Kaizen backed out of Room 616 slowly, like a bomb defusal expert carefully retreating from a ticking nuclear device.
"I... I'm going to get that milk now," he whispered.
Klaus didn't even look up from his desk. He was scribbling furiously in a brand new notebook with "Subject K: Cognitive Anomalies" written on the cover in elegant script.
"Farewell, Human..." Klaus muttered, waving one hand dismissively without glancing up.
Kaizen didn't need to be told twice. He slipped out the door and sprinted down the hallway like his life depended on it. He didn't stop running until he was completely outside the dorm building, gulping down fresh air that didn't smell like incense, blood wine, and concentrated existential dread.
It was late afternoon now. The sun was still high in the sky.
Kaizen checked the map on his phone and let out a long sigh.
"This place isn't a school," he muttered, staring at the GPS coordinates. "It's basically a sovereign nation."
The Zenith Academy covered five thousand acres of land. It wasn't just classrooms and dorms. It was a completely self-contained city-state.
To his left, he could see the Scholastic Core, with its six massive Elemental Towers piercing the clouds like giant needles in a circle. To his right, the Residential Enclaves stretched out like some kind of luxury resort.
He needed to get away from the dorms. He desperately needed food.
He started walking toward District 3: The Arcane Exchange.
According to the official guidebook, it was the "Student-Friendly Commercial Hub."
In actual reality, it was a fantasy version of Shinjuku crossed with Dubai, designed with the sole purpose of bankrupting entire noble families.
Neon mana-signs flickered overhead everywhere. Floating shops drifted lazily above the streets, tethered down by golden chains. The smell of expensive imported spices and burnt mana credits filled the air.
He walked past a bakery window. A single croissant was floating in a magical stasis field, glowing with an actual holy aura.
[Levitation Croissant: Light, fluffy, and zero calories!]
[Price: 2,000 Crowns]
"..."
He walked past a trendy cafe where a barista was using an actual mini-dragon to heat the water.
[Phoenix Roast Coffee: Brewed with real fire!]
[Price: 4,500 Crowns]
"...!"
Kaizen stopped walking. Cold sweat formed on the back of his neck.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sleek black room key card. On one side it displayed his name and room number. He flipped it over carefully.
It looked completely plain at first, but as his thumb brushed across the surface, new gold lines began to etch themselves onto the plastic. The magic recognized his unique bio-signature. This was apparently a high-security feature where the balance was only revealed to the blood-bound owner.
What wasn't so great was the actual number that materialized.
[Balance: 500 Crowns]
"Five hundred," Kaizen whispered, his soul physically leaving his body.
In the game, 500 crowns was the standard starter money. It was enough to buy a rusty dagger or maybe one low-grade healing potion.
Here? In the actual Arcane Exchange? It wasn't even enough to buy a single cup of coffee. It was barely enough to buy a napkin to wipe away his tears.
"I'm destitute."
Kaizen realized, staring at his pathetic reflection in the window of an expensive magic sword shop.
"I'm at the most prestigious academy in the entire world, surrounded by literal royalty, and I can only afford tap water."
He kept walking, moving away from the main promenade and toward the seedier edge of the district. The "Budget Zone."
Here, the shops weren't floating magically. The pavement was cracked and uneven. The smell of fresh, magically purified air was replaced by the smell of hot grease and burnt charcoal.
'Please. There has to be something. I'm starving. My stamina bar is literally blinking red.'
He finally found it. A goblin vendor grilling sausages on sticks over a barrel of enchanted coals.
"250 Crowns!" the goblin croaked loudly. "Rat-tail sausages! Best in entire city! No refund if you get stomach ache!"
"I'll take two," Kaizen said, slamming his card down on the greasy counter with the desperation of a man betting his absolute last chip.
He held the two skewered sausages (he absolutely refused to acknowledge the 'rat-tail' part) in his hands. They were greasy. They were lumpy. They were absolutely beautiful.
"My dinner," Kaizen sighed, a genuine, teary-eyed smile touching his lips. "Finally, something actually goes right."
He opened his mouth. He raised the first skewer.
WHAM.
A blur of motion. A sharp pain in his wrist.
The sausage went flying through the air.
It spun in slow motion, before landing face-down in the dirt.
SPLAT.
Kaizen froze completely.
His mouth was still hanging open. His hand was still raised.
He slowly lowered his gaze to the dirt. The breading had split open. The sausage was completely covered in gravel and filth. The 250 crowns... gone forever.
"Oops."
A mocking snicker broke the silence.
Kaizen looked up slowly.
Standing in front of him was a boy with slicked-back brown hair and a uniform that had been tailored specifically to highlight his arrogance. He was flanked by two other guys who were busy cracking their knuckles menacingly.
Goon #1. One of Lance Wind's personal lackeys.
"My bad," the Goon smirked, not looking even slightly sorry. "I didn't see you there, trash. You blend in so well with the actual garbage, I honestly got confused."
The other two goons laughed. It was a practiced, perfectly synchronized laugh.
"Hey, isn't this the guy?" Goon #2 whispered loudly. "The one who was sitting next to the Hero? The one Lord Lance personally marked?"
"Oh? Is it?" Goon #1 grinned wider, stepping closer. "Did we just strike gold?"
'Liar! You know who I was! You targeted me deliberately!'
He invaded Kaizen's personal space, lifting his expensive leather boot and deliberately kicking the second sausage out of Kaizen's other hand.
SPLAT.
"Listen here, F-Rank. You got a little too comfortable today. Sitting with the elites? Ignoring Lord Lance? You think you're special just because you sat next to that peasant Hero?"
He poked Kaizen hard in the chest.
"I'm going to teach you a proper lesson. And when I tell Lord Lance that I put you in the hospital, I'm going to rank up in his organization. I'll finally be in his inner circle."
The Goon flared his mana aggressively. It was muddy yellow. E-Rank. Weak and unrefined, but still enough to break bones easily.
"Any last words before I rearrange your face?"
Kaizen didn't look at the Goon.
He was staring down at the sausages lying in the dirt.
500 Crowns. His entire balance. His dinner. Gone.
Something deep inside Kaizen snapped.
It wasn't the "Glitch." It wasn't the "System." It was the raw, primal rage of a broke college student who just lost his only food. It was the pain of someone who knew exactly what hunger felt like.
'Wasting food like this? In this economy?!'
"Two hundred and fifty," Kaizen whispered.
The Goon blinked. "Hah?"
Kaizen slowly raised his head.
His eyes were dead. The light was completely gone from them. There was no fear. No panic. Just a hollow, bottomless void of financial despair.
"That was two hundred and fifty crowns," Kaizen said, his voice dropping an entire octave. "Each."
"So what?" the Goon scoffed. "It's pocket change! I spend that much on napkins!"
"Pocket change?"
Kaizen took a single step forward.
The air around him didn't flare with visible mana. It just went completely still.
To the Goon, this F-Rank nobody suddenly looked... tall. The shadows from the setting sun stretched over Kaizen's face, hiding his eyes completely.
"To you, it's pocket change," Kaizen said quietly. "To me... that was sustenance. That was survival."
He looked down at the empty wooden skewer still clutched in his right hand. The tip was sharp.
"You wasted food."
Kaizen gripped the skewer tighter.
"You stepped on my dinner."
The Goon faltered. He took a half-step backward, genuinely unnerved by the complete lack of fear.
"W-what? You want to fight over a sausage? Are you insane?"
Kaizen looked him directly in the eye.
"You want to rank up in Lance's hierarchy? You want to impress him?"
Kaizen raised the wooden stick. It was just a piece of trash. A throwaway item.
But suddenly, some words ran through his vision.
[Nonstandard Weapon Authority (NWA): Active]
[Item: Greasy Skewer]
[Rank: D+]
[Attribute: Piercing (High)]
Kaizen didn't register the system notification appearing. He didn't register that one of his dormant skills was currently activating. He didn't care that the mere wooden skewer in his hand was now conceptually harder than steel.
He didn't care about any of it.
All he cared about was the food. So many people died of hunger every day, and this spoiled brat just outright disrespected the meal? Unforgivable!
"Do you have insurance?"
"Wh-what?! No! Why would—"
"You should have gotten some. I'm about to teach you exactly why!"
"You arrogant little—!"
The Goon swung his fist. Muddy mana coated his knuckles.
Kaizen didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He watched the attack moving in slow motion.
'Wasteful,' Kaizen thought, his mind cold and clear. 'Too much wind-up. Zero efficiency. His center of gravity is completely off.'
Then he moved.