I studied the jagged opening, my mechanical fingers tracing the worn edges of the stone. The breach was perfect, tucked and hidden away in this forgotten corner of the Academy's basement where no one ventured. During my time lost and exploring the school's layout, I hadn't seen a single person near this area.

The official Hellzone entrance, which was dead center inside the main building, would be carefully monitored. It had strict schedules for student access. But this? This was my private doorway to power.

I focused Mind Sight, peering deeper into the darkness beyond the crack. The passage twisted downward at a steep angle, worn smooth by countless Crevice Crickets making their way up to nest in the storeroom.

My time at the Academy would follow a predictable pattern. During daylight hours, I'd attend classes, maintain my cover as just another student despite Shawe's discrimination. But at night, when everyone else slept in their beds, I'd be here. Training. Growing stronger.

I had no need for rest. No need for sleep. Every night could be spent fighting monsters in the Hellzone, gaining experience, leveling up. While the A-rank students received their special instruction during the day, I'd be advancing on my own path in the darkness.

The other students would wonder how a C-rank nobody was keeping pace with their progress. Shawe would try to hold me back with his usual antics, but he couldn't stop me from growing stronger through my own efforts.

I pulled back from the crack, surveying the carnage of cricket corpses around me. I'd need to clean this up, remove any evidence of my discovery. The breach would remain my secret. During the day, this would just be another dusty, abandoned storeroom. But at night, it would become my private entrance into the Hellzone.

I collected all the corpses, then tossed them into the breach. Each insect body plunged into the darkness of the slope, disappearing deeper into the crevice. I dumped the dozens of dead crickets into the deep hole, hoping that I wasn't plugging up the entrance for when I eventually returned to traverse it.

After my messy work, I stared down at my uniform in dismay. The Academy's pristine black and red fabric was shredded, covered in cricket blood and grime. Several long tears ran down the skirt where claws had caught the material. The jacket was even worse, as the right sleeve hung by threads.

I tried using Assembly to repair the damage, my mechanical fingers weaving through the air. The ability fizzled against the enchanted cloth. Of course. It was like the time I had tried to use Assembly on Mallie's enchanted arrowheads. The magic of the uniform's protective spells prevented the ability from functioning.

Damn it.

The walk back to my dorm would take me through the main halls. Even at this late hour, someone would spot me. Questions would follow. Why was my uniform destroyed? What was I doing wandering the Academy in such a state? The last thing I needed now was scrutiny from the professors, especially Shawe.

My gaze fell on the stacked boxes lining the storeroom walls. Spare uniforms, forgotten down here with the rest of the Academy's cast-offs. I moved to the nearest crate, prying off the lid. Dust plumed up as I dug through neatly folded clothes.

I rifled through crate after crate, pushing aside stacks of male uniforms. Most were covered in a thick layer of dust, untouched for who knew how long. Finally, in a box shoved against the far wall, I found what I needed: women's uniforms.

Pulling one out, I immediately noticed the differences. The jacket's red trim along the lapels and sleeves stood out garishly compared to the plain black of my ruined uniform. The skirt was practically ankle-length, far longer than the modern knee-high version. These were clearly from a different era of the Academy's history.

I held the outdated uniform up, studying it in the dim light. Not ideal, but I had little choice. My current clothes were beyond salvaging after the cricket fight. I couldn't return to the dorms looking like I'd been mauled.

Laying the uniform flat, I channeled Assembly through my mechanical fingers. Without active enchantments to interfere, the ability worked smoothly this time. The porcelain plates on my right hand seemed to glow as I carefully unpicked the red trim, pulling each strand free from the black fabric. The longer I worked, the more the jacket began to match the current Academy style.

The skirt proved equally simple to modify. My fingers moved with surgical precision, shortening the hem to proper length. Excess fabric fell away as Assembly reshaped the garment. When I finished, only minor differences remained, slight variations in the cut and stitching that hopefully wouldn't draw attention.

I changed quickly, stuffing my ruined uniform deep into one of the crates. The vintage clothes felt stiffer, the fabric more roughly woven than my original outfit. But it would serve its purpose. To casual observation, I would appear properly dressed in regulation Academy attire.

After picking out various strands of cobweb out of my long hair, I was ready to leave. There was only one problem.

I couldn't leave the breach exposed, not with how easily it was for the monsters from below to get into the Academy. Using Assembly, I pulled scraps of metal from the broken weapons and rusted armor pieces scattered throughout the room. The materials clambered off their racks before floating through the air, arranging themselves in precise layers against the wall.

First came the thickest plates of armor, fitted tightly into the crack. I welded them in place, the metal glowing red-hot in front of my mental sight before cooling to seal the gaps. Next, I wove strips of steel between and around the plates, creating a mesh that would prevent even the smallest cricket from squeezing through.

Layer after layer, I built up the barrier. Sword blades, shield fragments, armor plates; all of it went into reinforcing the wall. The final product looked almost decorative, like an abstract metal sculpture someone had mounted on the stone. But its true purpose was far more practical.

I ran my hand over the finished work. Even with superhuman strength, it would take considerable effort to tear through. And thanks to how I'd integrated the pieces, removing any single section wouldn't compromise the whole. Only Assembly would allow the obstruction to be removed completely.

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The door presented a simpler challenge. I focused Assembly on its mechanism, reshaping the internal workings of the lock. The metal bent and snapped under my power, melting and reforming until the components were permanently locked together. No key would ever turn in that lock again.

For good measure, I welded the hinges as well. Short of breaking down the entire door frame, there would be no way to enter this room without my specific abilities. The Hellzone breach was sealed, and this dangerous secret would stay buried in this forgotten corner of the Academy.

Forgotten by everyone but me, of course. I intended to return, every night, to explore the Hellzone for my own benefit.

I emerged from the stairwell, my modified vintage uniform still stiff against my mechanical frame. Through the tall windows lining the hall, darkness had settled over the Academy grounds. The corridors stretched before me like a maze, identical archways and passages branching in every direction.

Left or right? I couldn't remember which way I'd come from earlier. The Academy's architecture seemed designed to confuse, with its repeating patterns of stone and wood paneling. My porcelain hand gleamed in the lamplight as I traced the wall, trying to find some distinguishing feature.

Lost again, I transmitted to no one in particular, my Mind Speech echoing in my own head.

I passed a series of classrooms, their doors locked for the night. A portrait gallery followed, stern-faced warriors staring down at me from gilded frames. None of it looked familiar. The more I walked, the more turned around I became.

I found myself in one of the Academy's libraries, surrounded by towering shelves of leather-bound books. The scent of old paper and dust filled the air as I traced spines with my silver fingers, trying to decipher the organization system.

"There you are!" Konrad's voice rang through the quiet space. He approached with that same easy smile he'd worn earlier. "How did the combat assessment go?"

My porcelain mask turned toward the fourth-year student. Not well. Professor Shawe ranked me as C-class despite my performance.

His smile flickered for just a moment, one so brief I might have missed it if I hadn't been studying his reaction. But it returned just as quickly, though perhaps not quite reaching his eyes this time.

"Ah yes, Professor Piss-head strikes again." He leaned against one of the shelves, crossing his arms. "Can't say I'm surprised he screwed you over. Man's a right arsehole when it comes to anyone he considers beneath him."

Is there any way to appeal the ranking?

"Unfortunately not. And being C-rank..." He shook his head. "Well, none of the chapter houses will look twice at you now. They only recruit A and B ranked students."

Chapter houses?

"The student factions. They're like..." His hand waved vaguely. "Networks, I suppose. Connections that last well after graduation. Most of the kingdoms' powerful figures belonged to one house or another during their Academy days."

I could see how joining one of these networks they called chapter houses would be really advantageous.

Konrad's expression turned thoughtful as he pulled a chair from one of the reading tables. "Truth is, I came looking for you earlier for a reason." He sat down, gesturing for me to join him. "I was at the entrance ceremony. Saw how you handled that Axeman."

I remained standing. You were watching the duels?

"Had to. I'm a recruitment officer for House Lance." He drummed his fingers on the table. "We're not the biggest house, mind you. Dragon and Swords have that honor. But we've got a solid reputation. Most of our graduates end up as military officers or join mercenary companies."

Why are you telling me this?

"Because I wanted to recruit you." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "The way you moved, the precision of your strikes! That's exactly what we look for. Monster or not, you would have made an excellent candidate."

Would have?

"Yeah." His shoulders slumped. "That's the thing about Shawe's C ranking. Even if I wanted to, and believe me, I do, I couldn't convince my superiors to take on a C-rank student. It's never been done before."

Never?

"House politics." He shrugged. "The other houses would see it as a sign of weakness, that we're desperate enough to recruit from the bottom ranks. We'd lose face, influence, connections; everything that makes a chapter house valuable."

I processed this information, my mechanical fingers tapping against my leg. Another door closed before I could even approach it. I understand.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Konrad stood up. "That ranking was bullshit and everyone knows it. But that's how things work here at the Academy. Politics and prejudice wrapped up in tradition." He laughed softly. "Anyway, you look lost. Let me get you back to the dorms. You must be tired."

I didn't tell him I needed no sleep. He had just admitted to having ulterior motives for helping me. There was no way I could trust him now, at least not fully.

Was every single person at this Academy so duplicitous?

I sat cross-legged on my dormitory bed, mechanical components spread across the sheets in neat rows. My fingers worked methodically, dismantling the worn joints of my humanoid frame piece by piece.

The damage was worse than I'd initially assessed. Hairline fractures ran through the main support struts, and several steel wire systems showed signs of stress. The cricket fights had taken their toll, but the real wear came from maintaining a human appearance during the assessment. Combat movements put strain on parts never designed for such abuse.

I lifted my right arm, examining the elbow joint. The brass fitting had nearly worn through. Unacceptable, I thought. Using Assembly, I fabricated a replacement from stronger materials: a nickel-steel alloy that would better handle the stress. The new joint clicked into place with satisfying precision.

The legs needed the most work. I'd designed this frame for basic mobility, not combat maneuvers. The knee assemblies were particularly vulnerable, relying too heavily on simple spring mechanisms. I rebuilt them entirely, incorporating a more sophisticated hydraulic system with reinforced shock absorbers.

My fingers traced the suspension system running through the legs. Too rigid, too prone to failure under sudden impacts. I dismantled it completely, replacing it with a network of interlocking rubber and steel supports. The new design would distribute force more evenly while maintaining the smooth, human-like movement I needed to maintain my cover.

Hours passed as I worked, strengthening load-bearing struts and reinforcing vital connection points. Each upgrade brought the frame closer to combat readiness without sacrificing its ability to pass as human. The work was familiar, almost meditative.

By the time I finished, dawn's first light was creeping through my window. The upgraded body would serve me better now, though it still wasn't ideal for serious combat.

That's what the combat chassis was for.

A sharp knock pulled me from my maintenance work. I quickly drew my black cloak over my shoulders, hiding my mechanical frame from sight, before opening the door.

The elf woman from yesterday stood there, her face a careful mask of indifference. Without a word, she thrust a piece of paper at me and turned on her heel, her footsteps already fading down the corridor before I could voice my thanks.

I closed the door and studied what turned out to be my class schedule. My lips twisted below my porcelain mask as I read through the list of remedial courses. They'd assigned me to beginner classes, exactly what I'd expected after Shawe's biased assessment.

Basic Swordplay topped the list, scheduled to begin in two hours. The irony wasn't lost on me. I'd demonstrated precise killing techniques during my evaluation, yet they wanted me to learn how to hold a sword properly.

The rest of the schedule followed the same pattern: Elementary Magic Theory, Foundational Combat Stances, Basic Monster Studies. Each class title felt like another subtle insult, another way to diminish my abilities.

Only one course caught my interest: History of Humanity's Kingdoms. Given the fragments of memory that sometimes surfaced, learning about the past might help piece together who, or what, I truly was.

I folded the paper and tossed it onto my desk. Two hours until Basic Swordplay. Time enough to finish my maintenance and prepare for another day of pretending to be less capable than I actually was.

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