Chapter 5

The morning started with a small fight. The moment I crawled out of the cocoon, yesterday’s trio ran up and beat me with all their strength right up until the siren sounded. Then another talk with the supervisor. Now I get an extra two hours of study, while they get four. Where’s the justice, old man? As soon as everyone left and started dispersing, I heard more threats and flashed another smile. My whole body ached, and it really stung that I’d lost.

The situation called for retaliation. I tracked down the inseparable trio—they were making their rounds through the block. For a whole hour, I followed them, watching as they shook kids down for money. Along the way, I picked up a small polymer stone from the hallway where construction was underway. I waited until one of them broke off to go to the bathroom and followed him.

Pain for pain.

I struck him in the head, splitting the skin on the back of his skull. Then I kicked him—methodically, deliberately—until the siren blared. A month of painful memories was guaranteed for him.

Today, the supervisor was very eloquent. That much swearing wasn’t something you heard every day, even in the docks. But beating that guy made me feel a little better.

"Why’d you hit him in the head? He showed up at the infirmary covered in blood. Now he’ll be limping for a month. You don’t get full-body recovery here—we don’t have that kind of equipment."

I stayed silent. No point saying that was exactly what I’d wanted.

"Four extra hours of study a day for the next month. Dismissed."

There hadn’t been real "school" in over a century. They just gave you access to study materials and told you when the exam was. The better your grades, the more privileges an orphan could get: field trips, sweets, social events, access to games or restricted materials. All of it was bought with points earned through academic success. The curriculum was set a full calendar year in advance.

Galboa used to say that in any situation, you had to find the positives, to use circumstances as efficiently as possible. And that’s exactly what I’d do.

For the next month, I’d have fourteen hours of study every day. That kind of workload was exhausting. Between the constant fights and extra study time, I’d developed a habit of reading during breaks. I was grateful to Galboa for his advice about books. Books didn’t teach—they organized what you already knew. On the other hand, if you met the requirements early, you wouldn’t have to struggle later. That was written in the rules. And the worst Vaalsi could do was restrict my gaming privileges through the cocoon’s external interface.

I climbed into the cocoon and activated Chrysalis’ invitation. The timer started counting down my two hours of free time.

"Chrysalis welcomes you."

"New user registration."

"Select your race."

My thoughts tangled—the race you picked determined what kind of parents you’d get. Orcs were strong, dwarves had beards by twelve, elves looked like girls, trolls were ugly, and humans had no talents.

Just like me. So, human it is. Huh… other races aren’t even available yet.

"Choose your in-game name."

I didn’t have any nicknames at the orphanage. Only in the docks, they called me "fry." They said if I wanted to be called by my real name, I’d have to earn the group’s respect. The memories were pleasant, except for the one with Galboa—that still hurt.

"Saji"—the youngest of the djinn. Dockworkers were sometimes called djinn for their invisibility and their knack for fulfilling clients’ wishes.

A separate page listed innate predispositions for weapons or magic, granting bonus damage. The chance of getting one, along with the bonus size, was shown in percentages. For extra credits, you could increase the odds of rolling a character with your desired trait.

A whole page of paid services: being born into a mage family or inheriting a swordsman’s legacy, hereditary skills, mutations, family artifacts—but even the cheapest options started at a thousand credits.

Oh, what wondrous discoveries await me in the spirit of enlightenment! Grown players would pay that much just for the idea of a family? I couldn’t—and wouldn’t—buy that.