The walk to Class 1-A the next day was a nerve-wracking one.
So many stares. So full of scorn and disgust. The kind of stare one gave to an outcast.
Other students maintained a certain distance but were still haughty enough to make themselves known.
Mark didn't necessarily blame them. Attacking nobles for being nobles would piss any noble off. That still didn't make their reaction any less obnoxious.
'I almost regret it now…'
But he didn't. That was the joy of choice; choices had consequences. Mark would do it all over again if he could.
And that was liberating.
Mark was close to the front entrance to the main building when he felt an irritating bump of someone's hip, which sent Mark rearing as he tried to stop himself from stumbling.
"That was quite the show yesterday," a robust woman with thick crimson hair slyly smirked, getting uncomfortably close to Mark.
It was Valeria Sarr, Rank 3. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder, walking side by side as if they were long-time friends—many odd glares arose.
'Odd.'
Her black eyes appeared a strange mixture of guile and keen resolve.
"Appreciate it," Mark replied. "But I'd also appreciate some space."
"What? Never felt the touch of a woman?" Valeria quipped sarcastically.
"Ever felt the touch of a man?"
"Why? Are you flirting with me?"
"No, just dodging the question. Get off me."
"Make me."
Valeria tightened her grip, her immense power crushing his upper body and shoulders.
'Ow, ow, ow…'
With a strained face, Mark grabbed her arm, slowly prying himself free from her grip. With 6 Strength, this was an easy feat—despite the immense strength of her own.
"Hmm, you're fun," Valeria conceded, rubbing her arm as she gave Mark a step of space.
'Damn I'm fragile.'
His upper body cried in pain as he stretched it.
"Anything I can do for you in particular?" Mark asked, annoyed at her antics.
"Nah," Valeria replied. "You just looked a little overwhelmed. Thought I would show some guidance. You shouldn't concern yourself with those weaker than you."
"But you're concerning yourself with me?"
"You're Class 1-A. Even if you're low-ranked, I think you could at least hold a candle to me. I can't say the same for others. Can't say the same for Dawson Reaves."
As they walked to Class 1-A, Mark and Valeria engaged in small talk. Common pleasantries and such.
Valeria pressed him about the nature of his skill, to which he masterfully dodged any straight answer.
It gave Mark some insight into how others perceived his mysterious Skill. Unfortunately, everyone seemed to guess right—the punching and grabbing motions made it quite obvious from a spectator's view.
Which was bad for Mark. Beating others would be a bit harder to do now; the Hand's greatest feature was its invisibility and deception.
He also couldn't help but notice the sloppy form of Valeria's uniform; a shortened skirt and lack of stockings. A few buttons were removed with purpose. But it wasn't about attraction, but rather what those decisions attested to her character.
Something irked Mark about her; Valeria felt very superficial.
The Sarr family he knew in the novel was extremely strict and disciplined—they were sword users. And her demeanor was antithetical to such an upbringing.
While the characters might have changed at the individual level, a lot of broader concepts—such as the world, families, and their tendencies—remained the same. For example, Dawson Reaves being a mage—though the Reaves were not nearly as fleshed out as the Sarrs were.
Valeria acting like a delinquent only came off as a thin facade. Though Mark could be wrong, he stilled preferred to distance himself from such an unknown.
The two entered Class 1-A together and walked to their respective seats. There was some time before class, and the few who had arrived early were conversing with each other.
Only a few paid him any real mind. It was as Mark thought; Class 1-A didn't really care. Mark had simply proven himself to belong, nothing more.
Though Mark did much more than 'simply prove himself,' those in Class 1-A were still too far ahead of the pack to look back at a perceived minor squabble.
Mark took his seat with a respiteful exhale. In her seat was Ranni with a usual steely face. She appeared to be anticipating his arrival.
"Hey," Mark greeted.
"Feeling popular yet?" Ranni replied.
"Yup."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Is that coming from experience?"
"Nope."
"Really?"
…
"About our deal—" Mark asked tentatively before being interrupted.
As if reading his mind, Ranni outstretched her hand, holding a piece of paper.
'Fuck yeah.'
Mark happily received the piece of paper. But as he read through it, his brows furrowed in confusion.
"I don't think this was the deal…"
"You said you wanted to offer yourself to the Luikots Guild," Ranni recalled. "There's our reply."
In Mark's hand was a full admission to the Luikots Guild. Just one signature away.
"Uh, that was more of a verbal commitment to sign after graduation," Mark backtracked. "And Academy policy says Guilds can't poach like this."
"If you think Guilds care that much about Academy policy, then you're woefully naive."
"And you're fine with my outburst during the duel?"
"Do you want the contract or not?"
'Damn, I was really hoping to get the Excursion Pass and bail on my promise by the time graduation came around in three years…'
It appeared as though Ranni had foreseen such low-level trickery, along with sensing Mark's desperation.
"You said you wanted an Excursion Pass. Now you'll have infinite Excursion Passes," Ranni explained. "Guild activities will only apply on weekends."
Mark sat contemplating, reading the terms of the contract as he rubbed his chin in deliberation.
"And the pay?" Mark asked, his eyes trained on the fine print.
"10 Gold a day for a total of 1040 Gold a year. If you show up every weekend. You'll have opportunities to earn more."
'Insane. The Luikots Guild will eat into the money I earn through Excursions, but I'll be rolling in cash regardless…'
The main issue was personal.
Mark couldn't keep subjecting himself to more and more subordination, could he?
He was already forced into following every whim of End. Wouldn't this contract just continue to compound his issues and violate his morals?
He hated authority: the vile politicians, the scheming Gods, the societies in both worlds that forced those lesser to conform to disadvantageous systems.
Mark wanted nothing more than to be let off the leash. But now it seemed he was forced to take on another master.
Just how many layers deep could Mark go?
No matter his personal feelings, Mark was pragmatic. Pragmatism told him to keep his head down, just like his old life.
Though he loathed such a mentality, it was simply the logical thing to do against an insurmountable enemy.
Mark had to sign the contract.
"Alright."
With a pen, Mark used the signature of his first name.
"Glad to have you," Ranni said, her hand outstretched.
Mark reciprocated, and the two shook hands. Ranni's hand was incredibly soft.
'I probably should've negotiated for their moisturizers…'
He could only hope that it came free with the job.