Ugh… damn it!"
The muffled groan that slipped through my cracked lips was the first real sound I had made this morning.
Pain.
It had been my faithful companion ever since I forced my heavy eyelids open to the dull gray morning light that mercilessly streamed in through the panoramic window of my luxurious suite. This wasn't just a mild headache like yesterday. No—my sixteen-year-old body, along with its disastrous stats, had decided to stage a full and violent protest against yesterday's humiliation.
Every muscle.
Every tendon.
Every joint in my body screamed in the universal language of pain.
It felt as if I hadn't just been run over by a massive freight truck—no, I had also been used as a test dummy for an entire collection of medieval torture devices.
"Good morning, you cursed world," I muttered hoarsely as I slowly—painfully—tried to lift myself from the bed, which felt disgustingly comfortable compared to the miserable state of my body.
"Ah—gh… damn it…"
Every movement, no matter how small, was accompanied by muffled groans and quiet whimpers. I felt like a ninety-year-old man trying to get up from his rocking chair after spending an entire night sleeping in the wrong position.
Damn it… If we do the same exercises again, I'm seriously going to collapse.
The thought crossed my mind as I carefully touched my ribs, which felt like they were about to come apart. It took what felt like an entire century—filled with quiet curses and movements as slow as an arthritic turtle—for me to finally drag myself into the bathroom.
Every step was a protest from my body, a painful reminder of how pathetic my physique truly was.
E-rank stats in almost everything…
I remembered bitterly as that cursed section of my status screen flashed in my mind like a ghost.
I wonder if I could at least get promoted to a normal F rank if I manage to walk to the cafeteria without collapsing and crawling the rest of the way on my hands and knees.
"Fwoosh—!"
The sound of cold water hitting the shower tiles was like an icy waterfall, but it was necessary. I forced myself to stand beneath it, feeling the cold seep into my bones and wake whatever brain cells I still had left.
"Gah!"
It wasn't pleasant, but at least it made me feel slightly less like a walking corpse about to rot and return to the soil.
After that brief session of aquatic torture, I put on the academy's dull gray uniform again.
It still felt strange and stiff on my body. Every movement sent small stabs of pain somewhere.
"Haa…"
I let out a long, exhausted sigh, feeling a powerful urge to crawl back into bed and hide under the blankets until the end of the world… or at least until the end of this school day.
For just a moment, I truly wished I could wake up in my old, comfortable apartment and discover that all this nonsense about the novel world, gates, and skills had just been a long, ridiculous nightmare caused by too little sleep and far too much cheap coffee.
But reality, as usual, was far more cruel and sarcastic.
I had absolutely no real desire to eat the so-called "food" in the cafeteria—especially after yesterday's horrifying visual and culinary experience, which was still burned into my memory like a traumatic flashback.
Still, I knew I needed to put something into my stomach if I wanted to survive the day… which I expected to be filled with even more "pleasant" surprises.
I wonder what the ingredients are in that gray porridge that looks like wet cement.
That thought crossed my mind as I stepped out of my luxurious suite.
The cafeteria was packed with students.
The noise of their voices—ranging from excited chatter to exhausted complaints—along with the constant clanging of metal trays striking each other rang loudly in my ears.
Most of the students, annoyingly and enviably, looked far better off than I did.
Ethan Riddell, our dazzling hero with gravity-defying white hair, was sitting at a large table surrounded by a group of admirers. He laughed loudly and looked full of energy—as if he hadn't run thirty laps around a field the size of a small country yesterday.
Drake Mallory, our resident dark prince with the piercing gaze, sat alone in a corner, scanning the room with those cold, sharp eyes that made you feel like an insect under a microscope.
Still the same unreformed emo…
I couldn't stop the sarcastic thought from slipping into my mind again.
Serena Valerian, with her calm beauty and commanding presence, was eating breakfast with elegance and grace while reading something on her tablet.
The elite of the elite, I mocked inwardly as I slowly made my way toward the food line, which moved forward at the speed of a rheumatic snail.
When I finally reached the serving counter—after a long journey through a sea of tired faces and suspiciously energetic ones—I tried my best not to show any signs of disgust or horror at the sight before me.
Large trays were lined up just like yesterday, holding what could generously—very generously—be described as "food."
The gray, glue-like porridge with its suspicious texture was still the undisputed star of the morning show.
Next to it was something that resembled scrambled eggs… except it had a disturbingly pale green color.
As if it had been exposed to a mild dose of nuclear radiation.
There were also slices of toast that looked as if they had been used as sponges to clean laboratory floors. And finally, there were a few pieces of fruit that looked so sad and miserable it was as if they were eagerly waiting for a merciful death.
"What do you want today, boy?" the cafeteria worker asked.
She was a large woman with a dull, expressionless face.
I want to run away and cry in a dark corner.
That was the honest answer that almost slipped out of my mouth.
Instead, I said quietly, in a tone of resigned surrender,
"Some of everything, please. I wouldn't want to miss any of these… unique flavors."
Because I already knew that arguing with her would be a waste of time—and precious energy I didn't have much of to begin with.
She placed generous portions of all those questionable substances onto my metal plate.
I carried the tray carefully, as if I were holding a ticking bomb that might explode at any moment.
I searched for the most distant empty table possible—some dark corner where, if necessary, I could discreetly dump the food into a nearby trash bin without anyone noticing.
I sat down and began my impossible mission: trying to get this "biofuel" into my stomach without my body rejecting it.
Slowly, I opened my mouth, closed my eyes… and took a small, hesitant bite of the green "eggs."
"Huh?!"
My tongue spasmed.
This… this…!
The taste was… indescribable.
And I mean that sincerely—I genuinely could not find the right words to describe it.
And that doesn't necessarily mean it was indescribably delicious.
Not at all.
It wasn't so terrible that I spat it out immediately… but it wasn't good in any way either.
It had a strange rubbery texture, and a faint, dull flavor that resembled… wet cardboard that had been stored inside a rotten gym sock for a week.
The gray porridge was slightly better…
Or maybe worse in a different way—I hadn't decided yet.
It was warm, which counted as a positive point in this place.
But its texture was sticky and strange, like some gelatinous substance from another planet.
And its taste was… nothing.
Just a warm gray mass with no flavor, no smell, and no identity.
At least it's not attacking me or trying to communicate with me telepathically, I consoled myself while swallowing it with difficulty, trying not to think about its true origins.
The toast was as hard as a rock, and I nearly broke one of my teeth trying to bite it.
Maybe I should use it as a self-defense weapon instead of trying to eat it.
As for the sad-looking fruit with its hopeless appearance, I avoided it entirely.
It looked like it might explode in my face if I tried to touch it.
While I fought this silent, heroic battle with my unforgettable breakfast, I observed the other students around me.
Most of them were eating quietly, their facial expressions very similar to mine—a mixture of resignation and suppressed disgust.
A small minority, like Ethan Riddell, who was devouring his food with strange enthusiasm, looked as if they were actually enjoying the meal… or at least pretending to enjoy it with Oscar-worthy skill.
They must have a special skill called "Food Enjoyment."
I thought, not entirely ruling out the possibility in a world where skills actually existed.
I finished as much of the "food" as I could, feeling heavier and more miserable than I had before starting this dreadful experiment.
Great.
Now I wasn't just physically weak and exhausted—I also felt nauseous and on the verge of crying.
What a productive morning.
After that "nutritious" breakfast—which had nearly destroyed what little will to live I had left and made me seriously consider joining the dark side—I headed with the rest of the Class Alpha students.
Or rather… I limped behind them like a zombie.
Our destination was the lecture hall assigned to us for the day.
It wasn't the same hall as Professor Phoenix's—the one that felt like a courtroom where you were sentenced to a slow death.
This one was slightly smaller, though it was still equipped with cutting-edge technology and holographic display screens that this academy seemed to have an endless supply of.
Probably because they don't spend much on the quality of the food.
I wonder what kind of intellectual torture or public humiliation awaits us today, I thought as I found my usual seat in the back rows.
Maybe a lecture on "The Importance of Dying Heroically for a Cause You Don't Fully Understand," complete with a presentation full of colorful and misleading charts.
The students around me murmured among themselves, their voices buzzing like an angry hive of bees.
"Did you hear? They say today's training will be even harder."
"Ugh… my legs still hurt from yesterday. I don't think I can even walk, let alone run."
"Do you think Professor Phoenix will supervise us again? That woman scares me even in my dreams."
Some were discussing yesterday's horrific training, while others speculated about the "pleasant surprises" today might bring.
Suddenly, I felt a tense atmosphere spreading through the room—mixed with that peculiar kind of nervous excitement that usually precedes a special announcement.
I already know what's going to happen today…
A cold, clear thought passed through my mind.