The five days to the start of the semester flew by in a flash, filled with a flurry of “oh shit, I didn’t realize I needed that,” “wow, I can do that now,” and “how the hell does that work?”

  Oh, and several instances of “how the ever-loving fuck did I manage to get this bloody lost?”

  But, on a more positive note, he’d managed to gain the ability to at least semi-reliably use the storage ring, him having managed to figure out how to control his mana not just well enough to directly move it, but also feel out where to move it.

  All told, it hadn’t been that complicated a process, just tedious. And he had no idea how he’d get the chilli oil out of the ceiling from where he’d somehow managed to launch a gochujang can out of the storage device.

  Not to mention that he’d probably not be able to get use out of the ability for a while yet. Mana control was an ability important for mages, artificers, and those using obstinate magical items.

  As he was planning on learning at least some spells, he needed it, but for that to be possible, he needed to be a bit higher leveled, and that wouldn’t happen until he’d earned himself a better [Class]. At least an epic one … but did he dare shoot for a legendary one?

  In theory, it should be possible. In practice … every year he spent as a normal human, well, high human, would likely take literal centuries off his lifespan once it was extended by Levels, [Skills], perhaps even racial evolutions.

  Of course, no one actually knew what the normal lifespan of a high human was at Level 0, but it hardly changed anything about the fact that the more he faffed around down here, the less time he’d have to enjoy the spoils.

  Yet, at the same time, if he put in the right kind of effort, his lifespan could be expanded well past the point of absurdity, as long as he wasn’t like eighty when he got his [Class] of choice.

  So … wait and see how things shake out?

  It wasn’t like he had to make those choices right here and now. He was fifteen, for crying out loud! He had plenty of time to change his mind on anything save a hasty [Class] choice. Hell, he wasn’t even entirely sure what kind of specific [Class] he wanted. Something related to space, certainly, at some point, but he didn’t need to start at that.

  He probably shouldn’t, either. Getting a [Class] that helped and enhanced you, personally, was generally the best way to start; even the Navy’s personnel did it that way, based on what he knew.

  And, at the barest minimum, he should listen to what the teachers had to say on the matter, considering that had been the entire damn point of coming here!

  Beyond that … he’d probably head out into space at some point, but there was also a pretty good chance that he’d find something else he wanted to do while exploring his options.

  Either way, he needed to be at the university in around two hours, and considering this was the start of his time there, Derek was planning to be very early.

  He began to equip himself then.

  Long sleeved shirt made from reinforced fibers that could at least somewhat withstand damage, cargo pants whose pockets had been designed to not get in the way under any circumstances, be they filled to the brim or completely empty, held up by a belt with several pockest of its own, as well as a sheath for his kabar, and another for the rapier he’d chosen as his primary melee weapon, along with three for small throwing knives.

  Then he clamped a bracer shut around his left forearm, his non-dominant arm, as it was what he’d block with in an emergency, so it needed extra protection.

  A leather jacket went over the whole affair, both affording an additional layer of protection and hiding some of the armaments.

  Then, he slid on an additional storage ring to his other middle finger, containing a copy of the emergency kit in his main ring. Not that he expected to need it, but they’d said to come geared as if they were about to go on an expedition likely to end in a fight, and that was what he’d do.

  He also slipped several potion balls into the pockets of his utility belt. They were, in essence, magical jelly beans that were larger on the inside, which was why they couldn’t go into storage spaces, and contained a healing potion.

  There were normal potion bottles too, and he had some in his rings, but those were apparently a pain in the ass to use in combat, to the point where, according to legend, quite a few people had wound up choosing to straight up eat the bottles over struggling with the lid in the middle of a fight.

  Though one thing was for certain, Derek himself was nowhere near the point where he could pull off that stunt himself, so no matter what, he needed the potion balls.

  Then, finally, he slid his actual weapons home.

  Throwing knives that were basically just kunai, chosen because, in a pinch, anyone with a metal-cutting ability to carve them from any sufficiently large block of steel, meaning he’d eventually be able to replenish his own supply, so it made sense to get familiar with them.

  A kabar, an old-fashioned combat knife that still maintained a stellar reputation, one also designed to be usable for utility purposes, such as cutting cables or popping the top off cans, though nowadays, most knives could withstand the stresses of that, so he wouldn’t necessarily have chosen it, had it not been gifted to him.

  And a rapier because, well, Derek was planning on leaning more heavily into the magical side of things, but not so completely as to go to New York, and an incredibly sharp thrusting weapon seemed like the best choice.

  It was a beautiful piece, gleaming silver, with razor-sharp edges, and a clamshell covering his hand, protecting it not just from blades but also dangerous liquids or fire breath, though he’d also need extra armor if confronted with anything prone to splatter upon impact with the hand guard.

  Though the rapier, much like the rest of his gear, was “only” well-made, not the top of the line equipment that was only really used by those who were nearing Level 200, the Level cap.

  Drawing on that sort of gear was not only a great way to wind up robbed, but also likely wind up reducing what he could get out of going to the academy.

  After all, what the hell would he learn while waving around a sword so sharp he’d not be able to tell the difference between cutting a monster or the empty air without watching the “impact”?

  Not very much, in all likelihood.

  Ergo, he’d brought normal weapons and left the good stuff in the family armory.

  Derek closed his closet and gave himself one final look over in the mirror that sat on the outside of the door.

  He looked … well, he looked like himself. Obviously young, slightly uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothing, but not bad or immature. Presentable, at the very least.

  Derek nodded, then turned and headed out the door after putting on his shoes, a set of solid leather boots designed to provide him a good grip on most surfaces, while also being sturdy enough to turn aside at least some attacks.

  Fully geared, he strode out into the street that was swiftly becoming familiar.

  Here was the subway entrance that would take him all over Seoul, there was the 7/11 he’d most likely be dropping a ton of money at for all those “how the hell did I forget to buy that” late-night emergencies, and an endlessly rotating parade of food stalls lined that side street, which he’d likely be spending way too much money at across the next few years …

  But, of course, there was one specific building that dominated the neighborhood, not just through size alone, but also its sheer goddamn presence.

  Seoul Academy was a truly massive construction, spread out across several city blocks, a skyscraper marking each corner, with a decently wide gap between them and the long buildings that lined the campus’ four sides, connected by skybridges, while the center was a massive courtyard with a dome in the middle, whose rather bare-bones title of “multifunctional lecture hall” did a distgustingly good job of hiding the true awesomeness of the place, even if Derek’s knowledge of this potential was based on mere hearsay.

  As for the park itself, it was split into four, two massive expanses of grass offering space for whatever was needed, one of each on opposite sides of the dome, while a third section of park was basically a botanical garden, with several more exotic plants and trees creating a jungle-like impression that hid not only the usable herbs but also a rather impressive greenhouse that wasn’t even visible until you’d gotten within ten meters or so.

  In the meanwhile, the fourth and final section was less “park” and more “navigation hazard,” a sizeable artificial mountain range meant for climbing, though it was also sunken far enough into the ground that only around ten meters of rock actually protruded skywards.

  Not to mention that, at the bottom, there were a good forty meters of water, filled with corals and all sorts of interesting animal life, a place to go scuba diving. Or just plain diving, for those who could breathe underwater, which Derek couldn’t, sadly. But he’d checked, unless you were trying to get into some of the more extreme forms of scuba diving, such as wreck- or cave-exploration, it also didn’t take too much effort to get certified.

  That place would doubtlessly be a lot of fun to clamber/swim around in, though it was also the only quadrant one could not take any shortcuts through; you’d have to go around, always. Which was why it was probably a good thing his apartment was on the opposite side of campus, meaning his path towards the central dome took him straight through the botanical garden, no doubt the most interesting part of the campus, barring any classrooms during lessons. Because, well, the lessons were kinda the whole damn point of coming here.

  So for a few minutes, the blue sky overhead was replaced by the canopy of an artificial jungle, the greenhouse peeling itself out of the murk like some witch’s hut as he passed by, only to vanish behind him nearly as quickly.

  It actually extended almost ten meters into the ground, with several glass walkways allowing one to see the plants within from virtually every angle.

  And as for the plants themselves … well, they were strange and alien, sometimes literally so, in the case of those of extraterrestrial origin. All sorts of colors, all sorts of shapes, all sorts of smells … though it was weirdly difficult to guess which of the plants were actually from off-world. Earth had some rather bizarre flora of its own.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The only thing Derek would have changed about the greenhouse would have been to add a few benches to sit down on, as it was an environment he’d have loved to read a book in or the like, but he supposed that it was a place meant to be explored, not sat in, so it was likely a very good thing it wasn’t his decision to make.

  Pretty soon, the foliage opened back up to reveal the enormous golden dome that sat at the center of the academy, with quite a few people looking to be around Derek’s age already entering.

  Of course, how old one looked meant very little nowadays, yet even so, most people who reached the point of barely aging tended to be in their twenties at the very least.

  Though there were several people in more formal, officious clothing at the doors, armored fabric designed to resemble tweed formed into three-piece suits designed to grant a minimal amount of places to grab onto, while also minimizing the visibility of any weapons that were being carried.

  There were even several who didn’t seem to be armed at all, but Derek couldn’t tell if that was because they actually didn’t have any weapons on them, or were “just” perfectly hiding them. The teachers, obviously, or at least personnel of the school, especially judging by the fact that they were standing there with clipboards.

  Not that they were actually checking anyone, just writing things down, but that could very easily be explained by [Skills]. Once again, something that would have, as far as he knew, been a massive pain in the ass in the pre-[System] times, but right now, things resolved themselves so smoothly one hardly even noticed.

  Derek pulled the letter he’d gotten out of his storage ring, checking it over one final (unnecessary) time.

  Show up here, today, wearing your gear, an hour from now. Yep, all correct. Therefore … therefore, he was now officially out of excuses. Full speed ahead and damn the doubts. The doubts of which his brain was throwing a truly frustrating number at him now that he was on the very verge of “success.”

  He passed the teachers, nodding in greeting, then entered the dome.

  Its insides hardly matched what he’d been expecting, though really, what had he thought it would look like? The Thunderdome?

  Well, whatever images his imagination had been providing, the scene before him was rather simple, the vast dome largely empty, the roof seeming to be at least fifty percent windows, none of which had been visible from outside, while the ground had been made to look like marble, though Derek doubted it was, judging by how it bulged out of the ground in places to form benches and tables and the like, distorting the patterns in the stone in a manner that spoke of deformation, rather than anything else.

  And there were others present. Not many, he was early, after all, but more than he’d expected.

  Much like the students outside, most appeared to be Korean, but as this was an academy internationally acknowledged as being one of the best, and it had foreigners to match. People like Derek, for example.

  So … just walk up to some random group of people and strike up a conversation? And what language to use? Actually, the second question was easy enough; he should speak Korean, it wasn’t like he couldn’t switch to something else if needed.

  Either way, he headed towards the nearest group, a trio of young men who looked to be about his age, white, and as he got closer, he could hear them speaking English with a noticeably British accent.

  “Hi,” Derek began in that same language. “I’m guessing you guys are here early for the introduction, too?”

  The guy in the middle had been following his approach with his eyes the entire time, yet even so decided to still give Derek a long look up and down, as if he hadn’t had plenty of time for appraisal.

  “Yes, we are,” the guy said. “All the better to scope out the competition, wouldn’t you agree?”

  That was certainly one way to look at things.

  Though now, Derek was starting to realize something: the trio was wearing the good gear. Not the level-appropriate and solid without being spectacular gear he was, nor the clean, sharply cut designs lacking identifying marks commonly associated with individualized equipment, but something that held the spectacular and trademark-studded appearance of items that had been designed to be recognized.

  Not that brand-name gear was automatically bad, per se, but it was designed with properties that were broadly useful. Armor that was tough, blades that were sharp, clubs that weighed more at the point of impact, things like that.

  Good, but generically so.

  For someone to go through the entire process of buying something that expensive, that overpowered relative to the people in this place … well, it was a statement. Just not one Derek was entirely sure how to interpret.

  Was it as simple as “I’m rich”?

  Or something more along the lines of “I can do things for you”?

  Or, perhaps, just something as bitch-basic as a desire to look good and having decided that brand-name gear was the best way to make that happen?

  Either way … Derek shrugged.

  “Honestly, I just wanted to meet other students without it being the middle of the dean’s speech.”

  Turning this into a cutthroat competition straight off the bat also didn’t seem like a winning strategy in any environment, but he didn’t want to say that out loud just yet.

  “Anyway, I’m Derek,” he introduced himself, offering his hand to shake.

  “Percival Grandison,” the other guy said, ignoring the hand while cocking his head to the side and giving Derek another, even more performative mustering. “Not that we’re likely to interact much in the future.”

  Derek raised an eyebrow, turned around, and started to walk around, now thoroughly fed up.

  What a waste of time that had been … though perhaps there was some small amount of value to be found in the fact that he now knew who wasn’t worth interacting with.

  “Just remember you don’t have to shoot for the stars,” Grandison called after him. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to become someone you aren’t meant to be.”

  Derek stopped at that, half turning to stare at the increasingly irritating jackass.

  “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean? Are you scared I might beat you in whatever imaginary competition you’ve got going on in your head?”

  Grandison smirked. “Legends are legends for a reason. They’re special. You aren’t. You won’t match them. Accept that, and you’ll be happy.”

  Okay, what? What was the point of saying any of that? Clearly, Derek’s choice of attire had been misinterpreted, and now that guy had apparently decided it was safe to go “mask off,” that much made sense, a disgusting amount of that, no less.

  But there was absolutely no point to actually saying the nonsense he was spouting, not unless … right, he had an idea that kinda made sense in a way, if he was right, it was “merely” that the execution had been so clumsy that it had thrown Derek.

  “Are you seriously trying the whole ‘learned helplessness’ shtick on me right now?” he asked, eyebrows raised so far they were practically leaping off his head.

  He actually knew exactly what that was; it had been one of those things his sisters had told him to watch out for, except that they’d been worried he’d do it to himself.

  It really was quite simple; if you believed certain barriers were insurmountable, you’d never be able to rise above them. Much like how fleas locked in jars would learn that they wouldn’t be able to jump as high, and even when released, never regain their former height, acting as though the lid were still there. Something people could inflict upon themselves if they decided they couldn’t do something, or internalize if they were hit over the head enough times with the whole “you’ll never be good enough” line by assholes.

  Though random strangers saying things like that rarely had actual impact, not the way it might from, say, a teacher.

  Deliberately using that trick, thinking it could work over the course of a single conversation, just to sabotage “the competition” … what the fuck? No, seriously, what the actual fuck? It had the feeling of some immature idiot hearing a concept and deciding to run with it without even the faintest hint of having attempted to actually understand it … which was probably exactly what was happening.

  Grandison scoffed. “As if you could comprehend even the tiniest portion of my plans, I …”

  Derek burst out laughing, deciding to, just for the hell of it, wagging his index finger at Grandison’s rapidly purpling face in a “warning” manner, purely because driving that guy further up the wall felt like a worthwhile use of the next few seconds …

  That was when things went to hell in an instant, a mere blink of an eye later, Grandison was on the ground, screaming, clutching his right hand, while Derek was staring at his suddenly very bent, very painful, very on fire index finger, black flames licking at the air, thankfully not jumping to the sleeve of his jacket … though thankfully, the other guy didn’t seem to be on fire either, just burned.

  “Did you break my finger?” Derek asked, barely even believing that was what he was looking at. He’d literally just … “blink and you miss it” was a saying, wasn’t it?

  Grandison clutched his injured hand by the wrist as he scrambled to his feet, staring daggers at Derek, who was still staring at the injured digit as the fire winked out, his mana having bottomed out, revealing … well, a broken finger, skin around the additional “joint” rapidly bruising before, with a loud “crunch,” it snapped back into place and the discoloration went away.

  Right. His bloodline also stored a small amount of mana separately, only usable for his regeneration [Skill], which he’d just used without meaning to.

  On one hand, it was nice to have full access to regeneration, even if it was only that fast because the injury had been minor. On the other … how the hell was he supposed to prove that lighting someone on fire had been self-defense?

  Hopefully, the teachers here had the same habits of paying attention without coming down on small infractions like the hammer of God that the ones at school had had, otherwise, this might be an issue.

  Also, he needed to get the reflexive activation of the [Skills] under control, otherwise he …

  “Seriously?” a voice rang out from the shadows to his left, interrupting his train of thought. “All I had to do to get him to take a swing was wag my finger in his face?”

  Derek turned to see a Korean woman, around his age, stepping away from the wall. She was wearing what could perhaps most adequately be described as a combat pantsuit, armored cloth with easily accessible pockets for consumables and tools, though she also had a buckler strapped to her left forearm, and what seemed to be a sword tucked away under her suit.

  “Why the hell would you want him to do that?” Derek asked.

  She raised an eyebrow. “So I can kick his ass without it technically being my fault. He’s been running around trying that bullshit for the past hour.”

  Derek was about to ask how long she’d been here before thinking better of it, though it seemed like he hadn’t been entirely subtle when thinking the question, because she gave him a wry smile and just came out with the answer.

  “I’ve been here since this morning. My mother told me I was too excited, and if I was going to continue acting like a cat with the zoomies, for the sake of her sanity ….” she gestured at their surroundings. “I figured this was the best place to go. Anyway, I’m Nan Ye-in, but please, call me Ye-in.”

  She offered him her hand, which he immediately shook.

  “Derek Thoma,” he replied, then corrected himself. “Just Derek, please.”

  “Nice to meet you, Just Derek,” she told him with a grin.

  He laughed. “Yeah, walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Yup.”

  She turned to look after the jackass troupe, which seemed to be heading out of the dome.

  “Seriously, you’d think the son of a Lord would know better than to act like that.”

  “Which Lord?” Derek asked, the name Grandison not ringing any bells, though he hardly knew everyone with power and influence in the world.

  “Oh, some British twat. Last person of any influence must have lived like a hundred years before the [System] arrived.”

  “Wait, as in actual nobility? It’ not an epithet? And he’s got a head that big?” Derek asked, aghast. “Wow. That’s pathetic.”

  There were a whole lot of people who were commonly referred to as “Lord of So-and-so,” with “so and so” referring to an element or some style of magic, and people related to those at least had a reason to be arrogant. The power of a bloodline, a good racial evolution, perhaps even proper tutors, all of that could combine to form the basis of someone being able to do incredible things. Of course, one could have all that and not be an arrogant twatwaffle, but it was at least an explanation (though hardly an excuse for that kind of behavior).

  Being descended from actual nobility, that was the next best thing to worthless in the modern world. Unless you were a part of a family that had maintained a high standard of living, but at that point, “I’m rich” was the thing you were really trying to say, tacky as it was. Though at the same time, screaming “I have money” seemed to have been the primary purpose of his entire goddamn outfit.

  … what a jackass.

  “Unfortunately, just being an ass isn’t actionable,” Ye-in sighed. “But assholes can usually be goaded into being assholes in a way you can act on, can’t they?”

  “What do you do if you pick a fight with someone you can’t beat?” Derek wondered.

  “Unlike that waste of space, I know how to pick my fights. And if anyone crazy powerful decides that me not engaging with their attempts at picking a fight is worth doing something stupid without justification… well, then they can deal with my mother.”

  Which left the question of just whose daughter he was talking to. People picking fights, or getting close to the relatives of powerhouses, was something Derek was sadly far too familiar with, as was the reaction to such actions crossing the line … granted, that one time when he’d been five had been the most extreme variant, one he’d had a front-row seat to no less, but that was hardly the first time shit had hit the fan.

  So, who was she related to … and should he really be digging deeper? He knew exactly how hurtful questions like “who are you related to,” or “do you know ‘insert famous relative here’ and what are they like” were.

  He gave her a quizzical look, trying to decide.

  “You don’t know who my mother is,” she stated in a breathless tone Derek wasn’t sure how to interpret, so he decided to be safe.

  “I’m sorry, I …” he began, but Ye-in cut him off.

  “Thank God for that. Come on, let’s get away from the entrance and talk.”

  And with that, she practically dragged him towards the center of the dome, not that he was resisting much. Or at all.

  Things were certainly going in an interesting direction already ...