A/N
Decided to write a slight twist on typical Gamer fanfiction. Let me know what you think!
Pharos is a canon combat school— it's the school from which Velvet matriculated, among other students. I've changed Jaune's history slightly; he now attends Pharos. A minor AU condition because I can't understand how someone with Huntsman aspirations and probably a Huntsman lineage hasn't the slightest inkling of what becoming one entails— aura, Semblances, etc.
Jaune curled into the fetal position in his dorm bed and waited for fitful sleep, though he couldn't imagine approaching drowsiness with a maelstrom of anguish wreaking havoc on his mind.
Enrolling in Pharos Combat School had been a mistake. He couldn't get into Signal— no surprise there— but Vale's second-best prep school had seemed a great backup option. Many of Pharos's finest still entered Beacon, and several alums achieved great fame as Huntsman and Huntresses.
Unfortunately, he'd vastly underestimated how difficult student life would be.
He wasn't the only one gunning for Beacon. No; the students of Pharos Academy fought tooth and nail for top spots in the classroom rankings, spurred by the chance of attending Vale's most prestigious Huntsman academy. Jaune quickly found himself relegated to the bottom of the rankings, barely keeping his head above water. The cutthroat nature of his class meant that few were willing to befriend a hapless bottom-feeder. Hell, he hadn't even gotten his aura until two weeks in, when a kind student had taken pity on him!
Beacon was so distant a mirage that even thinking about it hurt.
He couldn't give up. Unthinkable. His father'd been a Huntsman, and his father before him, and his father— their family's lineage of warriors traced almost a millenium!
Then came Jaune Arc, the weakest link of the bunch. Only sheer desperation kept him from flunking out of even Pharos.
The truth was ugly. He simply lacked fighting talent. Swordsmanship didn't come easy to him, and neither did hand-to-hand combat. When his fellow students grew stronger, faster, and more powerful, he struggled to so much as grasp their ankles.
Reality was a cruel thing. Half a year had passed, and he'd scarcely made progress. Beacon application deadlines loomed in the next six months, and what did he have to show for it? Piss-poor class ranking and no combat accolades to date.
Then, what'd he do? Scurry home with his tail between his legs, begging for shelter and food from his disappointed parents?
Jaune Arc— perpetual failure. Doomed to a life of servitude. Mediocre. Garbage. Talentless. He'd been hearing those words for months now, and he'd worked harder than ever to prove them false.
Hard work, sadly, did not trump talent.
He didn't even get physically bullied— he wasn't significant enough to register as a target.
No friends, no future, and a life of disappointment loomed before him.
He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't! What was he, a child? Curling up and wallowing in his self-pity?
Yet here he was, trounced yet again in sparring. Today had been especially brutal— he'd been beaten by the worst student in the class, and now he assumed that position.
If he submitted that transcript to any reputable Huntsman institution, he'd be laughed out of the office.
"Get it together, Jaune," he whispered. "You can do this. You're an Arc! You just have to believe. Keep working at it."
Weren't those the same words he whispered to himself on a daily basis? How many times had they held true? More importantly, he didn't have time left to delude himself. Beacon registration was too close for comfort and as he was, he stood no chance of getting in.
No matter what he tried. No matter how hard he worked. Life wasn't fair.
As he curled up in the dark, thoughts bombarded him. What good was living like this? Working the life of some peasant, some eternal disappointment, where every day became a grind of the could-have-been? Waking up every day knowing he was a colossal failure, a fraud to his own name?
The worst thing was, he couldn't do anything about it no matter how hard he tried.
He sniffled but didn't cry. No, he kept that one modicum of dignity and held it close.
Oh, what he'd give for a shred of talent, even a tiny ray of hope! A fraction of the talent of the other students in his class would suffice! What good was living his life if he'd never amount to anything? Heck, he'd give an arm to be able to fight with his other one.
Time passed at a crawl. As night faded to midnight and transitioned to dusk, Jaune drifted out of consciousness, still curled into himself.
As he passed between the conscious and the unconscious, a thought passed through his mind.
'If there is a diety— any at all— I'd do anything to be gifted. Anything.'
The vast expanse of a dreamless sleep overtook him.
And from it, an even greater darkness emerged.
Jaune bolted up. What was happening? Had he fallen asleep in his dorm? Why was he stranded in this vast space of emptiness? A void stretched around him in all directions, smothering him in sheer black. There was no sound— not even the faintest thump of his own heartbeat nor the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
Was this a dream?
If so, he couldn't recall ever being this lucid in one.
A being formed from the darkness before him. Black fashioned into ink-like limbs, stretching into an ethereal, obsidian, giant man. He floated fully-formed in the air, regarding Jaune with a cool gaze— if pupil-less eyes could have that quality. A formless pressure emanated from him, spreading like gravitational pulls and dispersing across Jaune's body.
"For a gift, you'd do anything?" the creature asked, gravelly tone echoing across walls that weren't there.
What an insane dream. Some enterprising prankster had slipped some hallucinogen into his dinner, no doubt. He groaned.
"I don't care what it takes. Anything. I'm so, so sick of being useless! What's the point of living life if I'm going to be just… me?"
He didn't know what compelled him to spit out the truth, especially to a drug-induced mirage, but he did.
"Great gifts require great sacrifice," said the man cloaked in darkness, leveling him with a flat gaze. "Are you prepared to face the consequences?"
Jaune laughed, a broken sound. "Look, I don't know what you are. Are you supposed to represent my insecurities, or something? Well, whatever it is— I don't care. Are you kidding? I'd give anything— anything! I mean, look at me. I've been driven so insane I'm talking to my own projections!"
"Then we have formed a covenant. Remember your words, human."
The man's body began to deform. His arms liquefied into dark nothing, and his torso and legs joined that puddle. Jaune stepped back— or whatever waddling equivalent he could do in this strange space.
"Uh, hello? Are— are you okay?"
The graphics in this dream were horrifyingly precise. Apparently, his imagination was more powerful than he'd thought.
Then, that black orb launched at him and sank through his chest.
He screamed.
=II=
He woke up panting. Sweat matted his shirt slick to his body. Had that truly all been a dream? That felt so real! The creature, the pact, the nauseating feeling of that blackness merging with his chest…
Name: Jaune Arc
Level: 4
CON: 8
STR: 8
CON: 8
DEX: 8
AGI: 8
INT: 8
WIS: 8
Lifespan Remaining: 5 days
Huh? What was this floating window? Were the drugs he'd apparently inadvertently taken stronger than he expected?
He'd played enough games to recognize gaming stats when he saw them. A strange representation of his attributes, to be sure. Without anything to compare them to, he couldn't tell whether they were good or bad.
Wait… Lifespan— 5 days.
5 days?
5 days?!
This couldn't be real, right? There was no chance this 'screen' meant anything. He wiped a hand toward it, and it faded instantly. He blinked. A trick of the light?
Words ran through his mind. "Great gifts require great sacrifice…"
What was he thinking? That strange creature wasn't real; he'd dreamt it all. Whatever status window had appeared must've been an aftereffect.
If he tried to bring it back, say, by thinking status and willing something to pop up, of course it wouldn't—
Name: Jaune Arc
Level: 4
EXP: 60/400
CON: 8
STR: 8
DEX: 8
AGI: 8
INT: 8
WIS: 8
Lifespan Remaining: 5 days
Oh.
He blinked again. A step to the left and the screen followed, centering square in his vision.
Weird. He walked forward, prying open the door and stepping into the hallway. A few students milled out on their way to breakfast, but none paid him or his strange new visual any heed. One student walked straight through his projection without so much as a second glance!
What was happening? He closed his eyes, then opened them. Still there.
If this functioned like a video game… hypothetically, if he simply willed it to disappear—
And it did.
A lump formed in his throat.
How real was that? He brought it up again, and it flickered into view. Another thought dismissed it. That crazy dream… did it have anything to do with this?
Did- did that mean that '5 day' lifespan was representative of reality?
Jaune had never considered himself superstitious, but even he started to have doubts.
What if what that creature had said was true?
Had he truly been given some sort of gift? How would a status screen help him with anything— especially if he only had five days of life remaining?
None of this was confirmed. He needed to calm himself. Telling himself that, however, didn't allay any worry. "No, no, no, no…"
[Affliction: Panic]
"I'm aware!" he growled at the air. He paced the hallway, unfocused. This couldn't be happening, right? What was the point of a gift if he only had five days in which to use it? His end goal was to enter Beacon! As far as he was aware, they didn't accept cadavers!
It could be false, but the system had identified his panicked affliction just fine. Assuming he'd genuinely sacrificed the majority of his lifespan…
This could not be the end. He refused to accept it. On the chance that his lifespan was truly more than decimated, he could not go down as some idiot on the wrong end of a Faustian bargain!
[Recurring Level Quest: Level 10]
Reach Level 10 in the allotted time frame.
Time: 5 days.
Reward: 10 days of lifespan, 3000 EXP
This quest is mandatory.
"This… this is real…" he whispered to himself, numb.
Making the insane assumption that this truly functioned like a video game— and he needed to level up— how would he do it?
Accepting quests, for one. Killing monsters should yield EXP as well. In this case, they'd be Grimm, no?
Unless he could work up the gumption to sneak into a fellow student's dorm at night…
He shook his head. What was he thinking? He'd never assassinate a fellow person, ever!
Grimm… he doubted he could survive an encounter with even a potbellied pig Grimm, but then again, he'd never tried. There was a forest infested with Grimm not too far from Pharos used as a traditional training ground. Perhaps in the evening when he had some free time, he could go out and train?
It wasn't hopeless after all. He heaved a sigh. Didn't have a clue how many Grimm he'd have to slay to reach that level 10 mark— it was more than double his current level, after all— but there was, in theory, a way to accomplish the task.
Of course, finishing Quests would be much easier. Quests yielded EXP— if only the requirement to complete this Quest didn't necessitate the EXP he'd get from finishing it! He groaned. What a dumb paradox!
All of this was pure speculation, he had to remind himself. Until he tested it, there was no concrete way to know if any of his postulated methods of getting EXP were legitimate. Heck, he'd began to subconsciously accept this whole 'gaming' system as reality already! It looked true and seemed to reflect reality accurately enough, but there were always methods to achieve realistic fakes.
His drug hypothesis popped back up into his mind.
Just what had he gotten himself into…?
He shook his head. All of this complexity and thought bombarding him was building up steadily in his head, and he was starting to feel a panicked pressure.
"Argh!"
The clear chime of morning bells cut through his mental breakdown.
In all his confusion, he'd forgot about first period!
On instinct, his legs moved. Soon he was pattering down the halls, breathing heavy. Somehow, he managed to put aside his personal crisis for a class that would be rendered meaningless if his worst fears came to pass.
Jaune tried not to think about it. Employing the tried-and-true method of ignoring his problems until they went away, he dashed into the lecture hall. The doors echoed slightly as they scraped; the hall was built in an octagonal shape so that sound spread evenly throughout.
The downside was, of course, that late students could seldom sneak in without notice.
The instructor, Mr. Insley, a portly, balding, middle-aged former Huntsman, flicked a disinterested eye as Jaune entered, but otherwise didn't comment.
He snuck into a seat near the back of the class and tried to appear as invisible as possible.
Mr. Insley appeared to be gearing up for morning sparring. Every day, they began by conducting sparring sessions among themselves to determine class rankings and practice their skills. Usually, the sessions took most of the morning. Pharos was a preparatory school, true, but a combat school first, which reflected in its schedule.
"Let us begin the sparring portion of today's class. Will Mr. Green and Ms. Farrow please come forward?"
As two of his classmates hopped up to spar, Jaune sank into thought.
This morning had been unusual. He would've suspected someone was playing some elaborate prank on him were he not too insignificant to be worth the effort of pranking.
Rather than think about the possibility of imminent death, he tried focusing on the match before him. Believing it was all some bizarre phenomenon was easier— and more convenient— than believing he'd been handed a death sentence. It was surprisingly easy to convince himself he'd hallucinated all of that when it wasn't in his face— and when he was actively trying not to consider the possibility.
The two fighters seemed to both favor swords. They sported mechanized weaponry which transformed into other forms, but kept them in a stable blade as they circled each other. One was an orange-haired girl— Ms. Farrow, Mr. Insley had called her— who kept her feet in a bladed stance. Jaune was only vaguely aware of her; her ranking wasn't particularly high, her style wasn't flashy, and she seldom made waves in class.
As he scrutinized her, a number and label appeared above her head.
Lin Farrow
Level 11
Not this nonsense again! Shoo! Shoo!
The markers faded at his command.
[New Skill: Observe]
Level 1
Provides an assessment of a target.
Argh!
It kept happening!
He wasn't about to have a panic attack in the middle of class, he told himself. But he could hardly ignore it, especially when it kept popping up.
Trying to distract himself, he focused on their movements. Lin kept her legs almost equidistant to her center as she moved, assuming a constant base. She flowed like a river, crashing against her opponent's defenses with solid pressure. He could see her opponent failing under her assault. True enough, a few strikes later, and his aura dropped to 30%.
"Well done, Miss Farrow," Mr. Insley congratulated as her opponent slumped offstage, suitably embarrassed. "Would you like to continue?"
"I'm ready," she replied.
"Good. Mister Arc, if you would?"
He froze.
Mr. Insley couldn't mean him, could he?
"M-me?"
The man cocked an eyebrow. "That is your last name, isn't it? Is there another Jaune Arc? Come forward."
"Err— yes! Of course!" he stammered, staggering to his feet.
True, Lin wasn't in the upper echelon of the class, but she was still leagues above him! She fought near square average— 16th in their class of 30, over ten places above his meager rank. Was Insley using him as fodder for her?
[Quest: Defeat Lin Farrow]
Defeat Lin Farrow.
Reward: 900 EXP.
Accept? Y/N
He read it through, then a second time.
He almost cried.
This whole hallucination had become too real to ignore. His attempts at ducking reality only followed with his being dragged back into it by a series of notifications and status alerts.
For the first time, however, he was glad to see one.
A chance at salvation!
900 EXP? That was more than enough to fulfill the requirement for one level, wasn't it? A far cry from the 6 levels he needed to reach the level 10 benchmark, but better than nothing.
"Yes!" he shouted. Thirty heads swiveled to face him, and his face burned.
[Quest Accepted]
All he needed to do was beat the girl who'd just utterly pulverized someone much stronger than him.
… Oh, dear.
Hanging his head, he made his way down to the combat stage. Crocea Mors hung on the weapons rack, and he equipped his weapon with shaky hands.
Lin glared at him, her sword already leveled. Crap. Had she taken his exultation as a
mockery of her?
He gulped and stepped up.
"Begin!"
She charged.
He almost lost his grip on his sword as she closed in, practically frothing at the mouth. Barely dodging the strike almost had him tripping over his own feet— and the next attack was already incoming.
Yelping, he ducked an overhead strike and backpedaled, face pale.
Two moves in, and the difference in skill and athleticism was tangible.
Having put some distance between him and Lin, he took a moment to breathe.
He didn't know how many of these 'quests' would pop up. If his existence depended on him, he couldn't afford to waste any of them— even this one. His whole life was a series of attempts at overcoming impossible odds. What claim could he have to Beacon if he couldn't beat a class-average combatant at Pharos?
The previous fight flitted through his mind, each combatant's movements playing in brief spurts. He tried to recall the footwork Lin had employed, the grip she'd used on her sword. His mind raced in an attempt to find a solution, piecing together everything he'd seen and learned about the way Lin fought.
She advanced again, swinging— but offense was not her forte, he realized. She was a grinder, not a striker. By enraging her into furious attacks, he took her out of her strongest element.
As she swung, nostrils flaring, he hunched down and raised his shield.
When the strike hit, it may as well have rendered his defense immaterial. Even though it didn't land, the sheer force transferred knocked him back three steps. He needed to increase his strength. Even blocked shots sent him flying!
Using the momentum, Jaune swung his sword in his own counter strike.
Lin glanced up, surprised. Perhaps she hadn't expected he'd have the gumption to counterattack, or that he'd muster something even resembling a decent strike. Whatever the case, his sword was not two feet from her head when she finally reacted, throwing up a hasty parry.
Swords clashed, and Jaune's arm jolted. He gritted his teeth. The rebounding force felt like he'd hit a brick wall. A moment later, both of them separated and stepped back. Jaune flexed his hand, which still trembled from the impact. Lin, meanwhile, narrowed her eyes, reassessing him with a calm gaze.
[New Skill: Basic Swordsmanship]
Represents the user's ability to wield swords in combat.
Level 1
Instantly, his muscle memory shifted. Movements which once felt unwieldy or awkward now proved natural to perform. His grip on his sword adjusted, and the weapon felt right in his hands. Merely sparring with weapons provided him the skills to use them? If each additional skill increased his familiarity as much as it'd just done…
A silly smile spread across his face. Lin caught his expression and snarled.
"W-wait! I wasn't—"
She struck like a feral animal.
He really needed to stop overtly reacting to things only he could see.
On the bright side, enraging her proved to be accidental genius. Jaune had little doubt that she could walk him down and exhaust him by using her same restrained style. Being taunted by one of the worst students in Pharos, however, removed her inhibitions.
This time, he could sense the path of her sword as she moved. With a quick sidestep, he dodged the telegraphed shot before closing in with a rapid thrust.
Lin yelped, surprised, as his blade cut a swathe out of her aura. She hopped back, her face curling into a mask of confusion and rage. He didn't blame her. Even he didn't know he could do that!
His eyes traced his hand in wonder.
The movement was crisper, faster, and smoother than any thrust he'd ever done. How strong would he be when he reached level 2, or even higher?
Smiling even wider, he advanced on her.
This time, he could tell she took him seriously. She settled back into a low crouch, sword held diagonally in front.
He took a stab at her. Blocked. Slash. Blocked. Thrust. Blocked.
Grunting, he tried increasing the pressure, throwing strike after strike with his newfound skills.
To his chagrin, however, none slipped through her defense.
"Ow!"
A stinging sensation erupted up his arm and he moved back, wincing. Somehow, she'd scored a strike up his arm he hadn't even seen.
Okay, so he'd gotten better— but not that much better.
As she was in the process of demonstrating, a class-average student could still wipe the floor with him.
He settled down and gritted his teeth, holding off on his offensive. Then, it became her turn to walk him down.
She moved forward slowly, her sword cutting against his defenses like a grindstone. He found himself being pushed back. Her movements were slow and placid, but he couldn't find any weaknesses— or, likely, he was too unskilled to take advantage of them. Whatever the case, he found himself being whittled down.
Every few seconds he'd be forced to take a few steps back. He could feel her pressure mounting on him as she forced him to dodge or circle back, constantly moving forward. Not good.
He tried an overhead strike in an attempt to distract her enough for him to gain some ground. No such luck. Apparently, she'd expected him to do that— she charged in as he went for it, and he had to stumble back to avoid getting cleaved in the head.
All too many times, he'd seen how this story unfolded.
How much longer did he have? Thirty seconds, maybe a minute?
In all of his excitement at gaining a new skill, he'd forgotten why he was doing this.
He needed to win. Lin wanted to maintain her class ranking, but the stakes for him were literally life-or-death. Failure was not an option!
With the way she was grinding him to dust, however, he didn't have an opening to even hit her.
Desperate times required desperate measures. As she moved forward, an insane plan came to mind.
She stabbed at him, but she blocked the strike. With his chest.
Pain spiked up his body and he groaned, almost buckling under the impact. His aura dropped precipitously, coming dangerously close to red range.
But he'd accomplished his objective.
Lin stared, wide-eyed, at his grip on her wrist. She tried pulling away, but he held on as though his life depended on it. Which it did. With a twist of his wrist, her sword clattered to the ground. He had no doubt her strength was greater than hers, but as a swordsman, she'd probably never been taught how to break hand grips. Needles to say, mere tugging wasn't effective.
With his other hand, he began laying into her with his own sword. Deprived of her weapon, she could only curl up and try to jerk away as he rained down blow after blow. She tried pulling away, but he made sure to maintain his grip.
He didn't think he'd ever tried so hard in a fight. He'd never approached a duel with anything resembling a good strategy before, either, but desperation brought something out of him.
Clearly, Lin had never been trapped like this before. She jerked as mightily as she could, but whatever attempts at escape were hindered by her simultaneous attempts to block his flurry of strikes. Her aura steadily dropped—
"Enough!" roared Mr. Insley.
Jaune let go, his heart still hammering.
"Well done, Mister Arc," his instructor said. "Perhaps there's hope for you after all."
Ouch.
[Quest Complete: Defeat Lin Farrow]
Reward: 900 EXP
[Level up!]
[Level up!]
Name: Jaune Arc
Level: 6
EXP: 60/600
CON: 8 + 4 = 12 (+)
STR: 8 + 4 = 12 (+)
DEX: 8 + 4 = 12 (+)
AGI: 8 + 4= 12 (+)
INT: 8 + 4 = 12 (+)
WIS: 8 + 4 = 12 (+)
Lifespan Remaining: 5 days
Stat Points: 4 Unspent
That sensation— absolutely heavenly, like he was being reborn! Every faculty, physical or mental, felt refreshed, stronger, and faster. He could even sense it in the way he moved. Had his body always felt this light, or his thoughts so clear?
He hopped off the stage and returned to his seat, a few incredulous gazes trailing him. Some of his classmates looked at him with scrunched brows, like they were trying to remember who he was.
Victory was oh-so-sweet. His head still swam, overwhelmed by it all. Even he could scarcely believe he'd accomplished that! More importantly, now he knew his task wasn't impossible. With a few more quests like these, reaching level 10 seemed at least possible, a huge improvement from hours before.
Would he get them all from quests? How'd he trigger them— by putting himself in compromising situations? Maybe he could try hunting some Grimm and see if that'd do anything. In that instant, the world opened up to him.
First things first— he'd gotten four unspent points from the level up. Assuming this worked like a video game— at this point, he was all too sure of that assumption— where would he spend it?
Wisdom and intelligence had utility. He had a suspicion everything from strategizing to studying would progress much smoother if he upgraded those. While forming a battle strategy had merit, short-term power gains were more pressing if he was to survive this ordeal. He could upgrade Wisdom later.
A good argument could be made for strength. Increasing his dexterity, too, would be immensely helpful. If constitution— that was CON, right?— meant aura reserves and he could increase his by 25%, that'd also be a massive advantage. HP, a fixture of video games, was missing. If he had to create an equivalent, that'd be aura, right?
Was aura simply a fixed stat, or was that bundled somewhere else? Maybe increasing constitution would help. Curious, he tapped the plus button next to constitution.
A surge of warmth ran through his body, spreading down his torso, arms, and legs. New energy filled every aspect of his body. There weren't many visible changes— his skin might've been slightly more clear, his body the slightest bit more toned?— but he could feel the difference. More critically, his aura reserves swelled with the addition, expanding a good margin.
He'd decided. Constitution would be a key focus. Increasing his ability to tank damage would be more and more critical the more combat he did.
For now, he'd split the points between constitution and strength. A few taps later, he pulled the status screen back up once more.
Level: 6
EXP: 60/600
CON: 14
STR: 14
DEX: 12
AGI:12
INT: 12
WIS:12
Lifespan Remaining: 5 days
Stat Points: 0
To his joy, increasing strength appeared to have direct benefits to his body. He hadn't noticed before, but the accumulated 6 points in the category since the beginning of the day manifested in clear physical changes. Were his arms always so defined? They weren't muscular or even lean by any stretch— most of the guys in the class still looked bigger— but he'd taken a step from being a blonde, skinnyfat noodle.
For the rest of class, he tried observing the sparring matches as closely as possible, making sure to note each fighter's unique style.
Some favored open stances, others parallel. Ranged attackers— wielders of either hybrids or pure bow-and-arrow or gun configurations— fought in completely different styles in comparison to melee strikers. Each fighting style contained individualized movements, footwork, techniques…
Maybe it was the increased intelligence or wisdom, but for once, he seemed to be absorbing— and, amazingly, actually learning!
[Level Up Skill!]
[Observe]
Level 2
Provides an assessment of a target.
The fights continued for another hour, but his careful scrutiny helped pass the time. By the end, he'd absorbed information to the brink of overload. So many ideas and subtleties… he wasn't sure how much it'd help him, but having an increased understanding of general combat couldn't hurt. He still couldn't wield another weapon— at least, with any level of proficiency— but he now understood an inkling of how they worked.
Only as he neared the end of class did he realize a change in his behavior.
If this were any other day, he might have spent half the class distracted, sneaking glances at pretty girls or daydreaming, or attempting to learn something but having information slip through his brain like water in a sieve.
Death was an amazing motivator, apparently.
"Very good," Mr. Insley finally said as the final fight concluded, his cold voice booming across the room. "Remember to prepare for the Combat Theory exam on weaponry tomorrow! We have but a few assessments left before the final. I expect good results!"
[Quest: Ace The Exam]
Score 100% on the upcoming Combat Theory exam.
Reward: 850 EXP
Accept? Y/N
So the 'dangerous-situation' hypothesis went right out the window. Any mundane topic could be a quest?
Why, then, were the rewards so high? 850 EXP was almost as high as what he'd gotten for the last quest, and the degree of difficulty of that one wasn't anything to scoff at.
To be fair, he hadn't aced a test before— maybe ever. He scrunched his brows. How many times had he gotten above a 90% this year? Once, maybe twice? He thought hard. No occasions came to mind.
Oh.
Well, he wasn't going to turn down the possibility of free experience, especially if it would translate to real-world gains. What was the harm?
This time, he attempted to accept the Quest with a mental nod. To his relief,
[Quest Accepted!]
Popped up.
Four and a half days left to amass five levels. A breath collected in his lungs, and he exhaled.
He could— no, would do it. He had to. Literally.
A/N
This series won't include a deluge of skills like in many other Gamer-type fanfictions. In most such stories, 85% of skills become extraneous or are rendered obsolete as the series progresses, and I'd like for each skill I introduce to matter.
Lifespan timer updates by day.