The Academy's Dud: Getting Stronger With More Subjects Chapter 10: The Academy’s Alchemical Economy?

He hit the showers fast, scrubbing off the sweat and the lingering heat still humming in his muscles from the workout. The water pressure in the gym’s locker room was terrible, barely more than a drizzle, but he didn’t care. He felt good. Not strong yet. But closer than he’d been yesterday.

After drying off and changing into his uniform, he grabbed the paper bag from his locker and pulled out the third vial. The pale blue liquid caught the harsh fluorescent light.

"One left after this," he muttered. "Better make it count."

He downed it in one swallow.

[RECOVERY DRAUGHT CONSUD - F-RANK]

[SYSTEM OVERRIDE ACTIVE]

[MODIFIED EFFECT: ACCELERATED HYPERTROPHY - 4 HOURS]

[ESTIMATED PASSIVE GAIN DURING WINDOW: 0.2%]

The warmth blood in his chest almost imdiately, spreading outward through his shoulders and arms, settling into the muscle fibers he’d just spent an hour tearing apart. The sensation was becoming familiar now. Comforting, even.

Four hours. That would carry him through the morning classes and into the midday break. By lunch, he’d be at [3.2%] without lifting a finger.

He checked his communicator. [7:12 AM]. First class started at eight. He had enough ti to grab breakfast before the dining hall got crowded.

***

The dining hall was busier than last night. First and second-year students packed the long tables, their voices a low roar that bounced off the stone walls.

Damon grabbed a tray and loaded it with eggs, toast, and a protein shake the academy provided for combat-track students.

No one really stopped him.

No one even looked twice.

Everyone in the academy stopped caring much about the protein shake once they gained their system. Compared to the potions they received anyway, it was almost negligible.

He found a spot near the back, away from the main clusters, and ate quickly. The food tasted better than usual. Or maybe he was just hungrier.

The system was burning through calories faster than his old diet of stress and self-loathing ever had.

His communicator buzzed.

Lena: You better not skip breakfast.

Damon: Already eating.

Lena: Good. Also, I heard Harris tried to say sothing to you in the gym this morning and then chickened out. Is that true?

Damon: How do you already know about that?

Lena: The support track gossip network is terrifyingly efficient. What did you do? Glare at him? Flex?

Damon: I didn’t do anything. He just looked at and walked away.

Lena: That’s even better. See you at six. Don’t forget.

Damon set the communicator down, shaking his head. The support track gossip network. Of course that existed. When you weren’t busy learning how to kill monsters, you had plenty of ti to talk about everyone else.

He finished his breakfast and headed to class.

The morning lecture was Advanced System Theory, a required course for all second-years regardless of track. Professor Harlow stood at the front of the lecture hall, her graying hair pulled back in a bun, her voice carrying the particular weariness of soone who’d been teaching the sa material for three decades.

"System integration is not instantaneous."

She was saying, gesturing at a holographic diagram of a human body overlaid with glowing pathways.

"When a Resonator first awakens their system, there is a calibration period. The length of this period varies depending on the system’s rank and the host’s compatibility."

Damon sat in the back row, his notebook open, his pen moving automatically across the page. He’d heard this lecture before.

He’d morized it two years ago, back when he was still desperate to understand why his system wouldn’t work.

Even a Resonator Academy wasn’t immune to repeating lessons to get its point across.

"The calibration period serves three primary functions," Professor Harlow continued. "First, it assesses the host’s physical and ntal paraters. Second, it establishes the neural pathways necessary for ability activation. And third, it determines the optimal distribution of the Resonator’s initial stat allocation."

A student raised his hand, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Professor, what happens if the calibration period never ends?"

The room went quiet. A few heads turned toward Damon before quickly looking away.

Professor Harlow’s expression didn’t change. "Theoretically, that would indicate a fundantal incompatibility between host and system. In practice, such cases are so rare as to be statistically negligible."

Except for him. The one case that wasn’t negligible. The one case that had sat in this sa lecture hall for two years while his system refused to calibrate.

But his system wasn’t refusing anymore. It was just... waiting. Waiting for his body to catch up. Waiting for him to prove he was worthy of the class it had dangled in front of him.

***

The lecture ended at [9:30]. Damon packed up his notes and slipped out before anyone could corner him. The second class of the day was Practical Combat Theory, a course he’d been excused from for the remainder of the week due to his recent hospitalization.

The professors had signed off on independent study instead.

And independent study ant more gym ti.

He used the midday break to eat again. Another al, another round of fuel for the potion still working its way through his system. The warmth hadn’t faded. If anything, it had settled into a steady, background hum, like a machine idling.

At [11:47 AM], the system pulsed.

[TASK PROGRESS: 3.3%]

[MODIFIED EFFECT EXPIRED]

Three point three percent. The estimate had been conservative again. He was gaining slightly more than predicted each ti.

But now he needed to go on another store run, only one vial left.

***

The storekeeper looked up when the bell chid. Her expression flickered with sothing that might have been recognition, or might have been mild annoyance at seeing the sa custor twice in two days.

"Back already?"

"I burn through them fast."

"Clearly." She set her magazine aside. "Sa as yesterday?"

Damon hesitated. The F-Rank potions were working, but he also wanted to see if others were good. If he stepped up to D-Rank, even once, he could asure the difference in efficiency. See if the price hike was worth it.

But D-Rank costs two hundred credits. Ten tis the price for what might only be marginally better results.

"Actually," he said, "what do you have between F-Rank and D-Rank?"

The storekeeper raised an eyebrow.

"There is no between. Recovery draughts co in standardized ranks. F, D, C, B, A, S. Sa as Resonators."

"Right. Stupid question."

"Not stupid. Just uninford."

She pushed herself off her stool and disappeared into the back room. When she returned, she was holding a small catalogue.

"If you’re looking to stretch your budget, you might consider alternative suppliers. The academy store charges standard rates, but a few students interested in alchemy sell their practice batches for half the price."

Damon’s head snapped up. "Half?"

"Half. They’re not certified for combat use, and the potency varies from batch to batch. But for basic recovery? They work fine. Most support-track students use them instead of the official stuff."

Half price. Ten credits instead of twenty. His two-thousand-credit savings would last twice as long.

"Where do I find them?"

"There’s a board in the alchemy building. Students post their available stock and prices. You contact them directly."

Damon could have kissed her. He didn’t, because that would have been weird, but the impulse was there.

"Thanks. Seriously."

"Don’t thank . Thank the alchemy students who can’t afford to buy their ingredients without selling their practice work." She slid the catalogue back under the counter. "Now, are you buying anything today, or just mining for information?"

"Four more F-Ranks. For now."

She rang him up without further comnt. Eighty credits. He was down to just over nineteen hundred. The budget was shrinking, but the information she’d given him was worth more than any single potion.

***

He returned to his dorm and drank another protein shake he’d grabbed from the dining hall. It wasn’t as effective as a recovery draught, but it was sothing.

Calories and fuel.

The system pulsed faintly in the corner of his vision, the golden text a steady reminder.

[TASK PROGRESS: 3.3%]

He still had hours before the café eting with Lena. Plenty of ti for another workout, another potion, another fraction of a percent.

But the alchemy board nagged at him. If he could source potions at half price, he could double his daily cycles. Go from two workouts a day to three. Maybe four. The math was intoxicating.

And if the potions were good enough, maybe he wouldn’t even need to work out more than once a day to make good progress.

He grabbed his bag and headed out. The alchemy building was on the opposite side of campus, a converted laboratory complex that slled perpetually of strange chemicals and burnt herbs.

Damon had only been there once before, for a mandatory first-year tour, but he rembered the layout.

The board was exactly where the storekeeper had said it would be. A cork panel in the main hallway, covered in handwritten notices and printed advertisents.

FRESH F-RANK RECOVERY DRAUGHTS - 10 CREDITS EACH - CONTACT MIRA

STAMINA POTIONS (VARIABLE STRENGTH) - 15 CREDITS - SEE WEI FOR DETAILS

PRACTICE BATCH SALE: MIXED EFFECTS - 5 CREDITS PER VIAL - TALK TO KELLAN

Ten credits. The sa potions he’d been buying for twenty, sold by students who were just trying to recoup their material costs. He pulled out his communicator and took photos of every notice that listed recovery draughts.

Then he paused.

One of the notices was written on familiar stationery. The handwriting was neat, precise, and unmistakably Lena’s.

F-RANK RECOVERY DRAUGHTS - 8 CREDITS - SEE LENA HARTWELL, LAB B-3

Eight credits. Even cheaper than the others. And she hadn’t ntioned it. Not once, even when she knew about his workouts.

He stared at the notice for a long mont, then pulled out his communicator.

Damon: Found your ad on the alchemy board.

Lena: ...Oh.

Damon: Eight credits? That’s below market rate.

Lena: I was going to tell you. Tonight. At the café.

Damon: Sure you were.

Lena: I WAS. It was going to be part of the celebration. "Congratulations on not dying, here’s where you can buy potions for cheap."

Damon: You’re a terrible liar.

Lena: I’m an excellent liar, actually. I just choose not to lie to you. Café. Six o’clock. We’ll talk about it then.

Damon: Fine.

Lena: And Damon?

Damon: Yeah?

Lena: Don’t buy from Mira. Her batches are inconsistent and one of them once gave a guy a rash for three weeks.

Damon: Noted.

He pocketed his communicator, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Eight credits. He could afford sixteen vials for the price of eight from the store. The budget crisis had just beco significantly less urgent.

He headed back toward the gym, the paper bag with his four store-bought vials tucked under his arm. They’d last him the rest of the day. Tomorrow, he’d start buying from Lena.

She was competent enough that Damon wasn’t worried about ending up with low-quality potions.

And if he was lucky, she might even have other cheap potions of a higher grade than just F-rank.