Javelinist: Part Three

Are they fucking with me?! On a [Window] that levitated in front of the ’Javelinist,’ an interactive map displayed the topography of the Miraval Academy. At the center, three buildings formed the so-called Academy’s Trinity—the Miraval Educational Center, the Miraval Training Complex, and the Miraval’s Grand Basilica. The rest of the space around them was divided into three equal parts—the Relax Area, the Training Area, and the Developing Area. The first two areas sported hundreds of red points, each representing a different point of interest—for example, a bar in the Relax Area or a gym in the Sports Area. In stark contrast, the Developing Area had only three points—the 1st-year Class F dormitory, the 2nd-year Class F dormitory, and the 3rd-year Class F dormitory—nothing else.

At first, Jacques thought there was a bug on his [Window], but as soon as he delved deeper into the Developing Area, he understood the true meaning of sheer desolation.

It can’t be real. Grass as tall as he danced with the wind, backgrounded by an orchestra of grasshoppers. The only proof that human civilization had once settled these lands was the ruins of ancient buildings, which, like coral islands, were slowly being absorbed into the sea of grass. The Academy has left to dust one-third of its total surface? I thought this place was government-funded. Jacques theorized that tax evasion was the sole possible explanation for such an irrational decision.

After half an hour of walking on a dirty and unpaved road, the ’Javelinist’ finally arrived his dormitory. Despite being the most well-preserved structure in the Developing Area, it scarcely resembled a building at all, and while attempting to reach the door, Jacques’s feet crunched over various pieces of broken glass. He couldn’t discern from which broken window they had come, but he suspected it was the one sporting a massive hole beneath, large enough to allow the ivy covering the exterior to claim the inside as well.

The interior was no exception. Jacques witnessed the full glory of the Mold Kingdom, which, battle after battle, had spread its dominion across most of the white ceiling. Strangely, the smell wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but the temperature was too low due to the lack of any kind of radiators–his Basilisk-Leather Overcoat couldn’t protect his legs.

The ground floor’s layout consisted of just a straight hallway with three doors on its left side, stairs at its end, and a lone door in the middle of the right wall. According to the message from the school staff, that door led to his classroom. Upon entering the room, his sight scanned the eight students—three females and five males—sitting at desks arranged in three columns of three desks. There was no sign of the professor.

”Good morning,” he exchanged greetings with his new classmates and proceeded to the only available seat—the last one in the first row. Jacques was forced to admit the room was in better shape than he had imagined. No mold, reasonably clean, and the termites had shown mercy on his wooden chair and desk—the only place in the Developing Area where the Academy had actually spent money.

Since the presentation was programmed for later, everyone kind of ignored each other, so Jacques started rereading his notes to keep himself busy. However, he was soon stopped by an unpleasant feeling, a cold shiver that made him instinctively turn his head to the right, and there, his eyes met the amber ones of the bronze-skinned girl he had seen at the Class Assignment.

”Hello.” She didn’t reply, her gaze exuding a blend of hostility and fear. She is clearly an immigrant from Naturia and probably still doesn’t grasp Adamic very well. Mmh, let me think…By her look, she is probably from Enoch, a place that never interested me enough to learn the language. However, I remember that the Starship Commando had colonized that desert, so maybe she can understand Startongue. ”God morgen. Mit navn er Jacques.” She blinked several times with her large eyes, softening the intensity of her expression.

The Naturian lady had black, mussed, and very short hair, and wore a black leather suit, which covered the entirety of her short body—typically used for training in areas populated by a large amount of insects. She reminds me of my little black cat…damn!

”O-oshira,” she muttered softly. However, every other attempt at conversation failed, and after a tedious while, Jacques finally gave up.

Once that awkward moment ended, he turned his head, meeting the sight of a tanned man rocking in his chair at the last desk of the third row. For an everlasting moment the world seemed to froze, and they both began to sweat, pinching themselves but failing to wake up.

Jacques tried to deny reality, but his delusions died when he saw part of a tattoo on the man’s neck—three skulls and a vial of poison. What the fuck is he doing here? He’s a Marian, a filthy criminal, and most importantly—he’s over twenty years old! Jacques was forgetting that he, too, was a Marian criminal who was lying about his age.

The ’Javelinist’ pointed his index finger to his heart, moved it to his neck, and then tapped his forehead three times. Me—you—forgot. The tanned man translated in his head, and the next moment, his face was on his desk, whistling his innocence.

Jacques recovered from the seizure, breathing a huge sigh of relief, only to realize that Oshira had witnessed the entire scene, and that gave him an even stronger heart attack.

***

It took approximately one more hour for the professor to show up. The scent of alcohol lingered on the stains of his lavish silk shirt, which well-fitted his unkempt three-day beard and the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. Literally me on Mario’s Day. Jacques respected his carelessness on his first day at the world’s most prestigious academy.

After some loud snores, the professor gestured in the air before scrutinizing each of his students. ”Good. At least you are all here,” he noted, massaging his tired eyes and letting out a few pained mumbles. ”I am your professor, AAA-Class ’Raging Hornet’ Esteban Diaz, and you nine are the only F-Class Essentias among thousands of freshmen—my condolences.” He sat hunched over in his chair, the sole object that appeared relatively new in that dilapidated classroom. ”We’ll kick things off with introductions, then delve into the ’lesson,’ even though I don’t see how it will ever benefit you. Nevertheless, duty is duty, and you are my penance for succumbing to pride.” With his index finger, he pointed at the towering figure two desks in front of Jacques.

He’s bigger than Chad. The ’Javelinist’ thought as the towering student positioned himself next to the teacher’s desk to face his classmate.

”Good morning, everyone. I am Casi—” His presentation was interrupted by a chalk hitting his face.

”You are now an Essentia—ALWAYS your [Class] first!” Mr. Diaz yelled at him.

The big guy excused himself and restarted. ”F-Class ’Scarecrow’ Casimir Piekazt, I’m from the Emerald Lands, where my father owns a farm, more precisely in the Zavagradsky Kulak. It’s my first time living away from my small village, but I hope to get along with everyone.” Despite his powerful physique, the Sootish young man had an innocent, almost childlike face, adorned with blond hair, emerald eyes, and the most innocent smile Jacques had ever seen.

After his presentation ended, Casimir returned to his seat, and the slender student in front of Jacques took his place, facing his classmates with a hollow expression.

”FF-Class ’Gravedigger’ Derserk Rouge,” he somberly announced, adjusting his red-round glasses. ”I am the last descendant of the Rouge Family, thus making me the de jure Marquis of Bloodmarch. Thank you for your time.” The wealthy region of Bloodmarch was lost eight years ago, stolen by the Korinthian war machine during the bloodiest conflict in recorded history. The wounds it left on the ’HRE’ were still far from healed, much like those carved into that young man’s heart.

His hair—unkempt, long, and greasy black—and his etiquette—too formal…almost maniacal. Despite his limp muscles, he’s still clinging to a thin thread of hope—a living paradox. Jacques thought, feeling a little guilty. Unlike me, he’s a real orphan. He swallowed the pill and prepared for his turn. ”FFF-Class ’Javelinist’ Jacques Dreux, orphan from Beauté De Cristal. I hope these four years together will remain in our hearts as a warm memory.” Not so many years ago, a major earthquake devastated the Auxerine city, leaving nothing but dust of the city’s archives.

”FF-Class ’Data Analyst’ Katrina Welf. I’m the daughter of the Minister of Economy, Jonas Welf. Despite my father hailing from the Aries Heights, I was born and raised in the Capital. Class F might not be exactly what we aimed for, so, at the very least, let’s cooperate to make this dire experience profitable.” The Arpine lady spoke calmly yet assertively, wearing an expression that, like poison, tasted sweet at first, but the longer one admired, the more bitter it became.

Her daddy was once the CEO of the Aries Bank, and if I remember correctly, my uncle has stabbed him in a brothel at Beauté De Cristal—avoiding her is a must.

”It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” The girl’s smile exuded the warmth of a hot summer day, while her lovely tone was the much-needed soothing breeze. ”I’m FF-Class ’Ego Witch’ Carmen Asturias, and I hail from a family of fishermen near the port of Suarez. Like Casimir, this is also my first time away from home, so please take care of me during these four years.” The Suzerain lady was a classic beauty of the South—brown and long curls cascading gracefully over her olive skin.

Suarez? Ergh...Better keep an eye on my purse from now on… Despite Jacques believing her city deserved to be razed to the ground and salted to be sure that nothing would ever grow again, her chestnut eyes were bewitching him. She really looks like her…

The next speaker was supposed to be the little black cat, but despite Mr. Diaz’s repeated calls, she didn’t move from her desk. Not until a bronze-skinned boy, seated in the middle of the third row, spoke to her in a language Jacques had never heard before. “…F-Class ’Copper Blade’…Oshira,” the young girl hastily stammered, then she gave a quick bow before quickly returning to her seat.

”FFF-Class…’Clown’ Connor MacMalley... Scion' of the High Kingdom of the Highlands, and direct descendant of the Hero Lionárd.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. ”I’m going to fight against my destiny. That’s all I want to say.” Despite having lost his prideful plumage, everyone in the room recognized the Knight who had humiliated himself during the Class Assignment. In his gaze, they could still see the redness—remnants of tears that had washed away his dreams.

If life is a cruel joke, then we can just laugh at it.

”F-Class ’Tin Blade’ Sahel Ibn-Shin—I’m Oshira’s brother. We’re the children of an Aramashy merchant who has settled in the Empire. We still have some trouble with the language, but we’re proud to become citizens of the greatest of nations, and it’s an honor to have been admitted to the most prestigious academy in the world to prove we’re worthy of citizenship.” Sahel clearly had no problem with the language, but what truly caught everyone’s attention wasn’t his lie but his appearance—he looked like a toddler.

Merchant? Maybe Oshira saw me during one of her father’s expeditions. Dangerous… While Jacques tried to recall his many trips to Naturia, the tanned man reluctantly began the final presentation.

”FFF-Class ’Mafioso’ Jacques…Dreux…orphan from…Beauté de Cristal…Ahah, I know, what a funny coincidence, ain’t it?…haha…” Even Mr. Diaz, who had half-snubbed his students until then, twitched.

Fuck you, Uncle. Fuck you! Jacques had spent an entire year preparing his new identity, but he had made the massive mistake of entrusting the burocratic part to JR.

”I won’t waste any time getting confused between you two. The ’Javelinist’ will be called Jacques, and the ’Mafioso’ will be called…J…mhh…Jude, yeah Jude—understood?” To their surprise, no one was paranoid enough to find it strange enough to care.

”Yes!” Jacques and Jude shouted in unison, both relieved that the situation was resolved without further issues.

”Now that we’ve finished with the introductions, we can begin today’s lesson—the basics of being an Essentia, aka the ability to manage our magic through the [Status.Window].” Professor Diaz began writing on the chalkboard without bothering to stand, nudging his chair along using nothing but the inertia generated by his own ass.

”Mr. Durere has already covered enough for your first day, but let’s go over this topic once more, nonetheless. Thousands of years ago, people had to spend an immense amount of time and undergo harsh training just to perform the simplest forms of magic. That was until the Holy Trinity bestowed Roland and his Holy Companions with the original Gifts, and since then, we Essentias have been able to cast the most complex spells effortlessly at the cost of limiting ourselves to an array of possible magic—our [Class].”

”Mr. Diaz, how can we use magic?” Carmen asked, ready to jot down everything in her yellow notebook.

”I appreciate the enthusiasm, but let’s go step by step. What the Vice-Principal forgot to mention is that each Essentia emits magical waves containing all data about our hollow souls—the Radiation. A [Status.Window] can be defined as a dashboard that automatically translates our Radiation into alphanumeric strings and images, making it easier for us to understand and use magic.” He started writing four words over the blackboard. ”Now, open yours. To do that, you just have to say—[Status.Window]!”

”[Status.Window],” all nine students followed the script, and nine blue floating rectangles materialized in front of the students. However, each student could see only their own.

”Today, we’ll examine three of these features. We are going to start with [Inventory.Window]. By manipulating our Radiation, we can shrink the space between the atoms of any physical object without disrupting their chemical bonds, allowing us to create a portable warehouse that occupies no physical space in the real world—try it yourself.”

”[Inventory],” Jacques said, and a grid materialized over his [Window]. He pressed the leather bag his uncle had given him against the bluish rectangle, and after a flash of blue light, the bag disappeared while a lone icon now occupied the grid’s first box.

”As you can see at the bottom of your [Window], there’s a weight limit, which also applies to your equipment. If you have 20 kg of capacity remaining and decide to wear armor that weighs 40 kg, you won’t feel the full weight on your body. However, no object can go lower than 37% of its original weight.”

”Mr. Diaz, I’ve only got 8kg. Is this normal?” Casimir asked worriedly.

”You’re a Class F—nothing is normal for you,” replied the professor after a shrug. ”Next, the [Contacts.Window]. Since our Essentias emit Radiation, we can convert unique alphanumeric strings into waves that another Essentia can receive and decrypt, enabling long-distance communication. But, before doing that, you have to form your first [Party].” A soft smile adorned Mr. Diaz’s face. ”Anyway, since there are nine of you, we are going to create three groups of three, and I’ll leave the decision entirely up to you—there’s no way to balance a Class F [Party], anyway.”

Carmen, who placed her hands on the shoulders of the other two ladies, broke the silence ”We girls must stick together, shall we?” Katrina gladly accepted, while Oshira glanced briefly at Jacques before nodding in agreement.

”Then why don't we do the same for our row?” Connor proposed. ”Sahel, Jude—I have a dream. To be the first to break the curse of being a Class F. And to do that, I’m going to need your help—let’s fight our destinies together!” The young Highlander Knight bowed to the two plebeians, who replied with military salutes.

”Well, it looks like we’ll be spending a lot of time together from now on. So, let’s try to get along.” Casimir reacted enthusiastically to Jacques’s words, while Derserk offered him a shy smile.

”Join your right hands and say [Party.Formation],” Mr. Diaz ordered.

***
Members: [ FFF.Javelinist ] - [ F.Scarecrow ] - [ FF.Gravedigger ]
Requirements: Members limit - [ 0/5 ] - respected.
**
WARNING: Some of the data obtained cannot be decrypted. Do you still want to proceed?
[ YES ] [ NO ]
***

”Yes.” All the students shouted at the same time.

A long-range [Class] fighting in a limited space? Becoming a weapon that breaks after the first use? Meh…I love my odds.

”The [Skills] you’ve just unlocked are unique to your party members and will remain available as long as the team is formed. Say [CompleteView].” Jacques obeyed, and the name of his classmates’ [Class] appeared above their heads, together—only for his teammates—with three colored rectangles—the [HP], [MP], and [SP] Bars. ”Now open your [Contacts.Window], then your [Party.Window].”

***
PARTY WINDOW
***
[ Party ] - [ SharedChat ] - [ SharedGPS ] - [ SharedCommerce ]
*
[ F.Scarecrow ] - [ Chat ] - [ GPS ] - [ Commerce ]
[ FF.Gravedigger ] - [ Chat ] - [ GPS ] - [ Commerce ]
[ EMPTY ]
[ EMPTY ]
***

”[Emails], short for ’Essentia Mail,’ are used for communication between two Essentias outside a [Party]—it's objecticely better just use [SharedChat] for your teammates. To send them, you need two [Email.Addresses]—your own and your addressee’s. Mine is ’hard-hornet74@miraval.edu.rol,’ and you can create yours during your first access, or, if you have rich parents, you can use a private address you purchased in advance. Oh, and one last thing. In the address name—NO CAPS!”

I need a name that’s easy to remember yet impactful… Jacques thought about it for a bit.

”Now exchange them with your classmates, but be wary of sharing them with people you don’t trust—I hate spam!”

[ 373737@seafall.anon ]
***

”How the hell did you get an Incognito Address?” A shocked Mr. Diaz barked at Jude.

”Ahem...I just value my privacy. Is it a crime?” Watching the Young Butcher act so defensively was a priceless spectacle Jacques had never imagined witnessing.

”Lastly, the [Es-Net], which is a fairly new system. A public network of [Status.Windows] accessible from, technically, everywhere, and mostly used to discuss current events, commerce, and vacancies. However, this island is currently isolated from the rest of the world, so learning about it is pointless. Also, and this is important—never post sensitive information on the [Es-Net]. Otherwise, a Class D inside the ’MIMT’ is going to blackmail you—no joke.” Grim flashbacks gave the professor cold shivers.

Still, if I find a way to bypass the regional block, I might use it to secretly contact my uncle. Maybe, I can also use Jude’s [Contacts.Window] for extra security.

”And finally, let’s conclude this lesson with the [Stats.Window],” the Raging Hornet announced, pulling a knife from his [Inventory]. ”This [Window] is divided into three sections. The first is about the [Dynamic.Stats], and we’ll start with the most ’vital’ of them—the [HP].” A Red Bar appeared above his head, and, with one swift motion, the ’Raging Hornet’ sliced his own throat.

”Eeeek!” Carmen shrieked as a pound of blood spilled from Mr. Diaz’s neck stained his desk.

”Don’t worry, ’Ego Witch’—I’m fine,” the professor announced, unbothered by her shock.

Although his neck was soaked in blood, there was no visible damage, and Jacques noticed something odd—the wound hadn’t regenerated either, as if it never existed in the first place. The only change was a small gray segment on his [HP] bar.

”First, I need to do some cleaning.” Mr. Diaz casually retrieved a Leech Cloth from his [Inventory], absorbing blood at each swap. ”Although you’ll still feel pain, as long as you have [HP], any injury, wound, or amputation will be nullified.” He paused, wiping the blade one last time. ”Now, if you run out of [HP], that’s a different story. Let’s say you’re down to [HP=1], and Hero Roland himself hits you with [JudgmentDay]. You’d walk away completely unharmed, just with [HP=0]. But from that point on, your survival will depend on the ordinary rules of your physical body.”

”Is it possible to regenerate our [HP]?” Sahel asked.

”Sleep restores everything, but there are certain [Skills] that can also do that job. Another, more expensive, option is potions, but they don’t directly restore [HP], just enhance your natural recovery rate. In short, you can spend two thousand Marini to fully recover your [HP] in three hours, or you can sleep for the same amount of time and do it for free—your choice.” He concluded, turning back to the blackboard and writing a new term across it.

”[SP] functions similarly, allowing you to perform physical actions without succumbing to exhaustion. The key difference is that, unlike [HP] and [MP], everyone has a natural recovery rate for [SP] that works even during combat. This is mainly why, in team battles, it’s common to coordinate attack turns with your companions to optimize its use.

”Lastly, we have [MP], the fuel required to activate the [Skills] granted by our [Class]—for that reason alone, [MP] is the most critical [Dynamic.Stat] in combat. It doesn’t regenerate naturally, and to be restored, it requires sleep or Blue Potions, which, unlike Red Potions, instantly replenish your Blue Bar. However, I wouldn’t recommend relying on them—unless you’re filthy rich and don’t mind developing a crippling addiction.”

”Mr. Diaz, I have a little question. What is the average number of [HP], [SP], and [MP]?” Jacques asked, trying to erase a doubt that had lingered in his mind since the Class Assignment.

”Legends claim Hero Roland had [HP=9999], but that’s obviously an exaggeration. The strongest Class S barely reach [HP=5000], while the majority of Essentias fall between [HP=2000] and [HP=3000]. As Class F, you’ll likely start around [HP=500] and may get [HP=1000] by graduation.” Everyone in the classroom nodded, confirming his statement, while Jacques let out a low whistle.

”Now, it's time for the [Static.Stats]—[STR], [DEX], [COS], [PER], [INT], [WIS], and [LUK]. Don’t be deceived by their names, these stats don’t directly determine your intelligence, agility, or strength—they solely dictate the power output of your [Skills]. For instance, someone with [INT=300] might still be a complete idiot, and someone with [STR=400] might still struggle to open a stubborn jar.

”Values range from 000 to 999, but even the strongest Essentia in history—Hero Roland himself—only surpassed 500 in [STR].

"Your [Class] mostly determines both the ceiling and the distribution of these stats.” Mr. Diaz’s expression darkened. ”And this is why the destiny of a Class F is a tragedy. Your starting [Static.Stats] are all below 100, and, worse, you can’t evolve your [Class]—you’re doomed to be less than mediocre for the rest of your lives.”

The room’s atmosphere grew heavy with the weight of his words. The realization of their limits crushed the students’ spirits, leaving them with a bitter aftertaste, except for Katrina, who was rich, and Oshira, who didn’t understand the language.

”I won’t accept it—never!” Connor stood up, newfound hope blazing in his eyes. ”I’m going to be the first Class F to evolve and reclaim my honor!” He slammed his fist over his heart—the sacred oath of a Highlander Knight.

”Don’t make me laugh—’Clown.’ No Class F in history has ever succeeded in evolving—accept your fate. Your life ain’t over, there are still many opportunities for a Class F—just not the ones you dreamed as a child.” A sights war ignited between them, their gazes locking with raw intensity. ”If only you knew how bad things really are. Do you have any idea how long it takes to increase your [Static.Stats] by just 100 points? Let’s say, hypothetically, you spend the next ten years training every single day. Congratulations—you’ll maybe hit 200 in your best [Stat]. Meanwhile, the laziest Class C would still outmatch you—It’s useless!”

”Has anyone ever tried?” Connor shot back. ”Trying is still better than living with regret. Reality alone shall crush my dreams—but no one else!” They slammed their fists onto their desks at the same time, igniting a new sights war, but the professor’s tired eyes betrayed him.

”Excuse me, Mr. Diaz. I noticed a plus sign in front of the [Static.Stats] values. Does that mean they can also be negative?” Jacques asked to erase another doubt.

”Good question.” Mr. Diaz nodded, visibly pleased. ”Negative [Stats] do exist, but they’re rare and usually found in Class B to bring equity to, otherwise, overpowered situations. For example, a severely negative [STR] might be paired with an extraordinary [DEX] or [INT], Following the logic that the more negative one [Stat] becomes, the more positive the others will be. In the right team, they can be incredibly dangerous. Alone? Complete utter garbage of the worst kind.”

”One more question. We all know Hero Roland was the strongest Essentia, but who was the weakest?”

Mr. Diaz raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ”Another interesting question, Jacques, and I actually know the answer. FFF-Class ’Tangerine’ Marcel Manet. Nothing about him is known, except his extreme misfortune. Before the process was automated with the invention of the Miraval’s Hand, Class Assignments were conducted by the actual hand of a member of the Miraval Family. Some were lucky, and some were not, and the unluckiest of them was Marcel, who met the worst Miraval in history. The result? All of his [Static.Stats] hovered around 40, while his [Dynamic.Stats] barely reached 200—you all are ’Class S’ compared to him.” The room erupted in laughter, except Jacques who stayed silent—his gaze fixed on his own [Stats.Window].

***
STATS WINDOW
***
Name: Rinaldo Di Mario Class: [FFF.Javelinist]
*
HP: 100
SP: 100
MP: 100
*
STR: +010
DEX: +010
CON: +010
PER: +010
INT: +010
WIS: +010
CHA: +010
LUK: -999
*
Passive Skills:
Empty

***

Valentino has always told me I’m a special kid—Why the hell is he always right about everything? Well, at least not all of them are negative. Jacques shrugged. There was nothing he could do, and crying wouldn’t fix his problem.

”The last of the three types of [Stats] is the [Passive.Skills], which are further subdivided into [Malus], [Bonus], and [Intrinsic]. However, it’s pointless to spend too much time learning about something that works on its own.”

”Mr. Diaz, is the lesson over? All my bags need to be unloaded—it’ll take a while,” Katrina said after a quick glance at her expensive watch.

”Just one thing before you all go.” Mr. Diaz took a folded piece of paper from his desk. ”You Class F students are a burden to us. What we invest in you will never return any kind of profit, and the sole reason you’re even here is the excessive benevolence of His Holiness. However, due to recent budget cuts, you all must pay for your own accommodation out of your own pocket.” Except for Katrina and Connor, the news hit hard. ”Above our heads is your dormitory. The entire first floor of this beautiful building is yours—but you have to pay for it. Trust me, you won’t find a better price in such an elitist city,” Mr. Diaz chuckled.

“Excuse me, do we girls have to share the dormitory with the boys?” Katrina asked, her ex- pression reminding Jacques of the one his cousin Giulietta made every time she saw him in the morning.

"Nope. You ladies will be assigned a free room in the Class C dormitory. However, this benefit won’t be extended to the men.” Carmen rejoiced at the announcement, while the boys groaned in frustration, cursing society itself.

”Class C? Eww. Carmen, Oshira, don’t worry—tonight we are going to sleep with the Class A.” The ’Ego Witch’ awkwardly tried to tell her that it didn’t matter, but the needs of the ’Data Analyst’ demanded only the best available in the market. The ’Copper Blade’ understood nothing, limiting herself to nodding at everything the Arpine lady said.

”I’ll pay for my room out of pocket, but not in this shack. Jude and Sahel, if you agree, I’d like you to come live with me at my expense. We’re a team from now on, and you’ll repay the debt by helping me with my rebirth.” The ’Mafioso’ and the ’Tin Blade’ warmly accepted the ’Clown’s’ proposal.

”Poorserk, my great friend—your nobility is warming our hearts. Why not support your unlucky companions on the journey we are about to undertake together?” The ’Javelinist’ pleaded, kneeling in front of the Bloodmarcher Scion.

”I’m Derserk, not Poorserk,” the ’Gravedigger’ reminded uncomfortably.

”Sure, dude. So, do you accept?”

”My homeland fell long ago. My family was exterminated, and my wealth plundered. I’m sorry, but my surname is all I have left to prove my nobility.” His words shattered Jacques’s hopes, despairing as Katrina laughed at him.

Frustrated, he forgot about Derserk and turned his attention to Mr. Diaz, who sat casually in his chair, reading a newspaper—’The Revolution Express.’

”Mr. Diaz, I don’t have a single Marino. May I ask how I’m supposed to pay for this shithole?” Jacques shouted.

”Not my problem,” The ’Raging Hornet’ shrugged, moving to the next page.

You filthy Paisano… ”Mr. Diaz, may I ask you to lift your lazy fatass from that chair for just a second so we can find a solution together? I know it’s challenging, but I believe in you,” Jacques sneered, while the professor silently processed the insult.

A shocked Esteban Diaz folded his newspaper, stood up from his chair, and leaned over him, looking straight into his eyes—their two faces were just a few centimeters apart. Despite his disheveled appearance and unkempt clothes, Jacques thought his disorder was stylish, as if it had been carefully designed.

”GET A JOB!”

***

For hours, Jacques visited every single island of Miraval City but got rejected by everyone, even by the Marian Mafia in the Slum Zone.

So, exhausted, he slumped onto a bench on Park Island, staring into the dusk while reflecting on the downward spiral his life had taken. My dream of glory is dead and buried as a Class F, I’ve made an enemy of the future Queen, and I don’t even have a place to sleep—and it’s only been a day. Another thirty-six hours like this, and I’m gonna drop out.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a strange man standing beneath a streetlamp. The figure wore a beige overcoat, sunglasses, and a fedora, and after glancing left and right, he slowly walked toward the ’Javelinist.’

”Psst, hey kid…do you want a job?” He whispered, sliding Jacques a business card.

WORLD'S END BLOG:

https://postimg.cc/06xWfBgJ