"Take your hand off your sword, Jude. You're getting golden glitter all over the carpet, and frankly, it's tacky."
I spoke with more confidence than a guy who'd just had a dagger at his throat had any right to. Jude didn't move. His golden aura was humming, a high-pitched frequency that made my teeth ache and the air smell like ozone. He looked like a god of justice; I looked like a guy who'd just been caught in a very awkward romantic comedy.
"Volkov," Jude's voice was a low rumble. "Se-ah is the daughter of the Great House Han. She doesn't 'propose' to bottom-feeders in dark hallways. What kind of low-level mental hex did you use on her?"
Se-ah was still making a noise like a boiling teakettle, her face buried in her hands. She wasn't helping. I checked my vision—the blue wireframe pixels on my hand were still flickering. My debt was screaming. My legs were heavy. I didn't have the mana to fight a Golden Boy, but I had enough snark to fill a stadium.
"A hex? Jude, look at me," I said, gesturing to my disheveled uniform. "I'm an F-Rank. If I could hex her, I'd have hexed myself a better haircut and a bank account that isn't in the negatives. Maybe she just realized that 'S-Rank' stands for 'Super Boring'."
Jude's eyes snapped. The floor tiles beneath his boots cracked. "You have ten seconds to undo whatever this is before I 'interpret' your head off your shoulders."
> **[System Message]**
> **[Micro-Obstacle Resolved: Ego Check.]**
> *He's not going to kill you here. Too many witnesses at the end of the hall. But he's definitely going to 'accidentally' fireball you during the field trip.*
>
"Fine, fine. Se-ah, look at me," I snapped. She peeked through her fingers, her eyes still glazed with the 'Proposal' logic. "The wedding is canceled. I'm seeing someone else. It's a Golem. It's very serious."
**[Interpretation Released]**
The crimson faded from her face, replaced instantly by a pale, murderous white. She snatched her dagger off the floor and vanished into the shadows without a single word, though the look she gave me promised a very slow, very painful autopsy. Jude glared at me, his aura simmering down, but his hand stayed on his hilt.
"The Forest of No Return starts at dawn, Volkov," Jude spat, turning on his heel. "Let's see how your 'jokes' hold up when there's fifty miles of monsters between you and a bed."
The sun wasn't even up, and my hamstrings were already staging a protest. Fifty miles. Fifty miles of jagged rocks, mud, and "mandatory educational hiking." The rest of the class was geared up in enchanted boots and light-weight armor. I was wearing my standard issue boots and carrying a folding lounge chair I'd "borrowed" from the VIP sunroom.
"Move it, meat-sacks!" the Instructor roared from the front of the line. "The Forest of No Return doesn't wait for blisters! If you aren't at the clearing by noon, you're failing the semester!"
The class took off at a jog. I watched their shimmering capes and expensive gear disappear into the treeline. My legs throbbed. I hated exercise. I hated the sun. I especially hated the concept of 'distance.'
"System," I muttered, sitting down on my chair right in the middle of the trail. "Distance is a social construct, right?"
> **[System Message]**
> *It's a physical constant, actually. But for someone with 4,000 EXP in debt, you're remarkably delusional.*
> *Interpretation Sandbox: 'Distance' = 'Relative Boredom'.*
>
"Exactly," I grinned. I closed my eyes. "Fifty miles isn't space. It's just the time it takes for me to get bored of walking. And since I'm already bored... I'm already there."
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank F)]**
**[Target: The Concept of 'The Fifty-Mile Hike']**
**[New Meaning: 'A Five-Second Yawn']**
The world didn't move. I didn't feel a gust of wind. I just let out a long, jaw-cracking yawn. When my eyes blinked open, the dusty trail was gone.
I was sitting in my lounge chair in the middle of a lush, green clearing. The "Forest of No Return" loomed behind me, dark and ancient. To my left, a pristine lake. To my right, a perfect spot for a campfire. I checked my watch.
Five seconds had passed.
"Now that," I whispered, reaching into my backpack for a steak I'd swiped from the dining hall, "is what I call efficient travel."
Six hours later, the sound of heavy breathing and clanking metal broke the silence of the clearing. Jude led the pack, his golden armor covered in mud and monster guts. Behind him, the rest of the class looked like extras from a zombie movie—bleeding, limping, and smelling like swamp water.
They stopped. They stared.
I was reclined in my chair, sunglasses on, flipping a perfectly medium-rare steak on a portable grill. The smell of searing fat and garlic butter wafted over to the exhausted students.
"You're late," I said, not looking up. "I almost finished the appetizers. Want a bite, Jude? You look like you've been chewing on a swamp hag."
Jude's face twisted in a way that looked physically painful. He looked at the fifty miles of hell they'd just traversed, then at my pristine, sweat-free uniform. "How... how are you... why is there a grill?!"
The Instructor pushed through the crowd, his prosthetic arm sparking. He looked at the steak, then at me. "Volkov... did you just teleport a kitchen into a Forbidden Zone?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Behind my chair, the tall grass parted without a sound. A Rank-B Dread-Widow spider, the size of a small car, was lowering itself from a branch. Its eight red eyes were fixed on the back of my neck, and its fangs were dripping with a translucent, green poison.
> **[System Message]**
> **[WARNING: Behind you.]**
> **[Notice: Your 'Lazy Teleport' used the last of your active mana. Interpretation is on cooldown.]**
>
I felt a cold drip of something wet hit my shoulder. It wasn't rain.
"Is the steak done yet?" I asked the class, my voice steady even as the hair on my arms stood up. None of them moved. They weren't looking at the steak. They were looking at the three-foot-long stinger hovering inches above my spine.