When Roland first pulled out the adventurer token, my mind immediately began calculating the costs.
I braced myself to miss the Academy entrance ceremony entirely. Even if I lost access to several Hidden Pieces due to timing issues, a promise was a promise.
For adventurers, reputation was as important as life itself. Failing to honor a contract—even an informal one like this—would mark me as untrustworthy. Word would spread. Future opportunities would evaporate.
So I listened intently, waiting for him to state his request, mentally preparing to abandon my plans and dedicate myself to whatever task he needed.
"I want you to teach classes at the Academy."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
'…!!!'
For a moment—just a single, brief moment—I wanted to leap out of my seat and dance. To laugh with pure, uncomplicated joy.
What cosmic coincidence had led to this? What chain of causality had I unknowingly influenced to produce this outcome?
Even giving Roland the adventurer token years ago was an unplanned accident, a moment of impulse when he helped me survive a situation that should have killed me.
This definitely wasn't calculated. I haven't manipulated events to reach this point. I couldn't have. I'm not THAT smart.
And yet, impossibly, the universe handed me exactly what I needed.
Direct access to the Academy. A legitimate reason to be on the grounds. Permission to move through areas that would otherwise be restricted.
It was perfect.
It was too perfect.
However, showing emotion at the negotiation table was something only a third-rate, worthless amateur would do.
I gritted my teeth, kept my expression carefully neutral, and nodded once.
"I'll do it," I said simply. "It's both a promise and repayment of a favor, so I won't accept any monetary payment."
"…R-really?" Roland's face showed genuine surprise—a rare expression on the old warrior. "I thought you'd agree, but hearing you say it so readily makes me feel somewhat guilty. The Academy has funds. We can pay you properly."
I shook my head firmly.
"Money is rotting away in my account anyway. I have more than I need." That was actually true—years of high-ranked commissions had left me quite wealthy. "It's more beneficial for me to remove one burden from your conscience than to receive whatever pennies the Academy pays its instructors."
'Besides, if you tried to pay Platinum-ranked commission fees, even the Academy's foundations might crumble financially.'
"That's true…" Roland admitted. "That's actually why I hesitated to ask this of you at all. I was planning to compromise by adjusting the time commitment or the number of sessions to make it less demanding."
"Instead, since I'm working without monetary compensation, I'd like to discuss the time conditions in detail," I said. "And I want full information about what exactly I'd be teaching."
I needed to continue taking adventurer commissions occasionally. If my activity record went dormant for too long, there was a theoretical possibility of rank demotion.
It wouldn't actually happen at Platinum rank—that level was effectively permanent—but maintaining periodic activity would provide a convenient excuse to be absent from the Academy when needed.
'It also serves as good cover for being out and about searching for Hidden Pieces.'
The reason I planned to continue adventuring while working this second job wasn't just about the Hidden Pieces available during the game's timeline. It was about what came after.
There was a future beyond the game's ending.
When the protagonist eventually found a way to return to Earth—which I knew he would, because that was how the story ended—it didn't mean this world would cease to exist, at least that's what i want to believe. And It just meant the future would become unpredictable, no longer following a script I previously memorized.
I needed to establish myself firmly enough to survive and thrive in that uncertain future.
"Conditions, yes…" Roland said thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, there's someone you should meet. He should be waiting at another location right now."
I felt a sinking suspicion. "Who? Don't tell me it's the Academy Dean himself?"
Roland grinned and nodded.
"…"
-
Unlike the meal at the high-class restaurant, the place where Dean Doran Escaro was waiting turned out to be a tavern—the kind of establishment with affordable snacks on the menu and a clientele that ranged from off-duty soldiers to dock workers.
It was a stark contrast to the refined elegance of where we just came from.
'Interesting choice,' I thought as Roland led me inside.
We passed through the bustling main area, weaving between tables where people were drinking, laughing, arguing over card games. The atmosphere was loud and energetic, filled with the smell of fried food and cheap ale.
Roland headed toward the back, where the space became quieter and more secluded. A single table sat in a corner, partially hidden by a wooden partition.
I didn't know if the Dean specifically requested this spot or if it simply happened to be available, but it provided a degree of privacy unusual for a public tavern.
Seated at the table was a man I recognized from descriptions and reputation: Doran Escaro, Dean of Starcrest Academy.
He looked smaller than I expected. Not physically small, but somehow… diminished. The loss of his right arm was immediately apparent, the empty sleeve pinned neatly across his chest. But beyond that, there was a weariness to him that spoke of recent trauma.
This was a man who had stared at his own execution and survived by pure chance.
"Greetings," he said, rising slightly in a gesture of respect despite his superior social position. His voice was calm and measured, carrying none of Roland's booming energy.
"Though it is beyond my humble station to make such claims, I am Doran Escaro, currently serving as the Dean of Starcrest Academy."
"Pleased to meet you, Dean," I replied with a slight nod. "I am Ryan. Just an adventurer."
"Please, sit down."
Doran was, I noted immediately, the complete opposite of Roland in demeanor.
Where Roland was loud and physical, Doran was quiet and controlled. Where Roland filled space with his presence, Doran seemed to compress himself, taking up as little room as possible.
He already adapted remarkably well to being one-armed, using his left hand with practiced skill to pour drinks for us. The tavern served a butter rum—sugar-free but aromatic, with a rich scent that filled our corner of the room.
"Would rum be acceptable?" Doran asked politely, handing me a wooden cup. "It's not the finest vintage, but this establishment has a reputation for quality despite its humble appearance."
"Of course," I said, accepting the cup and placing it on the table without drinking yet.
Roland settled his bulky body into the third chair and began explaining the situation to Doran in broad strokes—leaving out, I noticed, the specific details about the adventurer token. He framed it as a personal favor between friends rather than a formal contract.
When it came up that I agreed to work without payment, Doran almost lost his composure.
"I don't know what arrangement exists between you two," he said carefully, "but even if it's a matter of personal principle, I absolutely cannot permit unpaid work. It's obvious the Adventurer's Guild would send a formal letter of protest if word got out that the Academy was using their highest-ranked asset for free."
He was right, of course. It would be a political nightmare. The Guild protected its members fiercely, and the appearance of exploitation—even voluntary exploitation—would cause problems.
"Then just pay me the standard salary of an assistant instructor," I suggested. "Make a public announcement that I've received satisfactory compensation. That should be sufficient to avoid complications."
"No, even so, that's completely inadequate…" Doran began.
"Uh-uh!!!"
The sound that interrupted us was less like human speech and more like a bear have somehow entered the tavern and started roaring.
Roland's bellow drew every eye in the establishment. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Card games froze. Several patrons half-rose from their seats, hands moving toward weapons.
Then they saw Roland's sheer size and the dangerous glint in his eye, and wisely decided that whatever was happening was none of their business. The normal noise level gradually resumed.
"Hey, you dense fool!" Roland shouted, grabbing Doran's empty sleeve and waving it back and forth like a flag. "Wouldn't it make sense to accept this offer gratefully and do your absolute best to accommodate his conditions?! Did your common sense disappear along with your arm?!"
Doran's face flushed red instantly, anger flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth to unleash what was undoubtedly going to be a scathing retort—
Then he noticed I was watching this exchange with barely concealed amusement, and he visibly restrained himself.
'Interesting,' I thought. 'He has self-control. That's useful to know.'
"Ahem." Doran straightened his posture and smoothed his remaining sleeve with his left hand, reclaiming his dignity. "Very well. Then let's discuss the essential conditions first."
He turned his attention fully to me, and I saw the sharp intelligence in his eyes that allowed him to rise to the position of Dean in the first place.
"What would you require in terms of schedule flexibility? And what, exactly, would you be comfortable teaching?"
I leaned back slightly, considering my response.
This was the beginning of something significant. I could feel it in my bones.
The game's story was starting, the pieces were moving into position, and I was no longer just an observer on the sidelines.
I was about to step directly onto the stage.
"Let me be clear about something first," I said quietly, making sure both men were paying attention. "I'm not a teacher. I've never taught anyone anything in my entire life. I don't know the Art of Teaching. I don't know how to structure a curriculum. What I do know is how to survive."
I met Doran's eyes steadily.
"I know how to fight enemies who don't care about honor. I know how to respond when the plan falls apart and everything goes to hell. I know how to make split-second decisions when people's lives depend on it. That's what I can teach your students."
Doran was silent for a long moment, studying my face.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"That," he said quietly, "is precisely what they need to learn."