A Swish and a Thwack (1)

Ahn Jungmi had worn an apologetic expression the entire time, but honestly, I couldn't have cared less.

Back when we were clearing the Feathered Serpent Altar, my target had been the item bearing the 'Priest' modifier, and I'd gotten hold of that long ago and melted it down. Ever since, I hadn't been expecting anything in particular. Besides, even if there had been something I wanted, since when does a random box bend to anyone's will? So I'd been taking it in stride — nice if something turned up, no big loss if it didn't.

And the main reward was the dagger anyway.

Memorize. Most magic skills require a casting time, long or short, but a spell stored with Memorize skips that entirely and fires off the instant you call it. That said, you can't just stockpile freely and spam freely — at C-rank, the limit is two spells per day. Burn through both, and Memorize stays sealed until the next day.

There's also a trade-off for the instant-cast advantage: a stored spell manifests with its power dropped by a rank or two. At C-rank Memorize, that's exactly a one-rank reduction. Store an A-rank spell and it comes out as B-rank; store a D-rank spell and it arrives as E-rank. These restrictions can be shored up by raising the rank of Memorize itself, but regrettably, skills bound into equipment almost never grow. Still, C-rank would be plenty useful for a good while yet.

I separated the shamanic dagger's blade from its handle, then fitted the freed blade onto the tip of [Root]. The result: a very short spear with a black shaft and a golden gleam at its head.

That much, and the Priest trait has more than earned its keep.

Overwriting the second slot with a different trait wouldn't cost me anything now. If I was going to copy a skill or trait, the ideal source would be a third-year — someone like Dang Gyu-young. So during last week's PvP assessment and my [Distortion] training, I'd kept a close eye on her whenever the chance arose. Unfortunately, everything I managed to identify fell into the thief or Shadow Weaver lineage.

A generic skill like [Thief's Step] wouldn't raise many eyebrows even if I copied it, but the moment I used [Shadow Butterfly Flight], the ranks of the suspicious would swell by a truckload in seconds. Shadow Weavers are rare enough as it is, and Shadow Butterfly Flight was, for all practical purposes, Dang Gyu-young's signature move. Her traits were much the same story. For those reasons, copying anything from Dang Gyu-young went on hold.

The next candidate on my list was Song Cheon-hye. Her class was mage lineage like mine, and as a Disciplinary Committee member, her skill sat at the very peak of the first years. This week's defense raid had been inching its record upward at Song Cheon-hye's pace, and half of that was deliberate — an opportunity to watch what traits she actually carried. The other half came down to the [Melee] and [Commander] rules: rather than shouldering everything solo, I needed to raise her performance to a certain level.

And that part's just about wrapped up.

I'd picked out her trait, and through repeated practice-mode runs we'd built real coordination and a solid familiarity with the defense. Time to go earn some points in the real thing.

After school. The Dungeon Hall.

While waiting for Kim Ho to arrive, Song Cheon-hye paced in a slow circle around one spot, sunk deep in thought. The subject, naturally, was this week's defense raid.

Well, I did pull off that damn whoosh-then-thud block...

She had managed to read the Beheader Goblin's tell and block the thrown cleaver. On the sixth attempt, no less. Considering she'd declared to Kim Ho, 'Obviously I'll manage it on the first try,' the result was mortifying — but Song Cheon-hye did her level best to look away from that fact.

...Anyway? What matters is that I succeeded. Right?

A good result was a good result, wasn't it? With the cleaver no longer lodging itself in the goddess statue, there was no longer any risk of its health vanishing in one enormous chunk. Thanks to that, their best record had improved considerably. The only problem: as of the seventh and eighth attempts, the statue's remaining health still couldn't claw past 70%.

For Song Cheon-hye, who was aiming for 90% or higher — or even a perfect game — that was an unconvincing score.

At the very least, I want to get past Hong Yeon-hwa.

The current best mark of the Hong Yeon-hwa–Gwak Ji-cheol duo sat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the low 80s, and it was steadily keeping ahead of the Kim Ho–Song Cheon-hye duo. In Song Cheon-hye's mind, Hong Yeon-hwa's cold smirk took shape — a version considerably more contemptuous than the original.

Grrrrgh...!

Song Cheon-hye trembled with frustration. Outwardly she pretended not to care one bit, but inwardly, she was nursing a rival's pride all the same. Losing the sticker PvP assessment 1–0 was still lodged in her heart, too.

I have to win this time. Against Hong Yeon-hwa, of all people.

But what more was she supposed to do here? That was precisely what had Song Cheon-hye tangled in her quandary. After repeating the same routine eight times, even she was slowly catching on — that this was about the extent of her limits. There might be a sliver of room for marginal refinement, but her score wasn't about to leap skyward in one bound.

So should she put the screws to her partner, Kim Ho? Equally absurd. Song Cheon-hye had her pride and shame too. It was Kim Ho who had pointed out the Beheader's tell she'd been blind to, and Kim Ho who had reliably covered for her every single time a cleaver slipped past her. Telling a man like that, 'Please try harder!' would prick her conscience far, far too much.

Then what do I do now?

And so her worries circled right back to square one. No clever solution presented itself. Unable to advance and unable to retreat, Song Cheon-hye could only keep spinning in place like a puppy chasing its own tail.

She sensed a presence and turned her head — and her eyes met Kim Ho's, ambling toward her from far down the hall. Now that their gazes had locked, it would have been nice if he'd picked up the pace a little, but Kim Ho maintained his leisurely stroll the entire way to her.

"Oh, you're here."

"Did Hong Yeon-hwa's team go in?"

"They entered ahead of us."

The two of them regarded the teleport portal for a moment, its gate still sealed shut. Kim Ho looked away first and asked,

"Should we head into the real thing too?"

"Wouldn't it be better to keep refining ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠things first?"

She wasn't mentally prepared to step into the live run yet. It would be wiser to keep cycling through practice mode over the weekend and wrap things up on Sunday. Kim Ho, however, seemed to see it a little differently.

"At this point, more practice won't accomplish anything."

"So we settle for a 70% score?"

"No. I never said a word about 70%."

"Then what?"

Kim Ho asked in return.

"What's your target?"

"Hong Yeon— Above 90%."

Song Cheon-hye had very nearly blurted out 'As long as it's higher than Hong Yeon-hwa' before hastily swallowing the words. She had never once confessed to anyone that she viewed Hong Yeon-hwa as her rival. Anxious that he might have caught on, she studied his face, but he paid her slip no mind whatsoever, latching onto the latter half instead.

"Ninety percent. That's more than doable."

"...Pardon? How, exactly?"

How did that math work? Where on earth were the missing twenty points supposed to come from? Instead of answering, Kim Ho pulled something out of his inventory and held it up — a very short spear, black from end to end.

"Just got my hands on it."

One glance told her it was high-grade equipment. The overall impression was closer to a superbly crafted weapon than a magic item, but you never truly knew an item until you checked its options. It might well carry an effect specialized for this very raid.

"It does look like fine equipment. Still, I'd prefer we run one practice first. I need to get in sync with you as well."

"I'd appreciate it if you'd just trust that I'm confident enough to go straight into the real thing. Your role isn't changing anyway. Think of it as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a small surprise."

A surprise? Song Cheon-hye's brow twitched. To a straight-laced model student like her, that was a deeply unappealing word.

"I would like you to take this seriously. A practical assessment is hardly a joke."

"I've been serious this whole time. I just enjoy myself while I'm at it."

And, as ever, Kim Ho refused to concede a single point. Song Cheon-hye regarded him for a moment, then let out a small sigh.

There must be a reason he's this confident...

She had no idea what options that short spear carried, but there was no denying it had raised his combat power. An update to their record was possible, whether big or small. That alone beat stalling out somewhere around 70% by a wide margin.

"Fine. Let's do it. Still, 90% feels set rather high. Perhaps 75%, if anything."

"No. Ninety percent it is."

"By my estimate, our ceiling is 80%."

At that, Kim Ho asked with a sly little smile,

"Then shall we make ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it a wager? Whether we clear 90% or not."

The mere word 'wager' set Song Cheon-hye's competitive spirit instantly ablaze. She had already lost to this man twice, which made her all the more desperate to win. But she didn't leap at the offer — feigning an air of mild indifference, she asked after the terms first.

"...Betting what?"

"Same as last time. A Wish Ticket."

"You already hold one, though."

"If I win, that makes two. If you win, zero."

The stake, just as she'd expected, was a Wish Ticket. And this, too, was exactly what Song Cheon-hye had been hoping for. She'd been quietly fretting over what new demands Kim Ho might make with the ticket he'd won off her last time — and if she won, she could erase it.

She ran the numbers in her head. First, the notion of deliberately sandbagging to shave points off the board simply did not exist. That was something her always-give-your-best personality could never tolerate, and no wager on earth was worth sacrificing a raid score over. Kim Ho surely knew that about her too — which must be why he'd set the terms this way. And besides, even at full effort, 90% defied common sense. Her own very best had produced the current 70%; swapping out one weapon was not going to revolutionize anything.

Unless he reveals hidden strength?

Say — absurd example, but — he unleashed something like Inferno Fist, or a skill of comparable power. Then it might just be possible. She doubted that sly schemer would show his true hand in a mere raid, but if the worst came to pass, then even losing the wager wouldn't be a bad outcome — she'd walk away with a far more precise read on his abilities.

Song Cheon-hye reached her decision. She had to raise the stakes. She would accept the wager as though reluctantly won over — and slip in a counter-proposal at the same time.

"Very well, let's wager. In return — if you fail the 90%, two. How about it?"

"Two Wish Tickets?"

"Yes."

"..."

Kim Ho, evidently not having foreseen a counter-offer, stared at her with surprised eyes. But he soon nodded, in the manner of a man deciding there was no harm in it.

"Deal. Two Wish Tickets."

Perfect.

Song Cheon-hye cheered inwardly. Two tickets meant not only wiping out Kim Ho's Wish Ticket, but gaining one of her very own. And she fully intended to spend that ticket prying into the suspicious circumstances surrounding the time he'd been caught in the underground floors. It was, truly, a flawless plan.