Only a few hours after Leiden University concluded its annual meeting, the discussions held within its conference room had already begun spreading across Europe. Universities had always paid close attention to one another, especially when one institution appeared to be shifting its educational priorities. Changes to curricula, research funding, and newly established departments were difficult to keep hidden for long, particularly from competing universities that constantly monitored each other's developments. Before the day had even ended, administrators throughout Europe were already discussing the same questions that had occupied Leiden's department heads.
It was hardly surprising.
Higher education had entered one of the most competitive periods in its long history. Every university wanted to become the leading institution for educating the next generation of adventurers, researchers, artificers, military officers, and government officials. Falling behind now could damage an institution's reputation for decades, while successfully adapting to the new age promised enormous prestige, generous government funding, and access to some of the brightest students in Europe.
As a result, several universities immediately began reviewing their own Adventurer Programs after hearing rumors of Leiden's proposed reforms. None of them wished to discover several years later that they had ignored an important opportunity simply because another institution had acted first. Although no official announcements had yet been released, information had already begun circulating through academic circles. Administrators were especially interested in reports that Leiden intended to recruit experienced adventurers as guest lecturers instead of relying solely on traditional academic instructors.
The rumors became even more exciting once discussions within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs began leaking into university circles.
No one knew the exact details of those conversations, but enough fragments had escaped official channels to convince university administrators that significant international educational initiatives were under consideration. Whether those plans involved cooperation between European universities, international research projects, or standardized adventurer qualifications remained unknown. Nevertheless, experienced academics understood that when ministries began consulting universities, major changes usually followed.
That possibility encouraged institutions to modernize their programs as quickly as possible.
The government was currently investing unprecedented amounts of money into education, allowing universities to expand their campuses, hire additional professors, establish entirely new departments, and redesign centuries-old curricula almost overnight. Everyone appreciated the financial support, but few believed those generous budgets would continue forever. Public funding had increased largely because governments considered education essential for humanity's survival during the chaotic years following the arrival of the System.
Much of that spending, however, relied heavily on government borrowing.
While politicians rarely discussed the issue publicly, university administrators understood that many of the ambitious educational reforms were being financed through long-term loans. Such spending could be justified during a period of global reconstruction, but eventually governments would have to reduce their expenditures. Every university therefore recognized that they needed to establish strong reputations before inevitable budget reductions arrived.
The urgency became even greater because governments had clearly identified young people as humanity's greatest long-term investment.
Older generations had spent most of their lives adapting to one version of civilization before suddenly finding themselves forced into an entirely different world. Many eventually succeeded, but countless others struggled to abandon habits formed over decades. Younger people, by contrast, accepted mana, monsters, magical professions, and adventurers with remarkable ease because those concepts became part of their lives while they were still developing. Their flexibility made them invaluable to governments preparing society for the future.
Many politicians privately worried that older generations would never completely adapt.
It was not a question of intelligence or determination but one of perspective. People naturally compared every new development to the world they had known before the System, making it difficult for them to fully embrace the enormous societal changes taking place around them. Younger generations lacked those same mental barriers. For them, this rapidly changing world simply represented normal life.
Children born after Gaia's arrival would eventually become adults who had never known anything else.
To them, mana had always existed. Secret Realms had always been dangerous places that adults warned children to avoid. Adventure Guilds had always been respected professions, and magical crops had always been part of agriculture. The old world survived only through stories told by parents and grandparents, becoming increasingly similar to fairy tales with each passing year.
Ironically, signs that humanity was beginning to stabilize appeared long before governments officially acknowledged them.
During the first years after the System arrived, nearly every scientific discipline focused almost exclusively on emergency adaptation. Researchers worked tirelessly to understand mana, identify dangerous species, improve food production, and ensure civilization continued functioning despite the dramatic transformation of the planet. Every discovery felt urgent because no one knew what challenge might appear next.
That frantic pace gradually began slowing.
Agricultural scientists provided perhaps the clearest example of humanity's changing priorities. Initially, their greatest concern had been producing enough food to support rapidly expanding populations while learning how mana influenced crop growth. Every successful harvest represented another step toward stability, and simply proving that magically enhanced agriculture could reliably feed billions of people counted as a tremendous achievement.
One of their greatest successes became known as mana wheat.
The name itself reflected how quickly the crop had entered everyday life. Researchers had developed varieties capable of absorbing ambient mana without becoming unstable, allowing harvests to remain consistent even under dramatically different environmental conditions. Governments celebrated the achievement because it guaranteed food security during one of the most uncertain periods in modern history. At the time, few people questioned whether the crop represented the pinnacle of agricultural development.
That attitude eventually changed.
Once food shortages disappeared and reliable harvests became commonplace, agricultural researchers returned to thinking like scientists rather than emergency responders. Instead of praising mana wheat for simply existing, they began criticizing its weaknesses with the same enthusiasm they had once celebrated its strengths. Its yields were no longer considered impressive, its resistance to disease could be improved, and its growth cycle appeared inefficient compared to what might become possible through further selective breeding.
In only a few years, yesterday's miracle had become today's outdated standard.
Research teams throughout the world competed to produce crops that grew faster, resisted disease more effectively, required fewer resources, and generated larger harvests than their predecessors. The emergency mindset gradually disappeared, replaced by the familiar pursuit of continuous improvement that had always driven scientific progress. Humanity had finally reached the point where it could think beyond immediate survival.
Agriculture was far from the only field experiencing that transformation.
Many of the world's brightest researchers possessed extraordinarily active imaginations, constantly searching for future problems long before they appeared. During the chaotic early years following the System's arrival, those individuals rarely had time to indulge their curiosity because every available resource focused on immediate necessities. Once stability returned, however, they naturally shifted their attention toward long-term innovation rather than short-term survival.
Ironically, ordinary citizens had adapted much sooner than many academics.
Most people simply wanted stable jobs, secure homes, and peaceful lives for their families. After surviving the uncertainty surrounding Gaia's arrival, they quickly returned to worrying about familiar concerns such as mortgages, promotions, raising children, and planning for retirement. While scientists continued debating the future of civilization, the average citizen quietly resumed building an ordinary life within the extraordinary world that now surrounded them.
Housing reforms introduced after the planet's expansion made that transition surprisingly easy.
Because the Earth's surface had grown enormously, governments suddenly possessed more available land than at any point in recorded history. Combined with generous reconstruction programs and long repayment periods, families found themselves able to purchase spacious apartments with far less financial strain than previous generations had experienced. Home ownership, once an increasingly distant dream for many young adults, became an achievable reality once again.
With stable employment and affordable housing secured, birth rates began rising dramatically.
Governments actively encouraged that trend, recognizing that population growth would become essential for developing humanity's vast new territories over the coming generations. News agencies frequently highlighted stories portraying an optimistic future filled with opportunity, prosperity, and exploration. Rather than dwelling on the dangers introduced by the System, public broadcasts emphasized the exciting possibilities awaiting the children who would grow up within this transformed world.
The message resonated with millions of families.
Parents increasingly viewed the future with cautious optimism instead of fear. Their children would reach adulthood just as the next great trials approached, inheriting opportunities unlike anything previous generations had ever imagined. As daily life settled into comfortable routines, memories of the chaotic transition gradually faded into history, leaving behind a generation of children who would know the world before the System only through bedtime stories told by their parents and grandparents.