The "Admin Room" had been a bust—mostly just a void of white light and a series of terrifyingly long Terms and Conditions that I'd clicked "Accept" on without reading. Now, I was back. The "Developer" login had seemingly ended, reality had unpaused, and the "Manual Scan" had dumped me right back into the center of the Academy's Great Arena for my scheduled "re-evaluation."
But Jude wasn't having it.
The Golden Boy had spent the last hour replacing his "batteries," and he was currently vibrating with a level of S-Rank salt that could preserve a whale. He stood on the polished stone of the Arena, his golden armor gleaming with a renewed, albeit slightly twitchy, light.
"Viktor Volkov!" Jude roared, his voice echoing off the stadium walls where thousands of students sat in hushed anticipation. "I challenge you to a Duel of Honor! No tricks, no 'logic errors,' just pure combat. If I win, you are expelled and your 'relic' is forfeited to the state!"
The Instructor, still looking a bit dazed, raised a hand. "The challenge is legal. Viktor, do you accept?"
I looked at the Arena floor. It was made of reinforced marble, enchanted to be as hard as diamond and as stable as a mountain. I looked at Jude, who was already entering a high-speed combat stance, his sword whistling through the air. My legs still hurt from the forest. My Stability Points were at a precarious **15/100**.
"I accept," I sighed, reaching into my pocket and finding a small bag of buttered popcorn I'd managed to manifest during the "Admin" transition. "But let's make it interesting. This floor? It's a bit too stiff for a duel of this caliber."
> **[System Message]**
> **[WARNING: Interpretation Slot 1/5 Engaged.]**
> **[Note: Your SP is critically low. Reality is becoming 'Soft'.]**
>
Jude lunged. "Die, you charlatan! **Heavenly Piercing Strike!**"
He moved like a golden bullet, his boots gaining friction for a lunge that should have ended the fight in half a second.
*Interpretation,* I thought, tossing a kernel of popcorn into my mouth. *This isn't an 'Indestructible Arena Floor.' It's a **Giant, 100-Yard Professional Slip-and-Slide** coated in extra-strength dish soap.*
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank E)]**
**[Target: The Arena Ground]**
**[New Meaning: 'High-Lube Slip-and-Slide']**
Jude's front foot hit the marble.
Instead of a firm, tactical pivot, his leg accelerated to Mach 1. His eyes went wide as his center of gravity stayed behind while his lower half decided to visit the North Pole.
*SCHLOOOOOP.*
Jude didn't just fall. He performed a perfect, involuntary split that looked like it cleared his hamstrings out for the next three generations. His golden sword flew out of his hand, spinning like a helicopter blade into the far wall.
"GAH!" Jude scrambled to stand, his hands frantically clawing at the floor, but the "lube" logic was absolute. Every time he moved a muscle, his limbs slid in four different directions. He looked like a newborn giraffe trying to walk on a frozen lake of WD-40.
I took a seat on the edge of the transition barrier, leaning back and crunching on my popcorn. "Nice form, Jude. Very flexible. Is that the 'Heavenly Split' technique? I've heard it's great for the hip flexors."
"You... *slide*... coward! *schlip*... Stand and fight!" Jude roared, trying to push himself up. His arms gave way, and he did a face-plant that echoed through the silent stadium.
He tried to channel his Holy Aura for a flight spell, but the "Slapstick" nature of the Interpretation was too strong. Every time he flared his mana, he just accelerated his sliding. He began to spiral across the arena like a golden air-hockey puck, bouncing off the enchanted barriers with a rhythmic *thud... thud... thud.*
The audience was no longer cheering. They were watching in a state of collective, horrified confusion. Han Se-ah was in the front row, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking—I couldn't tell if she was crying or laughing.
"Ooh, that's a triple-axel," I commented as Jude hit a particularly slick patch and performed a series of accidental pirouettes that would have won him a gold medal in figure skating.
Jude finally managed to grab a decorative pillar, hugging it for dear life, his face a mask of pure, unadulterated humiliation. "Undo this! I'll kill you! I'll—"
His hands slipped. He shot backward, sliding across the entire 100-yard expanse on his stomach, arms flailing, until he disappeared into the darkness of the equipment tunnel at the far end. A faint, distant *clatter-bang* told me he'd found the mop buckets.
The Instructor looked at the empty arena, then at me. "The... the winner is Viktor Volkov? By... technical forfeit?"
I stood up, dusting the popcorn salt off my hands.
> **[System Message]**
> **[Level Up Progress: 99.9%]**
> **[CRITICAL ERROR: User Rank F has been rejected by the World Logic.]**
>
The 'F' on my sleeve finally caught fire. The blue flames didn't burn; they rewrote. The letter stretched and curved, turning into a symbol I'd never seen—a zero with a slash through it.
"System," I whispered, the ground beneath me finally returning to marble. "What just happened?"
> **[System Message]**
> **[Evolution Complete: Rank NULL.]**
> **[New Status: 'The Glitch in the Script'.]**
> **[Notice: The Admin is no longer just talking. She's approaching with a 'System Deletion' sword.]**
>
At the edge of the arena, the Woman in White was walking toward me. She wasn't sliding. The ground itself seemed to bow under her feet, the marble turning back into raw data.
"Fun's over, Viktor," she said. "The Developer wants his back-scratcher back."