The Summoner of ■■ (63)

“Nngh… Haaah~”

Shirogane Rui stretched with pure, unfiltered pleasure, her languid voice carrying just far enough to draw every nearby gaze without her even noticing. Most of those stares belonged to men—no surprise there. And the moment their eyes slid from her to me standing right beside her, the pink-tinted fantasies practically wrote themselves.

I leveled a frigid look at the pathetic lot. Instantly they flinched like thieves whose feet had gone numb, hastily looking anywhere else. The sight was almost funny.

“Hehe, Shinwoo-dongsaeng, are you looking out for me?”

Apparently my glare had looked like protection to her. Rui drifted closer with a dopey, melted smile, so I flicked her squarely on the forehead.

Thwack!

“Uwek…”

The exaggerated, thoroughly unladylike reaction finally dragged the last lingering stares away for good.

“Stop clowning around and get ready.”

Today was Friday—the day of the Cooperation exam—and we were already gathered in Arena One. After leaving the dungeon where I’d taught her the Flame of Tranquility, we’d cleared seven more dungeons over the next three days. Both of us had obligations, so we avoided anything as brutal as that first B-rank, but I still picked places tough enough to push her. A few were deliberately fire-immune; Rui’s face had looked like death each time, yet her skill had climbed without question.

I hadn’t been idle either. As the eldest daughter of a self-sufficient organization, she was used to every kind of weapon. She wasn’t a pure specialist, but her fundamentals were rock-solid—plenty for me to steal. No formal school, just the practical knowledge of someone who understood weapons so she could forge them. Still more polished than my own brute-force approach.

Thus began the proper lessons in weapon handling. The main focus was the shield. Until now I’d only ever made ones as big as my body or larger. Shadow constructs weighed nothing, and dumping mana into them made them absurdly tough. I’d ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠used them as platforms or swung them like blunt weapons, but that was just “using an object,” not true shield technique. Since Shield was its own skill category under Weapon Arts, every new application meant more options in a fight. From bucklers I could hold one-handed to tower shields meant for two, my shadows could form anything. Under Rui’s guidance I cycled through as many types as possible—deflecting and countering, using the shield as cover to shrink an enemy’s vision and force them into impatience. Those tactics would serve my summons just as well as me. After shields came the versatile sidearms: daggers, one-handed swords, greatswords, and even the spear techniques that had been stuck at low level. Having a living manual beat thrashing around alone any day.

On the surface the dungeon runs were about getting Rui comfortable with the Flame of Tranquility and polishing my weapon skills. Underneath, I was expanding my summonable roster. My job level had hit 35 and the maximum number of summons had jumped from eight to nine—something I’d thought was capped forever. After endless deliberation I decided I wasn’t missing anything critical right now, so I simply stockpiled options. The result looked like this:

Because I’d deliberately hunted for new entries, the list that had stagnated after Automaton had ballooned to twenty, and plenty of the old slots had gained extra subtypes. More options meant I could summon whatever the situation demanded later. Or I could just call up subordinates for Comet. Either way, time would only keep expanding my choices—net gain for me. The chronic bottleneck of the Book of Combination could now be patched by filling other slots, so I felt freer than ever. Most of my immediate questions were settled. The only remaining mystery was the still-garbled first character of my job title, and time would handle that too.

I closed my eyes. Same number of people, same arena, yet the atmosphere was nothing like the first day. Everyone was heavier, more focused, running final checks for the exam ahead. Even the densest first-years had spent three days rubbing shoulders with third-years and felt the gap in their bones; a little growth had stuck. That quiet, ready-to-ignite tension reminded me of my previous life and, against my will, put me at ease. The thought drew a bitter smile. Finding comfort in an atmosphere stretched tight enough to snap—yeah, I was pretty thoroughly broken.

“…It’s starting.”

Rui’s voice opened my eyes. The faculty began descending from the platform one by one—except Hong Su-ah, who remained in place.

“We will now commence the Cooperation exam, running until five this afternoon.”

No introductions, no drawn-out explanations. Just take your positions and do the job. Zero wasted time—exactly how I liked it.

“You will have two opportunities to enter a virtual dungeon. The higher of the two scores will be recorded as your final result. Note that you cannot re-enter a dungeon you have already cleared, and failing to attempt even once within the time limit means zero points for that portion. Keep that firmly in mind.”

As the teachers took up stations in front of each dungeon, holographic group rosters listing every student’s name filled the air.

Ziiing!!

Virtual dungeon gates bloomed open in response. Students steeled themselves in their own ways.

“For reference, everything that happens inside will be broadcast live on the holograms in front of each dungeon and later used as teaching material for first-year classes.”

I snorted. In other words, today’s exam would become tomorrow’s free lesson. Not pure freeloading—they’d edit the footage into “what to do” and “what never to do” reels. If my guess was right, they’d also throw in recordings of graduated Awakened clearing real dungeons so the gap between student and professional hit like a brick. Extension of the current curriculum, really. Not just to crush morale, but to plant the hope that academy training could get them there too. With the upcoming external practicum in mind, it made sense. Officially ranked F through S, every student still standing at Sunrise Academy was already talented enough to walk into almost any guild outside. Drawing a clear line now—showing that higher class ranks existed for a reason—was the point. Accept it and find a way forward, or keep denying it and fall behind… the choice was theirs. Personally I preferred the ones who refused to quit, who clawed forward through mud and blood while rejecting everything. Rough, maybe, but never dirty.

In my previous life, no amount of thrashing could break the limits of a single organism. Faced with absolute despair, people abandoned their humanity and became beasts wearing human skins, obedient to instinct and desire. So I hunted every living thing—every “beast”—and killed them. Faceless researchers whose names I never learned had remade my body for exactly that purpose. Why me? No idea. Their creation just happened to mesh with me; call it a lucky lab-rat success. Built to protect “humanity” in a ruined world, I woke to find every human already dead—yet the programming still forced me to slaughter. I didn’t like it, but the brain they’d tinkered with moved my limbs anyway. Kill, kill, kill again. When nothing left on the planet could be called human, I finally stopped. Calling myself “human” felt like a joke, so the purposeless machine simply powered down, letting the body die by inches.

I opened eyes I hadn’t realized were shut and exhaled slowly. Not the dry, ashen air of a dead world. The scentless, perfectly conditioned atmosphere of a clean-room kept optimal by purification arrays.

…This world is different.

Here, effort alone could achieve anything. Mana—the nonstandard mystery—existed, so in theory even a god’s throne was within reach. Compare it to a game: the world had been built on a well-designed game system. Games exist so people can escape a bitterly cold reality and do the impossible. Characters level fast, accomplish what the player never could, become anything. Pour in time and care and you can stand at the peak of any field. Hilarious, really. I’d chosen games to flee an unfair reality, and now the game had become reality. The impact was enormous; the chaos that followed was inevitable. Comedy from afar, tragedy up close—wasn’t that the saying? To me both lives were equally fucked. At least this one still showed a path. Choosing the lesser evil over the worst didn’t make it good, though. I was still holding my breath, watching the ticking bomb in my chest and waiting for the detonation.

Honestly I didn’t want any of these tangled thoughts. I just wanted to rest—no thinking, no worrying, pure ease.

“Shinwoo-dongsaeng, are you nervous?”

The voice cut through my reverie. In front of me stood a woman whose hair was the color of iron heated white-hot rather than leftover ash. Every time she waved a hand before my face, those white strands swayed and a heavy yet clean scent of fire rolled over me. Smelling fire on a person was absurd, yet that very absurdity made the existence of gods feel more plausible.

“You okay? Want to go a little later?”

“…I’m tired. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Mmm, usually the proper move is to rest a bit first~”

She kept pushing rest on me. I sighed and twisted my mouth.

“You’re the one actually nervous, sunbae.”

“Come on, I’ve done this a hundred times.”

Bump~

Same as always—she laughed with that sly, easy grin and bumped her shoulder into mine. Not hard; the casual nudge of longtime friends. Problem was we weren’t that close, and she was the one unilaterally deciding we were. Ever since I’d taught her the Flame of Tranquility, she’d been closing the distance. Day one had been a blur, but from day two she’d started asking what foods I liked or hated; by day three she was cooking based on those answers—unsolicited, unwanted. Layer by layer it had become the current distance: not quite annoying yet, but one step further and it would tip into pure hassle. She walked that tightrope with uncanny skill.

“I just… want to stay with my dongsaeng a little longer? Hehe.”

A completely unadorned, clear smile turned toward me. I had nothing to say, so I ignored her and headed for the virtual dungeon.

“…Tch.”

The soft click of her tongue behind me got the same treatment.

I really can’t figure her out.

If it were all an act to snatch a useful talent, I could ignore her or freeze her out. But the goodwill was pure, uncalculated—and that made it infinitely more annoying. Kang So-seon was the same. After everything I’d put them through, normal people would hate me the way Luicia did, or at least find me exhausting. Instead they stuck close. The open affection was so strong I half-wondered if they were just wired that way; it felt like indigestion mid-meal. Hostility and murderous intent were far more comfortable. Businesslike goodwill and genuine fondness were completely different animals. Clean, cut-and-dry professional relationships were best. Sticky, tangled ones made my skin crawl. “Affinity” was the last word that belonged near me. No fate, as the saying went. Getting tangled in those thick emotions only brought misery. Lee Se-rin was more than enough of that particular headache.

There are other reasons too.

I fundamentally did not trust people. Coming to this world had only made it worse. This place was a game board laid out by a god. A scenario starring Ban Taewung as the protagonist was already written, and the world moved accordingly. An existence with the power to turn the entire world into a one-man play could easily tug the hearts of a few extras. Not omniscient, not omnipotent, but close enough that the difference didn’t matter. Admit what must be admitted quickly, or the countermeasures come too late. What if the god, tired of me constantly rocking the board and baring my teeth, had decided to leash or eliminate me by manipulating these girls—risk and all? That paranoid whisper cooled my heart even further. If someone asked whether I was being self-important, whether I was worth that much trouble, I would nod without hesitation. From a god’s perspective the ideal ending was for the protagonist Ban Taewung to finish me off. That was probably why I’d been dragged here in the first place. The forced direction of my unique class, the deliberate attempt to nerf my combat power at the second job change—half the proof was already there. Right now I was dodging those moves and even nudging Taewung toward open rebellion against the god. And suddenly incidents had started popping up one after another—not the usual protagonist-boosting events, but sharper, more edged accidents. In short, I was becoming an eyesore for twisting the prepared script. Which only deepened the question: who exactly had interfered with the system through the Book of Summoning? No one in this world could answer. I knew that instinctively. I also knew, just as instinctively, how to find the answer. The still-broken, undefined first character of my job title. The moment it filled in, maybe a little of the mystery would clear. Vague hope, uncharacteristic of me—yet somehow exactly like me. Honestly I could barely remember what my original personality even was. My head understood, but my body refused to express it. Maybe that was why I kept people at arm’s length: no one knew better than I did how thoroughly broken I was. They approached on their own, then left disappointed on their own, and my mood inevitably soured in the process. So I rejected them from the start. Skip the process, leave only the result. Perfectly rational.

Murmurs rose as I stepped in front of a dungeon. No one had dared go first; everyone was still testing the waters. Me walking up like I owned the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠place naturally caused a stir.

“Challenging?”

The middle-aged teacher stationed at the gate asked. I nodded calmly. Even after confirming my answer he kept glancing past me at Rui, who had hurried up behind. She answered with her usual sunny smile and cycled mana through her gauntlets, making her intent to fight crystal clear. Being asked again after I’d already answered grated a little, but double-checking on-site was important procedure. I could let it slide—if that was all it was. From ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first moment this teacher had looked at me, he’d radiated reluctance. He hadn’t flaunted it, but he hadn’t bothered hiding it either. I wasn’t stupid enough to miss the subtext: What can a nobody like you even do? I’d simply chosen not to get involved.

“Team 157E… Cadet Jang Sinwoo and Cadet Shirogane Rui are cleared for entry. Once more: from the moment you step inside, every situation the two of you face will be recorded. Keep that in mind.”

The last sentence ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠carried an edge, and he was staring straight at me while he said it. The hostility was thick enough for the surrounding students to feel. At that point even I was speechless. What exactly had I done wrong? More importantly, what was this man relying on to act like this? Had the bad reputation Cheon Jang-mi deliberately spread reached his ears? …It felt like more than that. If an academy teacher was listening to baseless rumors, he was already finished. Most of the faculty already knew I was nothing like the gossip.

…Endure.

Three counts of patience spare a murder. Even Hong Su-ah had eventually snapped, and this guy was only at one. Still, I burned his face and mana signature into memory. While the atmosphere was chaotic I slipped a Hive fragment through the lengthening shadows. Preparations complete. The mood around us had gone to hell, but that was a separate issue.

From the start I’d planned to half-ass this run. We’d agreed on it while clearing dungeons. Rui wanted registration at the Grand Library, not the prize. I was curious how far her genius-level fire potential could push the Flame of Tranquility at full power, but more than that I hated standing out. This dungeon’s spotlight belonged to Shirogane Rui. Only then would the faculty’s eyes light up at the “flame that devours heat.” Even if I did nothing flashy on the first attempt, no one would question it—only the higher of two scores counted. Let a top-tier third-year show her full strength, roughly gauge the dungeon’s difficulty, open the floodgates of challenges, gather intel, then go again. Maximum use of the time limit and the exam’s own rules. Sneaky, maybe, but a valid strategy. Moving with even a little information and a plan was safer and easier than charging in blind. Of course that assumed a second attempt. We wouldn’t be making one. As I’d said, the prize meant little to us, and Rui needed to leave a stronger impression on the teachers to achieve her goal. That had been the entire plan. Nothing against the rules, nothing dishonest—just using what was given. Without this little incident I could have cleared the dungeon in peace, dumped the later technique demonstration entirely on Rui, legally skipped class, and enjoyed a quiet weekend.

My mood is thoroughly fucked.

But things had twisted, and my temper had plummeted. After circling the same thoughts I finally had to ask myself: how long was I going to keep watching from one step behind even in something this trivial? Was I still so weak that I needed caution for a mere academy exam? No. Then was it fear of other people’s eyes? Were my summons so lacking that a little attention would let rumors spread and get me figured out? No. Not anymore. Months of living tighter and denser than anyone else had given me the right to say so. Arrogance and confidence looked similar but weren’t the same. Was I being arrogant right now? No—I was still watching the stronger monsters of this insane world, still hiding my power and curling up just in case. I hadn’t cared about reputation; I’d focused solely on honing myself. That wouldn’t change, and growth would never stop. Therefore the answer: what did I gain by enduring and sticking to the original plan? Something. What about the opposite? Probably more loss than gain—acting on emotion had almost never ended well. So I asked myself one more time. Did I need to endure?

“…Ha.”

A hollow laugh. They say when a person gets angry enough they start laughing; that was exactly it. I knew I was heating up. Still, the foul mood wouldn’t leave. Stress had already been bubbling for days, and this teacher’s attitude had shoved it past the boiling point. Not even worth answering. Without a word I stepped into the artificial dungeon.