“As you know, a guild’s database contains various useful information, but you must reach a certain rank to access it,” the professor droned on, discussing theory and various related topics. Meanwhile, I covertly scrolled on my smartwatch, tuning out his voice.

I found myself giving likes to the video shorts featuring Hajin and sharing them with my social media friends. In terms of socialization, I didn’t think I was doing too badly. I was also farming views on Hajin’s shorts, helping to boost their visibility and hopefully giving them a more positive reception.

We only shot these video shorts twice a week, documenting Hajin as he tried out various luck-related gimmicks around Cube. Funny enough, most viewers thought Hajin’s stunts were scripted. The reality, though, was that they kind of were—at least when you considered Hajin’s absurdly high luck stat that defied reason. It was entertaining to watch, and I’d be more terrified than surprised if his luck ever took a nosedive.

Hajin wasn’t much of a talker in the videos, so I usually had to handle the monologue myself. Most of the shorts featured the frustrated faces of the gimmick owners as they tried to kick us out of their premises. The expression on their faces was hilarious, a mix of anger and disbelief, and it made for great content.

My camerawork was a bit amateurish, but I was improving. After all, my face never appeared in the videos, which was the point—I didn’t want to overshadow Hajin’s growing popularity. He was the star, and I was content to be the behind-the-scenes guy.

Just as I finished scrolling through the latest notifications, a notification caught my eye: New video short trending! I opened it to see Hajin attempting a particularly tricky luck challenge at one of the lesser-known gimmick booths. The absurdity of it all made me chuckle; he had somehow managed to snag an unbelievable prize again, leaving the booth owner in stunned silence.

I couldn’t help but wonder how long this lucky streak would last. If Hajin ever hit a rough patch, would the videos still garner the same attention? I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I’d enjoy this ride while it lasted, even if it was built on luck.

The professor’s voice faded back into focus as I considered the potential for our little video venture. Maybe, just maybe, I could turn this into something bigger. With Hajin’s luck and my knack for capturing the absurd, we might have a chance to reach a wider audience.

Frankly, I wasn’t confident it would work, but since Hajin hadn’t given up on my services yet, what we had been doing must be earning him a lot of SP. I vaguely recalled that maxing out a stat could grant someone transcendental-level powers—like a god. But since Hajin hadn’t ascended or anything, he should still be mortal. I remembered Cheok Jungyeong from the canon storyline; he had a maxed stat too, but I couldn’t recall which one. Other members of the Chameleon Troupe probably had it too, making them nearly transcendent.

The term "Demi-God" was rather apt for those kinds of individuals.

“Now, let’s continue after a little break,” the professor announced, pulling me from my thoughts.

I didn’t need to be covert with my smartwatch anymore. I pulled it out from under the desk and continued scrolling. A particularly tempting thought crossed my mind: posting Hajin’s confrontation with Yeonha. It was dirty media, but the buzz it would create would definitely earn Hajin a lot of SP.

Even though I wasn’t the one receiving the SP, I couldn’t help but drool at the thought of using them once I cashed in a favor with Hajin. I hoped such a moment would come. I’d despair if it didn’t. It might make me sound like a pushover, but even if Hajin didn’t let me benefit from the SP, I doubted I would hold a grudge against him.

Still, the despair…

“Sigh…” I turned off my smartwatch and redirected my focus to building connections. “Hey there, fellas! I swear I’m gonna beat your asses in the ranking exams or something. I bet I’ll smack you so easy, you’ll be crying turds…” The words came out wronger than I intended.

My accent sounded terrible. I winced internally, but the laughter from my classmates lightened the mood. I was doing my best to keep things fun and engaging, even if I didn’t always hit the mark.

In a place like Cube, where everyone was striving for power and recognition, it was important to have some levity. After all, it wasn't just about training and rankings; building camaraderie mattered too. As I glanced around the room, I saw my classmates engaging in their own conversations, some even sharing their own aspirations.

***

Kim Suho facepalmed, watching Hyon Hyung joke around with his classmates. He could be so erratic sometimes. No—he was always erratic. Yet, somehow, Hyon had a knack for making friends. Even in the middle of a cussing contest, he managed to build an understanding with none other than Shin Jonghak’s group.

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Suho couldn’t help but feel a little confused. Jonghak’s lackeys were infamous for picking fights and being generally difficult. It didn’t make sense. Hyon could surely pick more agreeable friends if he wanted to, right? Or was he doing this on purpose, just to mess with the natural order of things?

Before Suho could dwell on it too long, his thoughts were interrupted.

“Later. Anti-personnel training, spar with me…”

It was Shin Jonghak. The classroom immediately went silent at the challenge issued by Rank 3. The tension was palpable, hanging in the air like a thick cloud. Suho could feel the weight of Jonghak's words as all eyes turned to them. Jonghak’s intense gaze bore into Suho, his arms crossed, making it clear that this was no casual request.

Suho, as always, handled the situation with his typical kindness. "Sure," he responded with a smile, the words easy and calm. “You’re really working hard, Jonghak. I’ll work harder!” His tone was full of encouragement, but he knew full well how it could be misinterpreted.

Jonghak’s face twisted into a scowl, clearly not pleased by the response. He clicked his tongue in frustration, throwing Suho a hateful glare before turning away.

Suho simply sighed internally. Jonghak had always been like this—intense, competitive, and constantly trying to one-up him. It wasn’t as if Suho wanted to provoke him. In fact, he admired Jonghak’s hard work. But no matter what he did, his words seemed to only fuel Jonghak’s animosity.

As the classroom slowly returned to its usual state, Suho glanced at Hyon Hyung, who was now caught up in some ridiculous conversation again. He wondered, just for a moment, what went on in that guy’s head.

***

Wednesday's theory class finally ended, and at exactly 3:00 pm, the much-anticipated Anti-personnel Training began.

Shin Jonghak stood upright, his form radiating confidence. He lightly twirled his spear before settling into a combat stance. His silver hair gleamed in contrast to Kim Suho’s dark hair. They were like black and white—two naturally opposing forces. Rivals.

I watched in anticipation, and it seemed the rest of the class shared my excitement. The other cadets had abandoned their own spars, eyes fixed on the center of the arena where the real action was about to unfold. Even the instructor, Kim Soohyuk, was allowing this spectacle to happen without interruption.

Kim Suho, with light steps, drew his sword in a fluid motion, entering his own stance. His expression was calm, almost serene.

Instructor Kim Soohyuk, serving as the referee, stood between them. “This is a spontaneous match, so Kim Suho and Shin Jonghak, this will not affect your grades!”

Both nodded in acknowledgment, not taking their eyes off each other.

Kim Soohyuk raised his voice so the entire class could hear. “This can also serve as a learning experience. I want an 800-word essay about this fight. Do you understand?”

Groans rippled through the cadets, though I didn’t mind. 800 words? Too easy.

"Now," Soohyuk began, raising his hand. "Ready. Set. Spar!"

Jonghak moved first, his spear thrusting forward with terrifying speed and force. I could hear the weapon cutting through the air, and I wasn’t even in the ring. Suho, however, was unfazed. He parried the spear with a smooth tilt of his sword, redirecting the attack with minimal effort.

The clash of their weapons sent a high-pitched screech through the air, making several cadets flinch. But Suho and Jonghak continued, entirely focused on their dance of steel. Suho’s swordsmanship was graceful, each movement flowing like water, his magic power leaving shimmering trails in the air. It was almost like watching a light show, each strike and recoil twinkling like stars.

Jonghak’s spear, on the other hand, was brutal and unrelenting. Sparks flew with every collision. His spear spiraled with volatile magic power, attacking from difficult angles, exploiting his range advantage.

Suho’s magic power, though, was on another level. His aura dominated the arena, nearly overwhelming. In terms of raw magical strength, Suho was unmatched, except perhaps by Chae Nayun. Yet, Jonghak held his ground through sheer physical prowess and refined technique, honed by relentless training and innate talent.

Sword versus spear—two of the most orthodox weapons in this world. Heroes wield them to slay monsters in dungeons and defend humanity. But here, in Cube, we wondered—which was better? Rank 1 and Rank 2 cadets used swords, but Shin Jonghak was reminding us that the spear wasn’t to be underestimated. After all, Shin Myungchul, the legendary hero, had used a spear.

“Kim. Suho,” Jonghak growled, deflecting Suho’s sudden kick aimed at his groin with the blunt end of his spear. “Don’t tell me you’re still tired. Do you need a rest?”

Suho responded by raising his sword high and bringing it down with a wild burst of magic power. “Never been better!” he shouted, pushing forward with even more intensity.

Their weapons collided once again, creating a shockwave of magic power that rippled through the air. Jonghak met Suho’s strike with precision, deflecting the blow and using his spear’s length to his advantage. The two exchanged smiles—Suho’s filled with joy, and Jonghak’s with fierce determination.

They clashed again, magic power swirling around them as their fight escalated. Neither left any gaps in their movements. Every strike was deliberate, every block calculated. They fought with a hunger that electrified the air around them.

Their battle grew wilder, and the space they occupied expanded, forcing the cadets to retreat as the turbulent magic power threatened to engulf them.

I watched in awe. Was this the strength of the main characters? Here I was, feeling proud of my own progress, but witnessing this… it was something else entirely.

Instructor Kim Soohyuk finally stepped in, stopping the spar before either could get seriously hurt. He declared the match a draw, though everyone knew how much we wanted to see it continue. But safety first, after all.

I couldn’t help but smile. The future had deviated, becoming unpredictable and chaotic, but some things remained constant. The rivalry between Shin Jonghak and Kim Suho was one of those things. Their fierce yet pure competition filled me with hope.

Some things never change, and honestly, I found comfort in that.