Nathan had become irrelevant. With PsiLink, anyone could see his record: a second-year disciple stalled at Phase 2.5. He wasn't worth a second glance. Even an extraordinary skill was useless when trapped at Tier 1.

  He retreated to the back of the crowd, a knot of anticipation tightening in his gut. Finding a rocky outcrop, he pulled up the system interface, his focus narrowing to its glowing text.

  Do you want to use your rolls now?

  Y/N

  Seeing no reason to hesitate, Nathan gave a mental 'yes'.

  //

  Starting Ultra Rare Skill Roll

  Congratulations! You received an Ultra Rare Skill -- [Martial Arts Mastery]

  Rare and above skills give you one bonus roll

  Starting normal rolls

  You received [Self-Emotional Support]

  You received [Bad Mouth]

  You received [Flowing Strikes]

  //

  Three enormous question marks might as well have hovered above his head.

  What kind of bizarre skills are these? And what’s with this scammy gacha system?

  Pushing his questions aside, Nathan focused on his first ultra-rare skill.

  [Martial Arts Mastery]

  Description: Gain deep knowledge in Martial Arts.

  Hidden Effect: ???

  As Nathan pondered its function, a crushing pressure squeezed his brain. He crumpled to his knees, an enormous influx of knowledge flooding his mind. Hazy figures moved through his vision, their limbs flowing in various rhythms—some powerful, others gentle; some focused on speed, others on endurance. Every move was calculated for victory. His very being seemed to embody different animals, mimicking their attack patterns. Striking with the force of a bear's paw, clawing like a tiger, running and leaping like a leopard, or roaring like a lion in the depths of a jungle. Despite the relentless headache, his body began to mimic the movements involuntarily.

  A deep, resonant roar erupted from him, startling everyone nearby. Instincts flared. Those closest to Nathan snapped into defensive stances, only to flush with embarrassment when they saw it was just the Phase 2.5 disciple from earlier. A few started forward, intent on putting him in his place, but a proctor’s sharp voice cut through the murmurs.

  "No fighting. And Nathan, if you cause any more trouble, your results will be nullified!"

  The proctor's warning was lost on him, his mind consumed by the flood of new knowledge. He began to analyze what he'd learned: Force Fist, Palm, and Kick were laughably weak, their forms riddled with flaws that the [Martial Arts Mastery] skill relentlessly highlighted and corrected. His thoughts flashed to Zahra Kinyara’s attack. From that single strike, he could now deconstruct the attack pattern and the way she manipulated her mana. The insight was so clear that, were it not for the excruciating headache, he felt he could recreate the technique himself.

  While Nathan groaned, tears streaming down his face, his test group was nearing its final participant.

  The exam concluded swiftly. Most disciples returned to their dormitories, happy with their results. The few who failed trudged off to meet the external affairs manager and accept their fate: expulsion from the sect.

  The proctor from the fourth group lingered, her gaze fixed on the disciple curled up on the distant rock. A frown creased her brow, a mix of concern and duty in her expression. After a moment's hesitation, she started toward him.

  "Nathan!"

  A voice called his name, a distant sound muffled by the storm in his mind. He was still on his knees, his body trembling as the last vestiges of martial knowledge slotted into place.

  The voice called again, sharper this time. It was infused with a pressure that sliced through the mental chaos and stabbed directly into his awareness.

  He jolted, his head snapping up. The world slammed into focus, and the first thing he saw was the proctor. She flinched, taking a half-step back, her eyes wide with an expression he couldn't decipher.

  He shook his head to clear the last of the haze. As the pounding in his skull receded, a sense of profound clarity settled over him. The intense focus he'd felt moments before drained away, leaving him feeling raw and exposed—back in his own skin.

  "Nathan Reed!" The proctor's voice snapped, sharp with irritation. "Elder Kyron of the Outer Sect has summoned you. Don't keep him waiting."

  Nathan followed her pointed finger. A lone figure stood shrouded in the shadow of the cliff face.

  Bowing his head and apologizing to the proctor, he quickly made his way to the man dressed in simple gray attire.

  As he drew closer, the figure resolved into a middle-aged man with a crew cut and a stern, scarred face. Though his build was stocky, bordering on chubby, an invisible pressure rolled off him in waves. Nathan had no doubt that beneath the patched-together clothing were muscles capable of crushing him without a flicker of mana.

  "I apologize for keeping you waiting, Elder," Nathan began, knowing Kyron had seen everything. "And thank you for taking the time to see me."

  Kyron waved dismissively, his eyes cracking open to gaze languidly at Nathan. The look on his face spoke of a deep weariness, as if dealing with Nathan's very existence was a tedious, final chore for the day.

  "Nathan Reed," Kyron’s voice was a lazy rumble, "you know you should have failed, right?"

  Nathan stared, bewildered. Hadn't he scored enough points to pass?

  "I personally instructed Vivian to give you that result. Do you know why?"

  "Because it's the law of Verdant Spire Sect," Nathan stammered.

  "Yes, yes, the sect's laws must be followed," Kyron said, a humorless smile touching his lips. "But not always."

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Nathan remained silent.

  "We give disciples an extra year to offer them another chance. The odds are low, but the sect always tries to recover its investment. You're 24, an old man compared to the others. Surely you understand better than anyone that nothing is free, right?"

  Nathan nodded.

  "We have... evaluations. Shared assessments from proctors, outer elders, and inner elders. After all the calculations are done, Nathan Reed, do you know what your official rating is to this sect?"

  "Zero points, Elder?" Nathan whispered, the words barely audible. The ground seemed to fall away beneath his feet.

  "Ah, if we were talking points, you'd be in the negative," Kyron chuckled, the sound like grinding pebbles. "Your rating is 'detrimental.' Officially, that puts you in the same category as a traitor—a complete and utter loss on the sect's investment."

  Nathan's posture slumped, his gaze turning blank. Surely he hadn't done anything to harm the sect.

  "Confusing, isn't it?" Kyron raised an eyebrow, regarding the outer sect disciple as if he were an amusing joke. "Tell me, Nathan, how many years do you estimate it will take you to reach Tier 2?"

  "Elder, I..."

  "Ten years," Kyron cut him off flatly. "That's our projection. A full decade. In that time, we could produce five Tier 2 disciples. Even if we gave you every third-year benefit, what could you possibly accomplish to justify that cost?"

  "I would try to participate in missions," Nathan leaned forward, answering quickly, as if grasping at a sliver of hope.

  "How naive." Kyron threw his head back and laughed, the booming sound echoing as he slapped his knee. "Ridiculous! A child in an adult's body. You? A Tier 1, Phase 2.5, taking on missions? Who would assign them? Who would approve them? And who in their right mind would trust you with anything important? As for team missions... who would waste a spot on you?"

  Each question landed like a physical blow. He'd never considered it—the chain of approval, the trust required. He had pictured grabbing a request from a notice board, as simple as that. A foolish, desperate hope. He knew the world wasn't that simple, but admitting it felt like giving up.

  "And that's not even considering your age. No young team would accept a useless old man into their group."

  "Shit!" The word burst from his mouth before he could stop it.

  Triggered [Bad Mouth]. One credit given.

  Kyron’s eyes twinkled with dark amusement. "The sect doesn’t need another janitor, Nathan. It needs useful people. We don't care how you scraped by this exam—luck, a hidden talent, some freak ability. The sect isn't interested. Do you know why?"

  "Because the sect doesn't lack geniuses," Nathan replied bitterly.

  "Correct. At least you understand that much. Even if you reached Phase 9, even if you could somehow harm a Tier 2, it's meaningless. No Tier 2 is going to stand still and let a Tier 1 hit them. They'll shoot a Mana Bullet from a distance. What then? And ten years... Gods, ten years. It's laughable. Do you think the world will wait for you? In a decade, your peers will be Tier 3. You'll be nothing but an ant beneath their feet."

  Nathan stood frozen, his hands lacking the strength to even form fists. The harsh words settled on him like a physical weight, crushing him, because every last one of them was true.

  "So," Kyron continued, relentless, "back to my original question: why did I let you pass? Because our sect leader is a kind man who insists we handle matters... peacefully. And our records show that Nathan Reed is a diligent disciple." He said the word 'diligent' as if it were a disease. "Therefore, we are offering you the 'choice' to graduate from the outer sect."

  "Graduate?" Nathan echoed.

  "That's right. You can continue to the third year, but all sect privileges are revoked. Support is based on the probability of success, and for a 'detrimental' case..." He let the words hang. "No discounts. No free training rooms. No accommodation. All of it, gone. Or, you can graduate now. We'll even waive your tuition debt, as compensation for passing. But if you stay? That debt will crush you."

  This meant there was only one real choice. Having no points to pay was tantamount to being expelled.

  "Is there no option for a supporting profession, Elder?"

  Kyron’s eyes darkened. A wave of suffocating pressure—the raw power of a Tier 3—slammed into Nathan and drove him to his knees.

  "Know your place, you useless wretch. You had your chance to take up a supporting profession. You forfeited that path the moment you chose to stand on that exam platform. You don't get to come begging now. Your gamble was made. Now, choose your outcome."

  The fear of Kyron was nothing compared to the terror of failing his mother and abandoning Jessica. Twenty-two unremarkable years, and fate had still given him two people worth fighting for. His mother was a small, warm sun, never placing any burden on his shoulders, even though his father had left early, leaving behind unnamed responsibilities. She had never told him to become anyone specific and was always happy to see him as himself. A normal boy with a normal life. A normal smile that showed utmost happiness. That was enough.

  His eyes welled up as he remembered when her illness first worsened.

  "My sweet child." She had held his hand, her voice still full of faith in life. "When I forget you, it feels like being lost in darkness. But gradually, your story has cracked that shield of night. Until light shines through, guiding me back. My grown-up son has become a little sun himself."

  And here he was now, leaving his mother in perpetual darkness.

  As for Jessica, that kind-hearted girl, the only one who jumped in when she saw him floundering in the lake during the team-building tour. While trying to save him, she was sucked in by a whirlpool at the bottom of the lake, bringing both of them to this world. Though fruitless, he understood the debt he owed her. His motivation regarding her might not be as strong as for his mother, but it was still a debt he had to repay.

  His fingers scraped against the dirt as they curled into fists. He bit his lip, eyes squeezed shut in a burning struggle against the despair threatening to swallow him.

  I can't give up. I can still do this. I have the ability.

  Triggered [Self-Emotional Support]. One credit given.

  Nathan didn't see the notification, nor did he have time to wonder why these words of self-encouragement suddenly popped into his mind. He clung to them, gripping them tightly, his mind spinning through possibilities. Suffering and anguish would bring nothing. He needed a plan.

  He now had [Martial Arts Mastery] to support him. He could even formulate viable strategies to face Zarah Kinyara despite the level gap. He realized he wouldn't be completely outmatched; at the very least, he'd be able to dodge attacks and counterattack a few times before admitting defeat.

  The system. Yes, the system. Two years of waiting couldn't end like this. Expulsion now would leave a black mark on his record, making him unemployable to any other organization. His old 'Above Average' evaluation was meaningless; PsiLink would show everyone the truth of his near-zero stats. He'd be doomed to a mundane life, never able to amount to anything. But if he could just stay... if he could use the sect's resources... the system could be his salvation. A new technique. A new life.

  "The outer disciple tournament," Nathan burst out, his head still bowed.

  The pressure intensified for a moment, forcing him flat against the ground, unable to breathe. A second later, it all dissipated, and he gasped for air.

  Kyron laughed, pulling Nathan to his feet. "You really are crazy, aren’t you, boy?"

  After catching his breath, Nathan replied.

  "If I become an inner disciple, surely those limitations won't apply, right?"

  The outer sect elder stroked his chin, tilting his head as he regarded the disciple before him. His stern expression gradually transformed into one of interest and anticipation.

  "The other elders agreed," Kyron said, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "If you, the 'useless one,' can surpass the others to become an inner disciple... it would only prove they were dead weight all along."

  Nathan couldn't hide his excitement.

  "But…" Kyron held up a single finger "...the catch is this: you fail, you're expelled. No certificate. And the tuition debt comes due immediately."

  Unsurprised, Nathan nodded.

  "Thank you to the elders for giving me this opportunity."

  "Don't know if it's an opportunity or a punishment," Kyron sneered. "But I'm truly looking forward to seeing what kind of spectacle you'll make, Nathan Reed."

  Nathan bowed his head. "I accept." When he looked up again, the man in simple attire was gone, leaving only a cool breeze in the fading light.

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