The silence at the reception desk stretches so long it becomes physically heavy.
Beside me, Arlo looks like he is about to go into cardiac arrest.
He is holding his breath, waiting for the lethal Dark Elf to pull a shadow-blade from her tactical vest and decapitate me right here in the marble lobby.
But Vera's face remains completely, flawlessly blank.
In reality, it's not murderous rage keeping her quiet. It's an unhandled system error.
As an apex predator, she is used to the scent of blood and the screams of her enemies. She is not used to being catcalled at her part-time customer service job. The scenario is so utterly absurd that her assassin instincts just...buffer.
After a painfully long pause, her deep purple eyes blink once. "No," she says, her voice entirely flat.
"Oh, well. Worth a try," I say cheerfully, utterly unbetted by the rejection. "We'd like to hit the Free Zone, then. Can we go down now?"
Vera doesn't speak. She just points a slender, dark finger toward the bank of silver elevators at the end of the hall.
"Awesome. Thanks, gorgeous," I chirp, spinning on my heel.
As the elevator doors slide shut, I hear Arlo let out a breath he must have been holding for a full minute.
The difference between Alignments is insane, I can practically hear him thinking. Also, Elves apparently have incredible patience.
I lean against the mirrored wall, whistling a nameless, upbeat tune. The chaotic energy in my veins is settling, replaced by the sheer dopamine hit of a new environment and potential profit.
"So," I say, glancing sideways at him. "Do you know who your roommate is yet?"
Arlo shakes his head. "No. The Head Warden said room 206 was empty right now. I don't have one yet."
"I know who your future roommate is going to be," I say, my lips curling into a sly, entrepreneurial smile. "Want a spoiler?"
Arlo narrows his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "How could you possibly know?"
"I have my ways," I lie smoothly. Actually, I just remember the plot of this ridiculous reality. "I'll give you the exclusive intel. One Academy point. It's a steal."
Arlo stares at me. "Forget it. I don't want to know."
"Tsk. Cheapskate," I huff, crossing my arms. "One point is basically nothing."
I mean, I literally just demanded twenty million credits from that red-haired War God meathead on the forum. One point is a micro-transaction.
"Academy points are incredibly hard to earn, especially for freshmen," Arlo mutters, stubbornly staring at the elevator floor numbers. "I'm not an idiot. I'm already in debt."
He would rather take out a high-interest student loan to pay his tuition than waste his precious points on gossip.
"Of course you aren't an idiot," I laugh, stepping out as the doors ping open to Basement Level One. "But since I'm in a phenomenally good mood today, I'll give you a free sample of my consulting services."
I pause, my smile fades, replaced by something a little sharper. "Stay away from your future roommate. The moment he moves in, keep your distance. Getting close to him will bring you nothing but catastrophic bad luck. He is a walking disaster zone."
I am talking about the Gary Stu protagonist, of course. Anyone who gets close to the "Hero" in this world either ends up as cannon fodder, a stepping stone, or a crying member of a harem.
"However," I add, my business smile instantly returning, "if you ever find yourself in mortal peril, you can always call my number. I offer emergency rescue services. The hazard pay will be steep, obviously. But, if you hire me on a retainer as your long-term bodyguard, I can guarantee your physical safety. I'll even throw in a one-percent discount."
Arlo blinks, thoroughly overwhelmed by my rapid-fire sales pitch. "Uh...thanks. I'll keep that in mind if I ever need it."
He clearly doesn't take the warning to heart. His mind is entirely focused on one thing: mutating his weak Narcissus bloodline into the God of Medicine.
---
I spend two hours in a D-Rank combat simulator, stretching my new Death God muscles until I'm buzzing with pure, chaotic adrenaline.
Arlo, meanwhile, spends two hours sitting in a corner, meditating to force his genetics into the Healer path.
When I step out of my pod, I find him completely collapsed on the floor.
He hasn't moved a single muscle, yet he's panting, his skin a terrifying shade of translucent grey. The mental strain broke him.
"Darling," I purr, standing over him with my hands on my hips, shamelessly admiring the pathetic, sweaty view. "Need a ride? DoomDash Delivery is running a promotion. Two Academy points, and I'll deliver you straight to your bed."
Arlo grits his teeth. "No." He stubbornly tries to push himself up.
I watch quietly, making zero effort to help. Sympathy is free, and I strictly operate for profit.
He manages to get to his feet, takes one shaky step, and immediately face-plants onto the mat with a heavy thud.
"...Two points," he gasps into the floor, completely defeated. "I'll transfer them."
My face instantly lights up with a brilliant, predatory smile. "Valued customer secured!"
I haul him upright by his collar. "Now, how are we traveling? Piggyback, princess carry, or over the shoulder? I vote princess carry. I like a boy with nice legs."
Arlo flushes a brilliant, humiliated red. "Piggyback!"
I crouch down, and he awkwardly climbs on. He's ridiculously tense, desperately flexing his core to hover a few inches away from my back to avoid physical contact.
"Darling, you're planking in mid-air," I tease as we head for the elevators. "Just relax against me. I don't charge extra for the body heat."
"Just keep walking!" he panics, terrified of my monstrous strength.
When the elevator doors open on the first floor, we cross the lobby again. Vera is still standing behind the marble counter, her piercing purple eyes tracking us.
Arlo immediately buries his burning face into my shoulder, wishing he could evaporate.
I, however, have absolutely zero shame.
I shoot the Dark Elf a brazen wink, letting my eyes deliberately drag over her flawless obsidian collarbones. "See you around, gorgeous."
Vera stares at me, looking like she wants to shoot me in the neck with a poisoned arrow. Hot.
Carrying a teenage boy doesn't even register as a physical strain for my new stats. I'm so completely unbothered that I casually pull my phone out with my free hand.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
Someone is messaging my forum account. Before hitting the gym, I set up a custom auto-reply bot for my startup.
I open the chat log and raise an eyebrow. My bot is currently having a full-blown conversation with a Level 5 user.
[Sea God — Philo]: Poke.
[Death God — Rea (Auto-Reply)]: Hello, Darling! Welcome to DoomDash. Serving you from this life to the next! How can we help you today?
[Death God — Rea (Auto-Reply)]: Reply [1] Food Delivery. [2] Proxy Attendance. [3] Bodyguard Services. [4] Manicures & Styling. [5] Debt Collection. [6] Assassinations. [7] Eyelash Extensions. [8] Voice-Acting...
[Sea God — Philo]: Lmao. Are you actually serious? You do all of this?
[Death God — Rea (Auto-Reply)]: Invalid input, Darling! Please reply with a valid number: [1] Food Delivery...
[Sea God — Philo]: 8.
[Death God — Rea (Auto-Reply)]: You have selected [8: Professional Voice-Acting]. Please select a category: - [A] Sweet Loli - [B] Sultry Femme Fatale - [C] Gritty Uncle - [D] Girl Next Door
[Death God - Rea (Auto-Reply)]: Please remit a non-refundable payment of 10 Academy Points to unlock a live audio demonstration of all voices! (Custom phrases up to 5 words included FREE of charge)
CHA-CHING.
My phone chimes with the most beautiful, melodic sound in the universe. [SYSTEM: User 'God of the Sea - Philo' has transferred 10 Academy Points to your account.]
My eyes light up. I hold down the voice memo button, adjusting my vocal cords with lethal, assassin-level precision.
"Hello, Senpai!" I coo, my tone sickeningly sweet and high-pitched. Without pausing, I drop an octave into a sultry, smoky purr. "Payment received, handsome."
Next, I scrape my throat, producing the gruff, gravelly growl of a fifty-year-old mafia enforcer. "Pleasure doing business with ya, kid." Finally, my normal, cheerful voice. "DoomDash, always at your service!"
I hit send.
On my back, Arlo slowly lifts his head, looking completely traumatized. He stares at the back of my bob haircut in sheer horror. "Are...are you wearing a voice changer?"
"Nope. Just raw talent, Darling," I say, slipping back into the creepy Loli tone before coughing to reset. "Free sample for a repeat customer. Hit me up if you ever need to hire a fake girlfriend or a fake professor."
"...I do not have that need," Arlo whispers faintly, dropping his forehead back against my shoulder.
Philo doesn't send another message. I assume the Sea God is currently sitting in his elite dorm in stunned silence.
I put my phone away, carry Arlo all the way back to the dorms, and dump him unceremoniously onto his mattress.
"Payment received," I announce, clapping my hands together. "Our transaction is complete. Hit me up if you need anything else, Darling. I'm heading out."
Arlo lets out a long, exhausted sigh of relief. "Okay...wait!" he shouts, sitting up abruptly. "The door is over there! That's the balcony!"
"This way is faster," I grin.
I vault over the railing without hesitation. Using my new Death God stats, I scale the sheer exterior wall like a mutated spider, leaping up and swinging seamlessly onto my own third-floor balcony.
Down in room 206, Arlo stares numbly at the empty space. Chaotic Evil, he thinks, utterly defeated. It really lives up to the name.
---
Later that evening, the brutal reality of the Academy's economy hits hard.
The cafeteria offers two options.
The "Free Meal"—a grey, nutrient-dense paste that provides your basic calories but tastes like wet cardboard. Or the "Premium Menu," which costs precious Academy Points.
Back home, my elders taught me one fundamental rule: you can be ruthless, you can be greedy, but you must never, ever mistreat your own body. Your physical health is your capital.
I happily swipe my badge, sacrificing a chunk of my newly earned points for a massive, sizzling, premium grade-A Wagyu steak and garlic mashed potatoes.
Arlo sits across from me. He stares down at his metal tray, which holds a perfect, sad square of grey nutrient paste. He looks at his paste. Then he looks at my bleeding, glorious steak.
He takes a small bite of the grey sludge and falls into a miserable silence.
The cafeteria is packed with hundreds of noisy, hostile Awakeners. It's a literal shark tank.
Because I am the only person he knows, Arlo instinctively shrinks closer to my side of the table.
He watches me chew my expensive dinner, coming to a harsh but strangely comforting realization.
Sitting next to a Chaotic Evil is terrifying. But as long as he has the points to afford my services, I am undeniably the safest, most reliable person in this entire Academy.