Power of Internet

On the other hand, Nolan exhaled as the final wave of monsters crumbled before his virtual blade.

Blood, chaos, and the grotesque rhythm of slaughter—it had all become routine.

This was the same infected game he'd played back on Earth.

The same one he'd cleared twenty times before.

Easy. Boring. Predictable.

Nothing ever changed.

He yanked the knife from the last enemy's twitching skull and wiped the imaginary gore on his pants.

The scene immediately dissolved into static.

You killed the last infected boss.

Game over.

But this time… something was different.

His breath came slower.

A cool sensation spread from deep within his chest, like chilled water seeping into his soul.

Almost immediately, a strange hum crawled through his spine.

For a moment, it felt like he was back on Earth—standing alone in his run-down apartment, surrounded by unpaid bills, half-empty coffee cups, and unfinished lesson plans.

But as he rose to his feet, everything shifted.

His body felt lighter. Not just in flesh, but in spirit—like invisible chains had slipped from his bones.

He blinked, tilting his head. What the hell was this?

A tremor rippled through him, blurring his vision. He staggered back.

Then—

Swoosh!

Magic exploded from his skin.

White, silver, and blue particles spiraled around him in a dazzling cyclone of light.

The classroom walls quivered.

The wooden floor cracked underfoot.

Nolan's eyes widened.

His mana core—once sluggish and tight—pulsed like it had been reborn.

He felt it.

His rank as a Mana Knight was rising.

Fast.

Fifth Stage… Sixth… Seventh.

His heartbeat thundered.

Eighth.

The walls shimmered with a particle of white dust.

The air trembled.

And then—BOOM!

Ninth Stage.

His mind splintered into pure sensation.

It was like chugging ice-cold soda on a blistering summer day. His nerves sparked. His veins buzzed like overcharged circuits.

A fresh wave of mana burst through him like fireworks exploding in his lungs.

He stumbled back, shouting, "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"

And then—he grinned. Unhinged.

"Did I just… rank up?"

No. This wasn't just a rank-up.

This was an ascent. A surge. A cheat code slammed into reality.

"What the hell!? Is this internet cheat really capable of this? To rank me up in the real world as I ranked in the game?"

He stared at his trembling hands, then at the cracked floor.

"Holy moly."

Laughter erupted from him, loud and wild.

"I'm a goddamn cheater!"

Excitement surged through him. He leapt straight up.

"YESSSS!"

Too high.

SMACK!

"FUCK!" Nolan yelled as his forehead collided with the stone ceiling.

He crashed down into a student's desk, shattering it into splinters.

The air rushed from his lungs—but he barely noticed the pain.

Rolling free of the wreckage, he clutched his head and laughed harder. "I'm invincible! If this keeps up, I'll be a Master by tomorrow!"

He couldn't stop grinning. He'd found his edge.

Forget rank-up manuals. Forget old teachers swinging wooden sticks.

All he needed was simple:

Buy the right game. Play the game. Rank up in the game.

Because when he ranked up in the game…

He ranked up in real life.

"Mana crystals," he whispered, eyes gleaming. "All I need now… is currency."

He jumped again, pumping celebratory squats and jabbing the air like a prizefighter—

Until—

A burst of silver light exploded beside him.

Nolan froze mid-punch.

The air vibrated.

From the swirling cluster of magic particles, the grim, floating visage of Principal Duldor emerged.

Oh, shit.

Nolan froze—rigid as a soldier caught red-handed eating all the rations. Did the old fossil see what just happened?

The Principal's voice cracked through the air like thunder laced with disappointment.

"Teacher named Nolan."

Nolan swallowed hard. "Yes, sir?"

Duldor's tone dropped, heavy and final.

"You have failed the assessment."

Nolan blinked. "…What?"

"I had hoped you would pass the test. But since arriving here, you've contributed nothing to the Academy. You've ignored lesson plans, avoided mentoring, and worst of all… nearly all of your students have failed their practical trials."

Nolan exhaled in relief—thank God, the old man hadn't noticed the power boost.

Still… damn.

He scratched his cheek, sheepish. "Yeah, well… that was true. Before why are you failing me today? Why not tomorrow?"

But Duldor wasn't finished.

"You failed to inspire even the weakest minds. Your teaching was shallow. Your mana manipulation, crude. Some students said your sessions were confusing. Others—traumatizing. Do you understand the weight of failure in this city? This Academy is no place for daydreamers."

Nolan's grin slowly faded.

Each word hit like a brick to the chest. Because Duldor wasn't wrong.

He had been messing around.

He'd barely scraped by, faking it as a Mana Specialist.

He didn't really know what he was doing… not back then.

That was before.

Before the internet gift.

Before he realized Earth's games could empower him.

Now? Now he could become anything.

Duldor's eyes narrowed.

"Normally, we'd have expelled you already. We won't even wait for tomorrow… But…"

Nolan's ears perked up.

The old man raised a trembling finger.

"There is… a sliver of opportunity."

He coughed once, dry and ragged.

"One last class. One last room. Room 33. If you can make at least half of the students there pass tomorrow's Mana Knight assessment, you'll be accepted as a full Mana Specialist. Fail… and your name will be erased from our rolls."

Nolan squinted. "Room 33?"

Duldor ignored the question.

"Do not take this lightly. These students are… not normal. They've been rotated through every class. No one wants to teach them. They are chaotic, untamed—and dangerous."

Nolan scowled.

"Wait. Why do you sound like you're not giving me a chance—you're throwing me into a dungeon full of mini-bosses?"

Duldor didn't respond. But there's was a painted guiilty expression on his face.

Suddenly, from the floor beside Nolan, a shadowy sludge slithered toward him—black, oily, wriggling like it had a mind of its own.

Nolan flinched back, but the sludge surged up his arm too fast.

Cold and sticky, it coiled around him—then with a sharp hiss, it dropped something heavy into his palm.

A key.

Black, metallic, etched with a silver 33.

Nolan stared at it, then back at Duldor's fading form.

The Principal's voice echoed, dissolving into silver mist.

"Room 33. Teach them. Make them pass. Or leave this Academy."

Poof.

Gone.

Silence fell.

Nolan looked down at the key. His hand trembled, just slightly.

Then he exhaled, dry and resigned.

"…Fuck… I'm out of this Academy."

—

Meanwhile—

On the upper floor of the Academy, Principal Duldor squinted into a crystal orb.

He wasn't hoping Nolan would succeed.

No teacher ever had.

Those students had driven away every Mana Specialist brave—or foolish—enough to try.

But their parents were stubborn ones, refusing to accept that their children weren't blessed.

Sending Nolan in was just him hoping that Nolan could scare them.

Duldor adjusted his glasses, ready to dismiss the matter—then he suddenly frowned.

Earlier, he had been certain Nolan was a Fifth-Stage Mana Knight. Weak. Barely worth the salary.

The only reason they'd kept him around was that no one else wanted to babysit mana-deficient rejects.

But now?

He couldn't sense Nolan's stage knights aura. At all.

He tapped the orb again, refining the detection spell, looking at Nolan.

Still nothing.

Years of honed mana sensitivity told him there should be something—a fluctuation, a ripple.

But it was silent.

Like Nolan no longer existed… or worse—like he had ascended so quickly, the spell hadn't caught up.

Duldor wiped his lenses slowly.

"…Lack of sleep," he muttered. "Too much paperwork. That's all."

He turned back to the growing pile of reports.

Noble families were arriving tomorrow. High-ranking ones—the type who could make or break the Academy's future.

They'd come to scout talent before the City Guard or Knight Corps claimed them.

There was no time to dwell on strange anomalies.

Still…

His eyes flicked back to the orb one last time.

It shimmered, then stilled.

Grim-faced, the Principal forced himself to move on.