Do You Want to Save Her? Chapter 238 – Midterm Preparations (2)

༺ Chapter 238 - Midterm Preparations (2) ༻

Thalia’s whistle cut through the air again, sharp and impatient, and Soren forced his legs to answer, boots thudding over packed earth as he cleared the last stretch of the obstacle course.

His lungs burned in that steady, familiar way that ca from pushing past the point where his body wanted to negotiate, breath dragging in too cold, too fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck and soaking through the collar of his uniform until the fabric clung.

The course itself was a blur of stations stitched together into a single, cruel loop, not school-yard obstacles but things built to punish real bodies, a chest-high stone wall you had to clear without losing pace, a narrow beam set higher than it had any right to be with a drop into sand if your foot slipped, a section of weighted rope netting that dragged at your arms as you hauled yourself through, then a sprint through staggered posts where a clipped shoulder ant bruises and lost ti, ending in a short carry with a sandbag heavy enough to make your forearms shake before you were allowed to run again.

He didn’t mind the work so much as what it did to him afterwards, the loud drag of his breathing, the ache building under his ribs, the knowledge that his muscles were already writing tomorrow’s soreness into his limbs.

He kept moving anyway, shoulders driving, arms pumping, mind narrowing down to the next foothold, the next landing, the next step, because thinking about the whole course was a good way to slow down.

A rope climb waited near the end, thick and rough, and Soren jumped, caught it, hands sliding for a fraction before friction bit, then he hauled himself up, forearms tightening with the effort.

His grip didn’t slip again, it couldn’t, not with Thalia watching like she was personally offended by the idea of a student getting comfortable.

He reached the top, slapped the marker, dropped, knees bending on impact, sand spraying, and he was running again before the grains finished settling.

The final stretch of track opened up in front of him, flat and simple, which sohow made it worse, because there was nothing to do except run, nothing to distract him from the exhaustion.

The world narrowed to the line ahead, the pounding in his ears, and the way his breath rasped as he pushed for the end.

He crossed the finish point with a final stumble-step, montum carrying him forward, then his body tried to fold in half.

Soren caught himself, hands braced on his knees for a heartbeat, sweat dripping from his bangs, then he forced his spine straight again, because Thalia was the type to treat any hint of collapse as an invitation to add another lap.

He didn’t look at her, he didn’t want to see her expression, he just turned and slogged towards a bench near the edge of the field, boots dragging slightly through the grass, each step heavy as if soone had swapped his legs out for stone.

When he reached it, he didn’t bother sitting properly, he threw himself down, shoulders hitting the backrest with a dull thump, chest heaving.

A second later he rembered he needed water, and his hand flicked to his inventory on instinct.

A canteen appeared in his grip, cool tal against his palm, and he lifted it, tipped his head back, and downed the contents in long swallows that were more desperate than controlled.

The water hit his throat like rcy, and for the briefest mont he almost felt human again.

Then he lowered it and imdiately started panting anyway, because his lungs hadn’t got the ssage that the crisis was over.

Soren let the canteen rest against his thigh, head tipping back, eyes half-lidded against the bright morning, then he dragged his sleeve across his forehead, wiping sweat from his brow.

His bangs had plastered themselves to his face, sticking to his skin, and he brushed them aside with a rough motion, blinking hard as if he could blink the heat out of his muscles.

He let out a deep sigh, slow and deliberate, the kind you did when you were trying to convince your body to settle.

It didn’t.

Another breath left him, this one more dramatic, more like a complaint than anything else.

“There’s still so much to do…” he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the sound of other students still running.

He took another swig from the canteen, smaller this ti, controlled, and as he lowered it again, sothing shifted at the edge of his vision.

A translucent window drifted into focus in front of him, steadying itself like it had all the ti in the world, indifferent to the fact his heart was still hamring.

.

▶ Capture the Flag ◀

[Objective 1]

[Details: Survive until the end.]

[Difficulty: C-]

[Reward: 750 Points]

.

[Objective 2]

[Details: Acquire 90 Contribution Points.]

[Difficulty: B ]

[Reward: Chira Upgrade (Expansion)]

.

[Objective 3]

[Details: Win.]

[Difficulty: S-]

[Reward: Chira Upgrade (Advanced Function)]

.

[Rewards will be given based on the amount of objectives you complete]

.

An objective quest.

His first one.

The words sat there like they were normal, like it was perfectly reasonable to lay three separate targets in front of him and tell him rewards would be rationed out depending on how far he managed to climb.

Soren stared at the window for a mont, then lifted a hand and rubbed it down his face, palm dragging over his eyes and cheek, a motion that was half exhaustion and half disbelief, as if he could scrub the reality into sothing simpler.

It had already been a day since he had received it, and his mind still hadn’t completely caught up.

He didn’t know why he had received this, not like this.

Even in the ga, the protagonist only received a quest to complete the exam, a straightforward instruction with a straightforward reward, you did the midterm, you got the thing, the system ticked its box and moved on.

This was different, layered, demanding, and the fact that it was set up in objectives made it feel deliberate in a way he didn’t like thinking about.

It wasn’t the first ti he had received a quest that required attention.

The system had done it before, nudging him towards situations where people would see him, where he would be forced into the open, but this… this felt like a hand on his shoulder, pushing, not gently, not subtly.

Guiding him.

To what, though?

He didn’t know the reason, and he likely never would, and he could feel the familiar itch of it in the back of his head, that desire to understand the rules of the thing that kept interfering with his life.

But he didn’t have the ti to sit here and stare at the sky until answers arrived.

Soren exhaled through his nose, slow, then let his hand fall to his lap, fingers tightening around the canteen as if it was the only solid thing in a world that kept inserting windows into his day.

‘Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway,’ he thought, gaze flicking back to the quest text.

What mattered right now was making sure he got the rewards.

Was it even possible, though?

He honestly had no idea.

Soren Arden wasn’t a character in the ga, and that one fact kept biting him in strange places, he didn’t know where he would be placed, he didn’t know who would end up in his party, and he didn’t know which team would win.

He hoped he would be placed on the sa team as Alex, the one destined to win, because if there was one thing he still trusted from his old knowledge, it was that Alex’s path tended to end with him on the right side of outcos.

But, to be honest, Soren didn’t hold out much hope, not after everything else up until now.

Things rarely lined up neatly for him.

Which was exactly why he was suffering now, legs aching, lungs raw, sitting on a bench like he had been dropped there.

It was only a few nights ago that he had told himself he wasn’t going to exert himself unnecessarily.

He had been so sure of it too, talking about effort like it was a resource you rationed, talking about common sense, and then the system had put this in front of him and made the rewards so appealing it was almost insulting.

Even with how little he understood about [Chira], he knew it was strong, maybe strong enough to rival the unique skills of the main cast mbers if it kept growing.

He rembered the tis he had managed to change the form of his hand into a spirit and use magic through it, the feeling of it, the way his mana moved differently when the shape wasn’t human, the destructive edge it had carried when he had pushed it, the sheer unfairness of it when it worked.

If he could acquire upgrades for that, there was no reason to turn it down.

Besides, from what he knew of the ga, unique skill upgrades weren’t handed out like candy, they were rare, the kind of reward you rembered, the kind you built plans around, and if he missed this opportunity, he had no clue when he would be offered another.

A month from now.

A year.

Maybe never.

So he had to work.

Soren let his head fall back against the bench for a mont, eyes closing briefly, then he opened them again and looked at the quest window like it might change if he stared long enough.

He would be content if he could get even a single one of the [Chira] upgrades.

But he wasn’t going to settle for content.

He would try his best.

Would it destroy the plot he knew, the thin thread of predictability he still clung to when things felt too uncertain?

Maybe.

Did he care?

Slightly.

Would that change his mind?

No.

Because he still hadn’t given up on his dream, ridiculous as it sotis felt in a world that kept trying to drag him into conflict.

He still wanted a quiet, peaceful life, and to get that he needed to live, and to live he needed power, and if the system was putting power on a table with a price tag that read “win”, then he didn’t really have the luxury of pretending it was optional.

He glanced at the reward text again, eyes narrowing, then a small, involuntary smirk tugged at his mouth, brief and almost annoyed at itself.

And, if he was being honest, he also just liked getting rewards.

A shadow fell across the grass in front of him, and before he could look up properly, a voice cut through his thoughts, bright enough to feel out of place against his exhaustion.

“Hey, you did well today.”

Soren turned his head, and there he was, golden hair catching the light like it had been painted on, smile easy, posture relaxed as if he hadn’t just finished the sa class.

Alex.

Soren’s smirk faded into sothing flatter, more neutral, partly because he was too tired to hold expressions.

He shifted his grip on the canteen, then lifted it slightly, a half-acknowledgent.

“How so?” he asked, voice rougher than usual from panting.

Alex stepped around the bench and sat down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world, forearms resting on his thighs, gaze flicking out over the field where students were still mid-course, still climbing, still running, Thalia’s whistle snapping at them whenever soone slowed too much.

“Because you’re not dying,” Alex said, then grinned wider when Soren shot him a look. “No, seriously, you’re improving fast, I expected you to be worse at this, you’re ant to be a mage, aren’t you?”

Soren let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh if he’d had the energy, then he waved the complint off with a small motion of his hand, canteen sloshing faintly.

“I’m still weak,” he said, not sulking, not fishing, just stating it the sa way he would state the weather.

Alex’s smile twitched, like sothing in him wanted to be amused and irritated at the sa ti.

He stared at Soren for a second, then sighed, long-suffering in a way that looked dramatic on him.

“You know, sotis I really want to hit you,” he muttered.

Soren blinked, genuinely confused.

“…Why?”

“Because you say things like that,” Alex replied imdiately, as if that should explain everything, then he leaned back and pointed out at the field with a jerk of his chin.

Soren followed the gesture, eyes tracking over the course, over the students running it in uneven clusters, so moving smoothly, so struggling, so clearly at the edge of giving up.

He shrugged.

“Most of them are probably Class F or E at best.”

Alex nudged his shoulder with his own, light but pointed, like he was trying to push sense into him through contact.

“Even if they were, that would still make what you just did impressive, you’re not even a knight, you can’t just rely on your body the way they do.”

Soren’s mouth flattened, expression unreadable, because the words were reasonable.

He didn’t respond, and Alex, apparently deciding subtlety was wasted on him, pointed again, more specifically this ti, finger angling towards a couple of students near the rope climb.

“You’re wrong anyway,” Alex said. “See those two, and the one behind them, they’re Class D.”

Soren narrowed his eyes, not because he doubted Alex’s ability to recognise people, but because the idea didn’t fit neatly with how he had been categorising the academy in his head.

Class D wasn’t exceptional, but it wasn’t bottom either, it was competent, it was the kind of rank that implied you had foundations, training, and a body that could carry you through physical exertion without imdiately collapsing.

He watched as one of them reached the top of the rope, hit the marker, dropped, staggered on landing, and then forced himself back into a run, breath visibly harsh.

Soren’s gaze slid back to the bench, to the quest window still hovering faintly in his peripheral vision, and he felt the familiar, careful thought settle in place again, the one that had been there since he had started treating this world like sothing that could bite.

He was weak.

It wasn’t an insult or humiliation, but a reminder.

A position you assud so you didn’t get caught off guard the mont you started believing your own progress ant you were safe.

Soren had cented it in his head on purpose, and even when evidence contradicted it, he didn’t let it loosen, because if he let it loosen he would get comfortable, and comfort was where mistakes happened.

And he could never repeat that mistake again.

Never again.

So he looked back at Alex, expression steady, and ignored the point like it hadn’t landed.

Instead, he shifted topics, because that was easier than admitting Alex was right.

“Are you up to spar again soti?” he started, then watched Alex’s face brighten imdiately, like soone had offered him a gift.

“Of course,” Alex said without hesitation, already leaning forward as if he was about to set a ti and place on the spot, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask—”

“It’ll be normal, not a duel, I don’t want to go through all of that again,” Soren cut in quickly, the words coming out faster than he intended.

“Alex paused, then laughed, the sound easy and genuinely amused, as if Soren had just said sothing absurdly relatable.

“Fine, a normal spar.” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Soren’s shoulders loosened a fraction, because he didn’t need the entire academy turning their attention toward him again already.

Alex’s grin stayed in place anyway, eyes bright with the simple joy of it.

“But I still want to fight again soti,” he added, like he couldn’t help himself, like the idea of testing himself against soone else was a language he spoke fluently.

Soren gave him a look that was half warning and half resignation.

“We’ll see.”

Alex leaned back, still smiling, gaze flicking towards the far end of the field where Thalia stood with her arms folded, posture straight, expression unreadable in the way only instructors who enjoyed suffering could manage.

As if summoned by the attention, Thalia raised her voice, loud enough to carry over the entire course.

“Alright, that’s enough! Everyone, line up!”

Groans rose from various corners of the field, mixed with the sound of feet dragging, and Soren let out a slow breath through his nose, then braced his hands on the bench and pushed himself up.

His legs protested imdiately, muscles tight, but they held.

He rolled his shoulders once, then stretched his arms overhead, fingers interlacing briefly as his back cracked softly, and the motion tugged at sore places he would definitely feel tomorrow.

The quest window hovered, quiet, patient, as if it knew he wasn’t done with it yet.

Soren glanced towards the line forming, then forward again, mind already slotting his next tasks into place with that familiar, practical focus.

He still had a lot left he needed to do before the midterms.

————「❤︎」————