Academy's Drunk Fighter-Chapter 47: School Festival (3)

Players in Dreaming World face ever-changing branching points where they each make their own choices.

They kill characters. They save them.

They destroy the world. Reconstruct it.

And in that godlike sensation of omnipotence, whenever something doesn’t go their way, they delete the round and pick another path—over and over again.

These branching points become the driving force that can even lightly shift the weight of massive main storylines.

The first main story begins when the Doomsday Followers assault the Academy, revealing their presence and engraving ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a sense of crisis into the player.

To let them know who the enemy is—and what kinds of battles lie ahead.

But on a certain route... in other words, if the player fully sides with the Doomsday Followers—

Or uses certain methods to prevent the terror attack from happening in the first place—

The story changes slightly.

The Academy no longer anticipates the coming threat.

And there’s no "protagonist" to save them.

It’s the stillness before a storm.

But like sailors who fail to prepare for the storm, no one is able to foresee the crisis.

Whether the Doomsday Followers couldn’t predict this outcome, or simply chose not to take the easy path, I don’t know.

But in this case, the world collapses even faster.

And at this branching point, what I focused on—was the tournament reward.

The difference in rewards between when the Academy is terrorized versus when it isn’t... is massive.

I believe this decision was made to restore the Academy’s reputation, which took a blow from the terror attack.

And while it hasn’t been officially announced yet...

The reward is something so grand that no ordinary person could even guess it.

And that is—

“So you're saying the Grand Archive of the Academy will be offered as the winner's prize?”

“Of course.”

The Grand Archive of the Academy.

If we’re talking in terms of novels, it’s like a family’s treasure vault.

The place where heirlooms are kept, or essential medicines or weapons needed for the protagonist to grow.

But the Grand Archive of the Central Academy... is on an entirely different level.

Literally, it means "ancient library," but it’s not just a library.

It’s a full repository of every piece of knowledge held by the oldest academic institution in this world.

Older than any other place, and still the apex of knowledge from the past to the present. It’s practically a compact Akashic Record.

Even a single volume from that place is valued at hundreds of millions of won.

Of course, you can’t take anything out.

But just being able to read the countless notes and failures of long-gone geniuses... is valuable enough.

Especially for geniuses like Charlotte and Scholar—not a lazy bum like me.

If Charlotte got in, I even considered the possibility that she could copy the entire archive straight into her head.

But Scholar had a skeptical response to my claim.

“...I don’t believe it.”

“May I ask what exactly you mean by that?”

“It means two things. First, that reward is far too extravagant to be given out just for winning a student tournament.”

“And the second?”

“I don’t trust your words in the first place.”

“......”

Well, fair enough.

This info hasn’t been revealed to anyone yet.

Not even the professors would know.

Because this is something that only the Headmistress herself is still silently considering.

“Where you got that information is one thing, but I can’t even be sure it’s real.”

“And?”

Before we even get to whether it’s true, Scholar laid out his doubts—as if daring me to convince him.

“...And even if that really is the prize, is there any reason I should participate?”

Even seeing his throat tighten like he was waiting for my rebuttal, I said nothing.

I just held a faint smile and waited.

“I mean, why me to begin with? Aren’t these tournaments meant for combat types or whatever...?”

“Mr. Scholar. I know exactly what you want.”

“What are you talking about...”

But I do know.

He loves the oxidized clang of colliding steel.

He adores the movement and hardness of machines.

He dreams of the creak of gears and the miraculous birth of something solid, inhuman—but alive—moving from his very hands.

It might sound weird to say this out loud, but... you could call Scholar a mechaphile.

That’s how deeply he’s obsessed with mechanical devices.

Which is why—

“Androids. Are you not interested?”

“...!”

According to legend, in the device-classified section of the Grand Archive,

There exists a blueprint for humanoid robots—androids.

It’s a fact known not just to me, but surely to Scholar himself.

And what would the existence of androids mean to a mechaphile?

It might be... even more exciting than my love for alcohol.

No—maybe it’s something I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

“W-Wait. That’s a lot of information to process—”

“No. You’re a smart person. I trust that you already fully understood these simple statements I’ve made.”

“But—”

Still seeing Scholar hesitate, I added one more offer.

“And—I’ll personally use your gear.”

That might sound a bit weird, but... every single one of Scholar’s early inventions has flaws.

I don’t know whether it’s due to budget limitations or just the nature of prototypes, but one thing is certain.

Scholar’s early works are dangerous.

A lot of them twist at the joints or explode unexpectedly—

To the point where even paid testers ended up quitting and running away.

And finding someone sturdier to test them is impossible...

Because anyone with that kind of physique is already too rich to bother with Scholar’s death-trap gear.

Still, Scholar probably doesn’t want the equipment he put his heart into just rusting away and breaking down in some dusty corner of the storage room.

“So—what do you think of my proposal?”

If I don’t pick him and raise his potential, he’ll just be remembered by everyone as a simple enhancement NPC at the Academy. Nothing more.

But if he accepts my proposal—it won’t just affect me.

It’ll be a positive turning point for Scholar himself.

Now the time to choose is drawing near.

“......”

His eyes were already looking at my proposal with interest.

But he still wasn’t fully convinced.

“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I can just find someone else—”

“W-Wait!”

“Yes?”

He grabbed me just as I was about to walk out the door.

That feeling of manipulating someone else’s emotions—

I realized just how fun that could be.

‘Shit, I’m about to awaken a weird fetish.’

“Well... there’s a problem. Even if the reward really is entry to the Grand Archive... I’m not sure I’d be any help in the tournament...”

“Of course you’d be helpful!”

“But... I can’t bring any of the special equipment I’ve made. For fairness!”

“I know.”

It’s kind of a weird rule, honestly.

You’re not allowed to bring in anything that wasn’t crafted by a certified workshop.

I guess they don’t want unauthorized gear slipping in and creating another terror-level incident.

“But... they don’t stop you from crafting inside, right?”

“...Excuse me?”

In general, support-type characters—those who focus on crafting—are known for not fighting directly.

Sure, there are a few who charge into battle with their own gear, but those people have the reflexes and traits to pull that off.

Scholar, by contrast, is a character whose entire identity is built around creation and invention.

For him, combat is always something he observes from one step back—behind someone else.

And that’s exactly how other people in the game treated him.

If you’re a support, then just support.

If you’re a healer, stop swinging your damn staff and just spam heals.

A strength-mage? Why the hell would you even do that?

If you’re a warrior, be a warrior. If you’re a mage, be a mage.

If you’re gonna be some half-assed mix, just sit the hell down and stay in your lane.

That wasn’t just a mindset shared by players—it was a common belief in this world too.

Which is why the idea of physically relocating a workshop?

No one’s ever thought about it. No one could even imagine doing it.

But if it’s Scholar, that changes everything.

Anywhere he sets his foot becomes a workshop.

Anything his hands touch becomes a prototype.

This is an idea no one’s tried—not because it wasn’t smart or efficient, but because the quality was never good enough to justify the risk.

“Wait... are you saying...?”

“Yes.”

The tournament will run for five days.

Technically, we call it a “tournament,” but what we’ll be doing is fighting on a massive set stage.

And during those five days, Scholar will craft equipment inside that stage.

“Is that impossible?”

“Forget impossible—wouldn’t other people be way more useful than me?”

“That part... don’t worry about it.”

If this current team goes in, we’ll be the first to get eliminated. That’s just a fact.

A martial artist cursed to need booze in order to function at full power.

A mage who isn’t focused on firepower, but on nullifying other mages exclusively.

And a weirdo inventor who only ever makes bizarre, unpredictable inventions.

Good god.

That’s why there’s one more person I’m considering adding to this team.

But I can’t bring them in unless Scholar’s participation is guaranteed.

“What really matters is your decision, Mr. Scholar.”

“...First, can I hear the full plan before I give my final answer?”

“Heh, sure.”

He was still testing the waters, but at this point, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I’d reeled him in completely.

“Oh, right. Before we continue—”

“?”

“Can you take a look at this?”

I held out my arm and showed him the bracelet clasped around my wrist.