Chapter 5: Daily Life
Chapter 5: Daily Life
A whole month slipped by with remarkably little happening.
Han Ye-ji spent her days scanning barcode after barcode at a convenience store. She wasn't about to pick up combat techniques or tactical strategy straight out of the gate. Like most of the cadets who'd entered alongside her, she was stuck in basic physical conditioning and special legal studies for Incarnations.
The Academy ran on a credit system—graduate once you'd checked off the required courses. Foundational theory classes like Special Incarnation Law and Monster Ecology were mandatory.
Physical training was handled by hulking female instructors who barked "One more! Just one more!" like personal trainers drilling workout clients. As for the legal classes, I barely understood this world's common sense myself, so I wasn't in any position to help her there.
Still, the sheer fact that I had things to do gave me a grudging respect for how well the Academy system was put together. I never thought I'd say that.
"What if someone shows up?"
"Trust your big sis here. You think the Constellations are actually watching this stuff? And even if they get a peek—so what?"
"Oh, come on! What do you mean, 'so what'!"
A cozy couple was bickering in a secluded clearing near the wall, half-hidden in the thick undergrowth.
Other Constellations might be too busy for this kind of thing, swamped with multiple Incarnations—but I wasn't.
[The Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare, announces it has found another instance of inappropriate fraternization.]
I grabbed the keyboard and fired off the message. Instantly, one of the instructors near Han Ye-ji—still drenched in sweat—snapped her head up.
A simple system function: a Constellation could send messages to anyone near their Incarnation. The fact that they were using bored, fidgety Constellations as surveillance was honestly impressive.
The Academy lived up to its name as a place watched over by Constellations. Whenever I flushed out a rule-breaker like this, Han Ye-ji got a small perk.
Not credits toward graduation, not cash. Lightweight benefits—a weekend Outing Pass, an extra Meal Ticket.
The couples got a slap on the wrist too, sure. But what did they expect, cramming a bunch of hormonal young men and women together? No matter how many rules they posted demanding couples restrict their dating to weekends off-campus, a few brave souls inevitably took the risk.
Bathrooms in empty buildings during training blocks. Wrecked training grounds after ability-practice left them a mess. Dense foliage where they thought the Academy's sheer size would hide them. They stashed themselves in remarkably creative spots.
Scanning the sprawling campus for them was like hunting for hidden objects in a cheap 19+ arcade game. Find the couple.
But watching Han Ye-ji sweat through her clothes under the summer sun, I couldn't help wanting to give her something.
We'd made the contract in July. She'd entered the Academy in August. By September, I'd have saved up exactly 3,000 points. Was a lucid dream really that major a gift? She was already running and lifting until she dropped—maybe I should let her actually rest in her dreams.
Seeing her life reduced to an endless loop of exercise and studying made me itch to secure her that Outing Pass.
Whether I let her rest in the lucid dream or made her train, I had another month to decide.
Han Ye-ji's sickly younger brother had gotten some kind of medication through Incarnation support and finished his hospital stay, but he was still family. She worried. The Academy sat on a massive island in the center of the continent, and with mandatory dormitory housing, she couldn't visit him without an Outing Pass.
"Confirmed, Constellation. That makes ten infractions. Shall I deliver the Outing Pass to Incarnation Han Ye-ji?"
[The Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare, affirms.]
Sometimes the filter worked in my favor. I could fire off a single lazy character and it still made me sound polite. The instructors were so used to my frequent messages that they checked the notifications and signed the paperwork like it was routine.
Apparently most Constellations with a single first Incarnation got bored and chatted up the Academy instructors. Made sense. Pestering your own Incarnation while she was trying to study was less fun and less useful than messing with instructors who actually knew things. The drill-sergeant types weren't the only instructors on this island.
"Incarnation Han Ye-ji. Excellent record. Not a single absence from basic conditioning all month. She's a high schooler, but she hasn't lost a single participation point even in the tedious courses like legal studies."
[The Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare, boasts of its first Incarnation.]
"Indeed. She has the makings of someone who'll go far. Even if she never reaches the frontlines, she'll adapt to wherever she lands."
A single island. Calling it an "island" was underselling it—the place easily surpassed a full city in size. Every square meter was packed with lecture halls, training grounds, athletic fields, and cutting-edge facilities. The product of boundless investment poured into Incarnations from all four continents.
Monsters breaching inland from beyond the continents. Monsters clawing through the sky itself. Incarnations who'd betrayed humanity. No matter how peaceful the interior got, this world had been fighting a nonstop war ever since Constellations, Incarnations, and monsters first appeared.
Any politician who dared suggest cutting Incarnation funding? Inside a month, they'd be stripped of office and strung up by a mob of fanatics. Or found with a knife in their back in some back alley.
An Academy that vast meant more instructors than anyone could memorize. And more people meant a broad spectrum of personalities. Naturally, some instructors were fiercely devoted to Incarnations and Constellations.
"I'll issue the Outing Pass immediately."
The instructor I was speaking with right now was a textbook case. A woman who'd never become an Incarnation herself, but who'd chosen respect and reverence over jealousy. The type who showed zero mercy to rule-breaking Incarnations—like the couples I kept discovering—but bent over backward to accommodate a model cadet like Han Ye-ji.
Some might call her an unpleasant instructor who abused her authority through favoritism. To me, she was simply a kind instructor who discreetly helped Han Ye-ji.
"Cadet Han Ye-ji, halt your run!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
As Han Ye-ji peeled away from the shadeless training field, a few heads turned with naked envy. Incarnations whose Constellations paid them little attention, probably.
"Ten bonus-point infractions accumulated. You've earned an Outing Pass. Not many cadets receive one within a single month. Quick work."
"Thank you!"
"Direct your thanks to your Constellation. Submit this paperwork to the August administration office and they'll issue the pass. Go now."
"Understood!"
"One more thing—the office is staffed by civilian administrators in addition to instructors. You reek of sweat. Shower and change into fresh clothes before you go."
"Understood!"
It wasn't even 11 a.m., but the cadets who'd been running laps for over an hour on the shadeless field were half-collapsed, gasping. The leering, lusty-eyed women who'd initially ogled the men in gym clothes were now reduced to slow, shuffling laps, drool and sweat running down their chins in equal measure.
Han Ye-ji had just been ordered to stop her run thirty minutes early and was headed for a shower. The jealous stares practically burned the back of her neck. Once she washed up and handed in the paperwork, it'd be lunchtime—she'd hit the cafeteria fresh and comfortable before anyone else.
'Smooth. Really smooth.'
Most of the cadets, too busy flailing sweat-drenched through their laps, never noticed the subtle favor. Only the sharp ones tracked Han Ye-ji with gazes sharpened by envy and resentment.
The Academy might be high-class and enormous, but when it came to shared facilities, being first mattered. Han Ye-ji had clearly grown attuned to these small kindnesses over the past month—she was always especially courteous and respectful around this instructor.
A few Incarnations got swelled heads from their status. You'd see them huddled in threes and fives, badmouthing people behind their backs—not an uncommon sight around campus. But outright mouthing off to an instructor? Never.
Then again, a month ago most of them had been students or regular working people. Now they were running hour-plus laps. They probably needed someone to curse at. Not that an Incarnation would ever curse their own Constellation.
And yet: the Academy had indoor gyms, but physical conditioning ran from 10 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. under the blazing sun, followed by legal classes starting at 1 p.m., right after a full lunch. I could practically taste the malice baked into that schedule. Extended running, a shower, a mandatory overstuffed meal for "nutrition," then dense legal studies. Looked like a timetable designed to knock someone unconscious. Han Ye-ji wasn't the only one who'd lost the battle against post-lunch drowsiness in legal studies more than once. The penalty points she'd earned? The instructor had quietly erased them.
When another cadet dozed off, it was a disciplinary issue. When Han Ye-ji did it, it was "proof of hard work in conditioning." The other Incarnations had no way of knowing the difference. The dozing was being recorded—it simply never turned into an actual penalty. The instructors rotated, so some points stuck regardless, but I could cover whatever was left just by patrolling the Academy. And honestly, I had no intention of giving a high schooler grief for nodding off after lunch.
Han Ye-ji trudged off the field, stopped by the dormitory to grab a change of clothes and her toiletries, then headed for the communal showers.
The campus's sprawling, comfortable layout meant pleasant facilities—at the cost of ten-minute walks just to get from the training field to the dorms, and from the dorms to the showers. But everyone else was still trudging sweaty laps around the field, so what did it matter? They'd all hit the dorms, shower, and head to the cafeteria later too. Instructors were stationed in the mess hall as well; anyone who showed up unwashed would get an earful.
While I idly mulled this over, Han Ye-ji collected her change of clothes and headed for the communal shower.
It was a shared facility—no soaking tubs—but the scale rivaled a large public bathhouse. The interior was so cavernous that even walking to the far end looked like a chore. Han Ye-ji peeled off her clothes with brisk efficiency and strode inside. She didn't bother shielding herself with a towel or even seem to register that I might be watching. Walked in with perfect confidence. Maybe in this world, women were used to the idea of being the ones peeking into the men's baths.
She pulled out her hair tie, and her sweat-soaked hair slapped damply against her shoulders as she walked. Her breasts swayed pleasantly with the motion—a proportionate size for her tall, roughly 170cm frame. That confident stride could've passed for a model's runway walk. Sun-kissed skin that lent her the look of a healthy, radiant beauty. A naked female body impossible to look away from.
Ridiculously enough, though, what I found most captivating wasn't the sight of a beautiful woman's sweat-sheened nude figure. It was watching her stand under a shower of steaming-hot water in the middle of summer.
This body ate without ever needing to excrete. Food residue and filth simply vanished when I slept. I lived in a single room with no bath, no toilet. They say lying down makes you want to sit, and sitting makes you want to lie down. I was slowly, helplessly, falling in love with the texture of a human life.