[Time]: Day 31 of Enrollment, 02:20 PM[Location]: Dorm 302 · Gothic Main Hall
Hathaway blinked at the sudden shift in her mother's aura. Margaret had gone from "Retiree" to "Abyssal Warlord" in 0.5 seconds.
"Clients?" Hathaway asked. "Who are they?"
"I accepted a commission from 'Blue-Coat Integration'," Margaret said, pulling up a holographic contract. "A startup. Deep pockets. Huge ambition. They bought a coordinate document from the Witch Authority. Target: Kingdom of Guregus. A primitive, low-magic world.
"Their Queen is ambitious. She wants eternal youth and power. She ordered her sorcerers to summon the Abyss.
"But her signal drifted through the void and was intercepted by the Authority. The Authority ran the numbers. Metal-poor, gold-poor, useless. So they sold the development rights to Blue-Coat."
Margaret grinned, a playful, predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Blue-Coat wants to turn it into a resource colony and a processing factory. But the world's mana capacity is too low to support a Mass Portal. They need to trick the locals into 'evolving': training more warlocks to expand the container."
"So," Hathaway realized, "You are going there to..."
"I'm going to Roleplay," Margaret chuckled. "It's basically a Live Action Role Play (LARP), Hattie. Blue-Coat is so excited about this invasion that they wrote a 100-page Setting Document for us.
"We aren't going as Witches. We are going as 'High-Ranking Abyssal Commanders'."
Margaret tapped a file on the screen.
"My character is 'Vanguard General Marguz'. I have a backstory, a personality, and even specific catchphrases.
"I descend upon the palace, accept the Queen's summons, and 'grant' her forbidden knowledge to train more warlocks. I'll teach them how to build more altars... all to 'strengthen our bond'.
"Once they train enough warlocks... Boom. The capacity expands, the Portal opens, and Blue-Coat moves in."
"And the compensation for this LARP session?" Hathaway asked, getting straight to the most crucial detail.
"7,500 Solars a week, all tax-free," Margaret smiled, clearly pleased with the contract. "For a twenty-hour base. Any overtime is strictly optional, paying 350 an hour."
Hathaway's eyebrows went up.
Not bad for playing dress-up.
"And the gear?" she asked, her tone noticeably lighter now.
"Company issued," Margaret rolled her eyes. "'Sin Dragon Armor'. Mass-produced cosplay gear. Blue-Coat was in such a rush they didn't make any other models.
"A hundred 'unique' demon lords, all wearing the exact same outfit. It's going to be hilarious."
"Why the rush?" Hathaway asked. "Is the world running away?"
Margaret's expression cooled. "Actually, yes. We monitored the world. The Queen is unpopular. The people are revolting. And amongst the rebels... there is a Farmer's Daughter."
Hathaway leaned into the holographic field fast enough to clip her shoulder through the projection edge.
"Let me guess," Hathaway interrupted, her voice speeding up with excitement. "She has no formal military training, yet veterans follow her? She survives impossible odds? Arrows miss her by an inch? And she makes speeches about 'Freedom' and 'Justice' that make grown men cry?"
Margaret raised an eyebrow. "Spot on. You remember your 'Dimensional Ecology' textbooks well."
"It's a textbook 'World Will Catalyst'," Hathaway said. "The World Sense of Guregus detected the Queen's betrayal and concentrated its remaining Luck and Destiny into a single vessel to save itself."
She grinned with all her teeth showing. "So she's not just a rebel leader. She's the world's own champion, hand-picked and buffed."
"Exactly," Margaret nodded. "And that is why Blue-Coat is terrified. If we don't get there fast, this 'Protagonist' will storm the palace, execute the Queen, and burn the Summoning Portal."
"So," Hathaway said, calculating the stakes. "They are paying you 7,500 Solars a week to rush in, cosplay as an Evil God, protect the wicked Queen, and crush a righteous rebellion led by a literal Hero?"
"Correct," Margaret smirked. "And if we catch the Hero alive and convert her into a Witch... that's a massive bonus."
Hathaway stared at her mother, and imagined the scene: A desperate rebellion in a primitive world. A mass-produced 'Sin Dragon' descending from the sky. The sheer despair on the Hero's face when she realizes the 'Demon Lord' is just a bored Witch on a part-time shift.
This was the endgame boss picking up a shift in the tutorial level. The ultimate "Smurf Account" experience.
"Mom." Hathaway put both hands flat on the coffee table. "Take me with you."
Margaret blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I want to go!" Hathaway pleaded, leaning into the hologram. "I have 42,000 M-Units of Mana! Blue-Coat would hire me on the spot! I can play a minion! I can carry your luggage! I've never seen a live SSR Hero before! I want to poke her!"
Margaret laughed, a rich, amused sound. "Oh, honey. I love the enthusiasm. You certainly have the Ludwig spirit. But no."
"Why?!" Hathaway protested. "I'm qualified!"
"First," Margaret counted on her fingers. "You have classes. Second, this is a corporate invasion, not a family picnic. And third: Speed.
"It's a thirty-day Blitzkrieg. By your first school break, Guregus will be an industrial zone, and the 'Hero' will either be a Witch or dead."
Hathaway slumped back onto the sofa, defeated. "Thirty days..."
"Cheer up," Margaret winked. "There are infinite worlds in the Void. You'll have plenty of chances to invade civilizations later."
"But not every world has a Hero," Hathaway grumbled.
A naturally spawned SSR Protagonist? I'm missing the Event Banner. I'm missing the Lore.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
"Focus on your studies, little bandit," Anna chimed in, stepping into the frame with a sleek flight helmet tucked casually under her arm. "Make your own money first. Then you can buy your own invasion fleet."
She leaned comfortably against Margaret, flashing a confident, adrenaline-junkie grin.
"Besides, I'm officially going back to work," Anna announced. "The Imperial Broom Development Bureau called. They need a test pilot for the new Mark 9 engine. Morning shifts only, but it pays."
"So," Hathaway summarized. "My 30,000 Solar dividend is gone. Burned on Cryolite floors. But you two are working high-paying gigs to fix the cash flow, and the first checks will clear next week."
"Exactly," Anna smiled apologetically. "Just tighten your belt for a few days, honey. Once the Blue-Coat money hits, we'll be liquid again."
Hathaway looked at her mothers: one ready to scam a world as a fake dragon, the other ready to race the speed of light, both of them coordinating childcare shifts around it.
Anger refused to boot. They were responsible, in their own chaotic Witchy way, and Rory was cute, which functioned as a cheat code.
"Fine," Hathaway sighed, accepting the loss of her windfall. "Keep the dividend. Rory needs it more than I do."
"Good girl." Anna blew a kiss. "Now, take your Entrance Gift. Although we can't buy you experimental materials right now, your moms have prepared the best tools for you."
She reached down and picked up an exquisite black velvet box from the workbench. "Open the transmission channel."
Hummm—
The teleportation array on the coffee table in Dorm 302 lit up. The black velvet box materialized. Hathaway opened it.
Inside lay a transparent Scalpel: a standard professional tool, high quality rather than legendary, its handle and blade fused from a single piece of milky-white material.
[Item: Aether-Membrane Scalpel**]**[Material: Inner lining of Aurora's birth shell**]**[Quality: Professional Grade**]**[Trait: Sterile / Zero Mana Resistance**]**
"This is made from the inner membrane of Rory's shell," Anna explained. "It's the standard professional tool for Alchemists and Anatomists. It cuts through mana circuits without resistance. Much better than the mass-produced steel knives the school issues.
"As for the hard outer shell..."
Anna pointed to a heavy crate next to Margaret. Margaret kicked the crate lightly, then reached behind her chair and pulled out a massive, terrifying tool.
It was a Pickaxe.
Forged from a compressed, bone-white crystalline material harder-looking than diamond, its surface covered in ancient hand-carved runes that pulsed with a heavy, geological weight.
"I'm fusing Rory's shell into this old thing myself," Margaret said, patting the pickaxe affectionately. "The 'Heirloom Pickaxe'.
"Your Great-Great-Grandmother and her Eleven Sisters contributed their birth shells to forge the core of this beauty. It has been passed down for four generations, repairing and reinforcing it with every new baby in the family."
Margaret swung the pickaxe effortlessly. The air whistled, sounding like a mountain cracking open.
"It can break through Deep-Abyss Bedrock in one hit. Witches don't waste resources, Hattie. We build on them."
Hathaway closed the scalpel box and held it on her knees a moment. Soft membrane for the scalpel. Hard shell fused into the ancestors' pickaxe.
One egg, two legacies.
It’s grotesque, it’s practical, and it’s incredibly Witch-like.
"Use it well, Hattie."
Beep.
The screen went black. The sunlight vanished. The Atlantean Palace vanished. The gloomy, blue-lit Gothic Hall returned.
Hathaway sat in the quiet dorm and dug the egg back out from under the cushion.
Left hand: a professional scalpel. Right hand: a 3-Solar egg.
Survival was never the metric. If she wanted to keep buying top-tier magical materials, and more importantly to keep looking like a carefree high-rolling Ludwig in front of Victoria, she needed income.
Hathaway rolled the 3-Solar egg across her knuckles like a stress ball while the balance sheet in her head kept subtracting.
Sizzle.
Agitated thermal mana bled from her fingertips. In exactly 1.5 seconds the heat spiked, the translucent shell in her tight grip turned a dull chalky white, and a faint wisp of steam curled into the cold dorm air.
Her crimson eyes never left her roommate's back. It was time to monetize that A1 Certificate.
"Victoria," Hathaway said, her voice terrifyingly calm.
"Hm?" Victoria put down her book.
"I'm cash-poor." Hathaway stood up, spinning the scalpel in her hand. "My moms are scamming a world for milk powder. I can't lose to them. I need a job. A high-paying one. Now."
Victoria closed her book slowly. She looked at Hathaway, then glanced at the floating calendar on the wall.
"Perfect timing. Now that you have secured the A1 Certificate, the 'Intellectual Lock' has been lifted."
"Lock?" Hathaway blinked, confused. "What lock?"
"Do you know why you have never seen the course 'Introduction to Magitech' on your schedule?" Victoria asked, tapping her fingers against the heavy cover of the spellbook on her lap.
"Because the instructor, Professor Nino Lucent, does not believe in teaching basics.
"She assumes every student already knows Advanced Arcane Geometry and Fluid Dynamics. The system treats anyone without an A1 Certificate as 'Academically Illiterate' and hides her course from them to prevent wasting her time."
Victoria lowered her hand, her voice dropping a few degrees.
"But now... you are officially 'literate.' You finally have the qualifications to enter the place that truly eats people alive: Professor Nino Lucent's laboratory."
"Lucent?"
The name clicked. If Ludwig was a powerhouse of martial prowess, then Lucent was the academic aristocracy of the ivory tower: the family of the Vertical Silver Pupil, the observers who believe "No Light in Embers; Truth Manifests."
Hathaway leaned back, a strange, amused realization playing on her lips.
Right. The 10th Seat has an older sister. Heidi wants monsters. Heidi wants to be entertained. If the "Genius" she endorsed went into her sister’s territory and dominated it... That would be the ultimate performance for the 10th Seat.
This is a stage. And the Lucent sisters are the audience.
"Does she..." Hathaway asked, her voice steady but intense. "Does she have funding?"
"She holds three independent S-Class projects," Victoria said, her blue eyes gleaming with a cold, competitive fire. "And she is recruiting Paid Research Assistants for the summer. The daily wage is settled in pure Gold Solars."
Hathaway grinned, a savage bandit grin with every tooth in it.
She spun the Aether-Membrane Scalpel in a deadly arc. The milky-white blade sliced the air with a silent hiss.
"Good. I have the gear. I have the skills. I'm going to carve a paid internship out of Heidi's sister."
Victoria stood up, smoothing her silk shirt. The casual afternoon was over.
She was looking at a rival.
"Ambitious," Victoria said, and every trace of the tutor went out of her voice. "But do not expect me to yield just because we share a roof, Ludwig. That internship is the fastest path to the Lucent family. I intend to take it."
Hathaway's heart kicked against her ribs.
For thirty days she had been the charity case, the one Victoria had to feed, tutor, and drag out of academic poverty. Thirty days of being helped.
She sees me as a threat.
Finally.
It hit harder than anything she had drunk the night before: the specific altitude of standing on level ground with a genius.
Hathaway looked at the woman who had taught her everything for the past month. She spun the scalpel one last time, catching it deftly by the handle.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Hathaway replied. "Bring it on, Wellington."
The gloomy Gothic Hall held two geniuses, one scalpel, and a declaration of academic war under the dim blue lights.
Then, her stomach gave a faint, treacherous rumble.
Hathaway looked down at her right hand, where the 3-Solar egg sat perfectly hard-boiled, radiating a gentle and tragic warmth against her palm.
A bold declaration she had made a mere twenty minutes ago echoed mockingly in her brain: Eat it? I may be poor, but I haven't fallen low enough to eat my own egg!
She looked back up at Victoria.
Victoria stared back, one delicate eyebrow raised, waiting to see what the proud Lion of Ludwig would do next to cement this epic rivalry.
Hathaway held the stare, stone-cold.
Crack.
She smashed the egg against the edge of her desk.
With the terrifying, clinical precision of someone who had just mastered the Aether-Membrane Scalpel, she peeled the shell in three continuous motions, revealing the translucent, jelly-like mass of pure white protein.
I am not falling low, Hathaway rationalized furiously in her head, her red eyes still locked onto Victoria. I am merely refueling my biological reactor for the upcoming academic war. This is a tactical calorie intake.
Never breaking her intense, competitive glare, Hathaway shoved the entire hard-boiled egg into her mouth.
She chewed defiantly. Without the suggested black pepper and sea salt, it was just a warm, tasteless, aggressively bouncy block of pure protein.
Victoria watched this display of "dominance" in silence.
Her lips twitched. Her hand made it halfway to the bridge of her nose before she stopped it.
"Very intimidating, Ludwig," Victoria said dryly, turning smoothly on her heel to walk toward the door.
"Try not to choke on your pride, or on your unseasoned tactical calories, before the interview."
Hathaway swallowed hard, her throat visibly bobbing as she forced down the massive, slippery chunk of plain jelly. She thumped her chest with her fist to help it down, and then raised her scalpel high in what she intended as a gesture of victory.