Saturday, Dormitory Room

  Ethan groaned softly as he stretched out his arms. His whole body still ached, especially his shoulders and thighs—remnants of Wednesday’s weapon training. It had been three days already, and he could still feel every swing in his bones.

  A potion would fix this in minutes, he thought while toweling off after a warm bath. But if I start relying on them every time I get sore, I'll never get stronger.

  Theoretical csses on Thursday and Friday had given him enough downtime. He figured it was better to let his body build resistance on its own. He dressed quickly, ready for a full day of working quests and gathering silver to recover from his now dangerously light wallet.

  As he passed through the dormitory’s front hall, something caught his eye.

  “My mailbox fg’s up?”

  He raised a brow and walked toward the small iron cubby marked with his name. Unlocking it with the key from his room, he pulled out two things—a sealed envelope and a small, leather-bound booklet with Ethan Cross – Trainee Handbook embossed on the cover in golden ink.

  “Oh, this must be what Professor Rhea mentioned…”

  Curious, he opened the booklet and immediately found a page marked with his current grades. The table was beled First-Year Evaluation – Semester 1.

  First-Year Evaluation – Semester 1Grade 1Grade 2Grade 3FinalSpellcasting Theory:9 Geography:10 Mana Manipution:10 Potion Crafting:8 Physical Education:5 Weapon Training:- Dungeon Mechanics:- History:10 Math:10 Monster Biology:6 Ancient History:9.5 Common Language:9 Team Combat Drills:- Ethan nodded to himself. “Not bad…”

  He winced at the five in P.E., and the six in Monster Biology brought back painful memories of being tackled by a goblin. But all in all, he was doing great academically. He tilted his head at the subjects that were still bnk.

  Weapon Training, Dungeon Mechanics, and Team Combat Drills… We just started Weapon Training so it makes sense there's no score. As for the other two, I think they should start ter in the year...

  He turned the page—and paused.

  It looked like a bank ledger. At the top was his credit bance.

  Credits Earned: +87 (From Exam Performance)

  Credits Spent: –100 (Private Lessons)

  Current Bance: –13

  “…Wait. When did I—” Ethan blinked, then spped his forehead. “Right. The Dark Magic lessons with Lilith. Of course those count as private lessons.”

  Seeing the negative bance made his stomach twist slightly. Am I gonna get kicked out for being in the red?

  Luckily, the next page was all about expining the credit system.

  In short, the Academy’s Credit system was loosely modeled after the one used by the Adventurer’s Guild. It governed everything—from accessing special lessons and renting advanced equipment, to paying for extracurricurs and exclusive services. If you wanted more than the bare-bones education, you paid in credits.

  There was no mention of what happened to students who went into debt.

  Probably because it's not supposed to happen in the first pce, Ethan thought grimly. They must usually lock you out of anything you can’t afford…

  In his case, the system had simply let him go into the red—perhaps because no one had fgged the private Dark Magic lessons he was receiving. It was a small comfort that the Academy wasn’t chasing him down or throwing him out yet… but he knew the bill would come due eventually.

  "Let’s just pray they don’t charge interest,” Ethan muttered, staring at the -13 credits printed in bold red ink. “Or I’m gonna need a miracle.”

  He leaned back in his chair and ran through the known ways to earn credits:

  First was through grades. A solid, dependable method… assuming you didn’t bomb your tests. It wasn’t a huge payout, but consistent performance added up over time.

  Second came events—like dueling tournaments or field challenges. High stakes, high reward. But unless you pced near the top, you’d walk away empty-handed. Not exactly a great strategy unless you were confident—or lucky.

  The third method was designed with nobles in mind: donations. For every gold coin you contributed to the Academy, they gave you one credit. Ethan snorted. “One coin, one point, huh? That’s the real magic trick.”

  But the fourth method was the most practical for ordinary students—missions. The Adventurer’s Guild filtered low-tier requests through the Academy, allowing students to complete real jobs: herb gathering, monster scouting, item delivery, and more. Every mission earned credits, and there was no upper limit to how many you could complete.

  That was, assuming you were in Group B or C.

  Ethan gnced at the bolded Group A tag on his profile and sighed.

  Right. That’s the catch. I’m not even allowed to take missions yet.

  So his first real goal was clear: escape Group A. That meant improving his weapon training score. To do that, he needed to strengthen his cursed body—and that meant learning more Dark Magic. But studying Dark Magic cost credits, which he currently didn’t have.

  It’s a vicious cycle, he thought. No credits unless I get stronger. No strength unless I use credits.

  He slumped forward on his desk with a groan.

  “Well… isn’t that what student life is all about anyway?” he muttered bitterly.

  The thought dragged up a memory from his past life—something about soul-crushing student loans.

  No matter the World, some things never change.

  Chuckling bitterly, he decided to leave the finances for future-Ethan to deal with. Right now, he had something else to look at—the envelope.

  He opened the letter and immediately recognized the handwriting.

  Dear Ethan,

  How’s our little prodigy doing in the capital? Hopefully you haven’t died yet. Everything is fine here in the vilge—quiet as usual. Well… not exactly quiet.

  Your friends didn’t believe you actually passed the entrance exam, so they’ve all packed up and left for the Capital to catch you in your "lie." They should’ve arrived by now and should be staying at the cheapest inn near the South Gate. Go say hello and show off a little, will you?

  Now for news from home:One of the cows turned out to be pregnant with goblin spawn. Disgusting, I know. We had to put her down. After investigating we found a possible culprit, a goblin nest found not far from the vilge, and we’re organizing a raid with a few mercs. Don’t worry—it’s nothing we can’t handle.

  About your memories… I don’t want to put anything sensitive in writing. Come back during the school break and I’ll expin everything properly. Just know, there’s more to it than you remember.

  Oh—and your old storage shed? It’s now the chicken coop. Don’t worry, no chickens going into the house anymore.

  Stay safe, son. We’re proud of you.

  – Abell Cross

  Ethan sat in silence for a long moment after reading.

  “…They really came all the way to the capital?” he muttered.

  A grin slowly tugged at his lips. He could already picture the smug look on his friend’s faces when they realized he wasn’t lying.

  “Well,” he said, pocketing the letter and handbook, “better pay a visit to the South Gate.”

  The sun had reached the highest point in the sky when Ethan finally spotted the old inn near the southern gate—The Weeping Horse, a ramshackle pce that smelled like cheap ale and wood smoke. Just as the letter had said, a familiar bunch waited outside, bickering loudly as they always did.

  “There’s no way he made it in, I’m telling you!” one of the boys—Joren, stocky and loud—said with arms crossed.

  “He said he was going to try, remember?” the taller, leaner boy—Marek—shot back. “You calling him a liar?”

  “I’m calling him a dreamer.”

  Ethan approached with a smirk. “Dreamer or not, you all owe me something, remember?”

  All four turned toward him.

  “…Ethan?” Joren blinked.

  “Ethan Ethan?” Marek echoed.

  The two girls—Lira and Tessa—gasped in unison.

  “Wait,” Lira said, squinting at him, “you’re really here? In the capital?”

  “No way!” Tessa ran up and poked his shoulder. “You don’t look like an adventurer student…”

  Joren crossed his arms. “Proof. Now.”

  “Yeah, prove it!” Marek added.

  Ethan sighed dramatically and pulled the trainee booklet from his satchel. He held it out with a proud grin. “Feast your eyes.”

  The moment their eyes nded on the Academy’s seal and his full name, the air shifted.

  Joren’s mouth dropped. Marek looked like he’d swallowed a fly.

  “Holy shit, it’s real…”

  “I told you!” Marek yelled.

  “You called him a liar five seconds ago!”

  The two boys suddenly broke into ughter—and without another word, both kicked up into awkward handstands, legs wobbling in the air as they each tried and failed to lick their own noses.

  “That's right! Pay up your debts! Luckily all you bet was to do handstands while licking your nose! Had you bet money, I would be rich right now!” Ethan decred triumphantly.

  Lira and Tessa burst out ughing at the sight.

  “I think Joren’s face is turning blue,” Tessa giggled.

  “He deserves it!” Lira cackled.

  But Ethan wasn’t done. He turned toward the girls with narrowed eyes. “And what about you two? The bet was with all of you!”

  The girls froze.

  “…We’re wearing skirts,” Lira said ftly.

  “Not my fault,” Ethan shrugged.

  “We’ll do it!” Tessa promised. “But after we change clothes.”

  “Fine. Go on, then.”

  The two girls exchanged a grin—and bolted down the road, waving behind them.

  “…They’re not coming back, are they?” Ethan asked, watching them vanish around a corner.

  “Nope,” Marek grinned. “Smart girls.”

  Marek dusted himself off and jerked his thumb toward the inn. “Come on, drinks on me. Let’s catch up.”

  The tavern was dim but cool, with thick wood beams overhead and the clink of mugs providing a steady backdrop. Marek dropped a few coins on the counter, ordering a round of drinks and some fried chicken for the table.

  “To the Academy’s newest student,” Marek toasted, raising his mug.

  “To being completely wrong,” Joren added with a sheepish grin.

  “To friends who still can't do a handstand,” Ethan replied, clinking his mug with theirs.

  After a few hearty gulps, they finally settled in.

  “So,” Ethan asked, nudging Marek, “how’s it going with Lira?”

  “We danced and she let me walk her home during the st harvest fair,” Marek said with a grin. “I’d say that’s progress.”

  Joren scoffed. “Better than me. Tessa still hasn’t gotten over Ron the bcksmith’s son. She keeps writing him letters.”

  “But you’re not giving up?”

  “Hell no.”

  Ethan nodded approvingly. “Good. Persistence is key.”

  They both turned toward him.

  “What about you?” Joren asked. “You meet any cute city girls?”

  Ethan smirked. “My css is full of girls. I talk to cute ones nearly every day.”

  Marek raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an answer. Anyone you’re aiming for?”

  “There are… a few candidates,” Ethan said vaguely.

  “Uh-huh.” Joren leaned closer. “And how far have you gotten with these ‘candidates’?”

  Ethan just smiled and leaned back. “I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

  The other two groaned, but ughed with him anyway.

  They talked like that for hours—telling stories, making dumb jokes, reminiscing about the time Marek fell in the pig pen, or how Lira used to beat them all at sling toss. It wasn’t until the stars were out and the mps were lit that Ethan realized how te it had gotten.

  Ethan rose from his seat, stretching a little before grabbing his bag. “Alright, time for me to head back before the academy locks me out.”

  “Yeah,” Marek stood up with him. “But next time, bring one of those cute city girls with you, huh?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Ethan ughed, making his way toward the door.

  But just as he reached it, he paused, turning back to face his friends. His voice came out quieter this time.

  “Hey… Did I have anyone I used to py with, besides you two, when I was really young? Like… five, maybe seven years old?”

  Marek blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Well… Ron used to tag along, but I don’t think that’s who you’re talking about, is it?”

  Ethan didn’t answer, just waited.

  Marek scratched the back of his head. “Have you talked to your parents about this?”

  “My parents?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s better if you hear it from them. We only ever heard the glossed-over version… the adults never told us everything.”

  Ethan turned to Joren for confirmation, but Joren just looked away, silent.

  “They refused to talk about it, huh?” Ethan muttered, more to himself than to them. He let the thought settle, then nodded. “All right. That’s enough to give me an idea. Thanks.”

  “Hey, Ethan—!” Marek stepped forward, looking uneasy. “You’re too smart for your own good sometimes. Just… don’t stress about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I can’t be sure of that,” Ethan said with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t even remember what happened. But… yeah. I’ll talk to Dad when I’m back home during the school break.”

  “Fine. Sorry I couldn’t help more.”

  “You helped more than you think.” Ethan smiled. “Thanks. Really. Alright—now I’m really going.”

  “Take care, city boy!” Joren called.

  “And don’t forget us when you’re famous!” Marek added with a grin.

  Ethan waved over his shoulder. “I gotta get famous first. Still a long way to go!”

  And with that, he stepped out of the Weeping Horse, leaving the warmth of old friends behind—his thoughts heavier than when he arrived, but his resolve just a bit stronger.