What an Academy Really Is

“Ah.”

The sudden system messages shattered my concentration. The heart that had still been twitching weakly until a moment ago went completely still. I grabbed it and forced it to pump by hand, but there was no sign of improvement.

I had no choice but to stand and dismantle the shadow as if flinging it off; blood sprayed everywhere with a wet patter. A faint metallic scent clung to the air, but if I could have fixed even that, I would have been so all-powerful it would have felt wrong.

I dismissed the flood of system messages that had appeared before my eyes, then gathered them separately to sort through later.

First came the dungeon clear rewards.

“It was supposed to give an item that lets you learn a skill, right?”

I opened my device and checked. Correct.

Clear the Gladiator’s Arena in a single run without the Loser’s Brand, and the reward is a medal called Proof of Victory – Joy. Using it grants the skill Show of Victory, which guarantees recovery of one-third of the mana and stamina spent to defeat an enemy.

For reference, if you take down the champion while carrying the Loser’s Brand, you get Proof of Overcoming – Cheers instead. That one grants Fruit of Effort, which can be activated for only three hours a day and doubles the efficiency of all proficiency gains during that time.

Either skill is something every student who graduates the academy properly is expected to have; simply possessing them is enough to be treated as an honor student.

Especially Show of Victory. That one’s broken as hell.

A popular game from my past life had a similar trait, but this world didn’t need to worry about balance, so it simply restored a fixed one-third of what you spent.

I would have liked Fruit of Effort as well, but unfortunately event-type dungeons, unlike quest-type ones that let you farm rewards repeatedly, only give their reward once. After that, never again.

If you asked why, I had no answer. The gods designed it that way; complaining to me wouldn’t change a thing.

My personal guess was that the rewards were simply too broken, so they locked them to prevent farming. Looking at it that way, maybe the gods weren’t completely brainless… no. Even if a bastard has a brain in one area, a bastard is still a bastard.

I put off claiming the reward for a moment while I checked the windows, and my eyes went round.

“Huh?”

What the hell. The text was different from what I’d just read. Event dungeons had hidden conditions too? No—that wasn’t the important part.

“What happened to the original reward?”

My combat style burned through mana like crazy, so I’d been counting on Show of Victory. The system message that casually crushed that hope into dust got a cold glare, but the letters didn’t change.

Hidden rewards weren’t automatically good. If I ended up with a skill that clashed completely with my style, what then? The name alone sounded shady; I might even pick up a penalty. With no idea what was coming next, I had zero interest in taking on extra risk.

Selling it would only invite trouble. If some weirdos marked me and my family got targeted by assassins, I’d be pissed beyond belief. Keeping it was the only option.

“No way to just leave without claiming it… right?”

A sigh slipped out. Dwelling on what had already happened was pure time-wasting. I shoved the ugly reward window aside and decided to check my longest status window last, starting with the Hive and the rest.

First, Hive.

Solid growth. Having them solidly covering my back meant they gave the most direct help in combat, no exaggeration. I dumped the level-up points into Intelligence, bringing it to 17.

I confirmed Hive’s final status and locked in the point changes. Next was Growl.

He’d been a direct help against the boss, but soloing those giant orcs had clearly done most of the work. Skills rose across the board and he gained two whole levels.

Remembering how important Intelligence was thanks to Kallion, I put one point each into Dexterity and Intelligence.

Same as with Hive, I confirmed Growl’s final status and locked the points.

Next was the long-awaited youngest—Kallion, who’d been run ragged in this dungeon.

“Close.”

Given how hard he’d worked, his skills and levels had risen the most, but he still hadn’t hit the evolution threshold of level 10. Even so, a goblin dungeon would get him there in no time. Once he hit 10 I could check whether that temper of his had finally improved.

Following the training plan I’d set from the start, I dumped every free point into Intelligence and locked it in. Looking at how much higher that Intelligence number had climbed since the beginning made my chest swell with satisfaction.

“Last one is me, huh.”

Just looking at the parade of system lines already made my head hurt. Still had to check them.

Main class first. Whether leftover experience from last time or my high contribution this run, it jumped twice.

New skills, mostly the ones I’d used heavily in this fight.

“Shield and Parrying make sense, but Throwing?”

Did batting something away with a staff count as Throwing? I still wasn’t sure where the boundaries were. Something to test properly later.

Next came the level-ups on existing skills. I’d used so many this fight that the list was the longest yet.

“…Disgustingly long.”

Even after I cut it short halfway, the system parade stretched out like a receipt from a day of overspending, making my eyes dry. Having so many skills meant checking them all at once had this downside. What stood out most was how hard Sadism and Torture had climbed—two or three levels each while everything else only managed one. That alone made the list longer.

And this was after stripping out all the weapon skills. It would be nice if the system merged duplicates, but the gods’ laziness made murderous intent rise unbidden.

“Next.”

Long. And a lot. Even the newly acquired Shield had leveled from how much I’d used it. That was everything for skills.

I dumped every point from the Summoner level-ups into Intelligence. My skill set had already pushed Dexterity high, so I decided to match Intelligence. That took the old 39 up to 41.

For now I’d aim to get both main stats to 50. The temporary boost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from Sadism had given me a title that vanished the moment the stats dropped again. I never even got to check what it did before it disappeared, and that left me curious.

Looking at the finalized status window, I let out a sigh—half the satisfaction of finally cleaning a long-neglected room, half the absurdity of how much had piled up.

At the same time, worry crept in about whether this was enough to handle the chaos that woman had mentioned.

Anything involving the protagonist meant the small fry would never survive. I needed a plan that factored in Ban Taewung’s skill from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the duel, the heroines’ support, and the combat power of everyone stationed at the academy.

“…Time really is the problem, isn’t it.”

The device showed it was already past six.

Even with a permit, all dungeon activity was banned after seven unless there was a special class, so heading out now wouldn’t get me into a goblin dungeon.

Dorm curfew was eight. Even if I killed time with training, there was nothing more I could do here.

Solo practice was fine, but I was the type who believed real growth came from fierce actual combat. Sitting alone in a training ground felt like pure waste.

“…No choice.”

That was it for today. I let the tension drain from my body like flipping a switch, and the sharp muscle pain from overworking myself immediately made itself known. Yeah—what more was I going to do here? Just eat a big meal and sleep.

Day four—originally day three by academy rules—was when the inter-class matches happened.

Unlike S-Class, which had only one class, A-Class was split into two and B-Class into three. The lower you went, the more students there were, so they divided them accordingly. That was also why the number of instructors increased the further down you went.

Checking the rankings, a huge number of students had already been expelled; the original 7,800 or so had dropped to around 6,900. Nearly a thousand people gone in just three days. What the hell had happened?

Even accounting for dropouts among second- and third-years, the number was ridiculous.

They should have filtered them from the start. Why let so many in if this was going to happen?

I couldn’t understand why that damn doctrine made them drag the process out over a whole week. Maybe it was just my efficiency-obsessed personality talking, but I had no interest in the usual lies about “giving opportunities” or “finding hidden gems.”

Promising talent shows itself even as a sprout. Even if it’s hidden. So wasting emotion or brainpower on this nonsense felt beneath me.

In the end I was just pissed. Fuck this academy. If the protagonist weren’t involved, I wouldn’t have given this nest of trouble a second glance.

Nothing but problems stacked on problems.

Kids who still had milk on their breath got called geniuses, strutted around like they owned the sky, and ended up gathered here. When a bunch of self-important brats clashed, of course incidents never stopped.

In my eyes it was less an academy and more a sorting facility.

They weeded out the trash early, collected the mediocre ones, re-educated the ones who strayed just enough, and turned them into useful workers. Meanwhile they hyped the truly exceptional ones to the world as living advertisements, and everyone happily sent more fresh meat into the sorting facility.

A self-sustaining cycle so efficient it made perpetual motion look lazy.

It only worked because the results justified it. If I ever raised a kid, I would never send them to a madhouse like this.

Of course, if that kid insisted on walking into hell on their own two feet, I’d help them. As a parent I’d at least make sure they didn’t burn to death in some ditch and leave me with a body-identification call.

That future only existed if I got married, though.

In a world where taking care of myself was already hard enough, the odds of spending my whole life catering to someone else’s moods were vanishingly small. Most people would bail on my shitty personality long before that, anyway.

Ah—so that was why the slightly unhinged ones kept latching on. I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shook my head hard and sighed. What the hell was I even thinking about? This was just hunger making me irritable.

Time to eat and sleep already.

“Clear.”

The system message arrived and a black notebook appeared in my grip. I blinked, and the air thick with the stench of blood was gone. The sky had already passed sunset and was turning pitch black.

I slipped the notebook into the inner pocket of my coat and dismissed Hive and the others.

“…Maybe I’ll eat out.”

My head was a mess, so I wanted something cold and refreshing for the first time in a while.

The academy cafeteria only offered free choice at lunch; dinner was a buffet with a rotating daily menu, so there was no guarantee they’d have what I wanted.

A meat restaurant would at least sell cold noodles, right? There was still time before curfew. I pulled out my device, searched for nearby meat places, and started walking.

Even at this hour the corridors were packed. Probably other students who’d pushed the time limit in dungeons and were finally heading back.

After-school dungeon access only opened after the freshman welcome party, so everyone here had to be second- or third-years.

The only exceptions would be the five top freshmen selected at the end of the week-long welcome events Hong Su-ah had explained. If you formed a party you could bring up to six people including one of them, so those five were probably going to become hot commodities for people looking for that loophole.

The fastest, surest way to get stronger was still hunting enemies in dungeons, after all.

Everyone else had to spend three full weeks on education before they could enter. In this world three weeks was enough time to flatten a mountain and put up a skyscraper, so anyone who wasn’t a complete idiot would throw everything into getting dungeon access.

I was doing the same thing right now just to close that gap.

Thud.

“Ow!”

“?”

I was weaving through the crowd when someone clipped my shoulder. It wasn’t even a hard hit, but they made a big show of it to draw every eye nearby.

It wasn’t that crowded—why walk that close? I looked up and met the eyes of a guy I’d never seen before.

His face was blank, yet somehow it felt like he was sneering. The red necktie marked him as a second-year. Did he really have nothing better to do?

Snicker, snicker.

Soft laughter floated from the side, just loud enough to hear. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t notice.

This was a provocation. I flicked a glance toward the sound and saw two more second-year guys clustered together, whispering. Ugh—guys whispering in each other’s ears. Gross.

“These days freshmen bump into seniors and don’t even apologize?”

The guy spoke as if snatching my attention back. I lifted my head. The sword at his waist said swordsman; we were about the same height. The muscles under his clothes didn’t look impressive either.

Overall verdict: this is what makes a living swinging a sword? That level. Even without my summons, I was confident I could drop him. I hadn’t trained in swordsmanship, and I still knew it.

Looking at him, I finally understood. Hanging around too many monsters had raised my standards too high. Then again, trash like this existing was exactly why a thousand people vanished in under a week.

“…What’s with that look?”

I didn’t answer and didn’t look away. That must have pissed him off; his brow furrowed hard and he took a step closer.

He probably thought that slightly fierce face of his meant something. This world was basically a martial arts novel—you never judged someone by appearance alone.

By that measure the guy in front of me looked all surface and zero substance. Generously D-rank, more likely E-rank, an extra among extras who would die in some ditch.

The academy really was the problem. If they just tossed out that Church of the Radiant Sun “equality of first opportunity” nonsense, garbage like this would disappear.

No—this whole world was insane. The only reason a guy like him could swagger so openly was because the status window guaranteed him some hidden trump card. He believed in it, and outside he’d been treated as some local elite, so of course he got full of himself.

These leftovers surviving was what created the shitty atmosphere the masterminds loved to exploit. Completely useless. The bastard in front of me looked even more irritating.

“Whoa, you wanna get hit?”

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

He wasn’t actually asking for a punch—he was just shoving his face into mine like he was begging for one.

“…Haa.”

A sigh escaped before I could stop it. His expression stiffened and I felt his fist clench.

Gulp.

He actually swallowed, throat bobbing, like he was nervous I might really hit him. The corner of his mouth was trembling so faintly you wouldn’t notice without looking. Higher Dexterity and the skill Observation made sure I saw it whether I wanted to or not.

Classic disposable pawn. The perfect probe character you use once and throw away. Most of the ones they’d thrown at Ban Taewung to teach him the world’s bitterness had looked exactly like this.

Pathetic.

Even getting involved with someone like him felt like it lowered my level. If he was going to chicken out, why start shit in the first place? Did he have some anger-management disorder?

Some of us were doing every ridiculous thing possible to prepare for dangers that might come. This carefree bastard couldn’t even be satisfied with his own bowl and was eyeing other people’s.

I was just tired. Part of me wanted to smash the skull of this clueless idiot without thinking, but flipping the switch I’d just turned off was too much of a hassle.

More than that, the fact that I was even getting provoked by trash like this hit me with a heavy wave of existential exhaustion.

As the heat left my eyes, faint anxiety flickered in his. Things weren’t going the way he’d planned, and it was starting to scare him.

…Yeah. Getting worked up over small fry only hurt me.

“W-what are you—”

I ignored the guy stammering and hovering in front of me and just walked past. The two who’d been watching from behind joined in, yapping about how rude I was and how I must be scared. I ignored them completely.

What a way to kill an appetite. Fuck.