"Mr. Desmond, would you kindly explain how you showed up to school in your underwear?"
The voice was sharp, authoritative, and dripping with judgment.
Standing there, arms crossed and glaring at him through thin-framed glasses, was Helena Arclight, the Vice Principal of Nation High. Her perfectly pressed suit and immaculate posture radiated control, and her piercing gray eyes made Django feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.
"I—uh—" Django stammered, his mind racing for an excuse.
Helena raised a single eyebrow, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Let me guess," she said, her tone icy. "You lost a bet? You thought it would be funny? Or is this some twisted attempt at making a statement?"
"N-no! It's not like that!" Django blurted, waving his hands frantically. "I—I had a wardrobe malfunction!"
"A wardrobe malfunction?" Helena repeated, her eyebrow arching higher. "You expect me to believe you accidentally came to school in… that?" She gestured vaguely at his state of undress.
Django glanced down at himself and cringed. His pants had been reduced to tattered remnants barely clinging to his hips, and his shirt hung in shredded strips over his torso. Worst of all, his boxers—bright red with cartoon dragons printed all over them—were now on full display.
Don't judge him. His sister made them. Silk is very comfy.
"I had a growth spurt out of nowhere, and it ripped my clothes!" Django blurted without any shame.
[Quest Complete!]
Objective: Tell Vice Principal Helena Arclight about your 'growth spurt' without a tint of shame.
Reward: One Gold Card
The system screen appeared in Django's vision, congratulating him, but he ignored it instead of watching Helena's face. Her eyes twitched slightly, and for a moment, he thought she might believe him. Then her gaze shifted downward, landing on his bright red dragon-print boxers, and her lips thinned into a hard line.
Helena stared at Django, her expression utterly deadpan. She had expected an excuse—a ridiculous, convoluted excuse, at best. After all, Nation High was crawling with delinquents who thought they could outsmart authority. Most of the time, they can't be bothered to pay attention to her.
Half of the time, they are staring at her tits.
"Yes!" Django said, gesturing wildly at his shredded clothes as if they were proof enough. "One minute, everything was fine, and the next—bam! I'm a whole foot taller, and my clothes couldn't handle it!"
Well, at least this boy is not staring at her breasts.
Helena pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh. "We'll address your growth spurt later, Mr. Desmond. For now, follow me."
"What? Why?" Django asked, his voice rising in panic.
"Because," Helena said sharply, "you're not walking through the halls of this school looking like… that." She gestured at his torn clothes with a look of barely concealed exasperation. "The last thing I need is another scandal."
Django breathed a breath of relief, though he wasn't sure whether to be grateful or terrified. He trailed after Helena as she marched toward the school building, her heels clicking loudly against the pavement.
As they entered the office, Django's new Gold Card popped into his mind. He couldn't help but glance at it in the corner of his vision, the shimmering item just waiting to be claimed.
"Claim card…" Django whispered under his breath, feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension as the words left his mouth.
The Gold Card shimmered in his peripheral vision before dissolving into a cascade of golden light. The particles swirled around him, warm and tingling, before disappearing into his chest.
[You have claimed: Elbow Strike (Gold Tier)]
Description: A precision elbow strike designed for close-quarters combat, utilizing speed, technique, and raw power. This skill channels the user's energy into a devastating, high-impact blow that can disorient or incapacitate an opponent.
Django blinked as the text appeared before him, tilting his head in confusion. "An elbow strike?
"Did you say something, Mr. Desmond?" Helena snapped, glancing back at him with narrowed eyes.
"No! Nothing!" Django said quickly, forcing an awkward grin.
Helena raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. She opened the door to the administrative office and gestured for him to enter.
A young assistant behind the desk looked up from her computer and immediately froze. Her eyes darted to Django's shredded clothes and bright red boxers, and her cheeks turned crimson as she quickly looked away.
Helena sighed, rubbing her temples. "Rita, please fetch the spare uniforms from the storage room. Mr. Desmond had an… incident."
"Yes, ma'am!" Rita squeaked, bolting from her chair like her life depended on it.
Django stood awkwardly in the middle of the office, feeling every second stretch into eternity. Helena sat at her desk, her gaze drilling into him as though she were trying to extract the truth with sheer willpower.
Finally, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Mr. Desmond, I'll admit, your story is… unique. But this is Nation High. Unique doesn't surprise me."
Django blinked. "So… you believe me?"
"Let's just say I'm reserving judgment," Helena replied, her tone neutral. "But if you do grow another foot during school hours, I expect you to report it to me immediately. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Django said, nodding quickly.
Rita returned moments later with a folded uniform, her face still red. She handed it to Django without making eye contact.
"Change in the bathroom down the hall," Helena instructed. "And for the love of everything sacred, don't let anyone see you like this again."
"Yes, ma'am!" Django said, clutching the uniform like a lifeline as he bolted from the office.
As he slipped into the bathroom and started changing, Django couldn't help but replay the events in his mind. "Dragon's Roar, huh?" he muttered, glancing at his reflection in the cracked mirror.
His newfound height made him look… different. His shoulders were broader, and while he still had a bit of a gut, his proportions didn't seem as comically awkward anymore. "Not bad," he admitted, adjusting the tie on his borrowed uniform. "Maybe this isn't a total disaster."
The system screen flickered back into view, displaying a new message.
[Upcoming Quest Alert!]Objective: Survive your first class.
Reward: +5 Dexterity, 12 Bronze Cards.
Failure Penalty: Immediate detention and -5 Charisma.
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do!" Django declared, puffing out his chest and trying to channel confidence he didn't really feel.
The system flickered back into view, its text glowing with mocking amusement.
[Wow. If the reward is big enough, you fold, don't you?]
Django scowled, muttering under his breath, "I'm not folding! I'm… adapting. You wouldn't get it, stupid system."
[Sure, mortal. Keep telling yourself that. You're courageous.]
"Shut up," Django snapped, pulling at the ill-fitting borrowed uniform and heading toward his first class. "You're just jealous because you're stuck watching me all day."
The system didn't respond, though Django swore the flicker of the text was laughing at him.
Django walked into his class, feeling the weight of a hundred stares pressing down on him. The class system had been completely revamped after every culture was forcibly merged through Pangea.
The structure was primarily based on Asian educational systems, emphasizing rigid discipline, long hours, and rote memorization. French and African schooling elements were also integrated, focusing on critical thinking, collaboration, and practical skill-building. However, America retained its branding flair, keeping the names like grades and giving schools flashy titles like Nation High.
Education began at Grade 1 for children as young as five years old and continued to Grade 20, typically finishing around age 25. Students were divided into three tiers:
Foundation, Progression, and Elite.
Nation High was unique. All students were automatically placed into Elite Tier courses, regardless of rank or bloodline. It was a school for the best, or at least for those lucky enough to scrape their way in.
Being in Grade 11, Django had somehow found himself in the Elite Tier Class Z-1—the lowest-ranked class in the entire school.
Class Z-1 wasn't exactly a place of prestige. While the Elite Tier was supposed to represent the cream of the crop, Z-1 was where they dumped the misfits, troublemakers, and so-called "unpolished gems." These students technically met the school's elite standards but were seen as the kind of people who would never amount to much.
The classroom itself reflected this status. Unlike the bright, state-of-the-art rooms reserved for top-tier classes, Z-1's classroom was smaller, dimmer, and crammed with mismatched desks that looked like they'd been salvaged from a junkyard. The walls were scuffed, and the outdated projector flickered ominously as if it might give out at any moment.
Class Z-1 wasn't exactly a place of prestige. While the Elite Tier was supposed to represent the cream of the crop, Z-1 was where they dumped the misfits, troublemakers, and so-called "unpolished gems." These students technically met the school's elite standards but were seen as the kind of people who would never amount to much.
The classroom itself reflected this status. Unlike the bright, state-of-the-art rooms reserved for top-tier classes, Z-1's classroom was smaller, dimmer, and crammed with mismatched desks that looked like they'd been salvaged from a junkyard. The walls were scuffed, and the outdated projector flickered ominously as if it might give out at any moment.
Darren Vane was immediately in his face as if lying in wait. And, surprising no one, the system wasted no time delivering another challenge.
Optional Quest Alert!]
Objective: Use your new skill, Elbow Strike, to make an example out of Darren Vane.
Reward: +10 Strength, +5 Silver Cards.
Penalty for Failure: Public humiliation.
Django stared at the glowing text, his jaw-dropping. "Five?!" he whispered, his voice barely audible. A Silver Card was already tempting enough, but five?! Oh God, this system was tempting him.
"What's the matter, Snake-Eyes?" Darren sneered, stepping closer, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the other students. "What the fuck happened to you? Last time I saw your pig ass was a lot shorter."
Django looked at Darren, then back at the system text hovering in his vision. His fists clenched tighter at his sides as he weighed his options. He had spent years avoiding fights like this, knowing he could never win. But now? Now he had something.
Django muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do..."
"What?" Darren leaned in, smirking. "You say something, loser? Speak up, Snake-Eyes, we're all waiting—"
He never finished the sentence.
Django moved before he could second-guess himself. His elbow shot out in a blur, smashing into Darren's face with precision and force. The sound was sharp and sickening, the thud of bone meeting bone echoing across the room.
Darren staggered backward, clutching his nose as blood trickled between his fingers. His eyes were wide with shock, and the entire room was silent for a moment.
Even Django froze, staring at his own arm in disbelief. Although he had never practiced martial arts, the movement was perfect—smooth, precise, and devastating. His body had just… known what to do.
[Congratulations, mortal!] the system chirped in his head. [You've successfully executed your first skill: Elbow Strike. Impressive, isn't it?]
The other students erupted in murmurs, their eyes darting between Darren—still reeling—and Django, who looked just as stunned as everyone else.
"What the hell was that?!" Darren spat, his voice muffled as he tried to stop the bleeding.
Django blinked, regaining his composure. He straightened his borrowed uniform and forced himself to look Darren in the eye. "That," he said, his voice surprisingly steady, "was me not being scared."
Darren's face twisted in rage. How dare this weakling strike him? "You're dead, Snake-Eyes!"
[Quest Complete!]
Reward: +10 Strength, +5 Silver Cards.
The system chimed in his vision, but Django barely paid attention. Without missing a beat, Django smirked. "Claim five Silver cards."
The room went silent. Everyone, including Darren, froze, staring at Django like he'd lost his mind. Even Darren seemed caught off guard, his fist still halfway raised.
"What the hell does that even mean?" Darren asked, his confusion breaking through his anger.
Django ignored him. The system's text exploded in his vision as silver lights swirled around him.
[Congratulations, mortal! You have claimed five Silver Cards.]
New Skills Unlocked:
1. Bare-Knuckle Mastery [F]
Rank: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Description: Master the art of unarmed combat, focusing on raw strength, precision, and endurance. Instantly grants expertise in close-quarters brawling techniques, emphasizing efficiency and raw power. Increases the force and accuracy of punches.
Stat Bonus: +15 Strength, +35 Endurance.
Perk: Street Fighter – Your body adapts to unarmed combat, granting increased resilience to pain, faster recovery from minor injuries, and reduced damage from strikes during unarmed fights.
Dragon's Pride [F]
Rank: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Description: An unyielding fighting spirit that refuses to back down. Grants you confidence and determination against strong opponents, often accompanied by an uncontrollable grin. Stat Bonus: +50 Willpower
Perk: Bloodlust – When entering battle, your body releases hormones that heighten focus, dull pain, and amplify your fighting spirit. This creates a deep sense of honor and warrior instinct, driving you to push beyond your physical limits.
Warning: Overconfidence may lead to reckless decisions, including refusing to retreat or acknowledge danger. (Will is upgraded to A rank mortal)
Boxing Mastery [F]
Rank: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Description: Gain full proficiency in boxing techniques, including footwork, defensive stances, and precision strikes. Develop both offensive and defensive skills that make you a formidable close-range fighter.
Stat Bonus: +18 Strength, +17 Dexterity.
Perk: Heavy Hands – Your left-hand strikes faster for quick jabs and counters, while your right hand delivers crushing blows with increased damage potential.
Dambe Mastery [F]
Rank: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Description: A traditional African martial art focused on robust, deliberate strikes using fists and kicks. Master this fast, impactful style that emphasizes speed and explosive strength.
Stat Bonus: +26 Strength, +16 Agility.
Perk: Elastic Muscles – Your muscle fibers adapt for explosive movements, granting enhanced flexibility, faster reaction times, and greater reach during strikes.
Singing Mastery [F]
Rank: 1 (0/100 EXP)
Description: Your voice becomes a finely tuned instrument capable of perfect pitch, tone, and projection. Master vocal techniques for powerful speeches or hypnotic melodies.Stat Bonus:+10 Charisma, +5 Wisdom.
Perk: Voice Appeal– Your voice naturally resonates with a pleasing tone, making it more persuasive and soothing. This effect can disarm hostility, draw attention, or inspire admiration. (Stop laughing, mortal. This will come in handy.)
[Strength: +15 (Bare-Knuckle), +18 (Boxing), +26 (Dambe) → +59
Dexterity: +17 (Boxing) → +17
Agility: +16 (Dambe) → +16
Endurance: +35 (Bare-Knuckle) → +35
Willpower: +50 (Dragon's Pride) → +50
Charisma: +10 (Singing) → +10
Wisdom: +5 (Singing) → +5]
Django stared at the notification, his jaw slack. His mind buzzed as new knowledge, instincts, and muscle memory poured into him like a flood. His hands flexed at his sides as the techniques settled into place. He felt… different.
"Pig, what the hell was that?" Darren growled, wiping the blood from his nose. His smirk was gone, replaced by a glare filled with rage and embarrassment.
Before Django could respond, Darren lunged forward, his fist flying toward Django's face.
CRACK!
The punch landed cleanly, snapping Django's head to the side. Pain flared briefly in his jaw, but something else instantly surged through him.
Dragon's Pride activated.
A flood of adrenaline and something deeper—something primal—coursed through his veins. The sharp sting of pain faded into the background as his heart pounded faster, harder. A grin spread across Django's face, unbidden and wild, even as blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
His amber, dragon-like eyes gleamed dangerously.
"You shouldn't have done that," Django said, his voice low but laced with a newfound confidence.
Darren hesitated, his fist still raised. "What the hell are you smiling at?" he snapped.
Django tilted his head, still grinning. "You wanted a fight, didn't you? Well… here I am."
With his new Willpower bolstered by Dragon's Pride, Django's confidence soared. The hormones surging through his system dulled the pain and sharpened his focus. Every instinct told him to fight, to win, no matter what.
Darren threw another punch, this one faster and more controlled. His movements were practiced, refined—clearly, he knew what he was doing.
But so did Django.
Django's body moved on its own, his new mastery over boxing and bare-knuckle combat taking over. He sidestepped the punch with ease, his footwork fluid and precise. Darren's fist sailed past him, and Django retaliated instantly.
His left hand snapped out, a quick jab to Darren's ribs, followed by a brutal right hook to his opponent's jaw. The force of the hit sent Darren stumbling back, his eyes wide with shock.
"W-what the hell?!" Darren sputtered, clutching his jaw. "Where did that come from?!"
Django rolled his shoulders, his grin never fading. "You're not the only one who knows how to throw a punch, Darren."
Darren snarled, rushing at him again, but this time, Django was ready.
Crack!
The sound of Darren's cry of pain echoed through the classroom, silencing every murmur and gasp. The once-cocky thug was now curled up on the floor, gripping his wrist, which hung at an unnatural angle. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror and agony.
"AAAAAAAAH!" Darren howled, his voice cracking. "You broke my wrist, you son of a bi—"
"Shut it!" Django barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. Without hesitation, he stomped on Darren's face, the sickening crunch of breaking teeth silencing him instantly. Blood splattered across the floor as Darren's body went limp, groaning faintly.
The class stared in stunned disbelief. Was this really Django?
And was it just their imagination, or did Django look… different? His frame seemed a little broader, his arms more defined, like he'd spent weeks in the gym overnight. He was still fat but like starting to lose weight fat.
"Sheesh," Django muttered, glaring down at Darren. "For such a big dude, he's really a whiny baby. Y'all should be embarrassed to call him your leader."
He turned slowly to face Darren's lackeys—three boys who had been watching the fight with a mix of shock and anger. They flinched under his gaze, but the one in the middle, a tan-skinned boy with sharp goblin-like features, stepped forward.
"What did you say?!" the goblin-blooded teen snarled, his fists clenching. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Django smirked, his expression calm yet dangerous. "Who am I? Nah, the real question is, who the hell do y'all think you are? Rollin' up in here actin' tough, pickin' on me like I'm some kinda joke. But now that I'm standin' tall, you don't know what to do, huh?"
The goblin's face twisted in anger. "You've got a big mouth for someone who just got lucky!"
"Lucky?" Django scoffed, stepping closer. "Bruh, you don't even believe that yourself. Look at your boy." He pointed to Darren's crumpled form on the floor. "Big man couldn't last two minutes. What makes you think you're gonna do any better?"
The goblin boy's nostrils flared, but he hesitated, glancing at his friends. Django's grin widened, the confidence in his stance practically daring them to make a move.
"What's wrong?" Django taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ain't got the guts? I thought y'all were supposed to be badasses. But lookin' at you now? Man, y'all softer than store-bought bread."
One of the lackeys, a stocky kid with reddish skin and bull-like horns, stepped forward, his voice shaking with anger. "You're gonna regret that!"
Django rolled his neck, his grin turning feral. "Oh, I'm already regrettin' wastin' my time with y'all. But hey, if you wanna get folded like your buddy over here, come on. I got time."
The bullhorned teen charged with a reckless right haymaker, his intent clear: end Django in one decisive blow.
Django didn't give him the chance. His body moved instinctively, sidestepping the attack easily before grabbing the boy's outstretched arm. In one smooth motion, Django wrapped his arm around his opponent's and hooked his leg over the teen's thigh, locking him in place.
The bull-horned teen's eyes widened, realizing he'd been caught too late.
Django's grip tightened like a vice, forcing the boy's elbow into an unnatural position. "You should've stayed in your seat," Django growled. With a precise application of force, he snapped the arm backward with a sickening pop.
"AAAAAGH!" the teen howled, his voice raw with pain.
Before he could stumble back, Django brought his own elbow, crashing into the boy's face with brutal efficiency. CRUNCH! The blow flattened the teen's nose, sending blood streaming down his face. His body went limp as he crumpled to the floor, groaning weakly.
But Django wasn't done.
He loomed over the fallen thug, his dragon-like eyes gleaming ferally. His grin was wide, almost manic, as Dragon's Pride continued to fuel his every move. The class watched in stunned silence, their breaths caught in their throats.
Django crouched down next to the bull-horned teen, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and lifting him halfway off the ground. The thug's bloodied face twisted in fear, his good arm feebly trying to push Django away.
"What's the matter?" Django said, his tone almost mocking. "You were real loud a minute ago. What happened to all that tough talk?"
The teen whimpered, unable to muster a response.
Django glanced back at the goblin-blooded boy and the remaining lackey, who stood frozen in fear. "Y'all better start thinkin' real hard about your next move," Django said, his voice calm but dangerous. "'Cause if this is the best you got, I'm gonna need y'all to try harder."
The goblin boy snarled, his sharp teeth bared. "You think you're tough? You think this makes you better than us?!"
Django dropped the bull-horned teen unceremoniously to the floor, standing to his full height and turning to face the goblin. His grin hadn't faded, and the blood staining his knuckles only made him look more intimidating.
"Everyone attack him! In the name—" Darren barked, stumbling to his feet, clutching his broken wrist and bloodied face. His voice was shaky but desperate, filled with rage. He pointed at Django, his command directed at the rest of his gang scattered throughout the classroom.
But no one was ready for what happened next.
The fat Django—the one they all thought was slow, clumsy, and weak—moved with lightning speed.
Before Darren could even finish his sentence, Django had already closed the distance between them. His body seemed to blur for a moment, and when he reappeared in their sight, his fist was already flying toward Darren's stomach.
THUD!
Darren's breath left him in an instant, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his abdomen as he gasped for air like a fish out of water.
"Y'all really don't learn, huh?" Django said, looming over him. His voice was calm, but his amber dragon-like eyes burned with an intimidating intensity.
Darren's gang hesitated, their gazes darting between Django and their fallen leader.
"What's wrong?" Django taunted, his grin returning. "Big bad gang don't wanna help your boy? Or are y'all just as soft as he is?"
A lanky kid near the back of the room, one of Darren's lackeys, finally stepped forward. He gritted his teeth, trying to muster some courage. "He's just one guy!" the kid shouted, raising his fists. "If we all rush him, he can't take us down!"
Django snorted, cracking his neck as he rolled his shoulders. "Oh, please. Bring it. I'll take you all down faster than you can blink."
Encouraged by the lanky kid's words, four of Darren's remaining gang members charged at Django all at once.
Django didn't flinch. In fact, he seemed to welcome the challenge. His grin widened as adrenaline and instinct took over, and every move felt natural and deliberate.
The first attacker threw a wild punch at Django's face, but Django ducked effortlessly, countering with a brutal uppercut to the kid's chin. The blow sent him sprawling onto the floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground.
The second came at Django from the side, swinging a chair in desperation. Django sidestepped the attack, grabbed the chair mid-swing, and quickly yanked it out of the kid's hands. Before the kid could react, Django smashed the chair across his legs, dropping him to the floor with a howl of pain.
The third and fourth attackers hesitated momentarily, clearly reconsidering their life choices. But Django didn't give them the chance to back out. He lunged forward, delivering a devastating knee strike to one's gut before spinning around and slamming an elbow into the other's temple.
The classroom was in chaos. Darren's gang lay scattered across the floor, groaning in pain and clutching their injuries. Django stood in the center of the carnage, barely even winded.
He turned back to Darren, who was still kneeling on the ground, looking up at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"You were sayin' somethin' about everyone attacking me?" Django said, his tone dripping with mockery. "What's wrong, Darren? You look scared."
Darren tried to crawl backward, his broken wrist making his movements clumsy and pathetic. "Stay away from me, you freak!" he shouted.
Django crouched down to meet Darren's eye level, his grin fading into a cold, serious expression. "You're gonna leave me alone from now on. You and your little crew? Done. You see me in the halls; you walk the other way. Got it?"
Darren swallowed hard, nodding frantically.
"Good." Django straightened up, dusting off his hands. "And if I hear about you messin' with anyone else? We're gonna do this all over again. But next time, I won't be so nice."
The rest of the class sat in stunned silence, their eyes glued to Django as he walked back to his desk. He plopped down casually, leaning back in his chair as though nothing had happened.
The system flickered into view in his vision.
[Quest Complete!]
Objective: Survive your first class.
Reward: +5 Dexterity, 12 Bronze Cards.
[Congratulations, mortal. You've officially established dominance. Enjoy it while it lasts.]
Django smirked, casually wiping the blood from his knuckles as he leaned back in his seat. To the rest of the class, he looked calm, almost smug. But inside, his mind was racing.
What the fuck was that?!
His hands clenched and unclenched on the desk as he replayed everything that had just happened. The speed, the precision, the sheer confidence—it wasn't him. At least, it wasn't the Django he knew.
Before today, he couldn't throw a punch without tripping over himself, let alone take down an entire gang of thugs. But now? Now, he was moving like he'd been training for years. Every strike, every counter—it had been so effortless.
Well, at least his bully problem is over.