Bread Academy's Flat Rejection
Academy entrance exams are always a bit much. Sometimes, games or movies push the settings too far—beyond the realm of normalcy. That kind of exaggeration sparks curiosity and interest in the creation, drawing people in. But when it goes too far, it can be a problem. Take this world's academy, Bread Academy, for example.
"A princess can't enroll because her mana reserves are too small? C-cup or below barred from entry? It's brutally cruel to girls!"
This entrance rule spares no one's status. You could argue it's perfectly equal—applied fairly to every 17-year-old girl regardless of birth. But growth varies from person to person. Genetics. Environment. Talent. Mana. A complex interplay of factors shapes how much one develops by age 17. The minimum mana capacity requirement is thus the basic hurdle—and the tallest wall—for any girl eyeing the academy.
For nobles, the wealthy elite, the so-called "upper crust," it's a dire crisis. The moment a daughter is born, they fret over boosting her mana. Fine foods from childhood are a given, but they pull out all the stops to maximize her mana blessings during puberty.
'That's why strawberry milk floods the continent.' Legend has it that strawberry milk grants a mana-blessed body. The elite cling to even such folklore, deploying every trick to pump up their daughters' mana.
Clear that baseline? The rest is easy—custom tutoring via power or money to scrape by on the exam. C-rank. Fail even that? The world is cruel and merciless.
"Not even qualified to apply? And you're my daughter?"
"D-Dad! It's not like that! N-Next year, I'll grow more! Definitely!"
"Fine. We'll see next year."
For those who don't hit C-rank by 17, hell unfolds. Like a high schooler bombing college entrance exams and opting for a gap year, the pressure mounts until retakes feel like do-or-die. The silver lining? Chances extend past 17—once at 18, once at 19. As the saying goes, three chances and even murder might be forgiven. Esdinas Academy grants girls three years to try.
Enroll at 18 or 19, and do you jump grades? No. Like repeaters starting freshman year, they begin at year one. Graduation comes later than the 20-year-old norm, but entry into the academy's elite circles—the heart of the continent's future—is what counts.
Miss all three shots? You're discarded.
"A measly A-rank at 19, your final chance? You're a disgrace to the family. Get out."
"Dad! Mom! Please...!"
Kicked from home is standard. Then:
"A woman who couldn't even enter the academy? Marriage won't be easy. Luckily, a baron in his forties I know just divorced and seeks a second wife..."
Shunned in the marriage market, too.
"Shall we adopt? Saw a farmgirl's granddaughter in the rural village recently—G-rank at least, not C."
"No. People will talk if we adopt. Better to swap her out. That girl's better off as our daughter."
"Sounds good."
Some even swapped spots with rural girls who barely met the bar. Those displaced had nowhere left but the Binyu Group. Bread Academy's rules birthed these villains—a society that dooms girls from youth, fueling adult revenge fantasies. Yet even they have a glimmer of salvation.
'This is it.'
Whoosh.
I channel mana into Unia's body. Not the incendiary blue flame attribute, but the purest, gentlest non-attribute mana. A perk and authority exclusive to the protagonist in the game. But since it's a "technique," I mastered it in hell, studying with Chang Yeom and the seven archdukes.
'I can feel it.'
The mana flows through Unia's body, detecting accumulated toxins everywhere.
'Contaminated mana.'
Ever heard of detoxes, detox juices, flushing waste? Mana's the same. The body absorbs various mana types, and growth depends on the mix.
Sizzle.
Something in Unia's body dissipates—not audibly, but my mana adsorbs the contaminants and draws them out as gas. Ironically, to extract absorbed mana, you must reach toward the spot—but...
"......"
Unia sleeps deeply, head on my shoulder, breathing softly.
'First stop at the academy: the infirmary.'
Mana detox needs proper facilities. Right now, I'm pulling trace gaseous contaminants, but later forms will require specialized handling.
Fizzle.
The tainted mana fades from her body. In game terms, this boosts her total usable mana. Clumps of "heavenly mana" respond to mine, getting extracted as her own mana circulates freely into the voids.
'Does the world know? The Binyu Group's stunted growth stems from the curse of their goddess.'
Bread Academy's setup traces to its four heroic founders and dean. But the mana drought? That dives into the world's hidden lore. We'll unpack that when there's more time.
'Focus.'
Now, purge the unusable "contaminated mana." It boosts vitality, mana efficiency, and capacity—letting her wield more at once naturally expands her reserves.
In short, hypnosis therapy plumps them up.
* * *
She dreams.
A familiar scene from afar: a rural village so remote, even knights rarely visit, monsters oblivious to its existence.
"Unia. Even in the city, don't forget me. Got it?"
In the dream, Unia recalls her closest village friend.
How could I forget? She wanted to say it, but words wouldn't come.
"Even if you meet Grandma's 'noble savior,' don't give your heart lightly!"
The golden-haired, red-eyed girl gripped her hand firmly.
"Grandma said it! The savior could look like anything!"
Grandma's words on the savior:
"The savior's form isn't fixed... Could be bald, ambiguous gender, top-heavy with spindly legs, even with both male and female mana pouches!"
Unia didn't doubt it, though Grandma might've exaggerated.
In the dream, saviors came in droves: side-parted everyman, lion-maned wildling, southern orc braids, half-shaved heads, even skinheads. The most refined? A blond, blue-eyed pretty youth.
"Listen, Unia."
The girl continued:
"No one knows if the savior's man, woman, or humanoid something. Could even be non-human."
Her image sharpened.
"Remember. Whatever the savior, aid them to escape this world's threats. That's why Grandma took you in."
Was that Grandma's intent? Unia wasn't sure.
"Any savior—you'll know when you meet them. The savior..."
Suddenly, her voice cut off.
Unia knew the girl resembled her, like a reflection in water. Yet...
Swish, stroke.
Warm hands swept her body, entrancing her. No thoughts. Fatigue melted. Lumps dissolved where touched. She yearned to surrender fully—then a fleeting touch snapped her alert.
"Ah."
"Awake?"
That warm hand patted her back lightly.
"We're here."
"......"
Sunlit morning outside.
"The academy."
"......"
She'd longed for this, yet felt oddly reluctant.
"A bit more..."
She craved that fatigue-melting touch longer.
"Miss Unia."
The hand patted her back.
"I'll do it again later, so up you get."
"......"
Again later.
Unia rose slowly.
"...Huh?"
Just a nap on the bus, yet...
"......?"
Vitality surged through her. She felt invincible.
Suddenly.
"......."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Unia pushed away the wish that this hand-extender was her savior.
'Unia. You'll likely fall for the savior.'
......
Why did Grandma's prophecy surface now?
'The savior is your fated one.'
"......"
Her blush? Surely the sunlight through the bus window.