Athanasia: My Hacker System-Chapter 20: The Two Announcements

[Mental Point (MP): 80/105]

A week had passed since the end of the quest, and he had spent every waking second pushing his body and his system to the absolute brink. The results were undeniable.

The flickering golden interface reflected a spike in growth that would have seemed impossible just days ago. While the system had been dutifully providing him with daily missions, they weren’t the primary driver behind this sudden surge in his Mental Point capacity.

The true secret lay in the agony he was currently enduring.

"It seems... That pushing into the Burnout State once every two days was a good decision," John groaned. He was sprawled across his bed, his fingers slowly and rhythmically squeezing his temples.

He had woken up exactly one hour ago, clawing his way back to consciousness from the void of total mental exhaustion. The room still felt like it was spinning, and every pulse of his heart sent a hammer-blow of pain through his skull.

"Trying this ’hangover cocktail’ Luke advised me on seems to be working, though," he whispered, reaching for a glass on his nightstand. He had prepared it just before he intentionally drained his Mental Points to zero.

The recovery this time took twenty hours of deep, coma-like sleep. It was a concerning issue for him; the time required to bounce back was stretching. It took fifteen hours the time before, and the time before that, thirteen. He was trading his time for raw power, and the exchange rate was getting steeper.

"Still... This headache is intolerable," he grumbled, taking a long sip of the drink.

The mixture was a bizarre, "magical" solution Luke had sworn by, claiming it was the only cure for a legendary alcohol hangover.

John had gathered the ingredients by mixing several different juices and tonics from the cafeteria, following Luke’s frantic instructions to the letter. It helped dull the sharpest edges of the pain, but the core of his brain still felt like it was being squeezed relentlessly.

"I have to get a shower. It’s the only thing that really resets the system," he muttered to the empty room.

He recalled that a warm shower had been the saving grace during his last recovery. He glanced at his bedside clock, the numbers blurry but legible. It was early Monday morning. Luckily, he still had a couple of hours of sanctuary before the first class of the week began.

During this past week, John hadn’t neglected his physical form. He had been training diligently in the training classes. While he had never considered himself the "physical type"—preferring the clean logic of code to the messy strain of muscle—he found that he didn’t actually mind the exertion.

"I might even grow an inch or two by the end of the month at this rate," he mused, standing before the mirror. He wiped the steam from the glass and inspected his reflection.

Aside from his training, he had spent the week testing the limits of his abilities. Since wandering the halls after 10 P.M. was strictly forbidden, he had to limit his scouting to the hours immediately following his classes.

He had also used the time to deepen his friendship with Luke. He listened to endless stories about the Lockheart family history, absorbing so much detail that he sometimes felt as though he had grown up in their estate himself.

As for Ricky, the atmosphere was one of cold, mutual avoidance. Ricky and his gang kept their distance, seemingly content with the small, petty victory they had snatched at the end of the competition. They clearly didn’t want to risk a direct confrontation with John again, preferring to lurk in the periphery of his vision.

Cissel, however, was a far more persistent shadow. She glared at him whenever they occupied the same space, her eyes cold as ever. John could swear she was following him, a ghost that he could sense but rarely see. Just like that night in the garden, she possessed an uncanny ability to blend into the environment around.

He had tried to catch her using his Wireframe Sight, and on one occasion, he had succeeded. He had spotted a flicker of movement at the very edge of his forty-meter range. She was watching him, studying him, just as he was studying the world.

"This class is going to be a turning point for certain someone!"

The voice belonged to Nikolas, the teacher John had come to view as his unofficial lucky charm. It was Nikolas who had set up the first competition, and Nikolas who had granted John the night guard shift that led to his massive power-up.

John sat at his desk, feeling remarkably alert despite the lingering headache. He watched the teacher with a focused intensity.

"Any guesses on today’s agenda?" Nikolas asked, leaning against his desk. He waited, per his usual habit, for the students to toss out their theories.

"Another two hundred points, perhaps?" Alfred called out.

It wasn’t a real contribution to the discussion; it was a boast. Alfred never missed an opportunity to remind the class of his standing as the highest scorer in the academy’s freshman class. A few students rolled their eyes, but most remained silent.

"Not quite, Alfred," Nikolas chuckled, shaking his head. "Though I promise what I have to say is no less interesting than that."

The room erupted into a low murmur. Nikolas let the tension simmer for a few minutes, allowing nearly a dozen more students to air their theories before he raised his hands for silence.

"We actually have two special announcements today," Nikolas said, his expression turning solemn. "Not just one. The first is regarding a very ancient heritage of our academy—a tradition that tests the very mettle of our students."

He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes sweeping across the sea of eager faces.

"The freshman class... Against last year’s freshmen. An inter-year challenge to see if the new blood can truly stand against those who have walked the path before them."

Nikolas paused, his eyes scanning the sea of faces with a look of measured expectation. He was waiting for a roar of excitement or a gasp of awe, but for several long seconds, nothing came. The students sat in a stupor, their silence heavy with a lack of understanding.

"I can tell many of you—if not all—don’t realise exactly how monumental this is," Nikolas said, his voice lowered to convey the gravity of the news. "This isn’t just a friendly spar or a scheduled gym training. It is a symbol meant to anchor the very hierarchy of this academy. It is the ritual through which the order of power is established."

He leaned forward. "And aside from the symbolic value of the event, the winning team will share a grand prize of two thousand points among its members. So..."

The word points acted like a spark in a powder keg.

"I want in!"

"Count me in, Sir!"

"I’ll be on the team! Pick me!"

All at once, as if a bomb’s fuse had been pulled, the room exploded into chaos. Most of the students surged to their feet, shouting over one another and waving their hands frantically. The prospect of two thousand points was enough to strip away their sense of discipline. Watching the students teeter on the edge of losing their minds made Nikolas finally crack a satisfying smile.

This was the response he had been waiting for.

"Easy there, everyone," Nikolas said, raising his hands. He waited for a full, grueling minute until the shouting died down and the class returned to a state of restless silence. "I didn’t finish my words, did I? I said there were two announcements to make, and I have only delivered the first. As for the second one..."

He purposefully let the silence stretch, savouring the way the students leaned in, their breathing shallow with anticipation. He delayed the revelation, letting the tension coil like a spring.

"The honour of choosing the team members, overseeing the rigorous training schedule, and leading the squad into the heart of the competition falls to... The Class President!"

A wave of confusion rippled through the rows of desks.

"But, Sir..."

"Wait, we don’t even have a Class President yet!"

The exclamations flew thick and fast. Nikolas patiently weathered the storm of questions, waiting until the atmosphere was thick with curiosity before he spoke again.

"And that brings me to my second announcement," Nikolas said, his eyes gleaming. "We are going to select your Class President today. I don’t believe I need to express just how vital that role is going to be."

The implications were crystal clear. The student chosen today wouldn’t just be a figurehead; they would be the mind of the upcoming fight against the older students. They would possess the power to pick their favourites for the team, control the points, and enjoy the immense privileges that came with leadership.

"We nominate Richard!" Alfred’s voice boomed above the rest. He stood tall, looking around the room with an arrogant tilt of his chin, while pointing at Ricky. "He is our strongest student! He is the only one worthy of being our president!"

"Yes! We vote for Ricky!" Bernard chimed in, quickly followed by the rest of their inner circle. They were trying to create a landslide of consensus before anyone else could speak.

"Who said anything about running a vote?" Nikolas acted surprised for a moment, though his expression made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. "We are the Military Department, for god’s sake! We don’t do democracy here. We don’t settle things with paper and ink. We let our fists do the bidding!"

His words were loud, sharp and uncompromising. If anyone wanted the crown, they had to be prepared to take it by force. The presidency wouldn’t be won by popularity; it would be won in the sparring arena.

"I’ll volunteer too!"

Just as Ricky reluctantly raised his hand, Luke’s hand shot up as well.

"I’ll fight him!" Luke shouted, his voice vibrating with a sudden, reckless energy. "I’ll fight him, and I’ll win!"

’Oh boy,’ John thought, sinking lower in his seat. He didn’t want to watch this. He could already see the outcome before they even reached the specialised sparring arena.

What made it worse was that John knew Luke wasn’t doing this because he actually wanted to be the president. After spending the last week as the youth’s confidant, John could read Luke’s mind like an open book.

Luke was like a headless hunting dog—as soon as he sniffed a chance to fight someone stronger than himself, his logic went out the window. It was a compulsive need to prove his family’s name.

"Now, let’s set the rules," Nikolas announced once the class had relocated to the centre of the reinforced fighting arena. "Weapons are strictly prohibited. However, you are encouraged to use your special powers if you are lucky enough to possess them. This is not a fight to the death.

Once a student surrenders, they lose their shot at the position, and all combat must cease immediately. If you lose once, you cannot compete again. Anyone is free to challenge the winner, and if no one else steps forward to fight, the last man standing will be your president!"

The rules were simple, brutal, and fair in their own way. John watched from the sidelines, his eyes fixed on Ricky. He wasn’t interested in the politics of the class, but he was intensely curious to see what Ricky was hiding. Was he an MP vampire like Cissel, or did he possess something entirely different?

’Let’s see what’s under the hood,’ he thought. ’Frame Recognition’.

As the two boys stepped into the centre of the ring, squaring off with their fists raised, John saw the world change in his eyes.

The world shifted into its digital wireframe. As he focused on Ricky’s silhouette, John’s breath caught in his throat.

’Well, well, well... What do we have here?!’