Butterfly Effect (3)

Three cadets had one surrounded. When I stepped in, their formation broke. The cadet with burr-like short hair spoke up.

"Who the hell are you, jumping in like that?"

"Your mom."

No point dragging out the conversation. I threw a punch right away.

Thwack.

A crunching sound rang out as Burr clutched his nose and dropped to his knees.

"Grahk!"

The skinny bowl-cut beside him was yelling. "You fucking bastard!"

Big voice, but no power behind it. I twisted my head to dodge his fist, then swung my hand blade into his throat.

"Guk!"

Bowl-cut grabbed his neck and crumpled to the floor.

"This fucking shit."

He clearly hadn't expected two of his buddies to go down so fast. The bulky one, who had been hanging back relatively relaxed, finally threw a kick my way.

"Die!"

I read the trajectory—straight for the groin. No sense of honor, this prick. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.

I backpedaled to dodge, then slammed a low kick into him, sending him tumbling. Right after, I stomped down hard on his exposed balls.

"Arrrgggghhh!!"

Bulky's mouth gaped wide like his soul was fleeing, letting out a soul-shattering scream. White foam bubbled at the corners of his lips like a shellfish.

"...Ugh. Wh-what..."

Burr, the first one down, finally snapped out of it and shuffled backward.

"...This fucking..."

Bowl-cut dragged himself up too.

"......"

But Bulky, with his nuts crushed, wasn't getting up anytime soon.

"Wh-what are you! You bastard!" Burr shouted. Bowl-cut replied, "Th-that's him..."

"Who?"

"Primitive."

"Ah, fuck. You were the Primitive? What the hell, you fucking Primitive bastard."

I tsked in pity. "A guy in hero training... bullying your own classmate? Real heroic."

"So what? You the personality instructor now? Why you picking a fight?"

"Yeah. Fuck."

I sighed as Bowl-cut jumped in right after. Shame personality education didn't start until second year.

"Haa."

No need for Hoesim—these punks were well within my league. Having once walked the martial artist's path, no one knew my full capabilities better than I did.

"Primitive punk. You acting tough 'cause we're bare-handed?"

As Burr rolled his neck and clenched his fists, he pulled an armament from his pocket.

Whirr.

A thumb-sized pocketball glowed, expanding into full form. His armament was a pistol.

"Weapon doesn't match your looks."

"Yours doesn't either, asshole."

Being able to pocketball an armament meant serious family backing. I started to check his name but got lazy and dropped it.

Right on cue, Bowl-cut had drawn his sword-and-shield set.

"That doesn't suit you either."

"So what."

Burr backed up and fired. Bang! Bang! Bang!

Cadet-issued ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rounds were all training ammo—low lethality. I tanked them bare-handed, and weirdly, they barely hurt. Oh, right—high health stat. Being a health freak wasn't half bad.

"Crazy fuck. Tank class or what?"

"Tickles compared to Mad Dog's punches."

I strode forward and swung my palm.

Thwack.

"Guk!" Burr's head whipped to the limit in the opposite direction.

I didn't stop there, slapping his cheeks over and over. Thwack-thwack-thwack. Left, right—it swung like a pendulum.

That's when Bowl-cut targeted my back with a vertical sword chop.

Swoosh!

Training sword, no edge, but solid metal chunk—plenty of force. This time, I sidestepped instead of blocking.

Thud!

The metal slab missed me and smashed Burr's crown instead.

"Gyaak!" Burr's eyes rolled back as he passed out.

Bowl-cut panicked at the accidental teamkill. "Wh-wha..."

I was dumbfounded. "You guys really suck at fighting."

Yeah, cadet level. How much real combat had they even seen? I reflected on taking these kids seriously.

"......"

Now it was one-on-one.

"......Gulp."

Tense as hell—his swallow sounded like thunder.

Guys who mouth off relying on numbers always crack like this. Interest gone, I dusted my hands.

"Hey, you. Bowl."

"...Y-yeah?"

"Gonna bully him again?" I pointed at the reserve demon who'd been crouched watching the whole time, sniffling "...Sob sob, Mom..."

"N-no. No."

He shook his head like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spin dryer on high.

"Yeah, man. Get along with your classmates. No shuttle bullshit."

"M-milk shuttle, though..."

"Same difference. Tell your friends too. Do this again, you're really fucked."

"...Y-yeah."

Mid-lecture, glowing text appeared.

"...Hm."

As expected, a hidden achievement. Even in that split second, my instinct had crunched the numbers.

But 1,000 points? Felt like a loss for the effort.

"...Small fry discount, maybe."

Mood soured. "Unit price is off..."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Separate collections it was for balanced books. As I approached, Bowl-cut flinched, shoulders jumping.

Properly spooked. I held out my palm; he blinked in confusion. "...Wha-what? Why?"

I told the wide-eyed punk, "Taught you some manners."

"......Huh?"

"Tuition."

"......"

As the pocketball suggested, they were big guild brats. Scored a fat personality fee.

Would they snitch to their parents? Nah, unlikely—they had way more dirt on themselves.

What about the reserve demon? Turn full demon? Who knows.

"...Hm."

Honestly, no clue. But I didn't regret stepping in. Better than a sticky conscience keeping me up.

Back at the dorm, I showered, hit the cadet cafeteria for chow, then returned and plopped on the bed to check earnings.

Two mid-grade mana stones. Fed one to the Void Tentacle.

"Oho."

Starved it considering satiety, and still 48 hours to digest. But +2 to all base stats? Jackpot.

Mid-grade did this—high, top, special grades must be insane. Felt the urge to hunt harder.

"...Yawwwn."

I lay back, staring blankly at the ceiling. Three weeks since regressing already.

"...Can I save this world?"

Honestly, still no idea. Grinding hard, but the world didn't play nice. Effort mattered less than efficiency—real life or this novel world.

"......"

Must've dozed off. Smartwatch pinged me awake. Checked the message: from the Exploration Circle.

Yeah, no point overthinking. Just move and see.

"...Sleep time."

Busy tomorrow—recovery key. Keep the fire burning.

I patted out the blanket, settled in proper, and drifted off.

Friends start to look alike. That's why they say birds of a feather flock together.

The delinquents hung with Yoo Seong-won's crew and spilled the truth under Park Jeong-pal's grilling.

"Got your asses beat by the Primitive?"

"...Yeah."

"Extorted too?"

"Uh..."

9th-ranked cadet Park Jeong-pal's face crumpled like an angry bull.

"You fucking idiots?"

"...No."

"Man, no clue. How do three lose to one?"

"He ambushed..."

"Ambushed by three? That's even dumber."

"......"

Pyo Hang-woo, standing behind, cut in. "Drop it, Jeong-pal."

Park Jeong-pal raged harder. "Fuck, it doesn't make sense. Doesn't."

Pyo Hang-woo sighed and waved the three off—get lost.

Burr, Bowl, and Bulky slunk away like guilty dogs. Bulky waddled bowlegged, like he'd shit his pants.

"Ha!"

Park Jeong-pal spat. "Knew it. That punk's got balls. Shoulda stomped him early so he couldn't strut."

Pyo Hang-woo replied, "Cut it, Jeong-pal. We're basically apprentice heroes now. Ain't it time to quit the delinquent crap?"

"What?"

"I hate that Imir punk too. But I'm holding back, right?"

Silent Yoo Seong-won chimed in. "True. I'm waiting for duel exam to smash him."

Park Jeong-pal swallowed hard. Graduating the academy didn't make every cadet a hero. Some went regular hunter, some to awakener groups. Others picked lawless life in demon-infested underworld or unreclaimed lands.

Park Jeong-pal's dream wasn't hero. To him, the diploma was just a business card.

Couldn't vibe with Pyo Hang-woo and Yoo Seong-won's words. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Friends like these? Similar on surface, different at core.

Park Jeong-pal quietly ground his teeth.