CHAPTER 43: A SIDE QUEST

Few weeks passed just like that.

Since the dungeon assessment, the Academy atmosphere had shifted in several subtle ways.

My own classmates — those who used to flinch whenever I sat near them — no longer shrank back like I carried the plague. Their disgust faded into a wary, awkward neutrality.

Other–class cadets however... still looked at me like I was dirt they stepped on accidentally. I wasn’t expecting that to change anytime soon.

The protagonist party was a different case altogether.

Kael, Celestia, Mariella, Elisha — their gazes no longer held that blatant contempt they once had. Now they looked at me with suspicion instead — a quiet, cautious kind.

A "I’m watching your every move" type of look.

Honestly? I’d take suspicion over open disdain any day.

But leaving all that trivial nonsense aside—

the biggest change was Alicia.

In just few weeks... she had cleared the entirety of basic Fire Magic theory and practice.

Just few week.

She was already comparable to an intermediate fire mage — her control sharp, her output stable, her flames compact and precise.

People train for years to reach that stage.

No wonder the game had her as a commander later.

And then there’s Ariana.

Her talent bloomed beautifully — not in combat — but in alchemy.

As I suggested, she joined the Alchemy Department’s elective class... and within the first two sessions, she was already adjusting heat and reagent ratios intuitively.

Instinct.

Pure instinct.

It shook the Alchemy professor so badly that woman tried to kidnap Ariana into becoming her personal disciple on the spot.

Meanwhile, every evening Ariana would come to my place and brew in the dedicated alchemy room — and she could successfully produce basic healing potions now.

She was blooming... finally blooming... like she should’ve from the beginning.

And then — the diner.

Kitchen 21.

Business didn’t just boom — it exploded.

Even nobles had begun visiting.

Academy cadets used the place as a meeting spot now. And the regular citizens? The word had spread to them too.

We had lines.

Not ten customers.

Lines.

So long that I had knights glaring at me for blocking part of the street last night.

Honestly... I was suffering... from success.

Too fast.

Too intense.

Kitchen 21 was at the limit.

So of course — I was here again.

Merchant Association.

Second floor office.

Looking at property listings.

Because now — after only one week — I needed a second branch.

A bigger one.

Lily had already trained the newly hired cooks personally and I confirmed their skill levels through status windows — they were more than competent.

I’d had all new cooks sign mana contracts so I wouldn’t have to worry about recipe leakage.

One week under Lily’s supervision and they were competent enough to run a kitchen without me breathing down their necks.

So that brought me to now.

After browsing through nearly two dozen listings — I bought a property.

A triple-story restaurant building.

Formerly bankrupt — but the location was gold.

Street–front.

Good foot traffic.

Close to the plaza where merchants and nobles frequently passed.

It could comfortably hold 150 to 200 customers once renovated.

That was scale.

It was big.

It was expensive.

It was perfect.

It cost me around 300 gold coins.

And I only had a little over 100 gold left.

Which I promptly buried again — renovations, interior work, new furniture, kitchen expansion — and hiring more cooks and service workers.

Not to mention magic contracts for each kitchen staff... expensive, yes.

But worth every copper.

Anyone who attempted to leak recipes would literally forget the recipe the moment they tried to speak it.

It was practically better than trademark law.

Once all the paperwork, contracting, and workforce assignments were handled...

I was free again.

And I’d been waiting for this day for a long time.

A dungeon popped up in the outskirts last night — temporary gate formation.

A minor one to the public.

But I knew exactly which one it was.

A side-quest dungeon.

In the game, it had no major impact on the main story — just a quiet side event that most players skipped.

But to me?

It held something I desperately needed.

A mana pool amplifier.

A drop item.

Consumable.

An item that permanently boosted one’s mana pool.

My mana stat is a miserable, pathetic 4.

Meanwhile Alicia — my "slave" — sits at 80 mana like it’s nothing.

It was humiliating.

****

I reached the outskirts — and the scene looked like a festival ground just missing fireworks.

Merchants shouting prices for potions.

Herbalists squatting on crates selling dried monster glands.

Hunters haggling with each other like fishmongers.

And right at the center of all that noise — a shimmering portal the size of a house... swirling like a whirlpool of liquid starlight.

As expected—crowded.

New dungeon = new monsters, new unknown threats, but also new resources.

And resources meant money.

Dungeons weren’t just "combat zones."

They were ecosystems — unique herbs, minerals, mana–stone formations — things you couldn’t find anywhere else.

Some dungeons had plants that could cure diseases normally considered hopeless.

Some had rare monster carcasses that alchemists fought wars over.

Because of that — the Empire forbade the destruction of dungeon cores unless the dungeon was classified as lethal / unrecoverable. Otherwise these gates were farmed — sustainably bled — like natural resource mines.

Humans want money, power, opportunity — even if it kills them.

Half the world swallowed by dungeonification still wasn’t enough of a lesson.

They kept treating dungeons like grocery stores.

They’ll learn soon enough... I thought, stepping through the throngs of mercenaries.

The moment I stepped off the carriage and walked toward the crowd, dozens of eyes turned. The chatter dipped. It wasn’t subtle. Hunters here were blunt like that.

A guy built like a mountain with a war–axe strapped to his back paused mid–bite of a skewer and squinted at me.

A slender archer leaned against a tree narrowed his eyes — the string of his bow between his fingers as if by reflex.

Even a bandaged assassin type with twin dirks briefly stopped sharpening his blades.

Their gazes zeroed on one thing:

my uniform.

Not at my face.

I smirked anyway.

What? Never seen a handsome man before?

Even if it wasn’t my original body, the arrogance in this vessel’s veins made my shoulders naturally tilt back; chin up, posture crisp.

Then I reminded myself to drop the peacocking — I knew exactly why they glared.

The Academy uniform.

Royal purple trimming.

Crest of the Imperial Academy.

The symbol of the elite.

Hunters loathed that crest.

And yes — the setting was exactly like I remembered from the game.

Academy cadets were noble brats with privilege and golden futures.

Hunters were working class, scraping by day by day.

We were oil and water.

In their minds, I wasn’t a person — I was a pampered aristocrat with a shiny artifact pistol come to play "adventurer" for a day.

I heard someone mutter behind me — loud enough that it was clearly intended for me to hear:

"Tch. Another academy peacock here to ’experience field work.’"

Another voice snorted with derision.

"Bet he’ll piss himself the moment a kobold pops out."

I ignored all of it.

I didn’t come here to debate socio–economic class politics with people swinging axes in leather armor.