"I want to apply for the Survival Class."
John's voice cut through the office, neat and firm. At first the clerk thought she'd misheard. Nobody in their right mind would pick that class. She looked up from her stack of files, doubt flickering in her eyes, then frowned.
"You sure about that? Usually students go for Warrior or Mage. The Survival Class is…"
John didn't wait for her to finish. He handed over the form with a faint smirk. "I've decided."
The room went still for a moment. A few other staff glanced over, someone even let out a mocking snort. But the procedure was surprisingly simple. No extra review, no trial or exam, his form was accepted right away. The clerk stamped the papers, shoved him a new schedule, her voice dry.
"Done. You start today."
John nodded, slipped the paper into his pocket, and walked out without a pause, leaving behind nothing but skeptical stares.
The hallway to the Survival Class was the farthest wing of the building. The door's paint was chipped, the nameplate hanging crooked, the letters so faded they were barely legible. John set his hand on the knob and pushed inside.
The scene matched the rumors. Empty chairs scattered everywhere, yellowish fluorescent lights humming. The roster said twenty-three, but only fifteen sat there, spread out, all looking bored. A girl propped her chin and yawned, two guys in the back whispered while sneaking AR glasses onto their faces. The whole place felt dead compared to the noisy classes outside.
John scanned the room and picked a seat near the middle. No sooner had he sat down than heavy footsteps echoed. The teacher appeared.
A tall man with silver hair, his face carved by years of battle. He leaned on a wooden crutch, each step striking the floor with a dry crack. His left leg ended above the knee, yet his presence was unshaken, his eyes sharp as steel. John narrowed his gaze. He could feel it clearly, the strong flow of energy hidden in that body. Not low at all, at least level 3.
The middle-aged man stopped at the podium. His voice was hoarse but solid. "I'm the one teaching you from now on. I'll show you how to survive. Don't expect easy lessons. In here, the ones who don't pay attention are the ones who'll die first."
He slammed the crutch on the floor. The class, once distracted, fell silent. John sat straight, eyes locked forward.
The lesson began right away. The screen lit up, first image showing a plant with bright purple leaves. The teacher pointed.
"This grows by streams in the Otherworld. Pretty leaves, but the sap is deadly. One drop on your skin, and within ten minutes you'll convulse to death. The only cure is the root of the plant growing next to it. Strip the outer bark, chew the inside right away. Remember, only the inner part works."
Some students grimaced, a couple muttered in annoyance. John was different. His pen was already moving fast. His handwriting stayed clean, his hand barely seemed to think.
The teacher clicked to the next slide, showing faint footprints in the mud. "Look closely. Carnivore beast tracks. What do you see?"
A boy in the back muttered, "Wolf prints."
The crutch slammed, the teacher's eyes flashing. "Wrong. That's a Sawtooth Beast. They hunt in packs. If you see one print, it means ten of them are already nearby. One wrong step and your bones will be crushed in their jaws."
The room grew heavier. A few girls whispered, "This is too scary, why are we even learning this…"
John didn't care. Every word, every picture etched into his mind. He knew this wasn't flashy or exaggerated. This was real knowledge, the kind that drew the line between life and death.
Hours passed, and he only grew more absorbed. Lessons about the Otherworld's ecosystems, carnivorous plants, tiny fruits that could save your life at the brink of death… all delivered with experience carved out of blood and tears.
John kept writing. At one point he realized his hand was moving too fast. The letters stayed neat, his mind absorbing everything like he was flipping through a storybook. He lifted his head, eyes flashing.
The reason was obvious. Thanks to sharing fifty percent of Little Fire's stats, and that chicken's blessing of "Wise Hen," his intelligence had been boosted far beyond ordinary. What others struggled to memorize was child's play for him.
The girl next to him was sweating as she tried to keep up, then sneaked a glance his way. She froze. John's pen flew across the page, lines straight, his face calm, lips curved in a faint smile. Her eyes wavered, caught between admiration and disbelief.
The teacher noticed too. While switching slides, he paused, watching John closely. He saw that light in the boy's eyes, saw the near-obsessive focus. The corner of his mouth lifted for a second, then was gone.
When the lesson ended, the crutch slammed the floor again. "Don't underestimate what I teach. Laugh if you want now, but once you step into the Otherworld, one small mistake will cost you your life. Whoever wants to scoff, go ahead and try."
The sound echoed, making the class flinch. No one spoke. Only John nodded slightly, eyes firm, fingers gripping his pen like he was carving the words into stone.