'A serialised quest?'
John's eyes sharpened with a glint. In his experience, serialisation meant depth. It meant that these two weren't just random side characters; they were the gateway to a much larger narrative.
'A serialised quest means there are layers of secrets buried here,' he concluded, his pulse quickening. 'Now I'd pay almost anything for a mind-reading ability. It would save me so much trouble.'
But he wasn't a telepath; he was a hacker. He had to work with the tools he had. As the duration of his Frame Recognition flickered out, he didn't immediately activate it again. He was down to only six Mental Points—a dangerously low threshold. If a fight broke out, he'd be walking into a tough spot, without a doubt.
'I should try the easy way first,' he strategised, leaning back in his seat and watching the room out of the corner of his eye. 'The system wants information about them—something deeper than just the names. I should try to act friendly. Use the prestige I earned from beating Alfred last night.'
His plan was simple in theory: use their curiosity, or even their arrogance, as an "exploit" to get close. He had been the talk of the class since the fight. Surely, these two would be interested in the "zero-score" anomaly who fought like a veteran.
In the worst-case scenario, he would end up in a spar with them, which was another way of gathering information for him. A person's fighting style often revealed more than a conversation ever could.
"...And here we end our class," the teacher finally barked, slamming the desk in front of him. "Starting tomorrow, we will begin the actual curriculum of the first year. Classes start at ten sharp. Do not be late, or the consequences will be severe."
The master finished by speaking about the week's schedule, which instructors would be teaching them and the locations of the various lectures. Aside from the specialised combat training, which would take place in special training halls in a different building, all lectures would be held right here.
"Time to act," John whispered.
He waited as the students stood up, the room filling with the sudden scrape of chairs and the low hum of chatter. He kept his eyes lowered, tracking the feet of his targets until they moved toward the exit. He followed at a distance, waiting for the right moment to make his move.
However, reality rarely followed a script.
His first target was the male student with the dim white code. Up close, the boy didn't have the monstrous physical bulk of Alfred, but he radiated a more refined, dangerous aura. He had short, vibrant blue hair, a pair of silver earrings that caught the light, and sharp, faint blue eyes that seemed not to care about anything in the world.
The moment he stepped into the corridor, he was instantly surrounded. But it wasn't a random group of admirers. John recognised the faces immediately; these were the same students who had been shooting him daggers since he beat Alfred. They were close friends with Alfred, obviously.
Seeing the blue-haired boy laughing and acting carefree with the very people who wanted John's head on a spike made him halt. Attempting to be "friendly" with someone who was currently surrounded by a hostile pack was tactical suicide.
'This won't do,' John decided, aborting the approach. 'If I go over there now, it'll just start a fight.'
He pivoted his attention to the second target: the female student. She was the polar opposite of the blue-haired boy. She had incredibly long brown hair that she left completely unstyled, allowing it to flow wildly over her shoulders and back as she walked.
Her face was set in a mask of grim seriousness, and her brown eyes were so intense that John felt as though she could peer directly into a person's soul and read one's thoughts.
Unlike the boy, she was a total loner. She didn't interact with anyone, and she didn't linger. The moment the teacher dismissed them, she had moved in fast, purposeful strides toward the exit, vanishing into the crowd and out of sight in a matter of seconds.
Watching his plans crumble before they even started, John stood in the middle of the hallway, scratching his head. 'This is going to be a lot harder than I thought,' he inwardly sighed.
He decided the best course of action was to retreat to the safety of his dorm, recharge his Mental Points, and rethink his approach to the serialised quest.
"Hey, you."
Before he could take a single step toward the staircase, a shadow fell over him. A tall student, someone with the height and reach of a professional basketball player, flashed forward to block his path.
John looked up, squinting at the newcomer. The youth was one of the many who had been staring at him during the lecture, but unlike the others, his gaze hadn't been filled with malice or curiosity—it was more like a challenge.
"What?" John snapped. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, and this student wasn't on his list. "Step aside. I'm tired, and I want to rest."
The tall student didn't budge. He looked down at John with an obvious determination and recklessness.
"Not before you fight me!"
The tall student pointed a thumb at his own chest in a display of prideful arrogance that made John raise a sceptical eyebrow. He looked at the youth and sighed internally.
"I saw your fight with that loser Alfred last night," the student continued, clearly mistaking John's silence for an assessment of his sudden request. "I'm way better than him, far stronger! You won't get a victory that easily against me. I won't be caught by whatever trick you use."
"Sorry, not interested," John said flatly. He reached out and firmly shoved the student's arm aside, turning on his heel to walk in a different direction. He didn't have the Mental Points to waste on a spare, just nobody.
Yet, the student was stubborn; he blurred across the floor, jumping to block John's path once more with a persistent thud of his heavy shoes.
"I can tell you are very strong, and I want to challenge every strong student in our class! It's the only way to grow!"
"Not my business," John countered. He could tell this student was the "battle maniac" archetype—easily triggered, hyper-focused on strength, yet honest and devoid of evil intentions.
In John's experience, such figures were usually the ones who suffered the most in complex systems, and he had no desire to waste his precious MP on someone so transparent.
"What's wrong, hidden prodigy? Are you scared to fight Luke, the prodigy son of the Lockheart family?"
Just as John prepared to push past again, a different voice cut through the corridor like a serrated blade. The words were heavy enough to stop John in his tracks.
He didn't stop because he was triggered by the insult, but because the speaker was one of the students standing in the circle around his primary quest target—the blue-haired youth.
John turned around, letting out a sharp snort of amusement. He didn't look at the speaker first; instead, he swept his eyes across the other students in the hallway. The atmosphere had shifted instantly. He noticed soft, frantic whispers spreading through the crowd. Several students were pointing at Luke, their expressions a mix of pity and recognition.
John realised the jab about the "Lockheart" name wasn't actually directed at him. It was a targeted strike against the tall student.
"What's wrong, Bernard? Do you want to fight me instead?" Luke's voice dropped, dripping with a sudden fury. As John had expected, there was a deep-seated friction between Luke and this troublemaker named Bernard.
"I'm just trying to help you, Luke!" Bernard laughed, stepping forward from the elite group. "Or did you forget? Your mighty Lockheart family name is resting solely on your shoulders now. Or what's left of it, anyway."
"Come here, I dare you," Luke shouted in pure, unadulterated rage. He closed his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. "Come and fight me as a man, you damn coward! Stop hiding behind your family's influence!"
"Humph! As if I'm afraid of you." Bernard moved forward, a sneer of mockery etched into his face.
John stood between the two, observing the unfolding drama with detachment. He could tell there was a deep, likely tragic story behind the Lockheart name, but he didn't care about the politics of this world's families yet. What he did care about was the opportunity. At this moment, Bernard had provided a bridge to the blue-haired target.
If he wanted to investigate the origins of the suspicious youth, he needed to break into their circle. And the best way to do that was to escalate the chaos.
"Why don't we raise the stakes then?" John suddenly interfered. He stepped up beside Luke, leaning back with a casual confidence that seemed to radiate from his very core. "Why don't the two of us fight the lot of you instead?"
"What?!!" Bernard's face went pale, then flushed a deep, unsightly red. He looked at the group of five students behind him, then back at John.
"Are you afraid of me, perhaps?" John smirked, crossing his arms and gesturing with his head toward the elite group. "I recall that loser from last night, Alfred was his name, if I recalled it right, sorry, I always forget the trash and useless stuff…
Anyway, my point is, he was standing right by your side. Why don't you try to clear his name—and yours—and prove yourselves against me? Or are you only brave when you're mocking someone's family?"
"You..."
"Don't cross the line, zero-scorer!"
"Do you take us for losers like you?!"
A cacophony of shouts erupted from the group. They were insulted, furious, and primed for violence—all except for the target John was eyeing.
The blue-haired boy stood silently at the rear, his faint blue eyes tracking the scene with a chilling, analytical calmness. He didn't join the shouting; he didn't even look agitated. He looked like a cold statue watching a play he didn't care about.
Noticing the target's reaction made John realise his task was even harder than he thought. The blue-haired youth clearly knew John was a high-threat entity; he wasn't going to be easily baited into a messy brawl.
He maintained his distance while his "underlings" like Bernard stepped closer to John and Luke, the air crackling with the threat of an immediate explosion.
"What the hell are you doing here?!"
The roar came from the classroom doorway. Every student froze. They turned to see the fierce-looking teacher standing there with his arms crossed.
"In one minute, I don't want to see a single one of you in this corridor," the teacher barked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the gathered crowd. "Unless you want your first day to end with a disciplinary punishment? Move! Now!"
The teacher's eyes gleamed with a dangerous, threatening light that made even John's heart clench. This man was the real deal. If he promised them hell, John had no doubt he would deliver more than that—with interest.
"Consider it your lucky day, idiot!"
Even as the fight was cancelled and the gathering disbanded under the weight of the teacher's gaze, Bernard couldn't help but throw one last insult directly at Luke's face.
However, John noticed that Bernard avoided locking eyes with him. The bully might be arrogant, but the memory of Alfred's broken form was clearly still fresh in his mind.
John simply ignored these flies. His eyes remained fixed on his target until the youth vanished around a corner. Throughout the entire confrontation, that student had never shown a single speck of worry or distress.
He hadn't flinched when the teacher roared, nor had he looked concerned when John issued his challenge. It felt like he got everything under his total control.
On top of that, the boy radiated a chilling sense of security. He gave John the distinct feeling that he was confident he could hold his own against him. Even if he acknowledged John's strength, he seemed certain of his own ability to crush John if the need ever arose.
"Thanks for the help," a voice broke into John's thoughts.
As John walked away toward the dormitory building per the teacher's instructions, Luke hurriedly chased after him, his long strides easily catching up. "I know you stepped up back there to help me. I really appreciate it! Most people would have just watched the Lockheart kid get humiliated."
"At least you have a few brain cells working up there," John cracked a joke, a small smirk playing on his lips.
Even if Luke was hot-tempered and prone to charging in blindly, he was smart enough to realise that John's intervention had saved him from a five-on-one slaughter.
Even if Luke had misinterpreted John's true motive, John didn't mind it. Establishing a good relationship with someone who seemed to know a lot about this world, like Luke, was a solid move.
"By the way, who was that kid with the group?" John asked as they reached the edge of the garden paths. He tried to keep his tone casual, masking the burning interest in the answer. "The one with the blue hair and the silver earrings?"
"Which one?" Luke blinked, momentarily confused, before John provided a quick description. "Oh, him? That's Richard. But I heard others in that group calling him Ricky."
"Ricky?" John felt a surge of satisfaction. He had a name. He had successfully gained a foothold in his quest just by playing along with Luke's drama. "You know him? Is he from a big family like yours?"
"First time I've ever seen him," Luke honestly said, suddenly pausing in his tracks. A frown creased his forehead, as if he were lost in deep thought. "But now that you mention him, something definitely seems off about that guy!"
"How so?" John's interest was piqued. He leaned in slightly, waiting for Luke's next words like a hacker waiting for a decryption key to finish.
"You see, Alfred, Bernard, and the others in that lot are all the same type," Luke explained, his voice lowering. "They all come from the direct Guardian Families of the Paragons. They're incredibly insular and elitist.
They'd never accept an outsider into their inner circle, and yet... I could easily tell they were treating this new face with the utmost respect. It was almost like they were treating him as their leader. Which is... Quite weird, actually! Those guys don't follow anyone who isn't 'High-Born'."
John didn't fully grasp the weight of terms like "Guardian Families" or "Paragons," but the subtext was loud and clear. Ricky wasn't just another student; he was the son of a high-ranking figure or a strong family in a world governed by ancient hierarchies.
"Don't look at me that way... You must have heard about my family and what happened to it," Luke said, his tone shifting abruptly. The proud fire in his eyes died down, replaced by a sombre, depressing shadow. He lowered his head as he spoke, his voice tinged with the embarrassment of a fallen noble.
John wanted to ask directly about the Paragons, the Guardian Families and the Lockheart downfall. He was desperate for the lore of this world to fill in the blanks of his sudden birth here.
Yet, a sharp internal warning flared in his mind. Asking about basic, world-shaping concepts like the Paragons or the Guardian Families would be a glaring red flag, even to someone as seemingly straightforward as Luke. It would be like a modern person asking what a "Congressman" is.
"I'm not that informative, you know," John said vaguely, trying to offer a neutral opening.
"Ah, I'm glad you didn't hear the gossip," Luke laughed wryly, though the sound was hollow. He seemed relieved to avoid the topic of his family's shame. "Anyway, let's continue our talk next time. I'll go and leave you to rest. Sorry about earlier—I shouldn't have jumped you for a fight right after class."
John recalled that he had used "wanting to rest" as his excuse to dodge the spar. He had no choice but to accept the exit. He watched Luke walk away, satisfied with the intel he had extracted. He had a name, a social position of the group surrounding his target, and a quest he was progressing at last to solve.
"Damn!"
After walking alone for a few more minutes, John slammed his palm against his forehead, a sharp pang of regret hitting him. "I should have asked him about that girl as well!"
He had been so focused on Ricky that he had completely forgotten to ask about the brown-haired loner with the soul-piercing eyes.
She was the second half of his serialised quest, and now he was still blind to even her name. "I'll have to ask him tomorrow," he grumbled, frustrated by his own lapse in focus.