The hallway to the Dean's office was lined with portraits of legendary mages, all of whom seemed to be judging me for turning the school's star pupil into a human ceiling fan. The Inquisitors hauling me along didn't walk; they marched, dragging me toward a door made of dark dragon-bone that pulsed with enough mana to give me a migraine.
"In," the lead Inquisitor growled, shoving me through the threshold.
The office was a disaster zone. Papers were flying, a crystal inkwell had shattered on the rug, and at the center of the storm sat Dean Volos. He was an S-Rank mage with a face that currently looked like a slapped ham—red, swollen, and steaming. A massive vein on his forehead was pulsing so hard I thought it might detach and start a life of its own.
"Viktor Volkov!" he bellowed.
The windows rattled. A pen on his desk snapped in two from the sheer pressure of his voice. "Expulsion is too light! Property damage! Ritual tampering! Making a Count's heir perform... whatever that rhythmic seizure was! I'll have you tossed into the salt mines by noon!"
I tried to focus. *Interpretation,* I thought, reaching for my skill.
> **[System Message]**
> **[DENIED: Skill on Cooldown (42:15 Remaining)]**
> *Nice try, Einstein. You burned your only trick on a disco ball and a headspin. Did you think mana grows on trees?*
> *Reason for Failure: User is currently 'Power-Bankrupt' and lacks the mental capacity to rewrite reality twice in an hour.*
The Dean stood up, his 'Wrath Aura' erupting like a volcano. The air turned heavy, thick as syrup, making my lungs ache. He was screaming, spit flying, his face turning an alarming shade of eggplant. He raised a hand, and a sphere of compressed gravity began to form—something that would flatten me into a pancake before I could say "sorry."
I didn't have a skill. I had my brain. I looked at that bulging forehead vein, then at his hand clutching his stomach. He wasn't just mad; he was rigid.
"Sir," I said, my voice eerily calm despite the gravity ball. "You're going to kill me, and honestly? That's fine. But it won't fix the problem."
"THE PROBLEM IS YOU!"
"No," I shook my head, pointing a finger at his midsection. "The problem is that you've been holding that in since the Silver Zone banquet three days ago. Your 'Wrath Aura' isn't magical pressure, sir. It's gas. If you fire that spell, the recoil is going to... well, it's going to be a very messy end for your expensive rug."
The Dean froze. The gravity sphere flickered. His face went from purple to a ghostly, terrified white. A frantic, high-pitched whistling sound echoed from his gut.
"I... I have no idea what you're—"
"I'm an 'Interpretation' specialist, remember?" I lied through my teeth, leaning in. "I can see the 'blockage' in your mana flow. It's a 48-hour internal stalemate. You don't need an executioner, sir. You need a friend who knows where the key to the staff-only private restroom is."
I reached into my pocket, found a lint-covered mint I'd been saving, and placed it gently on his desk.
"Take the mint. It's a digestive... uh... catalyst," I whispered. "The bathroom is two doors to the left. If you 'Blink' now, you might make it before the Academy's reputation is ruined forever."
The Dean didn't argue. He made a sound like a wounded teakettle, grabbed a random piece of parchment to cover his shame, and bolted. He used a high-level 'Blink' spell, disappearing in a flash of desperate light toward the restroom.
> **[System Message]**
> *Achievement Unlocked: [Psychological Warfare].*
> *EXP Gained: 1500 (Level Up!)*
> *Congratulations, you successfully bullied a man into a bathroom break.*
**[System Level 2 Initializing...]**
**[New Features Unlocked:]**
* **Log Analytics:** View the "source code" of nearby objects (Read-Only).
* **Sandbox Mode:** Test an interpretation in your mind before wasting mana.
* **Developer Comments:** I can now insult you in high-definition.
I looked down at the desk. In his panic, Volos had fumbled his paperwork. He hadn't grabbed his shield; he'd grabbed a stack of student forms. And in his desperate scramble, his ink-stained thumb had pressed firmly onto the "Approve" line of a very specific document.
I picked it up, grinning.
**[Approved: VIP Luxury Housing - Gold-Tier Suite]**
**[Occupant: Viktor Volkov]**
I walked out of the office, nodding to the confused Inquisitors who were still waiting for the sound of my bones snapping. I didn't stop to explain. I headed straight for the VIP wing—the kind of place where the grass was trimmed with magic and the air tasted like expensive perfume.
I found my unit. It wasn't a room; it was a mansion. I slid the gold-plated key into the lock, expecting a king-sized bed and a nap.
*Crank. Whirr. Steam hissed.*
The doors swung open, but a shadow fell over me that made the sunlight vanish. Standing in the foyer was a ten-foot-tall Iron Golem, its joints leaking blue mana and its eyes glowing with a violent, murderous red.
**[Unauthorized Lifeform Detected]**
**[Initiating: Pulverization Protocol]**
The Golem didn't wait. It lunged, a metal fist the size of a wrecking ball whistling toward my skull with enough force to delete my existence.
"Wait! I have a key!" I screamed, diving to the floor.
> **[System Message]**
> *Warning: Target [Iron_Guardian] is not a fan of keys.*
> *Current Status: 0.5 seconds until you become a decorative floor stain.*
The Golem raised both fists for a downward smash. My 'Interpretation' skill was still dark. The cooldown timer was ticking down like a death clock. I looked up at the cold, mindless face of the machine and felt a sudden, sharp realization.
"System," I choked out. "Tell me I have enough points to skip the cooldown."
> **[System Message]**
> *New Mode: [Emergency Patch] available.*
> *Cost: All remaining EXP.*
> *Do you want to survive, or do you want to die with a full wallet?*
The Golem's fists began their descent. My heart stopped. I reached for the 'Patch' button just as the metal blurred in my vision.