By this time tomorrow, I'll be expelled, Nathan thought, the miserable conclusion doing little to fight the leaden weight of a sleepless night pulling at his eyelids.

  Nathan had come to accept a hard truth: he was incompetent—at least in this world. Two years had passed, and he remained stuck at Tier 1, Phase 2.5. With the final expulsion exam looming tomorrow, there was no escaping the inevitable.

  The average disciples from his cohort had reached Tier 1, Phase 5—the minimum threshold to pass—or could unleash attacks of equivalent power. Considering the sect's rigorous screening, this simple fact made Nathan the weakest individual in his entire recruitment batch.

  Initially rated as having "Above Average Potential," he'd been met with high expectations and support. But his fatal weakness gradually surfaced: a pitifully poor absorption of the Initial Advancing Pill, a concoction designed to help Tier 1 disciples advance. Soon, he was relegated to the list of failures. None of his teachers had answers for his abysmal conversion rate, and cultivators at Tier 3 or 4 wouldn’t deign to waste their time on a mere Outer Disciple like him.

  Advancing to the next Tier required clearing nine Phases of increasing power. At his current absorption rate, Nathan would need at least eight more years just to qualify for Tier 2—a timeline no one would wait for or invest in. Even that estimate was optimistic, as later Phases were notoriously more difficult to cultivate.

  "Nathan!" the combat instructor called out.

  The instructor's voice jolted Nathan from his brooding. He rose from his resting spot beneath the tree and approached the man.

  Maxim was one of the few instructors who still saw his value. Nathan’s grasp of theory was top-tier, and his execution of cultivation methods and combat techniques was exemplary. He even trained with twice the normal intensity to hone his physical conditioning. In terms of pure skill, few could match his mastery of the Force Fist, Palm, and Kick trio.

  "Spar with Frank," Maxim said, gesturing to a young lad of about sixteen. The boy's dark brown hair was disheveled from previous exercises.

  Frank bowed respectfully. “I look forward to your guidance, senior brother!”

  Nathan returned the gesture. He assessed Frank at Tier 1, Phase 3, but remained confident. His year of experience as Maxim's Teaching Assistant gave him an edge.

  His opponent's bright, lively eyes made Nathan feel ancient and distant at twenty-four. When he'd arrived in this world, he'd already been a twenty-two-year-old university graduate. His existential crisis back on Earth did little to prepare him for this strange, unforgiving place.

  Both took their stances, eyes locked. Nathan noted the spread of Frank's fingers and deduced his focus would be on palm techniques.

  As predicted, Frank advanced with a Force Palm. Nathan hopped back just enough to evade it, then slapped Frank's arm aside with his left hand to counter with a Force Fist to the boy's shoulder. But Frank ducked with surprising speed, wrenching his arm free and unleashing a two-handed Force Palm at Nathan's flank.

  Nathan arched his body, the blow grazing past him as he simultaneously swept the boy's shins. Frank tumbled into a cloud of dust, his hair becoming even messier.

  Nathan stepped forward to help his inexperienced opponent to his feet. Frank accepted with a smile.

  "Great fight!" Frank said.

  "You almost hit me there right on the ribs," Nathan admitted.

  Frank scratched his head, clearly taking it as simple encouragement, but for Nathan, it was the heartfelt truth. Though only half a Phase separated them, the gap in their reaction speed had been laid bare. If not for experience—for anticipating the attack before it was thrown—Nathan would have lost. A second-year student should have decisively defeated a six-month novice in a single exchange. He hadn't.

  "Go rest, Frank," Maxim said.

  Then the instructor turned to Nathan.

  "Still haven't decided, kid?"

  Nathan glanced at the muscular, crew-cut man. His face was a roadmap of old scars—marks that could have been magically removed, but that Maxim wore as badges of honor.

  "Not yet, sir," he replied.

  "Tomorrow's the deadline. You won't get another chance, boy." Maxim shook his head, his expression one of resignation. There was nothing more to say.

  This was the exact dilemma Nathan had been wrestling with all morning. After two years, Verdant Spire Sect dealt with its underperforming outer disciples in one of two ways: expel them outright, or incorporate them into the sect's network for menial labor. In both cases, their debts were recorded for future repayment in mana stones—a grim installment plan.

  The second option offered a stable, if mundane, life. It was widely seen as the end of a cultivator's journey, with no time or resources left to advance. For students with no path to power, it wasn't a terrible fate. Jessica had accepted it when her potential was assessed as 'Below Average,' and Eclipse Academy had secured her an internship at a nearby pharmaceutical company after her poor first-year test results.

  For Nathan, both options were a death sentence to his hope. He had to keep his promise to return to Earth with Jessica, who’d been dragged into this world because of him. Then there was his mother, all alone and suffering from Familial Alzheimer's. Every night, he prayed she was safe, that she would wait for him. That she would still remember him. The only way back was to grow stronger. From what he’d gathered, high-Tier individuals could influence space itself, opening portals between worlds.

  Despite these stakes, a part of him was tempted to accept his fate and become an ordinary person in this world. Even if he miraculously passed the exam, the sect would only grant him one more year of support. After that, he’d be on his own, his only benefits being library access and instructor guidance. One year was nothing against the eight he'd need to reach Tier 2.

  But one thing made him hesitate: the system he'd been given. This world had plenty of 'travelers,' and to help them adapt, the world itself provided system interfaces tailored to their experiences—game menus, mobile apps, even spreadsheets. Jessica's had activated without a hitch. Nathan's was different. He'd only received a single, cryptic quest.

  //

  Welcome you to the new world!

  Your first quest: explore this world while the system initializes.

  //

  That notification had remained unchanged for two years. He didn't know the completion conditions or when—or if—the system would ever truly manifest. His only choice was to cling to the hope that this abnormality was a prelude to an opportunity, the one glimmer that could lead him toward the higher Tiers.

  "Wanna spar, scrub?" A sneering voice cut through their conversation.

  Nathan looked up into a pair of green eyes simmering with disgust. The youth's golden hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, his pale skin and pristine white uniform a stark contrast to Nathan's own worn attire. Behind him stood a small clique of younger outer disciples.

  "Watch your mouth, Elen!" Maxim growled.

  Elen raised his hands in mock surrender, but the gesture was ruined by the smirk on his face.

  "I was just thinking about the restrooms," Elen said, his voice dripping with false concern. "They're filthy. If someone were to, say, finish class early, they could get a head start on cleaning them. We'd all benefit, wouldn't we, Instructor?"

  Maxim fell silent, merely tilting his head toward Nathan. The decision was his.

  This wasn't the first time he'd been insulted, but it might be the last. Since he was getting expelled tomorrow anyway, what was one more moment of recklessness?

  "Would you mind overseeing the match, Instructor Maxim?" Nathan asked, hoping the instructor's presence would keep Elen in check.

  Maxim’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Nathan usually deflected these confrontations, politely declining before tactfully excusing himself to handle sect chores. The instructor studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before giving a slow, deliberate nod.

  Elen didn't bother with the customary greeting ritual on the training ground. Nathan still performed it fully. Contempt was for the strong; the weak must always be humble. His opponent had reached Phase 6. No one would criticize his behavior.

  Nathan’s mood was a jumble of frustration and disappointment as he took his stance. Elen, barely seventeen, had a bright future ahead of him. Nathan remembered the boy's first day, naive and eager to befriend the knowledgeable older student. They'd been inseparable for a month—until Elen saw him lugging buckets and rags to clean the restrooms. After that, the respect in the younger boy's eyes had curdled into contempt. Nathan became an embarrassment, a weakling to be avoided lest his failure prove contagious. The occasional taunts that followed seemed to blame Nathan for Elen’s own social anxieties.

  "Hurry up!" Elen said lazily, waving a hand dismissively at his senior.

  Nathan remained calm, circling to his opponent's right. He remembered an old weakness from their training sessions: Elen was left-handed. The data was six months old, but exploiting the boy's less dominant side was still his safest bet.

  Nathan lowered his stance, channeled force into his legs, and lunged with a punch at Elen's flank. The younger boy sidestepped with contemptuous ease, the blow passing a mere centimeter from his uniform. Nathan pivoted into a palm strike aimed at Elen's exposed back, but Elen spun to face him, his arms hanging loose, a small smirk on his lips. He was wide open, practically inviting the attack.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Nathan flinched at the motion, his legs instinctively propelling him backward.

  "You always taught me to seize opportunities to attack an opponent's weaknesses," Elen said boredly, pointing to various body parts from stomach to chest to head. "You don't even have the courage to strike. How disappointing."

  Nathan didn't respond. Because he knew who was truly more disappointed.

  Changing his stance, he continued to advance.

  The sound of Elen's friends pointing and laughing reached him from outside the ring. He was being toyed with, made to hop around like a bug in a jar while his opponent decided when to crush him.

  When the spectacle grew tedious, someone spoke up.

  "Finish it, Elen!"

  At once, Elen's aura flared. A crushing pressure bore down on Nathan. His own punch was already in motion, impossible to retract as Elen finally countered. A Phase 2.5 fist against a Phase 6 body—it was an egg striking a rock. There wasn't even time to fear the shattering of his arm before the impact came.

  The world turned upside down before his back slammed hard into the ground. Pain exploded in his right arm, a white-hot spike shooting into his skull. A groan escaped his lips, and he bit down hard to keep from screaming. Broken. The thought was sharp and absolute.

  "Know your limit, Elen!" Maxim shouted.

  "I just advanced," Elen replied jokingly, "my control technique isn't perfect yet. Please understand!"

  "You and your friends are dismissed," Maxim said.

  The group left, continuing to joke and praise each other.

  The instructor helped Nathan up, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the deformed hand.

  "Thank you, sir," Nathan whispered.

  "I still intervened too late," Maxim shook his head.

  "It's enough, sir!"

  "Do you need me to call someone to help you to the infirmary?"

  "I can go myself. It's not like it's the first time."

  Maxim watched Nathan's dazed gait, shaking his head with a look of resignation before turning away.

  ___

  Nathan found Elder Orin dozing at the reception desk, and despite the throbbing in his arm, a small smile touched his lips. The sight of the balding old man, his snow-white hair a fluffy halo around his gleaming forehead, was somehow comforting.

  He mischievously used his left hand to nudge the elder's supporting elbow, causing him to jerk awake, head wobbling.

  "Damn it, who..." he glared with wrinkled eyes, hand raised to slap whoever dared disturb his important nap.

  Upon seeing Nathan, he stopped mid-air, curling his fingers to lightly tap the outer disciple's head instead.

  "You disrespectful brat." Orin rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

  "Where's Maine, old man?"

  "The lass is inventorying the storehouse. You lot really have no sense of hierarchy, daring to ask an outer elder to mind the desk."

  "Then sell this kid a portion of 'Healing Powder,'" Nathan said with a grimace.

  He didn't need to pretend anything before Orin, as the old man was more like a friendly neighborhood grandpa than an imposing elder.

  “How many points do you have left, kid? Using them all on healing, huh?” Orin muttered, waving his hand to open a hidden compartment behind the wall, revealing a thousand neatly stacked boxes.

  A blue teardrop-shaped glass vial flew towards the old man, landing neatly in his palm.

  "Here, take it and apply it!"

  "That's not right." Nathan's eyes widened. "You didn't divide it into just one portion?"

  "Who'd know if you don't say anything!"

  "You...!" Nathan fell silent at the elder's wink.

  After a furtive glance around the room, Nathan poured the powder over his mangled arm. It glowed with a green light as it absorbed into his skin, knitting flesh and bone back together. The process drained him instantly, fogging his mind. A sickening crackle echoed from his arm, followed by a sharp, grinding pain that made him squeeze his eyes shut and clench his teeth. A few seconds later, the agony subsided into a dull, numb ache.

  "Apply another layer to be sure, kid!" Orin peered around before suggesting.

  Nathan listened and complied, though the powder might not work immediately since he had no strength left. It would lie dormant and proceed to heal unclear injuries when he replenished his energy.

  Once finished, Nathan left the vial on the desk, gesturing for Orin to put it away.

  Both pretended nothing had happened after the medicine bottle was safely back in its compartment.

  Just then, a voice like a golden oriole rang out.

  "What were you two just doing? Don't think I didn't see!"

  Before Nathan could turn to look at Maine, he heard a "Run!" and saw a blur rush past his eyes.

  Blinking to regain his vision, he found himself in the courtyard behind Orin's rest area, standing under the canopy of a Bonsai tree taller than himself. Around him was meticulously tended lush green grass, with a small stream running beside a stone table and chairs. The air carried a clean, fresh scent with a tingling sensation of ambient mana on the skin.

  Suppressing a wave of nausea rising from his stomach, he frowned and glanced at the elder.

  "That's no different than admitting to theft!"

  "Getting caught stealing and not getting caught are two entirely different matters," Orin equivocated.

  Nathan didn't bother arguing further; after all, the elder had already helped him save some money. He went to sit on the stone chair, eyes pensively fixed on the bonsai leaves.

  He'd only accumulated 253 Sect Points. If he'd used them earlier to buy healing powder, it would have cost 50 points and widened the gap with the 300-point 'Initial Advancing Pill' even further. He knew one pill wouldn't change anything; even ten might not be enough to reach Phase 5. But what if. Just what if. What if that opportunity came, he wouldn't hesitate to seize it.

  This was a world controlled by beings who could wave their hand and obliterate entire mountains. He hoped a wave of his own hand might one day open a spatial rift to return to Earth.

  With that thought, he stood up.

  "Sit down, kid. What can you do with that arm?" Orin asked indifferently. "If you don't go, the Quartermaster will send someone else to scrub those toilets. Can you work fast enough to meet the quota? Enduring pain just to exchange for a point or two?"

  Nathan hesitated. Despair was engulfing his spirit. The fight in the training yard hadn't just broken his arm; it had shattered a bit of the fragile mental dam he was desperately clinging to.

  Sighing deeply, Nathan slumped back down, tilting his head back in exasperation.

  "Wait a bit," Orin said. "Zeryn will be here soon. Tonight, I'm treating you boys to the fullest."

  With that, the elder waved a finger. From his spatial ring poured out wine bottles, food, snacks, cakes, and sweets.

  "Your last day, no one leaves sober."

  Nathan didn't know whether to smile at Orin's generosity or feel sad that the old man was so certain about tomorrow's outcome. Either way, he felt warmth in his heart that the two had prepared a farewell party. According to plan, Zeryn would come to fetch him after completing his inner disciple exercises. Nathan had arrived early due to his broken arm.

  ___

  The rising star of the inner disciples, Zeryn Valtaris, arrived as twilight painted the courtyard orange. He offered a warm smile, his shoulder-length brown hair and bright blue eyes a familiar sight. It was no exaggeration when disciples called Zeryn the most dashing young man in Verdant Spire Sect. His slim yet toned figure and the sword sheath at his hip only enhanced his allure, like a knight of the Empire.

  Nathan stood up, shaking hands in the Earth style he'd taught Zeryn two years ago. A handclasp, a pull, shoulders bumping.

  "Zer, you're so slow!"

  "Isn't it because I had to look for you?" Zeryn grumbled. "The first thing you should get after leaving here is a PsiLink, you know?"

  "It's not cheap, Zer." Nathan's face fell.

  "I'll gift you one," his friend cheerfully offered.

  "Really?"

  "Really!" Zeryn thumped his chest. "Have you ever seen the great Zeryn lie to anyone?"

  Nathan's eye twitched. When they first enrolled, it was Zeryn who had tricked him about the schedule to go fishing. Without a PsiLink—the neural chip that served as a personal terminal—to check for himself, he'd naively believed his friend. As a result, before he could do anything, he'd already been deducted negative sect points. Add to that the fact that the fish they caught were an elder's ornamental fish, so both were punished with cleaning all the ponds from the outer to inner sect grounds.

  Seeing Nathan look at him with disdain, Zeryn quickly added, "After I achieve a ranking in the inner sect, I'll buy it for you, don't worry."

  Hearing Zeryn's confident statement, Nathan forced a smile and nodded. He was truly happy for his friend but couldn't suppress a twinge of envy creeping into his heart.

  Everyone knew how sought after Zeryn, the sword prodigy of Verdant Spire Sect, was. Inner sect elders were practically fighting tooth and nail to accept him as a disciple. But for some reason, he still hadn't become anyone's direct disciple. No one gave him any trouble about it. After all, he was currently the only disciple who could cultivate Sword Intent. Yet Zeryn never treated Nathan poorly despite his lack of talent.

  Thinking of this, Nathan cast aside all negative feelings towards his friend. Raising the already-poured wine cup, he said, "Cheers for Zeryn and his inner ranking."

  "Cheers for Nathan and his new life," Zeryn responded.

  "Cheers for booze," Orin rasped.

  The three drained their cups and began the evening feast.

  It wasn't until late at night that the elder and two disciples finished. Orin, drunk, stood up and walked past Nathan slumped on the table. He paused to ruffle the boy's hair before finding a secluded spot behind the bonsai to continue drinking.

  Nathan, not yet asleep, squinted at Orin's thin frame illuminated by the moonlight. He remembered first meeting Orin because he lacked a PsiLink to receive information, so he didn't know this old man was an elder. He had simply asked for wine when the pressures of life overwhelmed him to tears. Since then, whenever the opportunity arose, Orin would secretly take him drinking, recounting tales of the past and stories from outside Verdant Spire Sect. It was thanks to the elder that Nathan learned more about this world and understood how powerful the high Tiers truly were. Once, he asked about Orin's Tier and Phase, but the old man just waved it off, only saying that in his prime, a mere handshake would have been enough to turn Nathan to dust.

  He shifted to look at Zeryn, sleeping like the dead, drool forming a long trail on the table, mumbling lewd words. If only he could capture this moment, he could blackmail his show-off friend. Who would believe that the elegant Zeryn was like this?

  Nathan chuckled to himself, his mind still lucid though slightly hazy. The past two years hadn't been too bad with these two friends. Though he knew Orin was an elder, it was precisely because he didn't treat him as a superior that he'd maintained this relationship.

  "Thank you," Nathan whispered, and let the drunken haze pull him into sleep.

  ___

  The next morning, Nathan awoke with blurry eyes, his head pounding and ears ringing like someone banging pots and pans. Zeryn, with his higher cultivation level, had easily recovered and left. Orin was probably lounging lazily in his room. A cold wind blew past, making Nathan shiver, helping him regain some clarity.

  In that moment of lucidity, his heart seemed to stop, excitement rising despite the throbbing pain in his temples. His chest felt like it might burst.

  His hope had arrived.

  //

  System Activation Complete.

  Now Determining Your Path.

  //

  A wheel replaced the notification before his eyes. It looked like a wheel of fortune with an arrow at the top, pointing down at the choices below. He squinted to read.

  Forbidden Spells System.

  Mind System.

  Soul System.

  Summoner System.

  Luck System.

  Illusion System.

  Mutation System.

  Technology System.

  Shadow System.

  Parasite System.

  Beast System.

  Absorption System.

  ...

  Before he could finish reading, the wheel began to spin. The familiar, frantic clicking of the pointer against each section filled his ears, a sound effect straight from a game show.

  When the wheel stopped, his fortune was chosen.