Chapter 4
As soon as the academy introduction ended, Laurel left without hesitation.’
Her job was done, and she had no obligation to explain further—something like that, I guess.
And so, I was left alone in this disgustingly huge academy.
This is possession? Please, just give me a stress-free, comfortable possession already.
[If the player deviates from the ‘original storyline,’ the game will automatically reset.]
I swatted away the floating window with a wave of my hand.
I know. I was just denying reality, that’s all.
I had no choice in the matter.
“System.”
A translucent parchment-like window appeared in the air.
[Welcome, LapidemyBunnyPrincess.]
Cough—I barely swallowed a fake cough.
Why did it have to be my game nickname of all things? I’d changed it on a drunken whim and kept it because I liked it, but is this my past karma coming back to haunt me…?
Will there ever be something like a nickname change ticket? At least it’s a relief that no one in this world knows my nickname.
For now, I need to address the most pressing question.
“Status window.”
Just how trash are my stats that a single handshake crushed my hand bones and a gust of wind left scratches on me?
+++
<LapidemyBunnyPrincess> Lv.1
-Class: Writer
-Title: Possessor
-Health: 80
-Mana: 0
-Strength: 3
-Agility: 2
-Physical Resistance: 0
-Magic Resistance: 0
-Intelligence: 40
-Luck: -99~99
+++
Haha, no wonder I felt pathetically weak. What did I expect from a body that’s only just started moving properly?
The luck stat swinging between extremes bothers me, but my intelligence is 40. That’s worth a toast, at least.
“Why is my class Writer?”
In the game, every ‘living being’ had a class.
This applied even to hostile mobs—everything from common classes like hero, Thief, or Alchemist, found in any game, to mythical creatures like Ouroboros, which existed as a class of its own.
But I’d never seen or heard of a ‘Writer’ class.
“What’s with Writer?”
The only writing experience I had was a school essay contest and that one time in my senior year of high school when I went crazy from entrance exam stress and wrote a terrible web novel. It was so boring it became a dark chapter of my life.
+++
▷Unique Class: Writer
The words that flow from your hand become reality.
Craft the story you desire and change the world!
+++
A unique class, as the name suggests, is one of a kind.
This was definitely an advantageous start. The protagonist has the unique class of Hero, the final boss of Part 1 did too, and anyone considered a powerhouse in this world was a unique class holder.
Moreover, the exclusive skills that come with unique classes are the real deal.
The protagonist’s exclusive skill, Holy Sword, ignores all resistance stats—a completely broken effect.
I’m not hoping for something that insane, but please, give me something usable!
+++
▷Exclusive Skill: I Am the Writer
The words you write become reality.
※Available Word Count: 0
+++
“Haa, haha…”
What is this, a self-help book quote? ‘If you wish for it earnestly, the universe will make it happen’—that kind of nonsense?
No combat power, no magic, no defense boost—just this as my exclusive skill? My head throbbed with rising irritation.
Suppressing my frustration, I opened the quest window.
It said something about quest access being activated, right? Usually, there’s a tutorial quest to help you adjust early on.
“Quest window.”
Ding.
+++
<Tutorial Quest> (1/4)
You have possessed this world.
Adapting to the academy should not be too difficult for you.
1. Enroll in the academy. [Completed]
2. Spend a day as an academy transfer student. (new!)
-Reward: EXP 1000, Mana 10
-Failure: Game Reset
+++
…Are you kidding me? The failure penalty is a game reset? So you’re saying I really died all those times because I didn’t enroll in the academy?!
“What kind of trash game is this?!”
GM, come out right now!
I’m going to spam one-star reviews—no, zero stars—and plaster comments about this being the worst trash game of my life!!
“Shiiiit!!!!”
* * *
The mental shock didn’t fade easily.
To think my hypothesis was actually true, haha.
“Absolute garbage game.”
Even so, I couldn’t skip class, so I trudged toward the lecture hall, hating myself for being so diligent. But I couldn’t just cut class because I was depressed.
Theo is still a minor, after all. The concept of ‘self-declared holidays’ doesn’t exist for high schoolers.
“Filthy life.”
As I opened the lecture hall door and stepped inside, the gazes of the students already there turned toward me.
Feeling like prey, my body instinctively shrank. If even one of them decided to harm me, I had no way to resist.
I quickly scanned the room and headed for a corner where eyes wouldn’t easily reach.
I’m just background scenery, an invisible human…
Thankfully, the students’ interest didn’t last long—
“Theo!”
Damn protagonist ruined everything.
“Theo? You mean Theo Lisitoel?”
“Professor Lisitoel’s son?”
“So the transfer rumors were true.”
The gazes that had just dispersed snapped back to me.
Damn it! Swallowing my resentment toward the protagonist, I awkwardly greeted Lucian.
“Uh… Lucian, long time no see.”
‘Long time no see’? That’s hardly the right thing to say to someone who crushed my hand this morning.
But Lucian didn’t seem to care, approaching me with a bright smile.
“Are you okay? I went to the infirmary right after lunch, but they said you’d already left, so I was worried.”
Are we close enough for you to act this happy to see me?
In that moment, Lucian felt less like the protagonist and more like a grim reaper coming to claim my life.
Please, just turn around. You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not Theo—I’m just a pitiful possessor stuck in his body…
“They healed me perfectly.”
Please don’t come closer. I don’t want to die yet.
Those words stayed trapped in my throat.
Saying something careless might wound the fragile protagonist’s mental state, like some delicate X-cradas.
“Good to hear, that’s such a relief.”
The protagonist looked at me with pitiful, glistening eyes full of compassion.
That pure gaze, capable of purifying a child of darkness in an instant, pricked my conscience.
My hand was completely healed without a trace, so was I really going to guilt-trip the protagonist over it? It felt like my inner voice was scolding me.
“Your stuff is in the dorm, so just talk to the dorm supervisor.”
Got it. Wait, hold on a second.
“You moved my stuff yourself?”
“Yeah.”
Lucian tilted his head as if to ask what the problem was.
You dense idiot! What’s the problem? It’s a problem overflowing with issues!
I could already hear the rumors that would spread like wildfire through the academy.
‘Professor Lisitoel’s son is bossing around the Hero candidate.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Theo.’
‘Theo Lisitoel harassed the Hero candidate backed by the imperial family!’
‘The Lisitoel Count Family is keeping the Hero under their thumb and plotting a rebellion!!’
The rumors would spiral out of control.
Unjust accusations.
And then, death!!!
In my mind, the sequence of events played out like a movie.
Exaggerating? With my terrible luck, this was a scenario I had to take seriously.
That left me with only one way to clear things up.
“Lucian, thank you so much. You moved my stuff to the dorm while I was in the infirmary with a crushed hand!”
“Well… it was my fault.”
“Exactly! I never imagined a simple handshake would crush my hand! You didn’t know either, right?!”
I shouted loud enough for everyone in the lecture hall to hear.
Broadcasting my embarrassing history was humiliating, but it was a hundred, no, a thousand times better than being falsely accused of bullying the protagonist.
“You’re all healed, so that’s a relief.”
Lucian’s ears turned bright red.
“Exactly! Thanks for worrying! Class is about to start, so why don’t you take your seat?”
Even a robot would sound more natural than me.
It was so forced that I got goosebumps, but again, it was better than being wrongly accused.
“…Okay.”
Lucian sat one seat away from me, his eyes dripping with reluctance.
What, does he think he’s the cat in boots from X-rek?
It was suffocatingly awkward.
His gaze seemed to say, ‘I want to get closer because I want to be friends, but I feel so guilty about this morning that I can’t. I’m really sorry.’ If conveying that with just a look is a skill, it’s a damn good one.
I ignored his lack of tact and desperately waited for the professor to arrive.
When the time came, the front door opened, and a woman with the quintessential witch appearance walked in.
Lush, wavy red hair, glasses glinting in the sunlight, a pointed hat, and a form-fitting robe.
It was Professor Beatrice, described as having a foul personality but undeniable skill.
“There’s a ‘transfer student.’ Lucian, Theo Lisitoel. Stand up.”
As I stood, my chair scraped against the floor with a screech, followed by another screech from Lucian’s chair.
I met Professor Beatrice’s striking red eyes through her glasses.
She flashed a confident smile before casually perching on the edge of the desk.
“Do you know what mana is?”
The question was clearly directed at me and Lucian. Reluctantly, I had to answer.
“It’s the purest force flowing through the world.”
That’s from the game’s loading screen tips.
Mana is filtered through the human body to create a swordsman’s aura, twisted against nature’s rules to produce a mage’s magic, or used through communion with spirits to harness the raw power of nature itself in spirit summoning.
There were other methods, but these three were the most prominent. Though, with the dwindling number of spirit summoners, papers are now published debating whether spirits even exist.
“Lucian, as the one who drew the Holy Sword, what do you think?”
At Beatrice’s declaration, a murmur spread through the room like ink bleeding on paper.
The countless rumors about ‘the one who drew the Hero’s Holy Sword,’ previously mentioned in newspapers, were now officially confirmed by an academy professor’s own words.
Ugh, witnessing this in person! It’s electrifying!
Seeing the game’s story unfold right before my eyes was one of the few moments when this wretched possession felt worthwhile.
“…I don’t know.”
Lucian’s answer was the same as in the original story.
As is typical in fantasy novels, magic and swordsmanship were the domain of nobles. Spirit summoning, which depends entirely on talent, is practically a lost art, so it’s irrelevant.
Until he drew the Holy Sword, Lucian was an orphan abused by an orphanage director, so it’s only natural he wouldn’t know. How could he know something he was never taught?
But Lucian, embarrassed by his ignorance, turned beet red and fidgeted awkwardly. Talk about a walking plot cliché!
A few bold students snickered softly, daring to mock Lucian.
“Not knowing isn’t shameful.”
The professor gave a benevolent smile, though her sharp features made it feel more arrogant than kind.
“What’s truly shameful is not knowing despite learning, or mocking someone else’s ignorance.
That’s what you should be ashamed of!!”
Crack! The teaching stick in Beatrice’s hand sliced through the air, sounding like a whip.
Those who had laughed at Lucian suddenly busied themselves looking elsewhere.
Clearing her throat lightly, she raised her voice confidently.
“Don’t ostracize transfer students just because they’re new—treat them well! Who knows, a transfer student might become the hero who saves the world!”
…Uh, Professor? Sorry to interrupt your inspiring speech, but could you specify ‘Lucian’ instead of ‘transfer student’?
Being lumped in as a ‘transfer student who might save the world’ doesn’t exactly feel great.
Of course, I couldn’t say that to the professor.
I just sat back down quietly when she told us to, as class was about to begin.
Haha, damn it.