[Location]: High-Altitude Research District · Sector 6 · Lab 606
The zero-gravity chamber of Laboratory 606 was currently thick with the kind of deadly silence that usually preceded a high-level boss wipe.
Victoria Wellington had just effortlessly nuked Nino Lucent's proudest academic baseline using nothing but the 10th Seat’s casual flower-arranging stats. The arrogant, tyrannical boss was currently frozen at the calculation terminal, knuckles white around her mithril pen, visibly hemorrhaging older-sister pride.
Floating thirty meters above the calculation deck, Hathaway decided she couldn't just sit back and watch her roommate claim all the DPS (Damage Per Second) in this raid.
She didn't know the exact data like Victoria did, but she didn't need to. She just needed to aim at the right target.
Hathaway cleared her throat, letting her voice drift down through the frosted void.
"The 10th Seat really is on another level," Hathaway chimed in from the zero-gravity void, her voice dripping with profound, utterly innocent admiration. "Her command over the Transformation School is just breathtaking. Don't you agree, Professor? She truly sets the ultimate standard for the Lucent family name."
Below, the rhythmic tapping of the mithril pen stopped.
Hathaway waited for the comedic explosion. She waited for the terminal Siscon — the mastermind who had casually sabotaged her own 3,000-person assistant selection test just to humor her little sister — to crack under a direct hit to her overprotective heart.
But below, Nino didn't look flustered, and she certainly didn't look defensive.
She simply looked profoundly, aristocratically disdainful.
"Breathtaking?" Nino repeated the word as if tasting something incredibly stale. She turned a page on her clipboard, her voice laced with the cold authority of a strict examiner. "To find her command over Transformation 'breathtaking' is a fundamental misunderstanding of the 10th Seat's capabilities, Ludwig."
Hathaway blinked, her smug grin freezing in place.
Wait. What?
"She routinely squanders her genius on the trivial," Nino stated coldly, her eyes fixed on the diagnostic screen, though her tone carried the weight of a decade-old argument. "She stabilizes table florals. She modifies party dresses for diplomatic galas. What you call an 'ultimate standard' is merely her exhaling. She has never truly applied herself to the discipline."
Nino picked up her premium coffee, her expression a mask of pure, unadulterated academic tyranny.
"There is nothing 'breathtaking' about a prodigy refusing to walk simply because they were born with the ability to fly. Now, unless you plan to emulate her criminal squandering of potential, kindly return your attention to the Leviathan's hull."
High above, floating in the zero-gravity void, Hathaway stared down at her boss in absolute awe.
Holy shit, Hathaway’s gamer brain rapidly re-processed the entire situation.
Nino wasn't mad that Heidi was better. Nino was mad that Heidi wasn't trying even harder.
This wasn't a jealous sister coping with an inferiority complex. This was the pure, unfiltered fury of a hardcore, min-maxing completionist watching a naturally gifted player use a God-Tier SSR account to casually pick flowers in the tutorial zone!
The sheer, terrifying magnitude of the Lucent family's academic standards crashed over Hathaway like a tidal wave. If the 10th Seat's legendary Transformation magic was considered "just breathing" by Nino's standards... what kind of absolute monsters were these sisters when they actually fought?
"Right away, Professor," Hathaway replied instantly, all traces of mockery gone from her voice, replaced by genuine, self-preserving respect.
She turned back to her teacup cantrip, deciding that silently scraping space dust was the safest possible activity when surrounded by this level of overpowered family drama.
[Time]: 05:45 PM
Victoria looked up from her calculation terminal, her unfocused blue eyes tracking the faint mana signature of Hathaway's translucent little hand as it scraped another millimeter of residue.
"I assume you are planning to purchase a Tier 3 analytical spell tomorrow to bypass this peasant labor," Victoria said, her voice echoing lightly in the vast chamber. "If so, do not waste your energy wandering blindly through the Hollow Mountain catalog district."
When Nino had lectured her earlier, Hathaway had kept her manga running flawlessly — not because she didn't respect the Academic Tyrant, but because even a developer commentary track from a genius was still a developer commentary track.
But the moment Victoria spoke, the glowing pages of Volume 28 simply dissolved from Hathaway's visual cortex.
She didn't even have to think about it. The entertainment thread quietly snapped shut, pulling her full, unfiltered focus down to the silver-haired witch at the terminal.
Hathaway rubbed her temples and let out a long, exhausted sigh—the heavy, genuine kind of sigh you only let out when you were finally talking to your own party member.
"You read my mind. My schedule was completely maxed out yesterday," Hathaway rubbed her temples, feeling the looming dread of the night ahead. "And tonight, I still have to dedicate a full cognitive thread to digesting that three-story blackboard of Fluid Dynamics formulas for Nino's test, on top of running simulations for your next pre-shift breakfast interrogation."
The raw data was already safely downloaded. But simply storing a massive zip file on her mental hard drive and actually compiling it into a functional logic capable of surviving a Lucent-Wellington crossfire were two entirely different nightmares. Her CPU was practically melting just thinking about it.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Victoria didn't offer verbal sympathy—she offered pure, ruthless efficiency.
"I am aware. Your cognitive threads are currently over-leveraged," Victoria stated matter-of-factly. She tapped a few keys on her console, sending a data packet directly to Hathaway's student terminal. "Physical shopping is inefficient. I just forwarded you a network link."
Hathaway felt a subtle vibration in her pocket.
"Subscribe to the Hollow Mountain Premium Arcane Exchange," Victoria instructed, returning her attention to her grimoire. "They push their updated digital catalog to their premium subscribers every Thursday evening. Browse the feed tonight while your background threads compile the coursework. Secure a target, and execute the purchase tomorrow morning."
Hathaway pulled out her terminal, her gamer heart instantly warmed by this highly efficient quest marker.
"A digital cash shop catalog," Hathaway smiled, a genuine wave of relief washing over her. "Victoria, you are an absolute lifesaver."
"I am simply protecting my investment," Victoria corrected smoothly, not looking up. "If your brain melts from fluid dynamics and manual labor, who will I deduct interest points from at breakfast?"
High above, the little translucent hand cheerfully scraped off another flake of residue.
[Time]: 06:09 PM
Nino crouched at the northeast sector of the reactor. She ran a pristine, white-gloved finger along the brass casing, then brought it up to the light.
Not a single microscopic speck of dust.
"Adequate," Nino pronounced. In the dictionary of the Lucent family, this translated roughly to flawless.
A heavy payment pouch arced through the zero-gravity void. Hathaway caught it with a satisfying smack.
The weighty clink of the coins inside triggered an instant, massive dopamine hit in her gamer brain.
Daily Quest Completed. Rewards Distributed.
It was only day two of her internship, and the sheer joy of a fat, flat-rate daily payout absolutely never got old. No matter how mind-numbing the AFK grind was, cold, hard cash was the ultimate healing potion. She could almost see the '+1500 Gold' text floating above her head.
A cold word. A heavy pouch. Zero eye contact. Classic Nino — expressing basic approval through the medium of ballistic currency.
1,500 Solars.
Total balance: 9,600.
"Saturday will be a standard maintenance cycle," Nino said, finally turning her back to the Leviathan. "However, next Tuesday, the reactor enters a Deep Resonance state. The Aether residue will not only triple in volume, it will completely crystallize."
Nino paused at the heavy brass doors, glancing over her shoulder with a chilling, aristocratic smile that promised absolute suffering.
"If you show up next Tuesday intending to use that pathetic teacup cantrip... bring a sleeping bag, Ludwig. Because you will be scraping until Thursday. Come prepared."
[Time]: 06:15 PM
[Location]: High-Altitude Research District · Corridor
Victoria fell into step beside her. The evening sun was just beginning to cast long, golden shadows across the floating pathways, signaling dinner time for the rest of the academy. Her expression was darker than usual.
"Four hours and nine minutes," Victoria noted dryly, massaging her temples. "Sitting in that chair for four consecutive hours is a violation of my fundamental rights as a Holheim aristocrat. It is barbaric."
Hathaway let out a tired laugh, her stomach giving a timely, hollow growl. She patting the heavy pouch of Solars at her hip.
"Don't worry," Hathaway said. "First, we buy the most expensive, high-calorie dinner in the cafeteria. Then, I'm opening that premium catalog link you sent me the second we get back to the dorm. I'll have a Tier 3 target locked before midnight."
Victoria's blue eyes flashed with decisive approval.
"Good. Because I am also upgrading my calculation matrix," Victoria stated firmly. "We are compressing this peasant labor into forty minutes. Hollow Mountain. The physical exchange opens at nine. We go together tomorrow."
Hathaway smiled. A small, thoroughly satisfied smile. Of course her roommate was thinking the exact same thing.
"Makes perfect sense," Hathaway agreed, her gamer brain fully aligning with the aristocratic scholar. "Day one was reconnaissance. Day two was confirming the low-level grind is unbearable. Tomorrow, we just buy the pay-to-win upgrades."
Victoria lifted her chin with unapologetic pride. "Exactly. A true Witch's ultimate motivation is maximum leisure. Manual labor is a glitch, Hathaway. We are going to patch it."
"Tomorrow at nine it is," Hathaway grinned.
[Time]: Day 33, Thursday, 9:30 PM
[Location]: Dormitory [Golden Bough] · Room 302
Hathaway swiped through the glowing projection of the digital Spell Catalog with the methodical, hyper-focused intensity of a whale navigating a high-end cash shop. Her tea sat forgotten on the desk, growing cold.
The Tier 3 analytical listings were priced along a gentle curve of diminishing returns:
- [Appraise] — 2,900 Solars. Finds weaknesses.
- [Comprehend Material] — 3,100 Solars. Finds weaknesses, explains them.
- [Structural Reading] — 3,200 Solars. Finds weaknesses, writes a report.
All affordable. She had 9,600 Solars; buying one would leave her comfortably wealthy. Pick one, buy it tomorrow, be done.
She turned the page.
Listed under [Premium / Rare-Grade], nestled between military-grade tactical scanners, was a single entry:
[Amora's Analytic Vision (Rare-Grade Modified Tier 3)]
- Copyright: 6,500 Solars.
- Materials: Estimated 3,800 Solars (Subject to market fluctuation).
- Total: ~10,300 Solars.
Hathaway stopped breathing.
A Tier 3. And a named one at that.
Usually, the "Rare-Grade" market only circulated Tier 0 to Tier 2 spells. They were mostly modded toys—gimmicky gag spells with bizarre, highly specific prank effects. They were a testament to the Witch race's fundamental nature as overpowered trolls. Witches snapped them up anyway, simply because the "Rare" tag activated their inner completionist.
But a Tier 3 practical rare?
In gamer terms, this wasn't an official release. It was a custom, highly-illegal mod created by a Master Witch for personal use, stuffed with overpowered affixes.
A standard Witch's entire combat library usually revolved around just six or seven of these custom builds. Even with 42,000 M-Units, Hathaway needed these pillars.
Heavy-duty rares like this were usually hoarded, traded in private academic circles, or used as corporate signing bonuses. While a Tier 3 rare did occasionally slip into the open market, it was pure RNG.
To Hathaway’s gamer brain, it was exactly like a legendary Best-in-Slot skill book suddenly appearing in a vendor's daily shop refresh.
Standard analytical spells were flashlights. They pointed out the cracks.
[Amora's Analytic Vision] found the cracks, calculated the exact minimum-force vectors for instant dissolution, ran on continuous-cast without draining mental stamina, and projected a live holographic overlay directly into her visual cortex.
It wasn't a flashlight. It was a combat-grade targeting HUD.
"This is Admin Mode," Hathaway whispered, leaning so close her nose almost touched the parchment. Her eyes devoured the specs. "This turns a four-hour scraping session into a forty-minute speedrun."
She looked at the price again. ~10,300 Solars.
She had 9,600.
She was short by 700.
A normal student might have sighed in disappointment. Hathaway didn't even consider it. Her heart began to pound with the highly caffeinated thrill of a min-maxer who had just locked onto her target.
Once a hardcore gamer sees the Best-in-Slot item, the mid-tier options simply cease to exist.
Short by 700, she calculated, her finger tapping a rapid, feverish beat against the desk. But material costs fluctuate. I can haggle that down. I have to.
Tier 3 Rare spells on the open market didn't just sit there. If she didn't buy it tomorrow morning, she would lose it forever.
She picked up her cold tea and took a sip, tasting only the absolute necessity of victory. Even if the merchant refused to budge, she had a backup plan. Her mother’s allowance dropped on Tuesday. She would leverage everything she had.
She closed the heavy catalog with a decisive thud. The sound echoed in the quiet room like a starting gun.
"Friday. Hollow Mountain," she murmured to the dark room, her crimson eyes locked on the leather cover. "I am buying the most expensive piece of software this body has ever seen."