable system.

"Hey, there goes your boyfriend."

"Wanna die?"

For the record, my looks weren't that bad. Not bragging — just one hundred percent objective assessment, I was decent-looking enough. The only problem was my astonishingly low standing within the Academy.

I let out a long sigh and stepped into my classroom.

[Class 1-F]

First year, Class F. To be honest, this was still the class with the most room to grow. We were only first-years, after all — with enough effort and a proper display of potential, aiming for the upper classes was entirely possible.

Screeeeech.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Then again, if any of that were actually possible, I wouldn't be in F class to begin with.

The moment I walked in and saw guys swinging fists at each other, I sighed. And it was already the second semester of first year, no less. If we were going to claw our way out of here, the time to do it was long past.

"You little shit!"

The winner of the brawl was the guy with a striking-type skill. As much as they'd all received next to no sponsorship, these were still cadets with Constellations. Any of them was better off than me...

Oh, right — I did have some kind of contracted god now, didn't I. And if I remembered correctly, I'd even received skills from her.

Skills: A Story That Makes Sense (A), Avatar of Chaos (S)

"Holy shit!"

The instant I saw the skills, a scream full of disbelief burst out of me. An A-rank and an S-rank skill were sitting in my status window. And both of them were top-tier abilities with no real point of comparison. Who knew how many people in this Academy even owned an S-rank skill? A-rank skills were already vanishingly rare. When you considered that most cadets here relied on B-rank skills as their mainstay, the grade was nothing short of staggering.

"What the — fuck?"

Just then, a ferocious voice sounded from up front. I closed the status window and glanced forward to see the guy who'd been fighting a moment ago, scowling as he stared at me.

"Ah."

Apparently, he'd mistaken my awed outburst at the status window for me talking trash at him.

For the record, he was — without question, without a shred of doubt — the number one of Class F. Skill-wise, he wasn't quite able to rub shoulders with Class D, but there was no one here who could stand against him. And while I'm at it, the hotheads of F class could be divided into two types: cadets aiming for a higher class, and...

Thud!

Just plain delinquent bastards. This class, where the dregs of the Academy had pooled together, was more reminiscent of some thug-infested dump of a school. Class F was where you'd find the kinds of guys you only ever saw glorified in gang webtoons.

Taking a fist to the face, I went down on my back. I'd thrown myself into fights trying to climb to the upper classes myself once, so plenty of people in F class already regarded me as a lost cause. Made sense — if I'd been winning, sure, but I got my ass handed to me every single time.

But once I'd started keeping my head down, they'd had no pretext to beat on me. And now, of all times, they'd been handed one.

The status window forcibly pulled up the skill descriptions.

Fighting right now was a losing move. Unauthorized use of abilities was forbidden in the Academy, plain and simple. If I added to the ruckus, I'd be on suspension before the hour was out. So what I needed to do right now was...

Persuasion.

A Story That Makes Sense is activated.

"Whoa, hold on, calm down. There's a very clear reason I yelled 'fuck' just now."

At my words, the guy mid-swing froze his arm.

"Now, first, let's look at the etymology of 'fuck.' The word is a corruption of a vulgar slang term for the female genitalia."

That was just a hypothesis, granted.

"And so... what."

I started the buildup, slowly and carefully.

"So why do you think I, of all people, hurled such a vulgar word at you?"

"...?"

He suddenly put on a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠grave expression and began pondering in absolute earnest. Now. This was the moment to strike.

"It's because you act like a little girl, you bastard!"

"What?"

His face twisted in fury — but I couldn't stop here.

"What was the reason for the fight you just had?"

"...He bumped my shoulder."

What a pathetic reason.

"And THAT is why you're hearing 'fuck' from me! What is the manhood you dream of?"

"...A real man."

"No medium — hell, not even in real life — does a real man start a fight over nothing but a bumped shoulder! You're not a real man. You're a little girl who dreams of being one!"

"!!!"

He froze solid, as if my words had struck him with the force of a thunderbolt.

"But! I know how you can shed that little girl and become a real man!!"

"...!!"

His eyes went wide, and then he dropped to his knees and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cried out.

"H-how do I become a real man?!"

"First, a real man is not some trash-tier loser who contents himself with playing king of Class F! Start training right now and work your way up to at least Class A!"

Not that I actually expected him to make it to A class. If he had that kind of talent, he'd be in C class by now.

"Second — apologize sincerely to that guy over there whose face you caved in!"

"A-and?"

"And last — serve with all your heart the master who granted you this wisdom: me!!"

"!!!"

The guy put on an expression of profound enlightenment and slammed his forehead into the floor.

"I will serve you as my master!"

"Rise, and go about your business."

I crossed my legs into a full lotus and spoke with the most solemn expression I could muster. Then, watching him apologize to the guy he'd knocked out cold, I thought to myself:

'This skill is way too effective...?'

The results exceeded anything I'd imagined.