The holographic display changed to show various weapons, armor pieces, and what looked like jewelry.
"Five percent of monsters drop equipnt. Usually garbage, sotis useful, very rarely incredible. The market for dropped loot is volatile and fascinating."
She zood in on a sword that glowed with blue light.
"This is a D-rank mana-infused blade. Dropped from a Phantom Knight in a C-rank gate. Sold at auction for forty thousand credits. One sword. One drop. Changed that hunter’s life."
"Of course," Cross continued, her smile turning wicked, "that sa hunter got greedy, went back to the sa gate, and died when a boss spawned unexpectedly. His squad sold his personal effects to cover funeral costs. Moral of the story: don’t get greedy, and diversify your inco streams."
Jordan leaned over and whispered, "Is she always this cheerful about death?"
"I think it’s part of her charm," I whispered back.
Cross’s eyes flicked to us. "Sothing to share with the class?"
"Just appreciating your teaching style, Professor," I said, smooth enough that it landed like a complint rather than deflection.
Her smile widened into sothing that probably got her investigated the second ti. "Good answer. You’re learning politics at the sa rate you’re learning economics. That combination will take you further than raw power ever will."
She turned back to the display, and the lecture shifted into denser territory, loot categories and rarity breakdowns, market fluctuations tied to gate discovery cycles, the complicated relationship between monster spawn rates and how that affected supply chains for everything from basic crafting materials to high-grade mana cores. She had a way of making dry financial math feel like gossip, like she was letting us in on secrets that the guild-legacy kids had known since birth.
Javier’s pen hadn’t stopped moving since she pulled up the first graph. His notebook was already half full, margins packed with diagrams, arrows connecting concepts, little asterisks flagging things he clearly planned to research later.
The kid was thorough. Probably color-coded his flashcards and slept eight hours on principle.
"One last thing before we move on," Cross said, pulling up a final image. "Monster parts. Bones, hides, organs, venom sacs. The full carcass, not just the shiny drops." She let that sit for a second. "A skilled hunter can triple their gate inco just by harvesting everything before they exit. Most don’t bother. That’s why most hunters are broke."
The image showed what looked like a dissection manual for various monster types.
"Your first-year curriculum includes basic monster anatomy and harvesting techniques. Pay attention in those classes. The difference between a good hunter and a broke hunter is often just knowing which organs sell and which ones explode when you cut them wrong."
She dismissed the holographic display with a swipe.
"Questions?"
A Ruby student raised her hand. "What about ability crystals? I heard so monsters drop those."
"Ability crystals are a myth propagated by wish fulfillnt fiction and hunters who want to seem more important than they are." Cross’s voice turned flat.
"Abilities co from awakening or inheritance. You can’t buy, trade, or steal them no matter what the internet tells you. Anyone claiming otherwise is selling snake oil."
I kept my face carefully neutral. My entire existence was predicated on an ability that absolutely could steal powers, which according to Dr. Cross shouldn’t exist.
Good thing I wasn’t planning to advertise.
The rest of the lecture covered gate access fees, equipnt rental costs, and the minimum squad size requirents for different rank gates. Cross walked us through the math of a typical first-year gate run, breaking down costs versus earnings with the kind of brutal honesty that made several students look physically ill.
"The first year you’ll probably lose money," she concluded cheerfully. "Second year you break even. Third year you start profiting. Or you die. One of those two outcos."
Jordan had gone back to sleep sowhere around the equipnt rental section. Javier was still taking notes, though his expression had shifted from enthusiastic to mildly traumatized.
I just sat there processing the information and calculating. If I could find a sponsor for my gate runs, I’d have more points, more money, more freedom to operate without constantly scrambling for the next extraction target.
Of course, that required not dying in a gate first, which seed like a significant hurdle given my current physical stats and limited combat experience.
Cross dismissed class at 10:55, reminding everyone that Friday’s assessnt would include a written component on gate economics and core quality identification. The room emptied quickly, students fleeing toward their next obligations.
Javier gathered his color-coded notes with reverent care. "That was incredible. I learned so much."
"You took enough notes to write a textbook," I said, watching him flip through pages of color-coded diagrams and margin annotations that probably had their own table of contents.
"Information is power." He grinned, the kind of wide, earnest grin that belonged on motivational posters. "My squad is going to love this breakdown. We can spend the whole weekend optimizing our first gate run before we even set foot near one."
Jordan lifted his head from the desk at that point, slow and deliberate, like a man surfacing from deep water. He blinked at the mostly empty classroom, then at the two of us, processing.
"Class over?"
"Half an hour ago," I said.
He stared at for a long second, decided that was my problem and not his, then stood and shuffled toward the door. His tie was sohow even looser than when he’d sat down.
Javier watched him go with genuine curiosity. "He’s not a morning person?"
"He’s not an anything person." I grabbed my bag off the back of my chair. "Jordan exists in a state of perpetual complaint about having to exist at all. The napping is just him minimizing contact with consciousness."
"Fair." Javier shouldered his bag. "Hey, we should study together soti. For the assessnt. I’m pretty good at organizing information if you need help."
The protagonist was offering to help study. The irony was so thick I could taste it.
"Sure," I said. "I’ll text you."
"Great!" His smile was wide and genuine. "See you at lunch?"
"Maybe. Got squad training later."
We parted ways in the hallway, Javier heading toward wherever protagonists went between classes, probably to help old ladies cross the street or rescue cats from trees.
I stood there for a mont, watching him go.
Nice kid. Genuinely good person. Exactly the type of character who deserved to win.
Too bad I needed to take everything from him.
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