As the sun angled low over the Academy walls, streaking long golden shafts across the worn stones of the arena, Instructor Heiron finally clapped his hands together. The students straightened.
"All right," he announced, voice firm but content. "That concludes our lesson today. Before we part ways, let me summarize what we've learned."
He strode a few steps forward, behind him the great stone stands where students had once cheered, now mostly vacated but for a few lingering groups.
"Today, we faced the Spearopion," Heiron began, eyes sweeping the class. "What did we learn from it?"
He raised one hand and counted on his fingers as he spoke. "First—Monster types and threat scaling. Not all dungeon creatures are mindless. Some—like the Spearopion—will react to your intent, to the aura you project. Meaning your fear, your confidence, your recklessness? It all matters. They feel it."
A few students nodded, scribbling notes or murmuring in agreement.
"Second," Heiron continued, "defensive awareness. We've seen how Gabe performed under pressure. And more than his talent, what mattered was how he stayed alert. He didn't just survive—he adapted. Defense isn't cowardice. It's the foundation from which offense is made."
He turned slightly and gestured to the arena floor where the vines had once erupted and the flytrap plant had devoured the Spearopion's remains.
"Third—environmental awareness. You're not just fighting the monster, you're fighting the battlefield. In a dungeon, the terrain may try to kill you just as often as the beast itself. Use it. Learn it. Master it."
Then, at last, he exhaled and crossed his arms.
"And last but not least—humility. No matter how strong you are, there's always someone or something faster, deadlier, or smarter. Never underestimate your opponent. Never overestimate yourself."
He gave a small nod, signaling he was done.
"Class dismissed."
The students bowed respectfully, and many began to gather their things, still chatting and reliving the moments from Gabe's battle. But not all of them left.
Wesley, who had just finished scraping a persistent patch of dried monster residue near the edge of the arena, glanced up from his mop, drenched in sweat. His shoulders ached, his knees felt like sandpaper, and his hands were wrinkled from gripping the mop handle like it was a weapon.
Gods, he thought, dragging the mop one last time across the floor. I could've been halfway through the Obsidian Yard right now. Why the hell did I stay?
He grunted. Next time, I'm ghosting. I'll pretend I didn't hear a damn thing. Not my circus. Not my scorpion.
But then... some students didn't leave. Instead, they gathered back near the stands, some sitting, some just lingering around awkwardly.
Heiron raised an eyebrow. "Why are you still here?"
A tall girl near the front spoke up. "We want to see the Janitor train!"
Several others nodded, and some even clapped in encouragement.
"The Janitor?" Heiron asked, slightly puzzled. "Why?"
"Maybe because of me?" Gabe said suddenly, stepping forward.
Heiron turned to him. "You?"
Gabe scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Well… I'm the reason they're curious. I told them I learned from him."
Wesley, who had just finished wringing out his mop, looked up with a jolt. "What? No. It's not me, it's your Mana Suppression. That's what helped you. I didn't do anything."
But the girls among the lingering students giggled.
"Nooo~ it's definitely you, Janitor," one said, fluttering her lashes playfully. "We've never seen Gabe act like that before until after you fought him."
"Totally!" another chimed in. "And the way you looked so serious with your mop? Mysterious. Handsome."
Wesley blinked several times. Okay. Hold up.
Are they seriously flirting? With me?
In his past life, Wesley had been the guy people ignored at parties, even if he brought the drinks. Now? He had groupies. His cheeks flushed, and for once, he didn't quite mind the attention.
Not bad, mop… not bad.
Heiron cleared his throat with a sigh, silencing the chatter. "Enough. I've already summoned someone."
The floor trembled faintly, and footsteps echoed from the rear tunnel entrance of the arena. A tall man emerged, clad in partial steel armor, cape fluttering behind him. His presence alone made a few students straighten.
"I am Sir Darnel of the Third Lance Order," he said crisply, walking into the center of the arena. "I was summoned to oversee a potential candidate for Mana Knight Initiation."
His gaze swept the crowd, pausing when it landed on Wesley. "…Him?"
Wesley swallowed, then stepped forward respectfully. "It's me, sir."
Sir Darnel arched an eyebrow. "A janitor?"
Wesley didn't answer that. He didn't need to.
Instructor Heiron approached Darnel and whispered something. The knight nodded slowly.
"I see," Darnel said, clearly trying to keep a straight face. "You think this is… for goodwill?"
Wesley smiled thinly, but inside, he was groaning. Great. Another person who thinks I'm a lost puppy.
If only you people knew I've already awakened mana, you'd be offering me teaching jobs instead.
Still, he wasn't about to correct them.
Wesley took his place at one side of the arena.
Sir Darnel walked to the opposite side.
The crowd of students settled down into silence, watching with breath held. A few even leaned forward, excited to see what would happen. Gabe stood near the front, arms crossed, eyes trained on Wesley. A few girls waved subtly from the stands, trying not to be obvious.
Instructor Heiron stood at the center of it all, nodding solemnly.
Two figures now stood on opposite sides of the arena—the skeptical knight, and the janitor with a mop in his hand and a secret in his soul.
And though Wesley wore a polite smile, in the back of his mind, he had only one thought:
Please let this go quickly. I still have four arenas to conquer before sundown.
The knight across the arena stared, utterly confused. His brow twitched, lips parted slightly, unsure if he should laugh or simply call off the whole thing.
"…Why," the knight finally said, breaking the silence, "are you holding… a cleaning mop?"
Wesley blinked, then looked down at the mop in his hands as if he were holding a sword made of pure obsidian and glory.
"It's my weapon, sir," he replied flatly.
The knight stared harder. "…Your weapon?"
Wesley nodded solemnly, his face unreadable, like he was some ascetic monk holding a sacred relic. "Yes, sir."
Instructor Heiron, who had seen a lot in his years as an educator, covered his mouth with a cough to hide his reaction, but his eyes betrayed the disbelief he felt.
"…Someone bring him a wooden sword," Heiron finally said, voice echoing across the arena.
There was a sudden, explosive commotion.
"I'LL GO!" one of the girls shouted before anyone else could move.
"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" another girl barked, elbowing past a stunned male student.
"You?! You can't even run straight!"
"LET ME AT IT! I WILL BE THE ONE TO GIVE IT TO JANITOR!!"
"I touched it last week, I know where it is!"
Dozens of female students scrambled all at once, as if the act of fetching a wooden sword for the janitor was a sacred quest. The noise was deafening. Benches were overturned, bags were tossed aside, and an accidental wind spell from an overexcited girl nearly sent someone flying.
The knight watched the chaos unfold, face blank.
"…What the hell," he muttered. "The Janitor's charm seems unmatched to the ladies."
Wesley, trying to stay cool, smiled awkwardly. I didn't ask for this, he thought, sweat beading down his neck.
Finally, one girl—her cheeks flushed a deep crimson—came racing back, clutching a wooden sword to her chest like it was a love letter. She approached Wesley shyly, holding it out with both hands, eyes never meeting his.
"Here," she said, voice barely audible, "I-I got it for you… pu-pu… please… uhm… receive it."
Wesley reached out, awkwardly trying to accept it, when—
DING!
A glowing screen only visible to him appeared.
—
Warning!
The 'Janitor's Oath' is tied to your Contracted System. If you willingly relinquish your cleaning tool before other tools that are not connected to cleaning and scrubbing floors, the [Janitor System] will be permanently deactivated.
The Cleaning Mop of Binding is bound to your system. Forsaking it willingly for other tools will trigger full collapse of the system interface, loss of active and pending missions, current skill points, progression rewards, and access to ALL unique Janitor Classes.
Warning. You have been warned.
Continue accepting the sword?
→ YES
→ NO
—
Wesley froze. He felt like the entire world tilted sideways.
WHAT?!
His breath caught in his throat. He looked at the sword, then at the mop. No way… you're telling me this… this stick I've been scrubbing slime off the floors with is my lifeline?!
He blinked, staring at the pop-up, brain spiraling. I can't give this up. This system is the only reason I'm even remotely relevant. It's my cheat—my golden finger. If I lose this, I'm screwed!
He quickly shook his head, stepping back.
The girl blinked. "W-What's wrong? Is it not good enough? Did I do something…?"
Wesley raised both hands nervously. "No, no. It's not you—it's me."
The girl looked even more crestfallen. "O-Oh… okay…"
Dammit, Wesley thought, internally groaning. Why does it sound like a breakup line now?
Instructor Heiron, who had been watching the entire thing unfold, narrowed his eyes. "Why are you insisting on that mop, Wesley?"
Wesley looked left and right, then forced out a nervous laugh. "Ah… well… it's because… um… it's a personal training method! Yes, sir! A technique passed down from an old hermit… one must master the mundane to awaken the arcane!"
The knight and Instructor Heiron both raised an eyebrow.
"…Really?" the knight asked, clearly unconvinced.
Wesley doubled down. "Y-Yeah! I call it… the Path of the Clean Blade!"
"The what?" Heiron said flatly.
"The mop becomes a reflection of the soul! You must scrub away not just dirt—but inner weakness!"
"…You're just making this up now," Heiron replied.
Wesley winced. "Uhh…"
Heiron stepped forward. "Enough. Tell me the truth, Wesley. Why won't you let go of that mop?"
The weight of his gaze was pressing, firm. Wesley took a deep breath, lowering his eyes.
"I…" he started slowly. "I made a promise. To someone. I said I wouldn't let go of this mop… unless I awaken Mana."
The arena fell silent.
Heiron blinked. "…You promised someone?"
Wesley nodded. "Yeah. He told me… that as long as I held onto this mop, and never gave up, I'd someday earn the right to fight like a real Knight. So… I hold on."
Heiron didn't speak. Neither did the knight. Even the students—girls still gushing, boys still sulking—quieted.
The knight finally exhaled, turning to Wesley with renewed eyes.
"…You're more knightly than I am," he muttered.
Then, more loudly, "Let it be known! No knight of this Academy holds more honor in his promise than this Janitor! While some of us forsake our creeds for position or glory, this man—who doesn't even possess Mana—clings to his word like steel."
He pointed toward Wesley with conviction. "I've met nobles who swore oaths only to break them in weeks. I've seen high-ranking knights abandon comrades for titles. But you—Janitor—you've got the backbone of an unbreakable warrior."
Wesley blinked slowly. I didn't mean it that way… but okay…
The girls screamed in joy.
"KYAAAAAAAH! JANITOR!!"
"He's so cool!!!"
"Did you hear that?! A knight just said he's better than actual knights!"
The boys sulked.
"Tch. All he did was hold a mop…"
"Shut up, you couldn't even lift the mop like he does."
"…It's always the handsome ones, man…"
Amid the cheers and tension, Instructor Heiron finally sighed and smiled faintly. "Alright. So be it."
Wesley stood there, mop in hand, surrounded by admiration, confusion, and the sense that somewhere along the way… things had spiraled way out of control.
But at least, for now, his mop—and his system—were safe.