Chapter 31: Dreams may come true

The heavy iron gates of Crystalpeak Vanguard Academy clicked shut behind Rain with a deep, metallic thud, sealing out the cool mountain breeze and the quiet hum of Captain Arthur’s departing sedan.

Rain stood on the cobblestone driveway for a moment, his new dark-grey smartphone resting securely in his right jacket pocket and his silver banking card tucked safely into his billfold. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint, pine-scented draft down from the upper ridges.

He didn’t take the long, scenic path around the central fountain plaza. Instead, he took the narrow gravel shortcut through the lower garden, his boots stepping smoothly over the damp stone steps. His right leg moved with absolute fluid ease. There was no limp, no phantom stiffness, no lingering twinge from the bone that had been shattered a week ago. His elevated Endurance held his physical frame with an effortless, quiet power, making every stride feel grounded and light.

Ten minutes later, he reached Dorm Block C.

The corridor was quiet, dimly lit by yellow sconces that hummed faintly against the concrete walls. Rain reached Room 312, pulled his keycard from his pocket which he had thankfully ticked into his pants before he went for the Rift raid and somehow through all the madness, it stayed inside.

He tapped the keycard against the electronic lock.

The latch clicked open. Rain pushed the door inward.

Jansen was sitting at his narrow wooden desk in the corner, exactly where Rain had left him over a week ago. He was wearing his usual faded black tank top, his thick, muscular shoulders slouched over a heavy leather-bound manual. A single desk lamp cast a harsh ring of light over his paper notes, highlighting the flat, impassive line of his jaw.

He didn’t turn his head when the door opened. He didn’t look up from his text.

"You’re back," Jansen said. His voice was completely flat, dry as dust, stripped of any rhythm or inflection. He turned a thick parchment page with a soft, dry rasp of his thumb.

"I am," Rain said, closing the door behind him and setting his small paper bag from the hospital on his own narrow cot.

"Fine," Jansen said, not looking up again.

That was it. Rain unzipped his dark green jacket, feeling something settle in his chest, quiet and simple. A week of headlines, whispered names, healers stopping to stare, and here was a room where none of it had ever landed at all.

He wasn’t relieved because Jansen didn’t know or care about the fame. He was relieved because it meant nothing here had to change. He could just be a guy in the left bunk again, catching up on missed reading.

He pulled the small black student terminal from the wall mount beside his pillow and tapped the glass screen to wake it up.

The display flickered to life, bathing his face in a pale, blue glow. A small red notification icon was pulsing in the top right corner of his personal dashboard.

[Academic Notice: First-Year Student Evaluation & Class Placement Finalized.]

Rain tapped the box.

Ever since arriving at the academy two and a half weeks ago, the class system had hung over the entire first-year block like a heavy cloud. During Miss Ebony’s very first lecture, she had made it clear that initial registration ranks were merely temporary placeholders. The academy didn’t track students strictly by their starting rank; it evaluated their in-class combat performance, participation, and instructor assessment over time, and classes weren’t fixed, students could move up.

The placement wasn’t just a label. It determined a student’s access going forward.

Class C was the standard baseline for ordinary contractors and low-tier guild recruits, granting basic access to public training grounds and standard library archives. Class B granted access to specialized skill-simulators, direct guild-scout viewings during monthly drills, and small monthly stipend bonuses. Class A was reserved for students actively drawing sustained guild sponsorship interest, gifted with priority access to advanced training facilities and direct mentorship from senior combat instructors.

He pressed the notification to expand the full text.

[Student Identification: Rain]

[Evaluation Period: Weeks 1–2]

[Baseline Registration: F-Rank]

[FINAL CLASS PLACEMENT: CLASS C]

Rain read it and nodded slowly to himself. It was exactly what he expected. He hadn’t completed a single full week of actual lectures or drills yet, he’d spent most of his time at this academy either bleeding in an alley, sitting in a clinic bed, or unconscious in a hospital two and a half weeks later. The academy had no way of grading him on a rift it had never sanctioned and would never even hear about through official channels. As far as Crystalpeak Vanguard was concerned, he was still exactly what his paperwork said he was: an F-rank baseline who’d barely started.

He wasn’t discouraged by it. If anything, a small, familiar spark of determination lit up behind his ribs.

’Class C,’ Rain thought, closing the notification. ’Fine. That’s fair. I’ve barely shown up. I’ve probably got Monster Anatomy assignments I haven’t touched, drills I’ve missed, an entire evaluation period I slept through in a hospital bed. If I want to move up, I actually have to be here to do it.’

He thought of the two and a half weeks already behind him, most of it lost to things nobody at this academy would ever know about, and felt a quiet, stubborn resolve settle into his chest instead of frustration. He’d clawed his way up from nothing before. This was just another climb, and at least this one he could see the whole staircase.

’Time to stop missing class,’ he thought, allowing himself a small, private smile. ’Grinding a rift is one thing. Grinding a syllabus is another. Guess I’ll have to get good at both.’

He closed the academic window and tapped through to his financial tab on the same terminal.

Before leaving for the C-rank rift, his entire financial reality had been defined by a single, terrifying red number that sat at the top of his profile:

[Total Outstanding Academy Debt: 27,450 Credits]

He looked at the breakdown listed beneath it.

- 25,000 Credits: Base tuition and entry grant.

- 2,000 Credits: Late registration processing and overage fees.

- 450 Credits: Initial medical emergency fee.

Rain sat quietly, looking at the figure. He thought briefly of Captain Arthur. The older captain had personally absorbed every single credit of his second hospital stay, the ICU care, the bone-knit salves, the specialized recovery therapies, without asking for a single coin in return. Rain didn’t have to worry about a medical bill stacked on top of everything else. Arthur had cleared that slate completely out of pure decency.

’I can’t thank you enough captain. There are still good people out there,’ Rain thought with genuine gratitude.

He pulled up his banking balance on the terminal, linked now to his new account.

[Available Balance: 9,000 Credits]

Nine thousand credits. It wasn’t a fortune. It wasn’t going to erase his debt in a single tap. But it was more money than he had ever personally held in his life, and for the first time, it was his to decide what to do with.

He didn’t get careless. He pulled out a small notepad and a pen from his desk drawer, setting them on his knee to write down a clear, disciplined budget.

’First,’ Rain thought, writing the numbers down in neat, precise lines. ’I need clothes. Real ones. Not just the one hoodie.’

He set aside a small amount for that.

’Second, food money for the next few weeks, on top of whatever the cafeteria stipend still covers.’

Another modest figure.

’Third, whatever’s left goes toward the debt. Not all of it. I need something left over if something goes wrong.’

He worked the numbers over twice, checking his own math the way he’d checked every stat allocation since the day the system first opened for him.

He opened the bursar payment portal directly through his student terminal, the same interface that had always handled his academy debt, and looked at his outstanding balance one more time. He didn’t want to draw attention with a payment large enough to look strange coming from a kid who’d been flagged as an F-rank kid two and a half weeks ago. He selected the custom payment option and entered a small, deliberate number: 2,000 Credits.

Although by his standards and pretty much anyone who came from where he came from, two thousand credits was a fortune.

He authorized the transfer.

BEEP.

[Payment Received: 2,000 Credits]

[Remaining Academy Debt: 25,450 Credits]

[Account Status: Good Standing - Payment Plan Active]

Rain looked at the updated red text. The number dropped from 27,450 to 25,450.

It wasn’t much. It barely dented the total. But a deep, quiet sense of relief still washed over his shoulders, making him exhale a long breath. It was the very first time in his entire life that he had actively paid down a debt with his own earned money. He hadn’t borrowed it, he hadn’t begged for an extension, and he hadn’t taken a predatory loan. He had paid it down because he had walked into a C-rank rift, fought alongside Nyra, survived, and earned his share.

’Two thousand down,’ Rain thought, looking at the remaining balance with a quiet, steady sense of purpose. ’It’s not much. But it’s moving the right direction for once.’

He set his pen down and looked down at his clothes.

Currently, his entire wardrobe consisted of the clothes on his back, the grey gym shorts and dark blue t-shirt from the hospital, plus the worn, faded pair of sweatpants and single thin shirt he had been given in his registration envelope on day one. His original grey hoodie, the one he had bought for fifty credits from a secondhand stall weeks ago, was currently sitting at the bottom of his laundry bag, its right sleeve torn to shreds from the spider’s chitin scythe and stained beyond repair with dried hemolymph.

He pulled up his new phone, opened a local civilian delivery application that serviced the academy campus perimeter, and found the digital listing for the same low-tier clothing outlet near the lower market gates where he had bought his original hoodie.

He didn’t search for anything expensive. He scrolled straight to the plain cotton utility section.

He selected:

- 1x Plain Dark Grey Cotton Hoodie (Heavyweight, reinforced seams) - 120 Credits

- 2x Thick Black Athletic Sweatpants - 160 Credits

- 2x Plain Dark Cotton T-Shirts - 60 Credits

Total cost: 340 Credits.

He hit order, authorizing the small transfer through his phone’s banking app, and set the delivery location to the Dorm Block C drop-box near the front entrance.

Ten minutes later, his phone chimed with a delivery confirmation.

Rain stood up, walked down the stairs to the main entrance lobby, and pulled the small brown paper package from the secure locker box. He carried it back up to Room 312, set it on his cot, and unzipped the top.

He pulled out the dark grey heavyweight hoodie. The cotton was thick, soft, and completely clean, smelling faintly of new fabric and clean paper. He held it in his hands, feeling the weight of the reinforced fleece lining.

For over two weeks, he had worn the same hoodie every single day, washing it in the communal sink at night and waiting for it to dry on the windowsill before morning lectures. Now, resting on his bed, was a fresh hoodie, two clean shirts, and two pairs of sweatpants.

It was a small thing. But to Rain, sitting on his narrow cot in Dorm C, holding a clean, dark grey hoodie that belonged entirely to him, bought with money he had earned and nearly died for, it felt like a real, human victory.

He folded the clothes neatly and placed them inside his small wooden locker beside his desk.

His stomach gave a loud, rumbling growl, echoing through the quiet room.

Jansen didn’t look up from his book, though his hand made a small, brief pause on his pen.

Rain smiled, pulling his new grey hoodie over his head. It fit his broader shoulders perfectly, the thick cotton sitting comfortably across his chest without pulling tight at the seams.

"I’m heading out to grab some food," Rain said, resting his hand on the door handle.

"Fine," Jansen said, already back in his book.

Rain chuckled softly and stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.

The night air outside the dorm building was cool and sharp. Rain walked down the wide stone steps toward the academy’s lower service plaza, where a few small, independent food stalls stayed open late to cater to upperclassmen returning from late-night training sessions.

He stopped at a small, brightly lit wooden kiosk operated by an elderly couple that served hot pork broth bowls and baked rice cakes.

"One large pork belly rice bowl," Rain said, offering the vendor a polite smile. "And four spicy cabbage rice cakes, please. To go."

"Coming right up, young man," the elderly owner said kindly, scooping thick, steaming slices of glazed pork over a massive bowl of fragrant white rice, pouring a ladle of rich, savory broth over the top before sealing it in a heavy thermal container. " That would be forty,"

Rain paid the forty credits using his digital phone app, took the warm, heavy bag of food, and began the short walk back to Dorm Block C.

The scent of the hot pork broth and toasted rice cakes drifted up from the bag, making his mouth water. He walked slowly under the warm yellow streetlamps lining the path, taking in the quiet peace of the evening. His leg felt completely whole, his mind was clear, his debt was dropping, and he had a warm, hot meal in his hands.

For the first time since he had arrived at Crystalpeak Vanguard Academy, he felt a genuine sense of calm stability.

As he rounded the corner near the stone archway leading to the Dorm Block C courtyard, a dark figure stepped out from the shadows of a large oak tree.

"Rain?" a high, trembling voice called out.

Rain stopped, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Standing near the base of the stone archway was Peter.

The small, skinny boy looked terrible. He was wearing the same green jacket Rain had seen him in weeks ago, but it was scuffed, covered in dry dirt patches, and torn along the left hem. His dark brown hair was messy, unwashed, and sticking to his forehead in damp clumps. His face was pale, gaunt, and his wide green eyes were darting frantically back and forth across the empty courtyard as if expecting someone to jump out from behind the stone pillars.

His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders shaking in small, violent twitches.

Rain stepped forward, his expression instantly shifting from relaxed comfort to focused concern. He set his bag of food carefully on the flat stone wall beside the archway.

"Peter?" Rain asked softly, keeping his voice calm and steady. "What’s wrong? What happened to you?"

Peter ran forward three fast, erratic steps, stopping two feet in front of Rain. He looked up, his breathing ragged, shallow, and fast, as if he had just run three miles up the mountain path without stopping.

"I’ve been... I’ve been waiting for you," Peter stammered, his voice cracking on the words. He grabbed Rain’s sleeve with shaking, dirt-stained fingers, his knuckles white with tension. "I came by your room every night for six days, but your roommate just stared at the wall and said you weren’t here... I thought... I thought they got to you too..."

"Who got to who?" Rain asked gently, placing a steady hand on Peter’s trembling shoulder. "Peter, calm down. Take a breath. Nobody got to me. I was away on a contract. I’m fine."

"You don’t understand," Peter whispered, his eyes wide with raw, unadulterated panic as he pulled Rain closer into the deep shadow of the stone archway. "It’s about the guild-track seniors."

Peter swallowed hard, a tear cutting a clean line through the dust on his pale cheek as he looked Rain straight in the eye.

"Rain," Peter choked out, his whole frame shaking violently. "I need your help."