The other disciples considered Jake's reasoning and decided he had a point. It was clear to everyone: Ethan Hunt wasn't cut out for cultivation. His pudgy appearance, awkward behavior, mediocre Spiritual Roots, and lack of presence broadcast mediocrity to anyone who cared to look for just a moment. Honestly, no one understood where he'd summoned the courage or confidence to want to be a cultivator in a world where even average talent might doom someone to obscurity. Yet, as Jake reminded them, not every member of the Sacred Wind Academy needed to be a prodigy—or even competent.
Ever since the Royal God Sect imposed its new, draconian rules, survival itself had become a numbers game for the lesser academies. Every year, they were required to recruit a minimum of 15,000 new disciples, regardless of quality. With such a poor reputation and a declining pool of genuine talent, recruitment had become a desperate, often unscrupulous contest. Tricks, deals, and outright cons became common practice—not out of malice, but out of fierce necessity. No one at Sacred Wind Academy was proud of it, yet they all understood the consequences of failure: expulsion, shame, and the loss of a future for every disciple in their care.
Most of the new "disciples" barely qualified for the title. Lacking talent, heart, or sometimes even the faintest real interest, these recruits had little hope of ever advancing beyond the academy's lowest ranks. But the academy needed warm bodies, regardless. If the quota was filled this year, they might survive another cycle… and maybe, just maybe, a genuine talent would slip through the cracks one day.
A hush descended as one of the two guards at the registration table gave Ethan a pointed, cold look. The man's voice carried none of the warmth or awe usually afforded to newcomers, only flat realism bolstered by years of disappointments. "Your talent is not good in the field of cultivation. Still, the academy will do what it can to help. The teachers will guide you—up to your own limits. What you achieve depends on your hard work and comprehension. Don't blame the academy if you can't reach greatness. Do you understand?"
Ethan took a breath. His heart was racing, but he had expected nothing more—he had never excelled at anything before. "I understand. I take full responsibility for my own future. If I never achieve anything, the blame is mine alone, due to my meager talent." He was being as honest as he could. The academy's cold, honest approach somehow resonated more with him than any empty encouragement could have done.
The guards exchanged a quick glance but nodded. "At least you're not making excuses," the older one grunted.
Another tally on the scroll, another potential burden added, but that was the way of their world now.
"In that case, let's move forward," continued the first guard, his tone almost businesslike. "Every morning you will rise early for daily exercise. It will not be easy—this is not at all like mortal labor. Our drills are designed to push the limits of the body and spirit. If you want to catch up even a little, you must be more diligent than anyone else. Laziness will get you nowhere, understand?"
Ethan nodded, his voice firmer now. "I'll do whatever it takes." He recalled how, back on Earth, he procrastinated and avoided physical strain. That would have to change. Here—where magic, strength, and destiny actually meant something—he'd finally been given a blank page. He wouldn't squander it. The system on his wrist wasn't just a gaming novelty anymore; it was his chance.
The guard noticed his determination, and, for just a moment, some respect flickered in his eyes before he returned to instructions. "The academy isn't just a place to cultivate, you know. It relies on its people for all kinds of daily work. Waste, dorms, food, supplies, missions—the administration needs help everywhere. Every task is worth contribution points. These points are your currency: rooms, manuals, core resources, meals—all must be bought with points. The more you work, the more options you'll have."
Contribution points? It was uncanny—almost exactly the type of system Ethan had seen in so many webnovels. "Makes sense," Ethan replied, already picturing himself grinding for points like it was a replay of late-night MMORPG sessions. "I'll contribute however I can."
"Good." The guard picked up a different scroll and made a quick notation. "Now, about your accommodations. There are two choices for new disciples: the shared dormitory, or a private one. Shared dorms lower the cost for each person. If you choose a self dormitory, you'll get a small room to yourself, but you'll have to pay the upkeep points yourself after the first free month. What's your preference?"
Ethan didn't even hesitate. Solitude meant less social stress, more peace for study, and no risk of noisy, judgmental roommates. "A private dormitory, if possible."
The guards raised their eyebrows in unison—nearly every student chose to share, not just to save points, but also for social integration and protection. "It'll cost you," the younger guard warned, "and you'll be responsible for cleaning. The cheapest option is to do it yourself. Otherwise, you could burn through your contribution points just keeping the room liveable."
Ethan gave another little nod. "I'm used to taking care of my own things."
With the basics covered, the guard unrolled another goatskin sheet, this one listing all the available administration roles still needing to be filled. Ethan scanned the list by the guttering, magical green glow. The system's language integration made it effortless—he could read as fluently as a native, even the archaic script used for official notices in this world.
Guard duty. Kitchen work. Groundskeeping. Messengers and errand runners—even "resource restockers" for the alchemical lab. Ethan's eyes drifted past most of these until he paused at one unglamorous, but oddly inviting role: Librarian.
He felt his heartbeat quicken as he read the job description. He could envision himself in a cool, shadowy archive, leafing through ancient scrolls and learning the secrets of the cultivation world. Back on Earth, he'd loved books—novels, guides, lore—and at university, the library had been his sacred refuge. If he wanted to really understand this world, the library was surely the best place to start.
"I… I want to try for the librarian position," Ethan said, pointing at the relevant line with certainty he rarely felt.
Jake and the two guards stared, taken aback. The librarian's job was often overlooked by disciples, considered tedious and unglamorous. "Are you sure?" Jake asked, trying to hide his smile but showing genuine surprise. "Most folks fight over cooking duties, or want to run messages to the sect leaders. Why library work?"
Ethan shrugged, offering a quiet truth. "I just like books. And if I want to catch up to everyone else, learning as much as I can seems like the right place to start."
Perhaps, Jake thought, there was more to this fool than any of them realized. And perhaps not. Only time would tell.