Chapter 14

Mood was lousy. After logging into the game, I decided to take my anger out on someone. I was in the backyard where my father was grooming the dogs.

"Let’s continue!" Without waiting for my reply, he unleashed the dogs. His face still wore that same smile—seemed like his default expression.

I didn’t hesitate—I struck with all my strength. The dogs yelped and tumbled to the ground. A sharp smack to my forehead from Dad snapped me back to reality. His stern gaze now carried seriousness and concern.

"Feel better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"What happened? Why so angry?" He called the dogs back, signaling for me to heal them.

"In my world… someone tried to use my love for my family against me. Threatened them. I could’ve killed them!"

"Then why didn’t you?"

"The fallout would’ve been worse. Better to hold back and endure."

"Then make your choice and calm down. The dogs didn’t do anything."

"Sorry."

[Debuff Received: Astral Anchor]

Effect: Cannot move more than 30 meters from current location.

Duration: 6 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes… 58… 57…

Seems my Curator decided to take it out on me. No point asking—he’d never tell the truth anyway. My father, though… he must be able to see my status effects.

"What’s this for? Did you mess up again?"

"Consequences of refusal."

"Hmph. At least you’ll be sleeping at home."

Sitting on the ground, nursing the sting of Dad’s slap, I thought things over. The worst part? Vaalsi found out I can talk. Then there’s the fact I worked at the spaceport. He’s losing money since I’m not part of his scavenger crew. Galboa told me about the cameras and their standard placements—we often repaired ship electronics, including surveillance wiring. So, trouble with the scavengers is inevitable. If that Eliza tells them I can speak, they’ll harass me even more. And she might hurt Galboa too. My chest tightened—what if he suffers because of me? I should transfer my anonymous account savings to him. If things go south, it might soften the blow. Officially, I can’t use that money anyway.

The debuff can’t be removed—Vaalsi made sure of that. Only a Curator can apply this to their ward. So, my options are: skip the game for a week or make the most of what I have… That thought brought Galboa back to mind. The pain flared again.

"Saji, I know it hurts, but you should’ve realized by now—it’s not hopeless. Mom can teach you cooking. With enough skill, you could brew basic potions. We also have tailoring, blacksmithing, carpentry, magecraft… And these 30 meters? They reach the lake. We’ll fish from the shore."

"Thanks."

Galboa once said: "The more problems you solve, the stronger you become—and the easier new challenges get. But the more you run, the weaker you grow." Funny how the most painful lessons are the most valuable. Pain… Wait. That’s an idea!

"And there are the dogs," I grinned. Dad understood.

"Yeah. There are the dogs."

[Meditation +1]

[Mana Regeneration +2%]

And there’s meditation, too.

[Debuff Received: Vow of Silence]

Effect: Cannot speak or use chat functions.

Duration: 6 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes… 58… 57…

Dad smirked as he read the debuff description. So, he really can see my status panel.

His combat combos were terrifying. He always stopped the final strike at the last moment, but the difference was palpable. Everything I knew about hand-to-hand was about winning or defending without killing. What Dad knew? Pure killing art. Yet it’s the same Unarmed Combat skill. The difference was execution.

[Unarmed Combat +9]

[Barehanded Damage +10%]

[Poison Resistance +0.12%]

[Poison Damage Ignored: 48/sec]

[Physical Resistance +0.1%]

[Physical Damage Ignored: Up to 63/sec]

[Earth Magic +4]

[Air Magic +5]

[Spirit Magic +2]

[Fire Magic +7]

[Dark Magic +4]

Rachel… She visited twice a day, teasing me for "putting down roots." I liked listening to her chatter about city life. Liked her laugh when Dad tossed me around like a ragdoll. Mornings were for fishing; she’d swim in the lake with friends. Just knowing she was nearby felt nice. Her fiery red hair reached her shoulders, and that dress she bought at the market suited her perfectly. So beautiful.

In reality? Constant fights. The scavengers accused me of "disrespect" for ignoring them.

"What, runt? You yapped nonstop at the spaceport, licking boots, but won’t talk to us? Maybe—"

A strike to the throat shut him up. The psychologist kept her word—they knew I went to the spaceport, knew I could talk. Now I either cooperate or double down.

Every time I left the capsule, someone provoked me. Sound suppression lagged deliberately. Curator Vaalsi ignored it all. My body was one giant bruise, but I always fought back. By week’s end, my bullies sported matching injuries. Only two weeks of extended "education" remained.

Five days with a family means everything to an orphan. Mornings: Dad fished; Mom and I saw him off. Two days left on Astral Anchor. Mom taught cooking and sewing—enchanted thread boosted item bonuses, and reinforced durability. The worst part? The silence. I wanted to talk. Mom watched me cook, correcting mistakes. Questions had to be gestured. Felt like I was burdening them. Guilt gnawed at me. Mom soothed it with jelly and sweets.

When Dad returned, we trained dogs or set animal traps. Evenings by the fireplace, he demonstrated carpentry.

"Saji, watch. This is a wolf call. Provokes aggression. Every crafter has the Crafting skill—it boosts item stats. A master’s version could lure everything within 500 meters. But low-quality materials? One-use only."

He sipped berry brew, eyes on the fire.

"There’s a balance between durability and energy throughput. To create a sonic wave that strong requires insane stamina. Blow into it—loses half its durability. Expected from plain yew. Masters use better materials or reinforce with magic… though enchanters avoid pre-imbued items."

He showed me more—ice that takes years to melt, bendable bone, petrified wood. A giant bone, soaked, straightened, carved into a stool leg.

"Once dry, it hardens. Then we’ll carve designs."

Crafting was OP. We each whittled a wooden knife: mine dealt 1-2 damage; his, 20-25—plus +4 Strength/Stamina.

"Keep it. A reminder of your first woodwork."

[Wooden Knife]

Carved from yew by a skilled hand.

Damage: 20-25

Durability: 400/400

+4 Strength

+4 Stamina

Without a class or level, this knife was like a legendary sword to me. But since I’m no warrior, my fists still hit harder.

The last day of punishment? Dog training—on me. Strange mindset: no fear of pain. Knowing bite wounds would heal made me bolder.

That evening, Rachel arrived—same as every day, asking how I learned spells. Today, she wore a corset dress with a short sage skirt and matching boots. I just stared, smiling, until Dad’s voice (and a dog chomping my arm) snapped me out of it.

"Too soon for girls, kid."

Rachel blushed hard. Grunt and Oni, behind her, nearly died laughing.

At nightfall, Dad called it.

"Saji, sweetie, help me…" Rachel’s plea was irresistible. "I want to learn magic too. No mage will teach me, but if you ask… Maybe they’ll consider it? I lack rep or quests for it. Can’t fight, and 100 gold per spell? I’m broke. Dad’s been weird since he found out."

"My punishment ends tomorrow. We’ll go then. I need the library anyway."

"You can read? Hee-hee! Or do you need picture books?"

"I’m not little!!" My pout sent everyone into hysterics.

Alone, I reviewed my stats.

I’d nearly maxed my current skills. Time to branch out.

I wanted to be a Sorcerer—needed magic knowledge. The library had answers.

The walk to town took forever. Rachel’s chatter never stopped—how did she have time to visit me and roam the city? Her Athletics was only 3, so we walked.

Bernard taught me one Space spell:

[Telekinesis]

Move objects with your mind.

Weight Limit: [INT] kg

Range: [INT] meters

Cost: 1 MP/kg

I practiced on a rock. Circles, hovering—until focus lapsed and it bonked my head. Rachel squealed, questioning my IQ very creatively.

In town, she went to find Bernard while I hit the library.

Murikami, the librarian, smirked. "State secrets, kid. Magical training? Second floor, east wall."

The Academy wasn’t a school—more like a library, testing center, and training ground. Ten tiers, then ranks: Apprentice, Journeyman, Master, Grandmaster. Each tier gave +5% specialization damage; ranks, +12.5%.

But Bernard mentioned 50%—books said 100%.

"Ever heard of 200%?" He laughed until tears came. "Beat the Archmage. Tiberius Sen, 750th-level universalist. Only two people ever did it in 2000 years."

Three questions:

1. "Why no info on magic seals?"

2. "What’s post-fifth-year curriculum?"

3. "How to find hidden books?"

Answers:

1. "Seals are for wards or summons—class-locked."

2. "Fieldwork. Do whatever, or take quests."

3. "Learn."

[Skill Learned: Perception]

Find hidden things—traps, levers, stealthy foes.

I trained Perception and Stealth in a thieves’ tavern, hiding in corners, spotting newbies. By evening:

[Perception +1]

[Stealth +1]

Stealth wasn’t invisibility—just blending in. Real invisibility was a high-level Rogue skill. Mages had spells, but I lacked those.

Two days of watching drunk braggarts throw apples at me (no damage, free snacks) paid off.