[Location]: Yggdrasil Academy · Lecture Hall 7
The Ghost Witch, Spectra, was floating slightly off the ground, her black lace dress defying gravity.
That heavy, calculating gaze was now fully locked onto her. The silent banker had apparently finished her risk assessment. She was ready to make a move.
Spectra floated closer.
She didn't open her mouth. In fact, she raised a pale, translucent finger and pressed it gently against her own lips.
Shhh.
A visible, grey [Sphere of Silence] expanded instantly, wrapping only the two of them in a soundproof vacuum. To the outside world, they were just staring at each other silently.
She extended a pale hand.
Between her fingers, two items materialized from the mist.
One was a Black Card made of unmelting ice.
The other was a small, hexagonal [Blank Memory Crystal], glowing with a faint, hungry light.
She pushed both items into Hathaway's hand.
The moment Hathaway's skin touched the freezing surface, a voice—hollow, echoing, like wind blowing through an empty crypt—resonated directly inside her skull.
"You are going to Lucent's Lab," the voice bypassed her ears entirely. "Lucent doesn't talk to undergraduates. But you... you are the 'Miscellaneous Processing' staff."
Spectra stared deep into Hathaway's eyes, her face expressionless, but the mental voice was clear and urgent:
"I need the 'Artificial Pulse' data from the S-Class project. The Leviathan is generating a materialized concept of 'Rhythm'. I need that specific algorithm."
"Use this crystal. It is a [Void-Grade Container]. It can extract the 'Concept of Warmth' without shattering from the thermal overload. If you bring me the raw data logs, I can offer you 50,000 Gold Solars."
Hathaway’s eyelids twitched slightly.
She clutched the crystal. It felt heavy, like a black hole waiting to swallow light.
50,000 Solars.
That was nearly double her standard monthly family trust fund dividend of 30,000. For a task that essentially amounted to copying files, this was a massive premium. It could fund a stockpile of high-grade materials and instantly stabilize her agonizing liquidity crisis.
But Spectra didn't stop there. She paused for a microsecond, adding significant weight to the next offer:
"...Or a Favor."
Hathaway’s heart skipped a beat.
She held the freezing card and the empty crystal, her mind instantly calculating the exchange rate.
50,000 Solars was clean, safe, and liquid.
But a Favor?
Hathaway knew the unspoken algorithm of the Witch World.
In this rational, contract-obsessed society, a Favor isn't an act of kindness. It is an Uncashed Contract based on Equivalent Exchange.
The formula is absolute: Risk for Risk.
Stealing data from under Nino Lucent's nose is a "High-Risk Action."
If Hathaway took the Favor, Spectra would be logically bound—by pride and by magic—to perform a similarly "High-Risk Action" in return.
It wasn't just about money. It was about Capability.
And Hathaway spotted the nuance immediately.
If Spectra strictly followed the rules of efficiency, she would have just doubled the cash offer to 100,000 Solars to close the deal instantly. Rational Witches hate open-ended debts.
Unless... she wants to leave it open.
Hathaway realized the truth.
This "Favor" wasn't just a transaction. It was a Hidden Route.
It was a High-Tier NPC deciding that Hathaway was a stock worth holding long-term.
And a Ghost Witch's Favor is the most dangerous currency of all.
Why? Not because they are assassins. But because they are Unstoppable Trespassers.
Ghost Witches are famous for their "Sheltered Lady" lifestyles, but they are also the only race that can walk through the walls of a Grand Witch's private vault just to steal a limited-edition pudding.
(And yes, they leave payment, but the fact that they can get in is terrifying.)
To hold a Ghost Witch's debt meant having a key that could bypass 99% of the physical barriers in the multiverse.
Need to peek at a sealed exam paper? Need to slip a letter onto a rival's pillow? Need to know what flavor of tea the Headmistress is drinking right now?
A Ghost can do it while sleepwalking.
Money is finite.
But access to the "Ghost Castle's Network"?
That is an entry ticket to the most exclusive, elusive circle in the Witch World.
Hathaway looked at Spectra's pale, delicate features.
She didn't see a girl. She saw a Strategic Nuke waiting for coordinates.
I want the Nuke.
Hathaway looked at the Ghost Witch. She didn't speak, but she nodded slightly, slipping both the Ice Card and the Memory Crystal into her pocket.
I don't need cash. I need an Accomplice.
Spectra smiled—a faint, barely visible curve of her pale lips. She understood the answer.
She released the psychic link. The [Sphere of Silence] dissipated instantly without a sound.
To the rest of the class, it looked like a simple, polite exchange of contact information. But Hathaway’s palm was burning from the cold.
This wasn't friendship.
This was a Strategic Alliance delivered via an encrypted channel.
Spectra phased back into her seat, as if she had never moved.
"I'll... keep that in mind," Hathaway whispered to the air, slipping the freezing card into her pocket.
Great. I haven't even started the job, and I'm already being solicited for corporate espionage via telepathy.
She walked up the aisle, leaving the two monsters behind.
The other students watched her go.
They didn't hear the price. They didn't need to.
In Yggdrasil, you don't need to be the strongest to gain respect. You just need to prove that you are worth corrupting.
As Hathaway felt the envious gazes of three thousand geniuses, her hand brushed against the items in her pocket: The freezing Ice Card (Spectra) and the warm Napkin (Heidi).
Worth corrupting, huh?
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
Hathaway let out a long breath, her mind clarifying the "Balance Sheet" of her life.
This is different.
For the first time... I'm not the one begging.
If she pulled this off—if she stole the data—Spectra would owe her.
She wouldn't just be a student anymore. She would be a Creditor to a member of the Ghost Castle.
This is my first step from "Consumer" to "Capitalist".
But every Capitalist needs Seed Money.
Hathaway closed her eyes for a second, mentally reviewing the massive "Cap Table" that was backing her existence.
First, the Angel Investors: The Ludwig Family Trust.
The 500,000 Solars tuition wasn't just money; it was blood. Her family was an ancient, eternal Corporate Alliance. The elders managed the fund, investing heavily in promising juniors.
The contract was implicit but full of ambition: We launch you to the sky. When you become a star, you shine back on the Clan.
Second, the Strategic Endorsement: Lin Zhaojun.
Hathaway touched her chest, feeling the phantom weight of that signature. Money pays tuition, but only Reputation opens the gate. Without Lin, the Family would have burned a precious favor just to get a guarantor. But Lin signed on Credit. She bet the weight of her Three-Peat Dynasty on Hathaway’s potential.
It isn't a gift. It is a Joint Debt. And being allowed to owe the Only Grand Slam Champion in history is the ultimate privilege.
And finally, the "Glitch" in the System: The Lucent Sisters.
Hathaway patted the stiff parchment in her pocket—the [Full Allowance Application Form]. Signed by Nino Lucent. 1,500 Solars a day.
That napkin bought Victoria's tutoring. And now, that same napkin opened Nino's treasury.
This isn't investment. This is Nepotism.
I am standing here because the Lucent Sisters decided to treat me like an interesting stray cat.
Hathaway gripped her bag tighter.
She didn't feel guilty. In the cutthroat world of Witches, "Luck" and "Connections" were just another form of mana.
I am standing on a foundation built by Giants.
My Family provided the Base. Lin opened the Door. And the Lucent Sisters built me an Escalator.
She didn't feel heavy. She felt Empowered.
She wasn't a lonely girl fighting the world. She was the tip of a spear, pushed forward by everyone who invested in her—whether they meant to or not.
I have creditors to repay.
The Ludwigs want glory. Lin wants a favor for Rhode. The Lucents... they probably just want entertainment.
And now, I have a chance to add a Ghost Witch to my portfolio.
She walked out of the lecture hall, her steps light and steady.
She was ready to play the game.
At the threshold, a familiar figure was already waiting.
Victoria tapped her foot impatiently against the stone floor.
...It's time to deal with my Partner.
[Location]: The Suspension Bridge Corridor
The sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the walkway.
Hathaway walked beside Victoria.
"That was..." Hathaway started.
"Reckless." Victoria didn't slow down. Her heels clicked aggressively against the stone. "Your entry angle was 37 degrees. If you were 0.5 degrees shallower, the mana shear would have vaporized your wrist."
She stopped abruptly, whipping around.
"I don't care about your pain tolerance. But do you know the regeneration rate for a severed arm? 45 minutes."
She poked Hathaway's chest hard.
"I am not going to wait 45 minutes for my lab partner to regrow a limb. My time is expensive."
Hathaway rubbed her chest. "I solved it, didn't I?"
"You brute-forced it. Just like you brute-forced the admission."
Victoria stared at her. The "Judge's Gaze" from the classroom had softened, replaced by a resigned, calculating pragmatism.
"You have the Access (via Heidi). You have the Guts (via the Scalpel). But your Technical Foundation is a disaster."
She sighed, the sound of a manager realizing she has to train a talented but feral intern.
She reached into her bag.
Thud.
She shoved a heavy book into Hathaway's chest.
[Modern Magitech Anatomy: From Dissection to Deconstruction]
Author: H.G. Wellington.
Hathaway caught it, staggering slightly under the weight.
Her thumb instinctively brushed the spine, checking for the stinging heat of a [Patent Spell].
Cold. Inert.
Just paper and ink. A standard academic monograph, not a spell-engraved Grimoire. No automatic deduction from her bank account.
Hathaway let out a subconscious breath of relief.
Safe. My 6,600 Solars remain intact.
"Checking for the Patent Spell? Smart," Victoria observed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But do you know the joke about the Witch and the corpse?"
Hathaway froze. Everyone knew it. It was the first nursery rhyme every Witch child learned.
A Witch kills another Witch. She loots the corpse, stripping the gold, the gems, the ingredients. But when the victim's family reclaims the body, they find the grimoire and diary untouched in the bag.
When asked why, the murderer shrugs: "I didn't pay for them. And they weren't a gift."
"Unpaid knowledge breeds misfortune." Victoria quoted the ancient axiom, adjusting her lace gloves. "Just because this book doesn't have a digital curse to drain your wallet, doesn't mean it's 'Free'."
"This is not a gift. I am not charitable enough to give you this. And you certainly cannot afford to buy it from me."
Hathaway looked at the book, then at Victoria.
"If it's not a gift, and I'm not buying it... then you are sharing it with me."
She opened the cover.
But the moment she saw the pages, her breath hitched again.
The margins were filled with dense, elegant handwriting in blue ink.
There were corrections to the printed text. There were scathing critiques of the author's logic ("Auntie H.G. is being sentimental here," "Redundant step"). There were complex derivation formulas scribbled in the corners.
This was Victoria’s personal study copy.
Hathaway took a half-step back, feeling the weight of the book differently now.
The financial weight was gone. But a Social Weight crashed down on her.
She knew the unspoken hierarchy of the Witch World:
Money is for strangers (Level 1). Data contracts are for colleagues (Level 2).
But raw, unfiltered mental notes?
That is Level 3: Intellectual Nakedness.
To let another Witch see the architecture of your logic is a privilege usually reserved for Coven Sisters, Mentors... or Life Partners.
Hathaway felt a cold sweat on her back.
The A1 tutoring. The Life-Saving Grace. And now, the Personal Study Copy.
She was drowning in debt to the Wellington family.
I can't pay this back with money. The value is too high.
For a split second, a naive, Earthly thought drifted through her mind—the cliché of the debtor who has nothing left to offer but themselves.
A romantic repayment?
Hathaway strangled that thought instantly. Her face paled.
No. Stop.
That is the First Taboo.
Never sexualize a debt.
In a civilization of immortal scholars, implying a Witch should pay with her Body instead of her Magic is not romantic. It is Bankruptcy.
To offer your body is to admit: "My intellect has no value. My potential is zero. I am just meat."
It devalues herself. But worse, it insults the creditor.
Victoria is investing in Hathaway as a "High-Yield Asset." If Hathaway tried to pay with sex, she would be telling Victoria: "You have bad taste. You aren't a visionary scholar investing in a genius; you are just a shallow patron buying a pet."
That would destroy the relationship instantly. It wouldn't lead to a kiss. It would lead to disgust.
Rationality. Distance. Respect.
Do not insult her investment thesis.
"Victoria," Hathaway whispered, weighing the book in her hands, her voice carefully steady. "This... this has your notes."
"In standard social etiquette, sharing a personal study copy implies a Level 3 Intimacy. It implies trust."
Hathaway looked up, forcing herself to meet those blue eyes without flinching. "We are... not there. This is crossing a line."
"Do not flatter yourself, Ludwig."
Victoria cut her off instantly.
She stepped closer, invading Hathaway's personal space with the cold, precise elegance of a scalpel. Her voice held no sentiment, only absolute, unshakeable logic.
"I am not sharing my soul with you because of sentiment."
She tapped the cover of the book hard against Hathaway's chest.
"I am doing this because you are now a component of My Project."
"You used your 'Political Connections' to get yourself into the lab. That is your contribution. I respect that. But if you walk in there and fail to identify a mana valve, you will embarrass me. And I do not tolerate embarrassment."
She looked deep into Hathaway's eyes.
"So, I am providing the Technical Support."
"Consider this a loan. A high-interest loan."
"You are taking my personal notes. You are looking at the naked architecture of my logic. Yes, it is Level 3 Intimacy."
Victoria smiled. It wasn't a warm smile, but it was honest.
"But we are Witches. We can monetize anything. Even Intimacy."
"I saw the interaction with the Ghost." Victoria glanced at Hathaway's pocket. "I don't know what she offered you, and I don't care. But the fact that you took it means you are already building a network of debts."
Victoria pointed at the book in Hathaway's arms.
"So, add this to the pile. Now, you owe me a Favor too."
Hathaway looked at the heavy book in her arms.
The "First Taboo" warning faded from her mind, replaced by a strange sense of thrill.
She doesn't want my body. She wants my future.
She wants to own my potential.
Hathaway let out a small chuckle. She hugged the book tighter, meeting Victoria's gaze with a relaxed, conspiratorial smile.
"You know, Victoria... at this rate, I'll never be able to pay you off. My soul is practically mortgaged to you."
Victoria adjusted her gloves, turning back to the path.
"Good."
She walked forward, her voice drifting back over her shoulder, light and confident.
"I like holding high-value assets."
"Read the chapter on 'Mana Circuit Nodes' tonight. I will quiz you tomorrow at breakfast. If you fail, the interest rate goes up."
Hathaway stood there for a second, watching her roommate's retreating back.
Then, she smiled. A genuine smile.
"High-value asset, huh?"
Hathaway patted the heavy book, feeling the warmth of the knowledge inside.
"I can live with that."
She walked forward, her step heavy but determined.
She had the Ghost's Favor in her pocket, the Wellington's Grimoire in her hand, and a dangerous summer ahead.
She was a debtor. She was a cheat. She was a relationship hire.
And she was loving every second of it.