Kaizen backed out of Room 616 slowly, like a bomb defusal expert retreating from a ticking nuke.
"I... I'm going to get that milk now," he whispered.
Klaus didn't look up. He was scribbling furiously in a new notebook titled Subject K: Cognitive Anomalies.
"Farewell, human…" Klaus muttered, waving a hand without looking up.
Kaizen didn't need to be told twice. He slipped out the door and sprinted down the hallway. He didn't stop running until he was outside the dorm building, gulping down fresh air that didn't smell like incense, blood wine, and existential dread.
It was late afternoon. The sun was high up in the clouds.
Kaizen checked his phone map and sighed.
"This place isn't a school," he muttered, looking at the GPS. "It's a sovereign nation."
The Zenith Academy covered five thousand acres. It wasn't just classrooms; it was a self-contained city-state. To his left, he could see the Scholastic Core, with its six Elemental Towers piercing the clouds like giant needles. To his right, the Residential Enclaves stretched out like a luxury resort.
He needed to get away from the dorms. He needed food.
He started walking toward District 3: The Arcane Exchange.
According to the guidebook, it was the "Student-Friendly Commercial Hub."
In reality, it was a fantasy version of Shinjuku crossed with Dubai, designed solely to bankrupt noble families.
Neon mana-signs flickered overhead. Floating shops drifted lazily above the streets, tethered by golden chains. The smell of expensive spices and burnt mana credits filled the air.
He walked past a bakery window. A single croissant was floating in a stasis field, glowing with a holy aura.
[Levitation Croissant: Light, fluffy, and zero calories!]
[Price: 2,000 Crowns]
He walked past a cafe where a barista was using a mini-dragon to heat the water.
[Phoenix Roast Coffee: Brewed with actual fire!]
[Price: 4,500 Crowns]
Kaizen stopped. A cold sweat formed on his neck.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his sleek black room key card. On one side it had his name and room number. He flipped it over.
It looked plain at first, but as his thumb brushed the surface, new gold lines began to etch themselves onto the plastic. The magic recognized his bio-signature. This was a high-security feature: the balance was only revealed to the blood-bound owner.
What wasn't great was the number that materialized.
[Balance: 500 Crowns]
"Five hundred," Kaizen whispered, his soul leaving his body.
In the game, 500 crowns was the starter money. It was enough to buy a rusted dagger or maybe one low-grade potion.
Here? In the Arcane Exchange? It wasn't even enough to buy a cup of coffee. It was barely enough to buy a napkin to wipe his tears.
"I'm destitute," Kaizen realized, staring at his reflection in the window of a magic sword shop. "I'm at the most prestigious academy in the world, surrounded by royalty, and I can literally 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. The pavement was cracked. The smell of fresh, magical air was replaced by the smell of grease and burnt charcoal.
'Please. There has to be something. I'm starving. My stamina bar is blinking red.'
He found it. A goblin vendor grilling sausages on a stick over a barrel of enchanted coals.
"250 Crowns!" the goblin croaked. "Rat-tail sausages! Best in city! No refund if you get stomach ache!"
"I'll take two," Kaizen said, slamming his card down on the counter with the desperation of a man betting his last chip.
He held the two corn dogs (he refused to acknowledge the 'rat-tail' part) in his hands. They were greasy. They were lumpy. They were beautiful.
"My dinner," Kaizen sighed, a genuine, teary-eyed smile touching his lips. "Finally, something goes right."
He opened his mouth. He raised the skewer.
WHAM.
A blur of motion. A sharp pain in his wrist.
The corn dog went flying.
It spun in the air in slow motion, before landing face-down in the dirt.
Splat.
Kaizen froze.
His mouth was still open. His hand was still raised.
He slowly lowered his gaze to the dirt. The breading had split open. The sausage was covered in gravel. The 250 crowns... gone.
"Oops."
A snicker broke the silence.
Kaizen looked up.
Standing in front of him was a boy with slicked-back brown hair and a uniform that had been tailored to highlight his arrogance. He was flanked by two other guys who were busy cracking their knuckles.
Goon #1. One of Lance Wind's lackeys.
"My bad," the Goon smirked, not looking sorry at all. "I didn't see you there, trash. You blend in so well with the garbage, I got confused."
The other two goons laughed. It was a practiced, synchronized laugh.
"Hey, isn't this the guy?" Goon #2 whispered loudly. "The one sitting next to the Hero? The one Lord Lance marked?"
"Oh? Is it?" Goon #1 grinned, stepping closer. "Did we strike gold?"
He invaded Kaizen's personal space, lifting his expensive leather boot and kicking the second corn dog out of Kaizen's other hand.
Splat.
"Listen here, F-Rank," the Goon hissed. "You got a little too comfortable today. Sitting with the elites? Ignoring Lord Lance? You think you're special just because you sat with that peasant boy?"
He poked Kaizen in the chest.
"I'm going to teach you a lesson. And when I tell Lord Lance I put you in the hospital, I'm going to rank up. I'll finally be in his inner circle."
The Goon flared his mana. It was muddy yellow. E-Rank. Weak, unrefined, but enough to break bones.
"Any last words before I rearrange your face?"
Kaizen didn't look at the Goon.
He was looking at the corn dogs.
500 Crowns. His entire balance. His dinner. Gone.
Something 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 food. It was the pain of a guy who knew 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 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 octave. "Each."
"So what?" the Goon scoffed. "It's pocket change! I spend that on napkins!"
"Pocket change?"
Kaizen took a step forward.
The air around him didn't flare with mana. It went 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.
"To you, it's pocket change," Kaizen said quietly. "To me... that was sustenance. That was survival."
He looked at the empty wooden skewer still clutched in his right hand. The tip was sharp.
"You wasted food."
Kaizen gripped the skewer.
"You stepped on my dinner."
The Goon faltered. He took a half-step back, unnerved by the lack of fear. "W-what? You want to fight over a sausage? Are you crazy?"
Kaizen looked him in the eye.
"You want to rank up in Lance's hierarchy?" Kaizen asked. "You want to impress him?"
Kaizen raised the wooden stick. It was just a piece of trash. A throwaway item.
[Nonstandard Weapon Authority (NWA) : Active]
[Item: Greasy Skewer]
[Rank: D+]
[Attribute: Piercing (High)]
Kaizen didn't register the system notification. He didn't register that one of his skills was currently activating. He didn't care that the mere 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, and this guy just outright disrespected the grease? Outrageous!
"Do you have insurance?"
"Wh-what?! No! Why--"
"You should have. I am about to teach you 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. 'Too much wind-up. Zero efficiency. His center of gravity is off.'
Kaizen moved.