I lay there for what felt like an hour, marinating in a stew of my own self-pity. The ceiling was starting to look more interesting than my future. [String Theorist]. Rank C. It sounded less like a superpower and more like a community college course you take when you've run out of ideas.
*'This is it,'* I thought. *'I'll have to get a job. Maybe I can be a living, breathing ball of yarn for a kindergarten. "Look kids, Hunter Ron will now demonstrate how to make a sad little knot!"'*
But then, a memory from my old life flickered. A show I'd binged during a particularly unproductive weekend. A guy in a fluffy pink coat, cackling like a maniac as he controlled an entire island with… strings.
"Doflamingo…" I muttered to the empty room. "That guy's whole deal was strings. And he wasn't just making friendship bracelets. He was cutting buildings in half, puppeteering people, creating literal clones… He made strings terrifying."
A new thought, fragile but persistent, pushed through the despair. *It's not about the rank, it's about the user. The system said 'semi-sentient' and 'application potential scales with user ingenuity.' Maybe… maybe this isn't a garbage power. Maybe I just got a garbage initial review.*
Driven by a sudden, desperate hope, I sat up and held out my hand. I concentrated. Not on making a string, but on making a *specific* kind of string. I didn't want yarn. I wanted a wire. A filament. Something so thin it was nearly invisible, so sharp it could split atoms.
I focused all my will, my imagination picturing a monomolecular wire, humming with lethal potential. A thread of pure, concentrated intent. My finger tingled, and a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer appeared in the air, connecting my fingertip to the wall. I could barely see it, but I could *feel* it, a taut line of my own energy.
Hesitantly, I moved my index finger in a small, casual, slicing motion.
*SCHIIING.*
A clean, perfect line appeared across my cheap wooden desk. A moment later, the entire top half slid off and crashed onto the floor with a tremendous BANG.
I stared, my jaw hanging so low it could have collected dust.
"What. The. Hell."
I looked from the ruined desk to my finger and back again. The shimmering wire was gone.
"Was that… me? A bug? Did the system glitch and give me a sneak peek of my S-Rank evolution?" My heart was hammering against my ribs. This wasn't just string. This was… potentially insane.
The excitement was immediately followed by a crushing wave of reality. Okay, so maybe my power wasn't useless. But I had no idea how to use it. I'd just sawed a table in half by waving my finger; what if I sneezed and accidentally decapitated my neighbor? I needed training. I needed control.
And in this world, that meant one thing: Hunter Academy.
I pulled up the public information net on my holophone—a slick device that made my old world's smartphone look like a brick with delusions of grandeur. The process was daunting.
To get a Hunter License, you couldn't just walk in and take a test. Oh no. You needed a formal education. A *two-year* foundational course at a certified academy, followed by an optional (but basically mandatory for anyone who wasn't S-Rank out of the gate) one-year "Mastery" program for specialization. It was exactly like college back home, just with more monsters and a higher chance of death before you even got your degree. This world was run by academic bureaucrats with a death wish.
"Master's Degree… to fight goblins," I groaned. "The liberals and democrats of this world have truly won. They've made higher education a life-or-death necessity. It's a nightmare."
Then I saw the tuition fees for the top-tier academies. The numbers had so many zeros they looked like zip codes.
"A hundred thousand Unions? Per semester?! Do they teach you in solid gold classrooms with professors who shoot mana crystals out of their eyes?!"
I felt a cold dread. My savings. I quickly accessed my bank account. The late, great, parallel-world-parents I never knew had left me a modest nest egg: **52,000 Unions**.
Now, to put that in perspective. From the memories I'd inherited, the cost of living here was weirdly… efficient. A decent meal from a street vendor cost about 2 Unions. My monthly rent for this tiny apartment was 100 Unions. Utilities, including the hologram data-plan for my phone, another 100. I could, theoretically, live a comfortable, lazy, ramen-and-video-games existence for *years* on this money. Parallel-world Ron was a frugal king, a true NEET hero.
But academy fees? That was a different economy entirely. It was like using your life savings to buy a single, really expensive sword.
"I'm not getting into a first-rate academy," I admitted. "They'd take one look at my C-Rank String Theory and laugh me out of the admissions office. I need to aim lower. Much, much lower."
I started searching for "best second-rate hunter academies near me" and "academies with high acceptance rates." The list was… colorful. There was "We-Try-Hard Academy," "Don't-Die Institute," and my personal favorite, "Probably-Fine Guild College."
But one caught my eye: **The Budding Hunter Preparatory Academy & Culinary School (Specializing in Monster Cuisine)**.
"Culinary School?!" I choked. But it was only a kilometer away, and its listing proudly stated it was "Consistently Ranked in the Top 5 of Sector 7's Alternative Education Centers!" Which was a fancy way of saying it was the best of the worst.
I clicked on their financial aid page. And my eyes nearly popped out of my head.
There it was. The most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
**SCHOLARSHIP & DISCOUNT PROGRAM:**
* **E-Rank:** Thoughts and Prayers.
* **D-Rank:** 10% Tuition Discount + Meal Voucher on Fridays.
* **C-Rank:** **80% Tuition Discount** + Monthly Living Stipend (500 Unions) + Free Metro Pass + Unlimited Cafeteria Access.
* **B-Rank:** 90% Discount + Stipend + Dorm Room.
* **A-Rank:** Full Ride + Salary.
* **S-Rank:** Please, just name your price. We will give you the academy. You can be the dean.
* **UNIQUE Professions:** Automatic 50% Discount **PLUS** applicable rank-based scholarship!*
I did the math so fast I almost gave myself a nosebleed. Their standard two-year tuition was 10,000 Unions. With my C-Rank scholarship, that was knocked down to 2,000. Then, because I was a *Unique*, they'd slash that price in half again.
**Total Tuition: 1,000 Unions.**
And they'd *pay me* a 500 Union stipend every month. I was basically getting paid to attend.
"I…" I stammered, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across my face. "I am a genius. In this dumpster fire of an academy, I'm not a loser. I'm a Unique. I'm their golden goose! Their… their shiny, string-producing goose!"
With trembling, excited fingers, I filled out the digital application. I highlighted **UNIQUE: [STRING THEORIST]** so brightly it probably blinded the admissions officer on the other end. I attached my Awakening Record and hit SEND.
I leaned back in my chair, a new feeling bubbling up inside me: optimism. Maybe this wasn't the prestigious path. Maybe I'd be learning alongside people who awakened as [Professional Nap Takers] and [Goblin Intimidation Specialists].
But it was a path. And it was cheap.
I smiled, sat back, and waited. For the first time since I'd arrived, things were looking up. Now I just had to hope they didn't reject me for being too much of a catch.