In the wake of the exam's conclusion, Husayn trailed the throng of departing students, his destination the academy's luxurious cafeteria. There, amidst a boundless expanse of culinary delights, all students enjoyed the unparalleled privilege of limitless, complimentary meals. A tempting array of culinary delights sat before Husayn, yet his stomach remained stubbornly empty. The urgency of his predicament. The stark possibility of a life on the unforgiving streets, devoid of shelter, overwhelmed any desire for sustenance. He understood acutely that unless he devised a contingency plan immediately, his future would be bleak and perilous.
Contrary to his anticipations, Husayn's transmigration lacked the commonplace advantages others enjoyed. He yearned for even a rudimentary advantage, a simple boon granting him the inconspicuous status of a student within the game's vast, uncaring landscape. With a sharp, self-administered blow, Husayn jolted himself free from the corrosive grip of despair, replacing it with a determined, proactive assessment of his contingency plans should expulsion from the academy become his grim reality. Following a protracted two-hour period, a booming declaration reverberated through the hall, informing students that the classroom configuration was finalized. The consequential results were subsequently unveiled in the expansive expanse of the playing fields.
Abandoning their half-eaten meals, the students fled the cafeteria. Husayn, in contrast, departed at a leisurely pace. As he ambled toward the exit, Elara intercepted him.
"Well met!" she chirped. "Have you seen your class assignment yet? I'm in Class C."
Husayn shook his head, confessing his ignorance. Elara's eyebrows shot up in astonishment. "No? Oh, dear! I certainly hope we're together."
"I sincerely hope so as well." Husayn responded, a hint of yearning in his voice, before adding, "Until we meet again." With a farewell wave to Elara, a profound weariness settled upon him as he continued his journey to the playing field, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
Only Cecilia remained, her gaze fixed on the immense scoreboard, when Husayn reached the field. The lingering shock of defeat, a bitter pill for the former student representative, etched itself upon her face. He recalled this was the moment Cecilia, like others before her, grappled with the unexpected triumph of the protagonist. Her stunned expression was a testament to the protagonist's unforeseen victory.
Unseen, Husayn avoided the heroines' notice, his movements deliberate as he crept to the notice board. A familiar chill settled over him as his gaze fell upon the damning word – "Rejected" – beside his name. A grim, self-deprecating murmur, "As expected huh." escaped his lips.
Husayn's solitary journey toward his audacious scheme proceeded unimpeded. The academy, deserted save for the echoing silence of empty hallways, lay under the invisible, yet potent, aegis of the dean's magical barrier. No sentinels stood watch. All were isolated in their places of learning, leaving him to traverse the grounds unchallenged. After a grueling half-hour journey, Husayn finally arrived at the dean's imposing office. With a surge of apprehension, he essayed a tentative knock.
Before Husayn's hand even grazed the door, a youthful voice, vibrant with authority, issued from the office, granting him immediate entry. Husayn's gaze met the dean as the door swung inward.
The dean's lips parted, uttering a proposition laced with unexpected leniency. "An appeal is possible, should you choose it. Undertake the magical assessment this time."
Husayn, unprepared for this second opportunity, understood the futility of an appeal, it wouldn't rectify the underlying problem.
Husayn's response was firm, unwavering. "I seek not a reconsideration."
The dean, mid-action, paused, his expression shifting before a curious query escaped his lips: "Then, pray tell, what is the purpose of your visit?"
Husayn inquired earnestly, "Does the academy experience any shortages? I'm keen to establish a provisionary stall right here on campus."
"An ambitious young trader exists, undeniably. Among your associates, do you know a single soul versed in the arcane arts of potion-making?" Corvus inquired, his voice edged with urgency.
Husayn responded, "I'm acquainted with an individual who would deeply cherish the privilege of receiving such exceptional prospects."
"In that case, you have a month to find the individual and settle in the academy compound. I look forward to having another merchant with us."
Corvus, bestowing upon Husayn a coveted letter of acceptance, offered a warm smile. The document granted Husayn merchant status, a significant boon facilitating his unrestricted access to and egress from the academy's hallowed halls. Thus, Corvus eagerly anticipated the addition of such a valuable associate to their ranks.
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Without a moment's delay, Husayn departed the academy, his purpose unwavering, to seek out the enigmatic alchemist. Embracing the chance to explore, Husayn ventured through the town, immersing himself in the tangible reality of a fantastical realm he'd once only known through a game. His virtual existence had largely confined him to the academy's walls, venturing forth only during mandatory excursions or when demonic incursions threatened the city's very existence. To safeguard against exploitation, Husayn meticulously surveyed several retail establishments, diligently comparing prices and acquiring a comprehensive understanding of market values. Afterwards, he proceeded directly to the adventurous guild.
A throng of clamorous patrons surged around the guild's reception desk, a frenzied mob vying for the acquisition of life-saving potions. Their desperate cries echoed through the hall as guild staff, struggling against the tide of frantic demand, made futile attempts to restore order. A newcomer to the city, Husayn cautiously approached a staff member, his query laced with apprehension. He possessed a valuable inventory of potent elixirs, yet uncertainty clouded his prospects. He anxiously inquired about the feasibility of dispensing his wares without the formal affiliation of the merchant's guild, a weighty concern weighing heavily on his mind.
Initially, the staff's faces radiated enthusiasm, yet a shadow fell upon them after learning of Husayn's unregistered status within the merchant's guild. With urgent insistence, they plead for his immediate enrollment. However, as Husayn prepared to comply, a crucial detail surfaced, the academy's autonomous nature, exempt from the territorial levies imposed by the city's overlord, struck him with profound significance. With a decisive pivot, Husayn produced the academy's coveted acceptance letter, a triumphant document he proudly presented to the awestruck staff.
"As a tradesman contracted by the esteemed academy, this document attests to my employment," Husayn offered a reassuring smile. "Is formal enrollment to the merchant guild still required?"
A wave of cheerful expressions illuminated the staff's faces. They then enthusiastically conveyed that a mutually beneficial exchange with Husayn was a distinct possibility.
"Very well, then. Describe the precise concoction you require, and specify the desired quantity," Husayn inquired, his tone conveying both readiness and a subtle sense of anticipation.
Husayn felt a forceful grip on his arm. The employee's urgent tug propelled him upward, a captive ascent to the second floor. She then informs that she is powerless to authorize such a substantial acquisition. Summoned to the guild leader's sanctuary, Husayn found himself in the presence of a wizened crone, her imposing, powerfully built second-in-command looming beside her.
A wave of letdown washed over Husayn, he'd envisioned a radiant figurehead leading the guild, not this old woman. Before committing to a transaction, the guild master, with meticulous care, insisted on rigorous verification of the potion's potency. Husayn informs the guild master of his diverse potion inventory, but insists verification requires an actual purchase. A cruel twist of fate, however, left him impecunious despite his theoretically limitless purchasing power. The enigma of his previous body handling of the treasury remained an unsettling mystery. Husayn does not have any gold to start with.
The crone, after a period of profound deliberation, chose a health potion of moderate potency. Husayn, his fingers itching for the restorative draught, swiftly exchanged his new received gold for a similar elixir in the central marketplace. With a deceptive flourish, he mimicked the act of retrieving it, his nimble skill secretly transferring the newly acquired potion from his personal inventory into his satchel. Place the potion on the table in front of him to allow the guild master to verify it.
Her gaze lingered on the mediocre elixir, then, with a deliberate movement, she applied a single drop to her fingertip. Inhaling its aroma deeply, she savored the subtle tang with a tentative lick. Turning her attention back to Husayn, a knowing smile played on her lips. She would place a substantial order, she declared, but prompt delivery of a massive shipment to the guild was paramount. The deadline was Friday. Husayn shrugs his shoulders before letting her know that she would need to receive the goods ordered at the academy, he prefers not to be involved in any of the politics and as usual she needs to make an immediate payment as a deposit.
Departing from the adventurers' guild, Husayn's hands still warm from the elderly woman's grip, arrived at his destination, a venerable institution. This wasn't some prestigious academy, the Alchemy School served as a haven for aspiring alchemists, those whose circumstances precluded access to more elite establishments. It was a sanctuary for the talented and determined, a place where financial limitations did not stifle potential. Financial hardship has crippled the school's research capabilities, forcing students into a bleak cycle of repetitive, substandard potion brewing to generate meager income. The institution, once a center of learning, has tragically devolved into a mere commercial enterprise, its academic integrity sacrificed at the altar of economic necessity.
Husayn’s quest led him to the hallowed halls of the academy, seeking the shadowy figure who once held the coveted title of school alchemist. This individual, a pivotal ally during his gaming exploits, had been instrumental in his triumph. A deluge of potent strength-enhancing elixirs, strategically amassed before the climactic showdown with the demonic sovereign, secured Husayn a swift and effortless victory. Yet, this triumph was tinged with a profound melancholy: the alchemist, tragically consumed by avarice, likely a victim of the institution's corrosive influence, had prioritized profit over principle.
Upon entering the hallowed halls of the alchemic academy, Husayn was assaulted by a cacophony of commerce. Instead of scholarly quiet, a bustling bazaar had erupted, each student transforming their chambers into vibrant, clamorous stalls, aggressively hawking their wares to the throng of curious onlookers.
Profit margins are razor-thin, with pricing mirroring the mere cost of raw materials. The compensation for skilled artistry and tireless labor is virtually nonexistent. A diverse cohort, spanning the years from adolescence to a venerable elderly age, comprises this student body. Remarkably, these artisans thoughtfully brand their creations, ensuring enduring recognition for their unique contributions within the marketplace.
After a grueling three-hour search, Husayn located a potential match for the person's description. A young woman, cloaked in a tattered, soot-stained hoodie. She lay in a profound slumber, her head resting wearily on a table, a picture of exhausted peace. The fortunate seclusion of her room, far from the bustling throng, had preserved her meager possessions from pilfering hands.
Gently, Husayn touched the young woman's shoulder, his touch a tentative plea to rouse her from her slumber. "Miss," he whispered, his voice laced with concern, "Hello?"
Awakening, the maiden's gaze drifted upward, meeting Husayn's. A sharp intake of breath escaped her lips as her eyes darted to the meticulously crafted elixir simmering on the table. With trembling fingers, she painstakingly tallied the potent draught, a sigh of profound relief finally escaping her as she turned back to Husayn, her apprehension visibly easing.
"Intrigued by my humble offerings? These potent, low-quality potions, only for fifty gold a piece await your discerning gaze." Her slender finger gestured towards the moss-covered wooden plate, a silent testament to the antiquity, and perhaps, the dubious nature of its contents. Gripping a vial of dubious concoction, Husayn consulted his central market appraisal. A gasp escaped his lips—one hundred fifty gold pieces, the assessment cruelly declared. Without a moment's pause, he palmed fifty gold to the young woman, a deceptive flourish masking his true intent. Mirroring his guild master's technique, he delicately sampled the liquid, a minute droplet tasted on his tongue, a silent judgment forming. Her gaze, unwavering and intense, remained fixed upon the young man. A nervous tremor ran through her, manifested in the subtle, repetitive friction of her palm against her hand.
