"Change Is Easy. Reversal Is Difficult."
Excerpt from the "Second Westward Expansion Memoirs: A Forest Dweller’s Last Testament."

___________________________________

 

The morning that all the students of Road Howe Academy had been eagerly anticipating finally arrived, marking the end of spring.

Beneath a sky tinged with the blue hues of dawn, where fresh young leaves endured the cold breeze and flowers, reluctant to let go of spring, wept dewdrops, an unusual stillness lingered.

Though it was far too early for most students to be awake, every single first-year dormitory resident was already up.

Yet, the usual hustle and bustle of morning was absent.

The martial arts students who usually sprinted to the training rooms at dawn, and the magic students typically busy preparing for morning meditations, were all preoccupied with a single sheet of paper.

[Special Class Application Form]

A simple piece of paper, available for submission to the faculty office starting today.

It bore a list of names that alone could quicken the pulse: renowned alumni, distinguished scholars, and legendary superhumans.

It was an inspiring list, yet the students hesitated to fill it out.

Was it because of the luxury of choosing between so many remarkable instructors? No, their indecision stemmed from a single line written in small print at the very bottom of the grand form:

"The selection of participants for special classes is at the discretion of each instructor."

No one needed to explain what that meant—the students understood immediately.

The instructors would choose their students. In other words, those not chosen were out.

Though the academy allowed up to five applications as a so-called “consideration,” if someone failed all five attempts?

The result was clear: at best, they’d end up with a leftover instructor; at worst, they’d lose the opportunity for special classes entirely.

This realization sparked a fierce battle of wits among the students.

Each sought to strategize how to secure a spot with a renowned or desired visiting instructor.

Which instructors were the most popular? Which ones had the fewest applicants?

They analyzed preferences across grades, avoided students like the “Saintess” or the “Vessel” who were sure to be chosen, and calculated which instructors might be overwhelmed with first-choice applicants.

By the morning of the application deadline, many students still hadn’t made their selections.

• “Damn it, Michele’s special lecture is going to draw the whole school.”
• “Wang Baoguo’s practical training already has triple-digit applicants confirmed.”
• “Why are mage-track students applying for Master Hoana Thule’s class? Are they planning to become her disciples or what?”

 

Students clustered in the dormitory corridors, lounges, and common areas, exchanging intel and venting their frustrations.

Amid this chaos, someone cautiously brought up a different topic.

• “But what about Cheonyeomyeong? Who’s he applying for?”

 

The student who raised the question likely intended it as a passing comment, but the room’s collective tension quickly latched onto the new subject.

• “He probably applied wherever he wanted. Honestly, which instructor would reject him?”
• “Considering he stopped that terrorist attack… If I were them, I’d pick him too.”
• “At this rate, the instructors might end up fighting each other to take him as their student.”

 

The students indulged in wild speculation about Cheonyeomyeong.

They whispered about his mercenary days, his skills, his martial arts, and even unverifiable rumors about his love life—all stories they’d pieced together from the media.

It wasn’t until the dormitory supervisor cleared their throat that the students quieted down.

Or, more accurately, they reached a conclusion to their questions.

• “Why not just go ask him? It’s not like you’re prying into some grand secret.”

 

Someone suggested it casually, but no one dared to approach Cheonyeomyeong’s room.

• “So… who here’s close with him?”
• “Not anyone in the magic or faith tracks. It’d have to be someone from martial arts.”
• “Even in martial arts, he doesn’t really hang out with anyone except his roommate and that girl with the weird name.”

 

The group pondered briefly until someone in the lounge suddenly stood up with a loud proclamation.

"Man, you guys are pathetic."

Wesley—the buzz-cut boy who had once fought Cheonyeomyeong over room assignments—slammed his fist on the table.

"Fine! I’ll go ask him myself. So quit talking behind his back like a bunch of cowards."

Some students muttered weak protests about not having bad intentions, or that Wesley was overreacting, but no one moved to stop him.

After all, if he was willing to do what everyone wanted but no one dared to, why interfere?

With the dorm supervisor and the students all watching him, Wesley made his way to Cheonyeomyeong’s room.

++++

 

Unlike the bustling dormitory atmosphere outside, Cheonyeomyeong’s room was silent.

The morning sunlight hesitated at the window, peeking shyly into the room, but the two boys seated across from each other didn’t seem to notice.

As the golden light stretched across the room, a long silence lingered, only to be broken when Yeomyeong finally put down the document in his hand.

"Disappointing, Baonic."

The boy called by name flinched. Unable to meet Yeomyeong’s gaze, he stammered in his defense.

"I-I did my best! You asked me to find someone in this enormous academy who wields an Imperial Knight’s sword! That’s not exactly easy…."

Yeomyeong said nothing, his sharp gaze fixed on Baonic.

The golden eyes gleaming in the sunlight were nothing short of menacing. Feeling the weight of that deadly glare, Baonic gulped nervously before continuing.

"I-It’s not easy, but I’ll find him! Still… could you give me a little more of a hint…?"

A hint, Yeomyeong mused, leaning back against the chair’s backrest as thoughts of the Player surfaced in his mind.

The Player’s taunts, the way they wielded their sword, and even their cryptic remarks about the game.

"He’ll be after fortuitous opportunities."

"Opportunities?"

"Yes, he’ll likely know of any opportunities within the academy, especially the ones that appeared in the game."

As soon as Yeomyeong finished speaking, Baonic’s eyes narrowed, his expression one of sudden realization.

"Do you know something?"

"W-Well, after the recent terror attack, several opportunities in the second-year main building went missing."

"...And why didn’t you mention such an important detail until now?"

"B-Because I thought you’d already taken them!"

Baonic shot a cautious glance at Yeomyeong, but thankfully, Yeomyeong wasn’t looking at him.

Instead, those blazing golden eyes were fixed on the window, staring toward the direction of the second-year main building.

"The second years… So it wasn’t among the first years."

The search area had narrowed once more. Suppressing the killing intent stirring in his chest, Yeomyeong reached for the desk.

"Which special class would most second years apply for? Take a guess."

He lifted the special class application form from the desk and posed the question.

"Uh… probably the class taught by Sir Darluan, the former Imperial Knight. Especially since there’s an Imperial Prince among the second years… Why are you looking at me like that?"

Yeomyeong smirked faintly as he responded.

"Apply for it. Sir Darluan’s class."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

Baonic started to protest but quickly fell silent. He wanted to argue, but no valid objection came to mind—after all, the special classes weren’t even part of the original story he knew.

As he hesitated, Yeomyeong pushed the special class application form toward him.

"In exchange, I’ll give you one of the academy’s fortuitous opportunities."

"R-Really?"

"Really."

In that instant, the dilemma swirling in Baonic’s mind vanished. He snatched the application form from Yeomyeong’s hand without hesitation.

"You’d better not take that back later."

"If you find the guy with the Imperial Knight’s sword, I’ll give you even more. Now stop talking and just apply."

Reassured by the promise, a broad smile spread across Baonic’s face.

What should he ask for? Martial arts?

No, he wasn’t sure where his talents lay yet. In times like this… Yes, he’d ask for an elixir.

Having made up his mind, Baonic added applications to Sir Darluan’s class and those of other instructors linked to the Imperial Prince, just in case.

Though Yeomyeong hadn’t explicitly instructed him to, Baonic didn’t want to risk being rejected from Sir Darluan’s class.

"There, all done."

Having finished filling out the forms, Baonic waved them proudly.

He might have resembled a dog flaunting its leash, but he felt no shame.

After all, in this cursed world, wagging his tail a little was a small price to pay for survival.

"Good. Is there any particular fortuitous opportunity you’d like? I’ll get it for you before the special classes start."

Thankfully, Yeomyeong was proving to be a good master—for now.

"W-Well, could you get me an elixir? I’m not quite a full-fledged superhuman yet…."

"An elixir?"

"Y-Yeah, maybe the core of the giant clam beneath the bridge leading to the northern island?"

"If it’s something like that, I can get it for you today."

Yeomyeong gave Baonic’s shoulder an encouraging pat before returning to his seat.

Baonic watched him with a peculiar look as Yeomyeong began to fill out his own application form.

But then, there was a knock at the door.

"Hey, Yeomyeong! It’s Wesley. Mind if I come in for a second?"

++++

 

Inside the first-year girls' dormitory of Road Howe Academy, there was a small shrine for students.

In the midst of the peaceful setting, Natsukawa, a priestess tasked with teaching Mordak’s doctrines to the students, found herself feeling both frustrated and overwhelmed.

"L-Lady Saintess, please!"

"No! I said no!"

What threw her into such turmoil was none other than the Saintess herself—a figure she respected deeply. To be precise, it was the Saintess’s behavior that was the issue.

"Lady Saintess, I beg you! You must apply for Sir Hoana’s special class. It’s a directive from the Holy Nation itself!"

"The old geezers aren’t here, are they? I can ignore whatever they say!"

"G-Geezers? Calling the Cardinals that is…!"

"If they’re geezers, I’ll call them geezers. What else should I call them? I don’t care what they said—I’m not taking Hoana Granny’s class. Never, ever!"

With that, the Saintess rolled on the floor of the shrine like a petulant child.

Her pure white priestess robes rippled as her pristine white cape and hair sprawled across the ground.

Were Natsukawa not a priestess who worshipped the calm and composed deity Mordak, she might have fainted on the spot from sheer shock.

Shutting her eyes tightly to steady herself, Natsukawa pressed on with her plea.

"Do you know how much public outcry there was to summon you back to the Holy Nation after the terrorist attack?"

"…."

"Sending Sir Hoana was the Cardinals’… I mean, the old geezers’ way of showing care for you. Having a Holy Knight by your side reassures the believers, doesn’t it?"

The so-called “care” the geezers had shown in allowing her to stay at the academy.

The Saintess couldn’t argue with that, so she stayed silent.

But that didn’t mean she agreed to Natsukawa’s request.

"Still, there’s no reason I have to take Hoana’s class, is there?"

"Lady Saintess…."

Was she really trying to find a compromise here? Natsukawa shook her head in disbelief.

"Think about the believers who are worried about you…."

Though her voice was desperate, the Saintess ignored her entirely.

Instead, she tucked the special class application form into her chest, wordlessly daring anyone to try taking it from her.

"Lady Saintess, must you really act like this?"

The Saintess gave no response. Whatever emotion lay behind her eye hidden by the eyepatch was unreadable, and it became clear to Natsukawa that reasoning with her any further was futile.

Letting out a deep sigh, Natsukawa pulled out her phone and called someone.

"Yes… it’s the Saintess… Please come right away… Yes, quickly… I’d really appreciate it."

The Saintess, overhearing the call, sensed trouble and tried to slip out of the shrine. But Natsukawa, anticipating her move, was quicker and shut the door.

"And where do you think you’re going?"

"Oh, come on! Just let me go!"

"Patience, Lady Saintess."

With the only exit blocked, not even her invisibility cloak could help her escape. The Saintess sulked, plopping onto one of the shrine’s benches with a pout.

And so, time passed as the Saintess remained trapped in the shrine.

Knock knock.

A knock sounded on the shrine’s door.

"Are you still inside?"

The voice was deep and gruff, carrying the presence of a seasoned warrior.

Natsukawa’s face lit up as she hurried to open the door, while the Saintess, recognizing the voice, froze and ducked behind the bench.

"Sir Hoana, you’ve arrived."

The one who entered the shrine was an elderly woman with snow-white hair and a face marked with deep wrinkles.

Yet, no one could look at her and think she was "old."

The commanding aura she exuded, coupled with the massive scar running from her right eye to her lips and her bodybuilder-like physique, made her age seem irrelevant.

"Lady Saintess! It’s been too long!"

Hoana Thule, the retired deputy commander of the Holy Knight Order, greeted the Saintess with a broad smile and outstretched arms.

The Saintess panicked and tried to flee, but her speed was no match for a veteran Holy Knight. She was promptly scooped up into Hoana’s muscular embrace.

"Every time I see you, Lady Saintess, you’ve grown so much!"

Realizing that escaping through strength was impossible, the Saintess gave up, going limp as she reluctantly endured the hug.

After what felt like an eternity of an emotional reunion, Hoana finally set the Saintess back down, laughing heartily.

"Lady Saintess, Natsukawa told me everything. She said you’ve been stubborn about not taking my class."

"I wasn’t being stubborn…."

Natsukawa, watching from behind, gave a disbelieving look, but the Saintess paid her no mind and continued.

"It’s not that I don’t want your protection… I just don’t want to use my special class application on you."

"Why not?"

"That’s…."

The Saintess hesitated, chewing on her words. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that she simply wanted to take the same classes as her friends.

After all, she was the Saintess, and they were Holy Knights.

Instead, she gave a slightly different answer.

"It’s because I want to take the same class as my… friends."

"Ah, it’s because of your friends. But Lady Saintess, if they’re your peers, you can take regular classes with them. Surely it doesn’t have to be a special class?"

"We’re in different tracks, so we don’t share many classes. But special classes don’t have those restrictions, so…"

"Hmm…?"

Hoana raised an eyebrow and shot a questioning look at Natsukawa, silently asking, “Who is this friend?”

Natsukawa shook her head in response, silently answering, “I don’t know either.”

After a brief pause, Hoana came up with a solution of her own.

"Then why not have your friends apply for my class instead?"

"No, that’s…."

"Why not? Are your friends opposed to my class?"

Hoana chuckled as she asked, while the Saintess fidgeted with her fingers before responding cautiously.

"It’s not that… but it would be selfish of me to force them to take your class."

Her flushed cheeks, hesitant tone, and twitching fingers gave Hoana pause.

The retired Holy Knight’s smile faded, replaced by a sharp, calculating expression.

"Your friends must be quite remarkable."

Hoana’s words carried suspicion, but the Saintess, oblivious, took them at face value.

"Yes, they’re amazing."

"…."

Natsukawa sighed, clearly exasperated by the Saintess’s naivety, but Hoana’s reaction was different.

Having once witnessed a fellow Holy Knight abandon their sword and future for love, she couldn’t help but see shades of that same folly in the Saintess’s expression.

"Lady Saintess."

Lowering herself to meet the Saintess’s gaze, Hoana spoke gravely.

"If you truly don’t wish to take my class, I won’t force you. Your will is what matters most."

The sudden concession startled Natsukawa, but Hoana continued unfazed.

"However, your safety is also of utmost importance. I can’t simply stand down without knowing who this friend of yours is."

"Oh, if that’s all, you don’t have to worry. That person genuinely cares about me."

"They care for you, do they?"

"Yes."

At that moment, Hoana thought of a young man, though the Saintess herself had two faces in mind—Seti’s and, eventually, Yeomyeong’s.

Unaware of the Saintess’s thoughts, Hoana rose with a resolute expression.

"Lady Saintess, steel must be struck while it’s hot."

"…What?"

"We’re going to meet this friend of yours. Right now. I must see them with my own eyes."

"Wait, Hoana, hold on…!"

Realizing Hoana’s intent, the Saintess tried to flee, but the Holy Knight’s grip was faster.

"Come now, let’s go."

"W-Where are we going?"

"To the boys’ dormitory, of course."

"No, no, this is a misunderstanding! Hoana! Wait…!"

Despite the Saintess’s protests, Hoana dragged her out of the shrine without hesitation.

Left behind, Natsukawa watched their retreating figures and sighed, offering a prayer.

"Oh, Five Gods…."