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Memorize Chapter 209
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 10:34:26 +0000 UTCIt wasn’t unfamiliar. Slightly wavy, glossy hair cascading over her shoulders. A glimpse of a delicate, pale face. Upon closer inspection, I noticed the gentle curve of her thin eyelids. Her identity was Kim Han-Byeol, who had gone through the rite of passage with me and the others. She was asleep, looking pitiful.
For a while, I gazed at her silently, then carefully closed the door. With hushed footsteps, I closed the distance between us.
“Snore…”
“…”
Her faint snoring reached my ears, and her face, unlike before, looked terribly gaunt. Even though she was clearly asleep, her brows were slightly furrowed. She occasionally let out soft groans, as if plagued by a bad dream. For some reason, the atmosphere around Han-Byeol felt heavy, tinged with a somber hue.
I gently lifted her fragile body into my arms. There was no ulterior motive. The sun would rise in a couple of hours anyway, and rather than waking her, I wanted her to rest comfortably for the remaining time.
“Mmm…”
I thought I’d been careful, but she must have sensed my presence because her eyes slowly opened. Through the slit of her eyelids, her pupils carried a murky glint. The sharpness and intelligence she used to show so often were nowhere to be found, no matter how hard I looked.
“O…ha…? (O…ppa…?)”
“Yeah. Sleep. It’s okay, you can sleep more.”
Her sleep-drenched voice reached me, and I gently laid her back on the bed, comforting her. Her lips moved a few more times, but only unintelligible sounds came out. Soon, she shifted once or twice, then began to breathe evenly.
Seeing Han-Byeol fall back asleep with a much calmer expression than when I’d entered, I sank into thought for a moment.
Six months had passed since graduating from the academy. During that time, I’d thought of Han-Byeol a few times, that much was true. Perhaps the disappointment I felt when she didn’t choose me was just regret over missing out on a Jewel Mage.
But seeing her like this, I felt nothing. Well, maybe a slight pang of pity. I didn’t know the full story, but it seemed like she wasn’t adjusting well within the clan. I thought reuniting with her might stir something special, but honestly, I just felt indifferent.
I let out a long sigh and turned away. The reason I initially thought there was only one bed was because two beds were pushed together with just a small gap between them, making them look like one large bed at a glance.
I roughly took off my gear and set it aside, then lay down on the empty bed. As I closed my eyes, the events of the day began to flood my mind in a jumbled mess. Promotions, summons, Han So-Young, the godmother, clan members, An-Sol, the academy, the instructors’ meeting… The thought that An-Sol’s warning might be related to this made me chuckle involuntarily.
Some time passed, and darkness slowly crept into my mind.
…
I did sleep, but not deeply. I could sleep soundly in Jung Ha-Yeong or Go Yeon-Joo’s arms, but not here. It was strange. It was only a light sleep, but better than not sleeping at all, so I decided to stop complaining and slowly opened my eyes. I felt a piercing gaze from beside me.
“…”
I looked up and saw Kim Han-Byeol standing quietly next to me. Her expression was cold and calm. Her eyes trembled briefly when they met mine, but she quickly regained her composure.
Han-Byeol didn’t speak, and neither did I. Words like, ‘Why are you here, oppa?’ or ‘This is my room,’ were meaningless given our personalities. We both knew the situation well enough.
I sat up on the bed and spoke in a calm tone.
“Been a while. Oh, wait, we saw each other yesterday, so maybe not that long?”
“…It’s been a while. O…”
“Yeah. I heard from Park Hyun-Woo yesterday. Let’s work well together for the next three months.”
“…Yes. Please take care of me.”
Her voice sounded strained, as if she still found our relationship awkward. I decided to keep things neutral. She was sharp enough to pick up on what my behavior implied. I didn’t want to burden her or make things uncomfortable.
To make that clear, we needed to draw a line in our relationship—a professional one, as head instructor and assistant instructor. So, even though I already knew, I casually asked,
“You didn’t sleep too deeply, huh? Do you know the morning schedule?”
“…”
“Don’t know?”
“…You wake the new players with the residential instructors… and hand them over to the control instructors.”
“Oh, right. Thanks.”
When I asked again, her reply came out cold, but there was a subtle trace of quiet sadness in it. I gave a brief response, turned, and opened the door in front of me.
She’s someone who can take care of herself. I believed she could overcome her current struggles on her own. With quick steps, I left the room.
*
Despite numerous twists and turns, the Player Academy finally fired the starting shot for its training program. Given how we’d handled things at lightning speed, I couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually run smoothly. However, thanks to Park Hyun-Woo’s desperate efforts in delegating roles, the first week could be considered a moderate success.
There were several reasons I’d postponed my original plans to join the Player Academy. It definitely wasn’t just about accepting the instructor role to help new players at the expense of my own plans. I had every intention of acting strategically from multiple angles, and there was a need for it.
The first reason was to build connections. Whether the future was altered or not, networking was a critical factor in Hall Plain. This time, the Player Academy’s instructors included prominent figures from various clans. They were surely interested in me, and I intended to maintain as positive a relationship with them as possible.
Even though I’d been granted Free status, I made a point to act diligently. That’s because I occasionally felt certain gazes observing my behavior. It was obvious that the control and residential instructors would report my daily conduct to the training instructors from their clan.
As the saying goes, ‘A good-looking rice cake is also good to eat.’ If I relied solely on potential and acted carelessly, I’d only diminish my own value. Displaying a commendable attitude could serve as a stepping stone for friendly interactions with the training instructors, who held significant influence in their respective clans, during future meetings.
The next issue was to scout for potential new clan members. This might have been the most significant matter. After all, proving one’s worth in the rite of passage on the fifth day was a 100% guarantee of a player’s exceptional qualities.
It might sound a bit foolish, but from the first day, I activated my Third Eye to evaluate each new player individually. I didn’t just look at their stats. I fully opened their player information, meticulously reading through every detail, calculating, and considering every possibility to ensure I didn’t miss anything.
I didn’t stop this until three days had passed. After checking about 30 players, I realized how inefficient this method was. Sure, if I kept at it, I’d eventually get through everyone, but analyzing a single player’s information and weighing multiple scenarios was exhausting. On the other hand, skimming through and missing something meant I’d have to start over, which I absolutely dreaded.
Since I had plenty of time, I decided to get a bit clever. It was still the first week, so we were only doing light introductions, but specialized training would begin soon. That’s when the players’ skill levels would start to diverge. Depending on their stats and potential, some would break through their limits, while others would hit a wall. In other words, I’d be able to gauge their suitability as combat players.
There’s a saying, ‘Nangjungjichu’—a cone in a sack. It means that someone with exceptional talent will inevitably stand out, even if they try to hide. If I waited a bit, the standout players would naturally emerge. At that point, I could focus on evaluating only the combat-ready ones. If no one stood out even then, I’d have to do a full sweep, but that was a last resort.
As the saying goes, “Haste makes waste.” I proceeded slowly, aiming for these two main goals. Of course, there were one or two things that caught my attention along the way.
I always kept An-Sol’s words, spoken before she left Babara, close to my heart. But there were no signs, no omens, nothing. I couldn’t just walk up and say, “I heard the godmother of the Golden Lion Clan isn’t doing well. What happened? And is something going on lately? I’m feeling oddly uneasy.” That wouldn’t do.
For now, I decided to move forward with the academy plans and stay on standby. My worries might be unfounded, and it wasn’t something I could openly discuss. If I couldn’t find a solution internally, I’d need to rely on external help. So, I resolved to consult with Go Yeon-Joo, who would visit after the second week.
Another matter was Kim Han-Byeol’s situation.
“Mercenary Lord, is there anything inconvenient about your instructor's life?”
“Su-Hyeon, how’s academy life? Is your assistant instructor helping you a lot?”
Park Hyun-Woo and Seong Yu-Bin would occasionally approach me, subtly probing. Honestly, every time they did this, I couldn’t help but feel a bit pathetic. When Jung Ha-Yeong had told me about it, I just thought, “Oh, okay,” but experiencing it firsthand made it painfully clear that things were indeed rotten.
My response was always the same whenever they asked:
“Yes, Kim Han-Byeol is a very capable player. I understand why you spoke so highly of her. Having her as my assistant instructor definitely makes things easier.”
“Haha, I’m getting a lot of help from Assistant Instructor Kim Han-Byeol. Thanks to her, academy life has become much more manageable.”
Sorry, but I had no intention of getting close to Kim Han-Byeol. I didn’t want to play into their intentions, and getting deeply involved with the Golden Lion Clan right now would do more harm than good. Other clans were already eyeing me with interest—drooling, so to speak. For now, it was just a trickle, but I planned to make it a flood soon. I wanted to avoid any actions that could lead to misunderstandings.
The most important thing here was Kim Han-Byeol’s position. She must have been in a tough spot, caught between me and the higher-ups, but thankfully, she hadn’t shown any particular attitude so far. In fact, it almost seemed like she’d picked up on my signals. As time passed, the initial awkwardness faded, and she started showing glimpses of her true self. That was enough for me to feel satisfied.
Sometimes she’d come back to the dorm with a flushed face, but I’d only ask about it casually once or twice before letting it go. For example, “What’s wrong with your face? Are you sick?” to which she’d reply, “No, it’s nothing.” It was a bit regrettable, but it wasn’t something I could help with, and she didn’t seem eager to talk about it either.
And so, the hectic first week of the academy came to an end.
After the first week, the Player Academy recorded an unprecedented zero dropouts. Compared to previous sessions, the academy had significantly lowered the difficulty for the first week, and the reason for that was obvious without needing to be said. Having been stuffed to the brim, they were now starving and likely wanted to drag things out as long as possible. They said they’d gradually increase the difficulty starting from the second week, but we’d see how that played out.
Anyway, after the first week, I saw Park Hyun-Woo letting out a sigh of relief in the cafeteria. He probably thought they’d managed to thread the first needle well despite the chaotic situation.
But the academy was only just beginning. Tensions between clans still lingered, and there was a subtle competitive spirit among them over the new players. Even while performing residential and control roles, there had been a few moments of strange tension.
It wasn’t severe enough to cause problems, but with nearly twenty clans in conflict, it felt like something was bound to explode eventually. It was just a matter of when and who would spark it.
And around the middle of the second week, an incident finally erupted, proving my thoughts right.
