Fixed Zone (3)

My score sat roughly midway up the leaderboard. This year's freshmen were unusually strong across the board, which was probably why I'd landed a touch lower than expected — still, it was more than enough to finish the dungeon phase comfortably above the middle of the pack.

By this point in the placement exam, the freshmen's conversations had split cleanly down two tracks: the leaderboard, and the exam itself. And most of the exam talk was pure groaning.

"Ugh, I'm totally cooked."

"Same. The second I got in there, my body stopped feeling like mine. It just wouldn't listen to me."

"Tell me about it. I'd swing my sword and the thing barely moved."

"Who knew I'd live to see the day goblins gave me a run for my money."

"No wonder the upperclassmen hate this thing."

The more skills and traits you normally hauled around like trinkets on a keyring, the harder the Fixed Zone's F-rank lock hit home. They had plenty of suffering ahead before it felt natural. I could sympathize with the complaining — but there wasn't exactly a choice in the matter.

The Fixed Zone wasn't a common rule, but it had a knack for popping up just when you'd forgotten it existed. Some notoriously vicious boss monsters even imposed it in their own lairs, and horror stories circulated of hotshot parties wiped to the last man inside one. If you didn't care to star in one of those massacres, adapting fast was the only option.

Even under these miserable conditions, the elite looked every bit the part. The names flanking Han So-mi were those promising up-and-comers I'd heard about through Shin Byung-cheol — Lee Seonghyun, the Swordmaster's son, and Moyong Jun, the Sword Saint's grandson, if I recalled right.

But if their skill was anywhere in Han So-mi's league... then Go Hyeon-woo might have a real shot. He hadn't been outmatched in pure swordsmanship even when he'd crossed blades with her on the train. Confined to swordsmanship alone, the syllogism held: Go Hyeon-woo equals Han So-mi equals the blue chips. And with the Fixed Zone stripping out raw specs almost entirely, his odds of cracking the rankings were excellent.

I found myself quietly curious what score he would post. He was nowhere in sight, and his name was absent from the board — still mid-exam, apparently. I'd just settled into alternating my gaze between the leaderboard and the teleport portal when Seo Ye-in shuffled out ahead of him. She craned her head around in slow motion, scanning, then spotted me and toddled over.

I asked, "So? Manageable?"

"...It was hard."

"Hard," she said, but her score wasn't half bad. The Fixed Zone was a wretched rule for mana-driven classes, gunners and mages alike, since every point had to come out of a razor-thin mana pool. A high score wasn't impossible, but frankly, pummeling everything barehanded like I did was easier. Factoring all that in, top 21 percent on her first attempt as a gunner was genuinely respectable. And with the rifle still in her hands, she'd evidently run it exactly the way I'd told her to.

"Whoa—!"

A gasp rippled through the students glued to the leaderboard. I looked over to see what the fuss was, and found the top spot had changed hands.

"Oh."

I'd figured he had a good chance of placing, but he'd gone and seized the outright top score of the dungeon phase — and by a hefty margin over second place, no less. The crowd erupted as if it were their own accomplishment. Fair enough; having just been through it themselves, they knew better than anyone how monstrous that number was.

"So a thousand points was even on the table... and here I am, worth less than a rat's spare toe..."

"What club is that guy in? Swordsmanship?"

"Nope. He's not in mine."

"I looked him up. Says unaffiliated."

"Unaffiliated, and he just flattened every blue chip in the year for first place."

"Wasn't he the one who went up against Jo Byeok in the PvP earlier?"

"Looked like it, yeah."

"No wonder he held his own back there."

"I'm catching the replay later for sure."

Every eye converged on Go Hyeon-woo as he cut through the crowd with unbothered strides. He turned to me with his thanks.

"It was all thanks to you, Brother Kim."

"Nothing to do with me. You're the one who fought well."

"Nay. Had I not spent the lunch hour restoring my strength, such a score would have been far beyond me."

Does it really work like that? He was probably reading too much into it, though it wasn't entirely wrong either.

With the crowd dissecting Go Hyeon-woo's every breath, attention naturally spilled onto me standing beside him.

"Who's the guy next to him?"

"The one who forfeited against Song Cheon-hye."

"Ohh, that coward?"

"Latching onto Go Hyeon-woo already?"

"There's always one of that breed. If he poured that energy into actual training, maybe he'd get somewhere."

Apparently my first impression had left that bad a taste, because my image was tanking in real time from a simple conversation. And no way that whispering escaped the sharp-eared Go Hyeon-woo. His expression hardened in an instant, and I headed him off before he could round on the crowd.

"Leave it. Let them talk."

"But Brother Kim—"

"I said it's fine."

"...As you wish, Brother Kim."

At my flat refusal he shut his mouth and swallowed the indignation, face still set like stone. The whispers carried on for a while, but they didn't last long. It was the first day of the semester — how much material could one person really hand them? Besides, attention scattered the moment Song Cheon-hye finished her run.

"..."

Where the other students came stumbling out with their stamina wrung dry, Song Cheon-hye showed not the slightest ripple of disorder. She marched past with measured steps, briefly slowed — and stole a sideways glance at me. Then carried on her way.

Suddenly I was curious what she'd scored. I read the leaderboard from the very top down. Not there. Even forty percent of the way down, Song Cheon-hye's name was nowhere to be found, and I wasn't about to sift the entire bottom half on her account.

If she's not in the top ranks, that tells me everything. Apparently she hadn't done so hot. Mages did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tend to flounder in a Fixed Zone, so it wasn't exactly inexplicable. I was busy writing it off when I kept feeling eyes on me.

"..."

Song Cheon-hye was sneaking glances ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my way. Not her usual look of disapproval — if anything, she seemed to be gauging my mood. The instant our eyes met, she would snap her head away again. What is her deal this time?

Song Cheon-hye's mood had been in free fall. It had been sliding since morning, but pinpointing when the bottom dropped out, it was probably lunchtime. She had just finished a PvP round that was a shambles in every possible way, and on a whim — a change of pace, she'd told herself — she'd ordered dessert.

Strawberry fresh cream cake. A daily limited run from an upscale patisserie in the commercial district, wildly popular among the female students. She'd heard the rumors of how divine it was even before enrolling, and her anticipation had swelled accordingly — until, at long last, the moment should have arrived...

Sold out. Of all things...

The cake was popular enough that the competition was brutal, and that competition observed exactly one rule: first come, first served. Pedigree and connections counted for nothing here — at this academy, nobody was exactly short on either. In the end, Song Cheon-hye tasted not sweet cream but the bitter flavor of defeat.

It was Han So-mi who consoled the deflated girl.

"Cheer up, Cheon-hye! There'll be more next time. Let's split this one today!"

She was holding out half of her own portion of yanggaeng, the sweet red-bean jelly. Song Cheon-hye could never quite fathom why, out of every snack in existence, this girl loved yanggaeng best — but eating it now, she found it quietly decent. Her mood even seemed to lift a little.

But then... just as it seemed to be recovering, Song Cheon-hye's spirits took a nosedive straight back to rock bottom. The moment she checked the purchase history of the dessert coupon she'd sent Kim Ho — there sat the strawberry fresh cream cake she herself had been denied. Her slender fingers trembled.

That man...!

Truthfully, viewed with a cool head, she had no grievance. Her own lightning magic had knocked his cookie to the floor, and she had been the one to offer the coupon in the first place. That Kim Ho had spent it on the very cake she wanted was pure coincidence. But that was the rational view — and the emotional one felt exactly like having the cake snatched out of her own mouth.

Yes, technically the fault was mine, but one lousy cookie for a slice of the finest cake on the market? The exchange rate doesn't balance.

Song Cheon-hye demolished the remaining yanggaeng with martial ferocity.

Which was probably why she kept shooting that man disgruntled glances for no defensible reason. However firmly she resolved to look away, her eyes kept drifting back. Kim Ho was talking with the gray-haired girl — Seo Ye-in. She remembered her clearly, having faced her in the PvP round.

As Seo Ye-in readied herself to enter the dungeon, Kim Ho had said:

"You're better off switching to the rifle."

"If mana management gets rough, play it so you only take headshots from close range."

Unbelievable. What gave him the confidence to hand out advice like that? A caster-type lecturing a gunner? And how would he know what lurked inside the dungeon, to be so sure the rifle beat the pistols? If it went wrong, could he even shoulder the blame?

What truly floored her was that Seo Ye-in took the advice at face value. Watching her obediently swap weapons, Song Cheon-hye let out a long, hollow breath.

"Ha."

With the girl herself acting like that, what's the point... Not my problem anymore. She'll manage however she manages. Taking the advice was Seo Ye-in's business; living with the results was hers too.

After Seo Ye-in and Kim Ho vanished one after the other into the portal, her own name was called before long.

"You got this, Cheon-hye~!"

Leaving Han So-mi's cheer behind her, Song Cheon-hye stepped into the Mist Forest — and beheld hell.

Her whole body hung heavy as water-soaked cotton. A glance at her status window confirmed it: every single stat had dropped to F. Even her perpetually overflowing mana had dwindled to a puddle, her core dragged down to F-rank along with it. And what am I supposed to do with this?

As if that weren't enough, most of her trusted lightning spells simply stopped working. Chain Lightning, Thunderbolt Zone, Lightning Whip... each a devastating area spell that could skewer goblins by the dozens, and now, at best, they made the creatures sluggish. She'd braced for reduced power. Not this. W-what do I do...?

Every plan she'd drafted before entering the dungeon was scrap paper. Her spells did nothing, the clock kept running, the monsters kept piling up. Panic bleached her mind white.

That was when it happened — that man's advice flickered through her head.

"You're better off switching to the rifle."

Frowning that of all things, this was what surfaced, Song Cheon-hye kept thinking anyway. Why the rifle? The great divide between pistols and a rifle came down to many light shots versus one heavy one. Then could it be—

She raised one hand. Currents crackling over her black gauntlet gathered and compressed, condensing into a sphere the size of a baseball. An F-rank single-target spell: Thunder Ball.

She hurled it at the oncoming goblin.

"Kwek!"

It worked so cleanly it was almost insulting. There it was — if area spells wouldn't cut it, you used single-target spells. How had she not arrived at something so simple? Song Cheon-hye threw Thunder Ball after Thunder Ball.

I must be an idiot. A complete fool. An idiot and a fool! The chant ran through her head with every throw.

But around the halfway mark she slammed into another wall. My mana... It wasn't empty yet, but it fell woefully short of lasting the remaining time — and with orcs and trolls making up more of the mix, Thunder Ball alone wasn't putting them down anymore.

And then Kim Ho's second piece of advice brushed past her ear.

"If mana management gets rough, play it so you only take headshots from close range."

Headshots... from close range...And translated into something that works for me...

Then, from a corner of her heart, stubborn pride raised its head. Do I really have to do exactly as he says? Weren't you calling it absurd an hour ago? Where's your self-respect?Still... better than washing out...

She pictured the failures who'd crawled out of there on their hands and knees. If that became her, no humiliation on earth could match it. Her face burned at the mere thought. Anything but that!

Song Cheon-hye made her decision: she would choose the second-worst over the absolute worst.

She wreathed both gauntleted fists in current, then struck a rather unpolished fighting stance. She hadn't fought like this since kindergarten, but what choice was there?

"Grrrrr..."

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

The troll planted itself directly in front of her, growling its threat. Maybe it was seeing a troll under Fixed Zone conditions, but it looked twice the size of any she'd felled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before.

"...!!"

Eyes squeezed shut, Song Cheon-hye thrust out her fist.

The instant the timer hit zero, the lunging monsters evaporated in unison, and the Mist Forest recovered its original silence. Only then did Song Cheon-hye heave a deep sigh and sink to the ground where she stood.

"It's... it's finally over..."

Ten minutes endured. Ten minutes survived. Never had an opening exit been so welcome. Hold on. Headed for the way out, Song Cheon-hye abruptly froze in place — one look at herself told her she was an absolute wreck. Well, she had spent the final stretch wrestling monsters to the ground and flailing her fists with abandon. Either way, she could not be seen like this.

A short current crackled to life at her fingertips. She raked it through her hair from crown to ends, and her wild tresses fell back into order in a blink. She bound her hair up neatly, smoothed her clothes crisp, then ran one last surge through everything to blast away even a speck of dust.

"Absolutely. Absolutely not."

Over her dead body would this particular page of history be preserved.

Emerging outside, Song Cheon-hye drew every eye, as she always did. Ten minutes through a hellish Fixed Zone and not a hair out of place — someone murmured in admiration at the sight of a girl in such perfect command of herself. Some were already scouring the leaderboard for her name.

They wouldn't find it easily.

The score sat far below what they'd expected of her — hardly befitting the Topaz Magic Tower's name. But none of that was what mattered to Song Cheon-hye right now. I want something sweet... Once this was all over, she was buying herself a strawberry milk.

Retracing her steps with her usual poise, she spotted Kim Ho in the crowd — and abruptly felt embarrassed. She had overheard his advice, dismissed it, and in the end survived because of it. Song Cheon-hye's stride quickened just a little.

Next — [19] The Support Ate It All