Barely Human

That was the title of the novel X had possessed.

A growth-type fantasy academy story. A hundred years ago, a party of five heroes was wiped out during the campaign to slay the Demon King — and now those five had been reincarnated. They would enroll in the academy and grow strong enough to defeat the Demon King when he inevitably returned.

That had been the original draft.

"I never should have done that…"

To crank up the sense of crisis, the scenario had been overhauled. It was rewritten into an apocalyptic novel where extras and supporting characters were massacred by the dozen in every episode. On top of that, the protagonist's personality and a grab-bag of trendy tropes had been stuffed in at random.

Cider-pass. Harem. Obsession. Psychological collapse. Regret.

And then I transmigrated into that novel.

X sat in his dormitory room, turning the problem over and over in his mind. The truth of this world was something he could never tell a soul.

I can't go around blabbing about it, either. I'd get hit with a Probability Penalty for sure, or whatever they call it.

The conclusion came fast.

It was absolutely impossible.

How the hell am I supposed to survive the apocalypse with this garbage-tier build?!

A patient on the verge of death. Reinforcing this wretched build was an emergency.

He needed to raise his stats immediately, and he needed to acquire talents.

The problem was that the prices were absurd.

"Why are Mana, Luck, and Charm five times as expensive…. With the purchase cap, maxing out my stats with Editing Points isn't realistic anyway."

He tabled the basic-stat purchases for now. Any stat that could be grown through training needed to be trained as far as it would go, if he wanted to save points.

Next, the titles.

"The letters next to the titles are ranks, I assume…"

Conditionally variable meant a so-called limited-time title. The Swindler title, by contrast, was permanent.

Either way, they were garbage titles that cost more than they paid. He was going to have to be careful about picking up any more of them.

There was nothing else worth looking at on the title screen. Next came the shop.

And the shop was even less worth looking at.

It was split into a Talent Shop and an Item Shop. The inventory was pathetic, and the prices were anything but. He didn't need anything immediately, so he tabled the purchases.

I'm curious about the Unidentified Gift Box, but… it's a gacha, right?

With Luck sitting at 0.1, there was no reason to give it a second glance. Something else had caught his eye instead.

"So there's a next stage, and I have to spend points to get there."

For some reason, the required score wasn't displaying. Maybe it needed some special condition. He tabled that too.

"…This has to be the core function."

A function that changed a specific setting in exchange for points. After poking at it with a few experiments, he'd concluded that the ability itself was closer to reality manipulation.

For example:

The tests had come back, well, commonsensical. If it was easy to do in the current situation, the cost was low. If it twisted the laws of nature or common sense, the cost was high.

It'll all depend on how I use it.

There were also side objectives, distinct from the core one. For now the field was blank — nothing at all. Probably something like sub-quests.

"That's enough Status Window research for now…"

Next, X organized the flow of the scenario. With Intelligence sitting at 0.2, his memory was full of holes. The minor settings and the detailed incidents wouldn't come back to him. The pivotal events and the overall shape of the plot, however, he could still recall.

"The incident that's about to happen is Leon Brave's Hero awakening…"

Leon Brave. The novel's real protagonist. The one and only Hero, who would awaken his power through the hardships and adversity still to come, and who would endure the trials of the apocalypse.

Leon's Hero-awakening scenario went like this, didn't it.

Villain Number One appears, duels Leon, and loses. Humiliated, the villain contracts with a demon for revenge — only to fall into the demon's trap and have his body stolen. The demon then attacks Leon as part of its plan, at which point Leon awakens a fragment of the Hero's power and wins.

He'd considered intervening. There was no room for it.

Can I even touch it…? No — forget whether I can. Should I? Without Leon, the apocalypse doesn't get stopped.

There was nothing to touch. The awakening of the Hero's power was a core piece of Leon's power-up. If he poked it and it went sideways, that was an apocalypse party.

Skip this one. The next episode is what matters.

Once this incident ended, the first Doom Scenario would begin: the Hellgate episode. Until then, he needed to decide on a direction.

"Hijack a fortuitous encounter, steal an ally…? If I screw it up, I'd be getting in the protagonist's way…"

Whatever he did, interfering with the protagonist might mean the Doom Scenarios that followed couldn't be stopped. If there was anything worth doing, it was intervening at the moments when the Hero's party was about to die in the middle of a Doom Scenario. To keep stopping the scenarios that would keep coming, they couldn't afford to lose their strongest fighting force. Those people had to be kept alive.

Not with this build. Not even close.

What was a 0.1-grade dying-patient character supposed to accomplish by charging into a crisis? The first priority, above all else, was getting stronger. To live — to do anything at all — he needed power.

If I slip, I might end up touching the main scenario. So the policy is: don't touch the main scenario.

Fortunately, he had spent ten years as an editor — a job that consisted of checking a novel's probability and its narrative flow. Mapping the sub-scenarios that wouldn't affect Leon's growth wasn't difficult.

Which meant, for now: stack the build. Avoid intervening in the main scenario as much as possible. Take power from the sub-scenarios.

He closed the notebook he'd used to organize the settings and tucked it into a corner. Then a thought snagged him.

"…Did I write all this in the common tongue instead of Korean?"

He flipped the notebook open. The pages were covered in the common language. If anyone read this, the sheer impossibility of the future prophecy might detonate a Probability Penalty on the spot.

He considered rewriting it in Korean, then set the thought aside. This would have its uses in its own way.

"More importantly…"

One week until the opening ceremony. At the very least, he needed to become human.

The Dritania Empire sat at the heart of the supercontinent Arcana. The imperial capital, Valon, sat at the heart of the Empire. And Elion Academy sat at the heart of Valon.

Which meant Elion Academy was the center of the continent.

"How did failing to slay the Demon King a hundred years ago lead to this kind of civilizational progress…"

X stood in the middle of the street and looked around. Mana Phones — communication artifacts, ubiquitous. Mana Cars — wheel-less vehicles that floated through the air. Buildings of concrete and rebar.

"The worldbuilding reference point was the 1900s, wasn't it."

A stretch of artistic license, laid on thick for the sake of the plot.

We've got Mana Phones that can call and text, but no computers. Somehow the gold standard got abolished, and a reserve currency got introduced in this era…

Not that anyone was left to nitpick. This place had only the results.

Gunpowder and bombs exist, but the setting established they were weaker than sword aura and magic, so nobody even thought to use them as weapons. That about says it all.

Elion Academy, at least, was a cutting-edge educational institution, packed with every modern facility and convenience. Living in the dorms meant he would never have to smell the distinctive, lingering stench of medieval filth.

And this was the fruit of training in that excellent environment.

"I'm screwed."

For a week he had poured out real blood and real sweat. He'd crushed down every ache and every pain, the way you do in rehab. He'd spent more time moving than sitting. He'd poured nosebleeds without rest, trying to claw his memories back, and gone through hundreds of tissues just to stop them.

And he still hadn't even made it to civilian.

The one mercy was that most of the holes in his memory had filled in. He could move for a few hours without his body giving out. He'd reached the level of being able to live a minimum of a life.

I at least wanted to push the basic stats past 1.0…

In the end, X headed to the opening ceremony unsatisfied.

The moment he stepped onto academy grounds, countless eyes pinned him in place.

"Look at that. It's the Screaming Herb. Why does he look like that?"

"Is that even a magically possible face?"

"Goddess above. How could You make a mistake like that…"

The power of Charm 0.1 exceeded anything he had imagined. Famous infamy and a horrific appearance had gone into synergy. He radiated such a powerful presence that eyes were dragged to him whether he liked it or not.

It bothered him. He still didn't care. Survival was on the line; stares like these meant nothing.

So this is Class F.

His assigned class was first-year F. Even the door looked ready to collapse from the threshold. A setting snagged in his memory.

Class F: the so-called trash class. And the designated sacrificial lambs of countless scenarios…

He'd expected it, but having the reality in front of his eyes went dark all the same. Charm 0.1 wasn't even the problem. Just being here meant his life had an expiration date.

What if I just withdraw from the academy…?

He forced the thought down. Later on, the academy would have the highest survival rate. If anything, he needed to be careful not to get expelled. And more than that — if he wanted to eat with zero capital, he needed money. Right now he was depending on the monthly stipend. Drop out of the academy today and he'd never crawl out of beggarhood.

He opened the classroom door and stepped inside. Students' eyes gathered on him — contempt, shock, the usual. He turned his gaze away, ignored them, and found a decent seat. He hadn't come here to enjoy a school life. He'd already spent years on the receiving end of looks worse than these.

Dong— dong— dong—

The bell marking seven o'clock sharp. At the same instant, the classroom door opened with a knife-edge of timing, and someone strode in with hair streaming behind him like a horse's tail.

Roxwell. They'd met before.

"Tch."

He clicked his tongue the moment he was through the door, looking over the students.

…Roxwell is a character who doesn't exist in the settings or the original. Class F never got covered in any detail.

So he had no idea why the man was clicking his tongue. He didn't need to find out. Roxwell told them himself.

"I told you dimwits to drop out of your own accord, but I guess only four of you actually had brains in your skulls. Money rotting in piles, is it? Not that it's your money, of course."

Tension ran through the students at Roxwell's abuse. As far as the settings went, each class was supposed to have a capacity of twenty. Looking around now, there were sixteen. From the way Roxwell was talking, he'd been the one to kick the rest out.

"For the deaf bastards who plugged their ears at the freshman orientation, I'll explain it one more time. You're in Class F because you're trash nobody would even associate with."

Roxwell swept the students with a gaze like a blade.

"In other words, you've got jack for skill and talent, and you forced your way in with money and connections. Here's some sincere advice for your futures."

Something invisible crashed over their bodies all at once. A vast pressure clamped down on their hearts, and in the same instant X understood it on instinct.

So this is the presence a warrior radiates…

"Drop out. Right now."

The students didn't move. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠They only held their breath under that rough, heavy pressure — whether out of some scrap of pride, or a noble's stubborn dignity, or, like X, because they were simply too stunned to do anything else.

This is the homeroom professor I'm stuck with for a year?

As if he'd read the look in X's eyes, Roxwell walked toward him. He looked down at X and pressed in with a voice gone cold.

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

"Screaming Herb X. You've got some nerve keeping that ass planted when you can't do a damn thing. Special Admission Recommendation Letter track, so if you drop out you don't get the money — that it? Too precious to let go?"

At those words, some of the students' eyes turned sharp. The ones who'd paid their way in, most likely. Thanks to Roxwell, X now knew how recommendation-letter students were treated.

Roxwell swept a look over them and issued a warning.

"What's with those looks? This one at least has a reason it's hard to drop out. You lot have nothing to lose, so why the hell are you still sitting there?"

Deliberate wedge-driving. X realized the man was trying to isolate him. He didn't know why — but getting them to drop out was probably the point.

There was an incident like this in Class F…?

The force crushing them with presence alone was far too strong. Emotion was packed into the pressure pouring down, and right now X was barely managing to breathe.

"I can talk till I'm blue in the face and you still won't swallow a word of it. This is why I hate brats. Tch."

Roxwell clicked his tongue and finally withdrew his presence. He glared at the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠students gasping as the tension broke, looking thoroughly displeased, then turned back toward the lectern.

That was when a girl stood up to protest.

"Th-this kind of outrage is unacceptable! My family will formally file a protest—"

"Go ahead."

Roxwell perched on the edge of the chalkboard with a look of pure arrogance, lifting his chin to stare coldly down at her.

"Do it."

"M-my family is a prestigious—"

"Did you sleep through freshman orientation, Lady Lola of House Lemercier?"

X couldn't help being startled that the girl was a count's daughter. Roxwell's open condescension toward that same young lady was even more startling.

Even if class distinctions are supposed to blur inside the academy… he's got to have some kind of backing he can afford to lean on.

"Did you not hear me?"

"Eek…"

Lola's face went pale. Roxwell had clearly concentrated his presence on her. It was excessive treatment for a girl who was still a child. It looked like nothing more than bullying.

What's a grown adult doing to a kid?

Roxwell spoke with nothing but cold blood in his voice.

"Did you think wrapping yourself in your family's name would make you into something? Unfortunately, I don't see any knights around here to protect you."

"S-spare me…"

"Lola Lou Lemercier. Zero martial skill. Some aptitude for magic, but your casting time is absurdly long. As if some insects will die in your place while you prepare a spell. Even a third-rate mercenary could stroll right up and slit your throat at his leisure."

Roxwell ambled toward her with the loose, unhurried gait of a mercenary, and in that walk you could tell he was a man who had spent long years as one. Lola held her breath as if she'd met the reaper himself, staring up at him with terrified eyes.

With a gaze gone ice-cold, Roxwell slowly drew a finger across Lola's throat. The way a blade would.

"Sixteen is too many, don't you think? We ought to cut one."

Panic was a breath away from Lola's eyes. This had crossed a line.

X's hand went up at once, and his mouth opened.

"Professor! I have a question!"

The heavy atmosphere shattered like a windowpane. Roxwell hadn't seen it coming; his presence lost its direction and scattered. Lola, who had been a second from panic, squeezed her eyes shut, dropped into her chair, and gulped air as if she'd been drowning.

Roxwell's blade turned on X this time.

"What is it, Screaming Herb."

X threw out the question he'd prepared.

"What are we doing today?"

"…"

"It's the opening ceremony. Are we having class?"

A perfectly ordinary question, delivered as if he hadn't read the room at all. Looks reserved for lunatics punched into his face. Roxwell's brow furrowed as he glared at him.

"Screaming Herb. Has something gone wrong with your head."

"I was simply curious. Morning assembly already ended ten minutes ago."

"…Haa."

Roxwell let out a long sigh. Fortunately, the blade of his presence had been sheathed; X couldn't feel it anymore. Strangling someone with presence alone — an unreal sight.

Back at the lectern, Roxwell said something that made no sense.

"From now on, I won't care what kind of sorry state you lot end up in. You brought this on yourselves. Regret it all you want later — then drop dead."

The students looked baffled, as if they had no idea what he meant. X, however, formed a hypothesis.

Roxwell is connected to the Doom Scenarios?

He wasn't in the settings or the manuscript, but that was no guarantee another character like him didn't exist. If that wasn't it, Roxwell's behavior didn't add up — the way he'd been trying to force them to drop out.

That was when a Status Window bloomed in front of his eyes.

You son of a bitch, Status Window.

It was only after he'd been in the classroom for quite some time that Roxwell said something professor-like for the first time.

"Now submit your elective course applications."