The next morning arrived, and Claude woke up as he always did—early, before most of the dorm residents even stirred.
The thin rays of sunlight slipped through the cracks of the old window, brushing against the narrow walls of his cramped dorm room.
He sat up from his small, creaky bed and stretched his arms, feeling the stiffness of sleep fade away.
The space around him was barely enough for a desk, a chair, and a few neatly stacked books.
Every corner was well used for his convenience.
Claude quietly folded his blanket, washed his face with the cool water from the shared basin, and adjusted his worn uniform.
He gathered his notes and slipped them into his bag, preparing himself for another day of classes.
Another day, another routine, he thought, tightening the strap of his bag before stepping toward the door.
The streets outside were already alive with noise and motion.
The morning crowd bustled about, cars honking, buses crammed full, and the hum of conversations blending into the city's daily rhythm.
College students hurried past, some clutching steaming cups of coffee, others rushing to catch the next ride that would carry them to campus.
Claude stepped into the flow but kept himself apart from the rush.
He adjusted his bag and began walking at a steady pace, unbothered by the frantic energy around him.
While others squeezed into crowded jeeps and buses, he chose the ground beneath his feet.
A walk would do.
The fresh morning air, even mixed with the scent of gasoline and street food, felt better than being pressed shoulder-to-shoulder inside public transport.
No need to waste CP on fares.
With a faint smile, his steps carrying him calmly through the restless city.
After several minutes of steady walking, the gates of Westbridge University finally came into view.
The towering arch stood proudly, adorned with the emblem of the institution, a symbol recognized across the nation.
Students streamed in and out, their voices mixing with the faint toll of the morning bell.
Claude paused briefly, glancing at the grand campus before stepping inside.
Montclair, the country he lived in, was renowned across the world as a developed nation brimming with opportunity.
It was home to countless wealthy individuals and sprawling business empires.
At its heart stood Edelbourg, the capital city, glittering as the center of power, wealth, and ambition.
And within Edelbourg, Westbridge University reigned supreme.
It was the most prestigious college in the country, a place where heirs of fortune and future leaders of industries gathered.
To most, it was a dream far out of reach.
Claude's lips curved faintly as he walked through the gates.
He didn't come from wealth, nor did he have a single CP to spare, but his scholarship had opened the doors of this place for him.
As Claude crossed the courtyard, his thoughts drifted back to the strange turn of fate from last night.
The system—his system—still felt surreal, like a hidden secret only he could see.
He watched groups of students pass by, many dressed in crisp, expensive clothes, their laughter light and unrestrained.
Luxury cars lined the front of the campus, dropping off heirs and heiresses who barely spared a glance at those beneath their status.
Claude's gaze lingered for a moment before he looked down at himself, his worn uniform pressed as neatly as he could manage.
Maybe… just maybe, he thought, a spark flickering in his chest. With this system, my life could become like theirs someday.
The idea was bold, almost laughable, but he clenched his fist around the strap of his bag.
For the first time, the gap between him and them didn't feel eternal.
Claude pushed open the door to the lecture hall, the hinges giving a faint creak in the quiet room.
The vast space was empty, rows of seats waiting for the day's lessons to begin.
He glanced around, realizing he was the first to arrive.
Making his way down the aisle, he chose a seat that wasn't too close to the front, yet not entirely hidden in the back either—a spot where he wouldn't stand out.
Sitting there, he set his bag on the desk and exhaled slowly.
As a freshman in the Business Administration program, he already knew what kind of people he'd be surrounded by.
The heirs of wealthy families, the children of powerful businessmen, and future leaders of industries—all of them would fill this room.
Claude adjusted himself in his seat, lowering his presence as much as he could.
Better to remain unnoticed to avoid trouble.
The minutes ticked by, and the once silent hall gradually filled with life.
Footsteps echoed as students entered in small groups, their conversations carrying across the rows.
Some exchanged polite greetings out of formality, offering quick handshakes or nods.
Others, already familiar with one another, laughed openly, their voices rising above the chatter.
Claude stayed in his corner, silent and watchful.
He rested his elbows lightly on the desk, his eyes scanning the lively scene without drawing attention.
Just as he had expected, his chosen seat was perfect.
Tucked slightly away from the flow of people, he blended into the background with ease.
Not a single glance came his way.
Everyone was too busy greeting, reconnecting, or flaunting their presence to notice the quiet freshman sitting apart.
Good, he's settling in more comfortably. The less they see me now, the better.
The sharp ring of the bell cut through the lively chatter, and almost instantly, the room quieted down.
A tall man in his forties strode into the hall, his polished shoes striking the floor with firm steps.
His presence alone demanded order, and the air grew heavier as he reached the podium.
Claude straightened in his seat, studying the professor's expressionless face.
The man adjusted his glasses before speaking, his tone strict and unwavering.
"I am Professor Harrington. This course will not tolerate idleness or carelessness. Attendance, discipline, and performance will decide whether you remain in this class. Those who fail to meet the standards will find themselves dismissed. Understood?"
A unanimous "Yes, Professor!" echoed across the hall.
Satisfied, he nodded. "Good. Now, introductions. One by one, stand and state your name, and why you chose Business Administration."
The first student rose with confidence, his voice carrying pride. "Alexander Castillo, heir to the Castillo Conglomerate. I intend to further expand my family's influence."
Polite applause followed, and soon, another stood. "Isabella Veyron, from the Veyron Financial Group. I'm here to sharpen my management skills."
One after another, the students introduced themselves, their names tied to empires of wealth and power.
Claude listened silently, his suspicion confirmed.
Every single one of them was an heir—successors to vast fortunes and industries.
Claude sat still, his eyes narrowing slightly as he paid attention.
From the stream of introductions, it was clear—about one-tenth of the class came from the most powerful families in Montclair.
Their names carried weight, but one stood above the rest: Alexander Castillo.
The heir spoke with such authority that even the air in the room seemed to shift around him.
Claude lowered his gaze, silently taking in every word. So, that's the kind of people I'll be surrounded by…
His turn was drawing closer, and he began rehearsing in his mind how he would introduce himself.
Something plain, something that wouldn't attract attention. Just enough to get through it.
But then—
|╣First Task Issued: Act like a Noble!!╠|
Claude's heart skipped.
His eyes flickered for an instant, but outwardly he remained calm, his face betraying nothing.
Inside, however, his thoughts raced.
What?! Act like a noble?! Are you kidding me?! I'm poor—acting rich is like walking straight into danger!
The absurdity of it pressed down on him, but the system's command was absolute.
He clenched his hands under the desk, forcing himself to breathe steadily, even as unease gnawed at his chest.
Claude's mind roared with complaints the moment the task appeared for the system to reconsider!
Are you insane?! How can I act like a noble when I don't even have much CP to my name?! This is suicide!
But it was too late. The eyes of the professor and his classmates shifted toward him—his turn had come.
Claude slowly rose to his feet, his movements steady and deliberate.
Years of struggling in poverty had honed his ability to act, to pretend, to survive in situations where weakness could not be shown.
Now, he drew on that experience, slipping into a mask that did not belong to him.
His back straightened, his gaze calm yet firm. There was no arrogance in his tone, but neither was there hesitation.
"Claude Julien Riviere," he said evenly.
The name rolled off his tongue with a noble-like presence, carrying a subtle weight that made it sound as though it belonged to a man of status.
Not too boastful, not lacking in confidence—just the right balance, as though he had been raised among wealth and power his entire life.
And for a fleeting moment, even Claude himself almost believed it.