---
I will be an adventurer.
Just… not this month.
Next month's Gacha might actually give me something decent. Maybe some good materials which I can use to make my secret identity.And besides, there are only three days left in this one. What's the rush?
Three more days.
Three more days of pretending that Mana Theory and Ancient Spell History weren't slowly disintegrating my brain.
Spoiler alert: they were.
Thoroughly. If boredom were a spell, those classes would be Tier 10 annihilation.
I ducked into my usual back corner of the lecture hall, sliding into the same chair I always did. Not because it was comfortable — it wasn't — but because it had the best line of sight to the window and the worst line of sight to the professor. Optimal spacing for maximum pretend-listening with minimum effort.
Professor Gilford strode in like he owned the realm, robes flapping, beard bobbing like it had ambitions of its own. He launched straight into a sermon on mana flow as if revealing secrets to immortality. To be fair, he might've been — I wouldn't know. I tuned out halfway through the syllabus on day one.
I let my eyes drift toward the window. Outside, the sky was sharp blue, clouds scattered like paint, wind brushing the grass like it had somewhere to be. Freedom was out there.
In here? Just a slow death by lecture.
Three more days.
I could survive that.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Probably.
---
"Alright, everyone!" Gilford's voice cracked through the air like a whip. "Today's class will be held outside! We're going on a dungeon excursion!"
For half a second, I thought he was joking.
He wasn't.
The room erupted in collective horror. A mix of groans, whimpers, and one guy in the corner who genuinely looked like he might throw up. I, on the other hand, felt a grin sneak across my face.
Now this had potential.
---
They handed us the standard academy gear: practice weapons, mana-inscribed cloaks that smelled like chalk and despair, and packs of rations that looked suspiciously like cardboard. If this was supposed to be authentic adventuring, then the bar was low.
The dungeon itself was a cave, just outside city limits. No fancy entrance, no mystical runes, just a big hole in the ground that reeked of mildew and broken dreams.
Gilford addressed us like a general standing before his army, though calling our group an "army" was generous. "Stay together. Control your mana. And for the love of all that's arcane—don't try to be heroes."
Right.
Because when has that advice ever worked on teenagers?
---
The moment we stepped inside, the temperature dropped like we'd offended the air itself. The walls dripped with moisture, and somewhere in the distance, something made a sound that definitely wasn't friendly.
I'd never been in a dungeon before, this is going to be exciting atleast for me. But it was enough to make the others squirm. That was something.
We hadn't made it ten steps before we were ambushed.
Well — "ambushed" was generous. Two Forest Hounds shuffled out of a side tunnel, looking more annoyed than threatening, like we'd woken them from a nap.
The guy next to me squeaked like a startled rabbit. Another girl behind me actually shouted, "What do we do!?"
I sighed, drew my blade like I was clocking in at a job I didn't care about, and casually bisected the first Forest Hound. The second saw what happened and ran off screaming. I respected his life choices.
Meanwhile, chaos. One student tried casting a spell and instead shot sparks at his own feet. Another tripped over a root and face-planted into a puddle that I really hoped was just water.
I bit back a laugh. This wasn't training — it was comedy with a risk of injury.
Still, we pushed forward. The air grew colder. The walls closed in. Shadows stretched like they had claws. You know, textbook dungeon ambiance.
One student kept nervously coughing, which wasn't annoying at all. Another kept whispering mana incantations under her breath like she was trying to talk herself into staying conscious.
Eventually, we reached the first chamber. A large cavern with glowing moss on the walls and enough dripping water to make you need a bathroom break. Gilford, of course, looked thrilled.
"Excellent work!" he said, hands on hips, face beaming. "Teamwork and control — you're learning!"
Learning how to not die, maybe. Though based on their technique, some of them were behind on the syllabus.
I wiped sweat from my forehead. It wasn't the fight that drained me — it was the pretense. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to be weak. Pretending I didn't want more.
Sometimes I wonder why am I even pretend.
But then I remember what will happen in the future.
Three more days.
Then maybe I'd stop pretending.
---
We went deeper.
The air thickened. The light dimmed. The silence started to stretch — long enough to make you wonder what was listening.
"Watch it," a younger student whispered as I sidestepped a patch of moss. I nodded without speaking. The poor kid looked like he was on the verge of mana-based cardiac arrest.
Our group shuffled forward in what could charitably be called a formation. In reality, it was just a line of confused students hoping not to trip over their own boots.
Then we heard it — a deep rumble. Well I felt it before it even happened, you know Observation Haki.
Everyone froze.
Gilford raised a hand. "Be alert. That's not a natural echo."
Naturally, that was the cue for the floor to betray me.
A section of loose rock collapsed under my feet, and I slid down a slope like a human avalanche. Willingly. Arms flailed. Dignity vanished.
"Great move," someone snorted behind me as they tumbled down right after. I gave them a look that promised mild vengeance.
When we finally stood up, the source of the rumble became clear.
A giant mushroom.
Yep. Not a beast. Not a dragon. A mushroom. The size of a horse, with a cap so wide it could probably double as an awning for a small café.
It quivered slightly, then shook itself — and released a cloud of glowing spores into the air.
"Oh good," I muttered, coughing. "It's trying to glitter us to death."
Someone nearby gagged. Another tried slicing at the spores with a dagger, which was about as effective as waving at smoke.
"Alright," I said, stepping forward, sword ready. "Let's see if this fun guy can fight."
Yes, I made a mushroom pun mid-combat. No regrets.
---
My first strike bounced harmlessly off its rubbery stem. The thing was tough — not your average salad ingredient. I could have decimated it in seconds,but...
"Hit the cap," I called. "Softer there."
Jaren, a shaky fire-element student, tried casting a spell. The first fizzled. His second attempt nearly lit his own sleeve.
I grabbed his shoulder, steadied him. "Breathe. Focus."
He nodded, cast again — and this time, the fire burst forward, scorching a chunk of the cap. The mushroom reeled, spewing more spores like confetti at a toxic party.
"Nice shot!" someone shouted.
I couldn't help grinning. The chaos, the danger, the weirdness — this was what I lived for.
Gilford barked orders. Students scrambled, swatting spores, casting shaky spells, dodging like they were dancing badly.
Jaren launched one final fireball. It hit center mass.
The mushroom let out a long, wet squeal and collapsed with a squelch that echoed through the cavern like an overstressed sponge.
Silence.
Then laughter. Mine, first. Then the others followed. Covered in grime, eyes watering from spores, adrenaline still high — but laughing.
"Not bad for a bunch of rookies," I said, wiping goop off my cheek.
We weren't done. The dungeon had more in store. But for the first time all day, I wasn't counting the minutes.
Still—
Three more days.
And then the real adventure begins.
---------------------------
CHAPTER END
A.N.
Hlo there,
so how's the chapter any suggestions.
He is going to be an adventurer. And one more thing, there will be only single release from this week.
Thank You.