System Learning

Morning sunlight streamed across Mr. Holm’s modest kitchen table, catching on the dust in the air. He stirred his tea slowly, watching the concoction swirl, then settled into his chair with the quiet groan of a man whose bones remembered younger days more fondly than he did.

Another day, another lesson. He looked forward to it at least; he chose this life all those years ago.

He left home at the same pace as always, greeting the baker, waving at a couple on a jog, and nodding at a passing cat who looked equally unimpressed with everyone, including the world.

The schoolhouse door creaked open with its usual stubborn resistance. Only another hour before the kids would arrive for the day.

Inside, the room carried the faint scent of dry markers and wood polish. Holm set his bag on the desk, eased himself into his chair for a moment, then leaned forward to sift through a small stack of worksheets and lesson plans he’d prepared in advance.

Mana safety quiz. Status screen basics. A brief introduction about how “notifications don’t mean anything yet, so don’t panic.” Simple, harmless topics that were perfect for Bronze-rank children with more enthusiasm than caution.

He stood and made a slow pass around the room, straightening a few loose chairs and making a cup of his tea. None of it necessary, but all of it familiar.

Routine was a comfortable companion in a world like his.

After a few minutes of collecting more papers, he reached for his tea. Still warm and really, really bitter. Perfect.

Holm let out a small sigh and looked over the classroom as the minutes ticked by.

Another ordinary day.

Then, right on schedule, he heard the first voice outside. Two children were arguing about who arrived first. Another laughing. Someone came barreling up the steps far too fast this early in the morning.

Holm allowed himself a fond and warm smile.

The day had officially begun.

The door swung open and a burst of chatter filled the classroom as the first students stepped in. Mira entered with her usual bright energy, offering him a cheerful wave before taking her seat. Noren was right behind her already mid-argument with Talia about whose backpack was heavier, a debate Holm had heard for two weeks now.

“Good morning, Mr. Holm!” A few voices chimed.

“Good morning.” He replied, giving a small bow of his head.

Every day of class he set aside a good fifteen minutes or so for them to get their wiggles and conversations about what they did last night out, an experience he learned the hard way unfortunately.

Holm took a slow sip of his tea as he watched the room swirl with movement and noise. Backpacks thumped onto desks and children compared snacks they brought for lunch.

When the clock reached its mark, he set his mug down and gave a gentle clap. “Alright everyone, time to settle down for today's work.”

All things considered, this year's class was far more apt to settling in for the day, though a few did try to prolong the inevitable schoolwork.

Holm picked up a marker and drew a very simple, very rounded rectangle on the whiteboard. Even in its abstract and undecorated form, any child knew what the shape was based on the context of their studies.

“Today,” he began, “we’re going to talk about your system and some of the ins and outs you may or may not have known."

A ripple of interest moved through the room. Mira was intrigued, Talia seemed less so, and those three boys acted like this was a topic even they were experts in because they had spent many a nights deep diving into their own system screens.

Holm continued, oblivious—or perhaps simply choosing not to puncture their proud illusions.

“The system is here to guide you in life, a key tool in functioning and is especially useful if you plan to work as an adventurer, researcher, or perhaps a guild worker." He started.

Noren raised his hand halfway, elbow already propped dramatically on his desk. “Mr. Holm, is it true that if your Health ever blinks red, you unlock a hidden ability?”

Holm stared at him for a long moment. “No.”

A few students snorted.

“But my cousin said—”

“Your cousin,” Holm cut in gently, “is either teasing you or misunderstanding. The system doesn’t give abilities for bumping your knee too hard.”

To preserve some sense of his social standing, perhaps out of pity, Mr. Holm added, "Though, it's not entirely inaccurate to suggest that it could happen. There are notable exceptions, but it is not the norm."

Noren sat up straighter, pride salvaged just enough to avoid sinking into his seat.

He tapped the board lightly. “The key thing to remember is that the system grows with you. It reflects your experiences, your choices, your desires, and your effort — not random blinking colors. Constitution measures... well, your health and stamina. Strength your physical ability. Mana your capacity to create spells. There are other stats, too, of course.”

Talia raised her hand. “So it won’t ever, like… yell at you?”

Holm blinked. “Yell?”

“You know,” she said, brow furrowing, “like pop up something scary.”

“Ah. No, it won’t shout warnings or scold you.” He smiled. “The system isn’t a parent. It’s more like a guide of sorts. It tells you the information it needs to in the only way it knows how, but the messages could certainly seem scary when read."

Holm continued, “And even when a message seems frightening, it’s almost always something simple. Low constitution doesn’t always mean you’re in danger — it could mean you ran too much. Low mana means you pushed yourself too far. The system is there to help alert you to problems, which you can solve by resting or taking potions."

He added the words constitution, strength, dexterity, wisdom, and mana to the top left.

“These words,” he explained, “are the ones you’ll see most often. They are just reminders. Nothing more.”

Noren raised his hand again, a little less dramatically this time. “So… what about fancy things? Like talents or special skills?”

Holm shook his head gently. “At your age, it's very seldom you see anyone with a talent or skill; nobility is typically the only exception to this rule. While they are born with it due to familial lineage, you or I would need to work towards something or fight a battle that pushes the system to grant you one."

Another student raised his hand. "So what's like, the max number you can have? Can you have one million billion points in a stat?"

Mr. Holm was quick to dismiss elegantly. "Maybe, maybe. There has never been a recorded concrete limit, so it's only guess work at this point."

Talia chimed in. "What does concrete mean?"

"It's that thing they make sidewalks out of in the cities." Noren retorted.

Another student just had to pipe in. "My uncle makes concrete for work, he says it's the body of a city, whatever that means."

Things were getting off topic, and fast. Mr. Holm needed to do something quickly.

"Alright," he said loudly. "Concrete is just another way of saying defined or certain. I meant to say there is no known highest number for any stat."

A few kids looked disappointed at that.

Lisa raised her hand. "What does yours look like, Mr. Holm?"

"My what, exactly?" He said

"Your stats." She replied

A hush fell over the room.

Eight other small heads turned toward him, curiosity piquing ever so much. Even Talia, who had been doodling on her board, perked up with genuine interest.

Holm smoothed his sleeve, buying himself the briefest moment.

“My stats,” he repeated, clearing his throat lightly.

“Yes,” Lisa said, sitting up straight. “What are they? Are they really high? You said you adventured when you were young!”

A few children gasped. Holm regretted mentioning that at all.

He raised both hands gently, palms out. “Now, now. A person’s stats are private. Not secret, but personal. Sharing them is something adventurers, even retired ones, are hesitant to do."

Noren’s hand shot up, eyes bright. “So they ARE really high!”

Holm stared at him flatly. “That is not what I said.”

“But you didn’t deny it,” one of the other boys murmured with awe.

Holm pinched the bridge of his nose. “Children. Listen. Your stats do not determine your value. They do not tell you who you’ll become or how strong you are, they simply measure certain qualities you’ve built over time. Nothing more.”

“But—” Lisa began.

Holm raised a finger. “And mine are old. Much older than yours. Comparing them wouldn’t teach you anything useful.”

The class deflated with synchronized disappointment.

"Would you want to show the class YOUR stats, Lisa? How about you Noren?" He inquired.

They both went red in the face.

“I—well—I mean—mine aren’t even—”

“That’s different! I didn’t say I’d show mine!”

Holm lifted an eyebrow, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Mhm. Exactly. It feels a little embarrassing, doesn’t it?”

A wave of shy nods passed through the room.

“So,” Holm continued gently, “if you wouldn’t want everyone to see yours, it’s only fair that others get the same treatment. Yes?”

Lisa nodded vigorously. Noren crossed his arms, muttering something that sounded like “still think his numbers are huge,” but he didn’t push further.

"The nice thing about the system is that you can hide them on a viewing model, which is perfect for times like this!" Mr. Holm said enthusiastically.

“A viewing model?” Lisa echoed.

“Yes,” Holm said, tapping the corner of the board. “It lets you show the basics of your status screen without showing any numbers or personal details. Adventurers use it when registering at guilds, and merchants when dealing with contracts.”

Talia blinked. “So it’s like a pretend version?”

“A simplified version,” Holm corrected. “Very convenient.”

Noren raised a hand again. “So if it hides stuff, does that mean everyone hides their stats?”

Holm chuckled softly. “Not everyone. Just most people, most of the time. It’s a courtesy for yourself. You only show the full thing when it’s necessary, which is almost never.”

The class nodded, the idea seeming obvious now.

Mr. Holm set down his marker. “Now that we’re on the same page, how about trying it yourselves?”

Mira tilted her head. “We can do that?”

"Sure. Just open yours up and click the three dots in the top right, you should see an option for it there." He replied, already doing the same for his.

Mira’s eyes widened a little as her interface popped open. “Oh! I see it!”

“Good,” Holm said. “Don’t press anything else.”

Several guilty hands froze over mid-tap.

He continued calmly, “All you want is the viewing model. Nothing more. If your screen asks you to confirm something you don’t recognize, say no. If it asks you to pick anything, say no. If it suddenly offers you a job class for some reason—”

“That can happen?” Mira gasped.

“No,” Holm said. “But I’m saying it now so you don’t go and jump off a cliff."

A few giggles rippled through them.

Noren tapped the air rapidly, eyebrows scrunched. “Mine’s not showing! It’s not working!”

“Noren,” Holm said, stepping closer, “you’re clicking the brightness settings.”

“Oh.”

His viewing model appeared instantly as a faint, translucent box hovering in front of him, neat and voided of anything important.

==========

Noren Goodleberg

(No Guild Associated)

Level 17 Human

CON: ?

STR: ?

DEX: ?

WIS: ?

MP: ?

==========

Noren stared at it like he screwed up big time. “Question marks?” he whispered, looking at Mr. Holm with terrified eyes. “Why are there question marks? Did I do it wrong?"

Holm shook his head mildly. “Nope, they are just hidden from others, only showing your level. This is what the guild association would need to see if they were assigning you a rank."

“Oh, ok.” Noren said.

Holm nodded. “It’s perfectly normal. Question marks simply mean your detailed values aren’t being shown. Nothing is wrong with your screen.”

That reassurance seemed to calm him immediately.

Across the room, a few other children double-checked their own screens just in case they’d somehow broken theirs too.

Holm clasped his hands. “Alright, everyone. Now that you’ve all seen what a proper viewing model looks like, close your screens before you accidentally press something you shouldn’t.”

Nine pairs of small fingers tapped invisible icons in the air.

“All done?” Holm asked.

A chorus of “Yes, Mr. Holm!” answered him.

He glanced at his own before closing it too.

==========

Marcus Richter

{Slayer of the Abyssal General}

(No Guild Associated)

Level 2167 Human (Berserker Archmage)

CON: ?

STR: ?

DEX: ?

WIS: ?

MP: ?

==========

Holm barely had time to close his viewing model before a hand shot up. Then another. Then three at once.

Ah. Here it came.

“Alright,” Holm said, lifting a hand, “one at a time or I will skip you."

Noren had raised his hand first. “If you drink a mana potion while full, does it spill out?”

Holm stared. “No... nothing would happen, actually.”

Next hand. One of the boys already flexing his arm. “If I do pushups every day, will my strength stat go up?”

Holm pursed his lips. “That depends. How many pushups?”

"Five." He said confidently.

“Then no,” Holm said. "If it was more intensive for your body, then it would most definitely go up."

Lisa hand was next. “Does DEX… help with hopscotch?”

“Yes,” Holm said without hesitation. "And it makes you faster, too."

Lisa brightened with pride.

Another one of the three boys' hands shot up, trembling with excitement.

“Is it true dragons can see your stats even when they’re hidden?”

Holm inhaled slowly. "I don't think so? Maybe the dragon king could."

Mira raised her hand again, more hesitant this time. “Can stats go down ever?"

"Your stats will never decrease, but it may never be at that number if you were sick, for example. As I’ve said already, stats simply mean you are growing compared to yourself, not that you are better than someone else with lower numbers."

Finally, a question he hadn't heard for a few years. “Can monsters see their own stats?”

Holm blinked once. "Not to my knowledge. Some things are a mystery to us even still."

Holm raised both hands, pressing the class back into order. “Alright, that’s enough questions. Your system is a tool, not a mystery box. You’ll learn more as you grow older.”

He paused, letting their chatter settle.

“Now,” he said gently, “open your workbooks to page six: rune shaping review.”

A chorus of soft groans filled the room.

Holm hid a small smile and picked up his marker to get ready for his next lesson.

Holm paced between desks, not to teach something new, but to watch. Rune shaping was a quiet task, and quiet tasks let him see his students for who they were.

Lisa worked neatly, movements controlled and precise. Her rune loops matched almost perfectly with the guide printed in the corner of her book.

Noren, meanwhile, seemed to be wrestling his page into submission. His circles were more triangles, and he pressed so hard the tip of his marker squeaked in protest. Holm tapped his desk once, and Noren eased his grip without being asked.

Talia doodled a butterfly beside her rune, caught herself, and flushed pink as she erased it.

Holm returned to his desk and settled into his chair, the wood sighing softly under his weight and his butt relaxing into place. He watched the children work in the warm hush of the afternoon, but his focus drifted from the gentle lull of routine.

When he was their age, he hadn’t been learning to draw clean loops, manage mana safely, or how to navigate the system’s screens. He’d been standing knee-deep in a training yard, gripping a wooden practice blade until his fingers blistered.

His father’s voice had been stern and the lessons tough on his young body “A warrior’s teachings have no room for taking it easy like those mages,” he used to say.

He could still recall the sting of cold mornings when his breath fogged in the air, the weight of grown-up armor sliding past his waist, and the endless repetition of drills that were meant to forge him into something sharp. All of it to prepare him for if some disaster struck the nation or world again.

How he became a mage after being taught as a warrior was another funny—albeit quite long—story. It has never been unheard of for someone to multi-class, but the success rate seen from doing so was a major deterrent.

It's known from child to grandparent, student to teacher, anyone who wants to be in a certain class should focus on learning and training related only to that class. The saying of "A jack of all trades is a master of none" made clear sense when looking at it from that angle.

Holm was supposed to have been a warrior. That fact was decided from the day he could walk, but something had tugged at him even as a child. Mana control and spell designs came easily; his wisdom stats were off the charts from a young age. Warriors had little use of wisdom, but it certainly helped a battlefield's general. His dad secretly hoped he might become one someday.

Holm gave a small, humorless huff.

A general? As if that had ever truly fit him.

He still didn't mind walking the path of a warrior, but once his aptitude for magic was made far too apparent to ignore, he decided to split his training and level-up reward stat points on a whim.

He did it just out of curiosity.

A few points into strength because that’s what he was “supposed” to do.

And then a few into wisdom and mana because he liked how easy mental tasks came to him, prepping for minor spell casting.

Technically speaking, a level 2000 warrior would be roughly on par with a level 500 mage solely on the distributed stats received from a level up reward. Even though the system rewarded intention and focus heavily, it always gave at least one point in every category.

He hadn’t known, back then, that every point he scattered away from the warrior path would make the next warrior lesson a little harder. He hadn’t known that every point poured into mana would nudge him further from the life his father carved out for him.

He certainly hadn’t known that mixing stats so casually would one day force him into a completely different world of combat—one where his body needed to be fast and his mind faster, his mana under perfect control or he’d die in some nameless dungeon.

Funny how small choices in childhood could snowball into a new life.

Holm leaned back and breathed out through his nose. A frontlining mage, a mere idea to anyone you asked, but not something they had ever heard of actually happening.

One thing he wished he did more of was add points to dexterity, sometimes he felt as slow as a rock in battle. He shuddered at the close calls he had in that battle with the Abyssal beasts.

He’d learned long ago not to dwell on that fight for too long. Even retired and in a room full of children drawing wobbly runes a few feet away, the memory still had teeth of its own.

Man, he really should’ve put more points into dexterity.

Holm exhaled slowly, letting the thought pass like a cloud. He took another sip of his watery tea, letting its warmth ground him.

Across the room, Noren had somehow drawn a rune backward. Mira was getting the hang of it. He could live this life forever, he thought. He probably would, too.

After some time had passed, the day was coming to an end.

Holm checked the clock out of habit.

“Alright,” he said, voice calm and steady, “finish the rune you’re on.”

Holm stood, collecting his own marker. “Good work today. Truly. You all did well.”

“Clean up your desks,” he added. “And pack up neatly. No exploding backpacks, please.”

They obeyed in the chaotic, semi-controlled way children always obeyed. Papers were stuffed into backpacks and kids jumped out of their seats like startled birds. The bell tower outside chimed once, signaling the end of the school day. That was all they needed.

“Bye, Mr. Holm!”

“See you tomorrow!”

"Can we talk about guilds tomorrow?"

He waved them off, one group after the next, following their noise until it spilled down the steps and blended into the main road beyond.

Soon, only one set of footsteps remained.

Of course.

Mira was hovering near her desk again.

“You don’t have to stay,” he reminded gently, just as he had yesterday and the day before.

“I know,” Mira said, already gathering a stack of worksheets left abandoned by the three boys. “But it's messy."

Holm erased the board slowly, giving her time to finish. Routine again. Familiar, pleasant.

When the room was clean enough to pass her unspoken standards, Mira stepped toward the door with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Heading out?” Holm asked.

She nodded. “Mm-hm. Mama’s making dinner early today.”

“Then don’t keep her waiting,” Holm said kindly. “Get home safe, Mira.”

She beamed, gave a tiny wave, and hopped down the steps as usual.

Holm watched her go, then turned back towards his desk to gather his own belongings. It was time to head home and make his supper, too.

---------------------------------------------

Mira walked down the sandy path behind the schoolhouse humming a tune she couldn't recall where she heard it from. The store? Church? It didn't really matter, she supposed.

It was stuck in her head and pleasant enough, so she let it loop over and over.

Her bag thumped lightly against her back with each step. She kicked a pebble, watched it skip ahead, then chased it for a few paces before kicking it again.

It was such a normal walk home that she didn’t even think about it. Past the cracked fountain, across the little footbridge, then along the hedges where she usually stopped to look for butterflies. She didn’t today, though, dinner was early.

“Excuse me.” A voice called out.

Mira turned.

A man stood a few steps back on the path, as if he’d simply appeared from thin air when she wasn't looking. He wore a mage's cloak and had a staff in his right hand, both dusty from walking, and his smile was tired in a way that made him look harmless.

“Sorry to trouble you,” he said with a polite dip of his head. “Is this the right way into town? I think I wandered a bit too far.”

Mira blinked, then pointed. “You go straight until you see the baker’s sign. It’s hard to miss.”

“Ah,” the man said softly. “Thank you. You’ve saved me quite a bit of wandering. Thank you.”

He extended his hand like he wanted to give her something as a showing of gratitude. What other reason could it be? Nothing seemed odd or unsettling to Mira, because why would it? She had no reason to think otherwise.

Mira stepped a little closer out of simple politeness.

“What is it?” she asked, somewhat curious.

“A charm,” he said gently. “For luck. Travelers give them sometimes. You’ve been very helpful.”

There was no glow or bad aura.

Just a small, simple wooden trinket resting in his hand.

It looked harmless.

Most strangers on the road were harmless. Mira had seen her mother accept dozens of little tokens from passing traders or friendly visitors during the festivals. Nothing about the moment felt wrong.

She reached forward.

"[Slumber]". He cast nearly as fast as Mr. Holm. It was a tier 8 spell cast by a level 1247, so it incapacitated unsuspecting people easily, suspecting and strong ones not so easy.

A soft, invisible weight pressed over her mind like a heavy blanket. Her knees buckled instantly. The world blurred into black.

Another larger man caught her under the arms before she could hit the dirt. Her small body went limp, head tilting backwards.

“She’s out,” the warrior murmured.

“Of course she is,” the mage replied, lowering his staff from the air where the spell had been cast. His voice stayed calm, almost bored. “Children go under quickest to that spell.”

The warrior adjusted his grip, shifting Mira’s weight so her head rested against his shoulder instead of dangling.

“No one saw?” He asked.

“No,” the mage answered.

The warrior grunted in acknowledgment. “Good. Then let’s go.”

The warrior moved first, boots treading silently into the tall grass he just came from.

The mage followed close behind, cloak brushing the hedges, staff angled downward to keep from catching on branches.

By the time a pair of birds scuttled across the path again, there was no hint that anyone had been there at all.

And Mira’s tune, the one she’d been humming moments ago, gone.

The path stayed quiet.

Perfectly ordinary.

As if nothing at all had happened.