Chapter 1. Surviving as an F-Rank Healer (7)
He deliberately looked away from Jin Hari’s white smile.
‘…But if she still hasn’t given up after one year.’
Then, maybe, he could raise her survival rate a little.
Twisting one corner of his mouth upward, Hanseong spoke to Jin Hari in his thoughts.
‘After graduation, I’ll help you reach C-rank. At least enough to stay alive.’
He didn’t know how long that motivation would last.
‘Miracles only give a single drop to people who work themselves to death.’
People with gentle natures usually lacked tenacity. If Jin Hari turned out to be that kind of person, it would actually be fortunate. Keeping her from dying would be much easier.
That thought was shattered just one week later.
Unaware that a single careless declaration had made the protagonist start paying attention to me, I greeted the next day diligently.
I had business in the faculty office today.
To get permission to use a personal workshop.
Of course, there was a more important reason than that, but it wasn’t something I needed the teacher’s approval for.
“Teacher!”
“What is it?”
The homeroom teacher, who had disliked Jin Hari since the first day, replied reluctantly.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“A favor?”
The implication was obvious: Who do you think you are, asking me for something?
I looked at him with an apologetic, dejected expression, then spoke carefully.
“Could I borrow the workshop during hours when no one is using it? I don’t have a personal workshop or equipment. Ah! I’ll provide all the materials myself.”
“Haa…”
He let out a long, tired sigh, like life itself was exhausting.
Clearly meant for me to see.
I stayed quiet and read the room. After tapping the desk for a while, he finally replied.
“What do you need the workshop for?”
I answered without sounding too eager.
“Potion-making is the only thing I can do.”
“So you know, then. That the Narin Academy workshop is far too valuable to be used just for low-grade potion crafting.”
The homeroom teacher delivered a calm but devastating blow.
“Personal workshops aren’t approved until the second year.”
“That’s…”
I hadn’t known. But second year was too late.
‘Incidents start happening nonstop from first year.’
Practical training began today.
I hadn’t asked any S-rank from another class to take me along, so I would obviously be excluded. But the others were different.
‘I remember there being no casualties this month, at least.’
A period filled with ominous signs, when first-encounter incidents between the protagonist and major characters began piling up.
I needed to raise my skill level as much as possible during this month.
The academy provided a fixed amount of potions, and anything beyond that had to be purchased. From mid-grade onward, prices were far beyond what students could afford.
Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a problem.
Dangerous situations requiring mid-grade potions rarely happened in the first year.
‘Or the situation is so bad that mid-grade potions are meaningless, and you just die.’
But after this month, Class 8 would suffer through all kinds of twisted dungeons for the rest of the year…
I glanced at my skill window.
[Welcome to the world of I’m the Only One with an SSS-Rank Party!]
- Your soul serves as sustenance to maintain this world!
This world was formed with reference to a specific worldview. Minor deviations are permitted to preserve balance.]
The window I had seen the moment I possessed this body was unchanged.
[Character Overview]
[Jin Hari]
- Unlucky Extra (A): One lucky day per year. The remaining 364 days are unlucky. Wishes tend to be granted in reverse.
- Healer (F): Heals shallow wounds.
Interpreting that useless A-rank passive in my current situation meant one thing.
My potion success rate was even lower than that of a normal F-rank healer.
As expected.
[Exclusive Skills]
- Reverse Heal (F): Absorbs misfortune from the affected area and revives it through a miracle. Occasionally receives the blessing of an otherworldly god.
Usable three times per day. Activation command: “Heal.”
- Potion Crafting (F): Combined with misfortune, has a high chance of failure! However, if mixed with otherworldly mana, there is a 0.001% chance of creating a lowest-grade potion.
Activation command: “Mix” (can be cast without chanting).
Just look at all the ominous wording plastered all over that skill window.
Since I had decided to improve my abilities in a way that would help the others as much as possible, there was only one thing to do.
I had to grind.
Relentlessly.
To the point of collapse.
“So? That’s it?”
The homeroom teacher asked, waiting for my excuse.
I swallowed and said,
“…Even low-grade potions are still potions.”
“At best, they work on E-rank or D-rank users. Their effect on C-ranks is minimal. Anything above that, there’s no point in drinking them.”
“Exactly.”
My head throbbed from squeezing out a plausible argument.
“Our class is one-third E-rank, and the rest are still D-rank.”
There were only one or two C ranks.
“…That’s true.”
Did he hesitate just now? Maybe it was my imagination.
I tilted my head, then continued.
“And even across the entire first year, there aren’t that many C-ranks or above.”
Our class just had more E-ranks than average. Other classes weren’t much different.
‘There’s only one S-rank in first year, and he’s a trap character.’
At least in the first year, most students were about the same.
‘After that, ranks start to diverge based on growth.’
Which meant plenty of people still needed even the lowest-grade potions.
The homeroom teacher frowned, as if he’d realized what I was getting at.
But instead of dismissing it outright, he stayed silent.
That alone was hopeful.
After a moment, he adjusted his rimless glasses and said,
“…Go on.”
“If I make a lot, the odds will improve. Even one or two successes are better than having none.”
“You want to use the workshop for just one or two successes?”
“I can’t go into dungeons much anyway. I’m the only one with extra time, so it feels wasteful to do nothing with it. I’ll prepare all the materials myself and practice, so it’ll be a benefit to the school… I think…!”
“Hm. A benefit to the school.”
He turned his chair fully toward me.
His icy gaze examined me, as if checking whether I was lying.
“Long-term, you won’t be able to keep supplying materials. That doesn’t sound like much of a benefit. Given an F-rank’s success rate, it’s far more likely the equipment will just wear out for nothing.”
Strangely, the contempt in his voice was gone.
‘Ah. Does he see a bit of value now?’
Only then did I remember that this B-rank (supposedly) gardener became serious when it came to work.
‘And one more thing. He’s stingy.’
I hesitated, then spoke again carefully.
“Then I’ll sell them cheap.”
“You plan to openly sell things on campus?”
It wasn’t forbidden.
“F-rank potions for 1 Dun. E-rank for 3 Dun.”
“…”
The minimum unit of dungeon currency, Dun.
Roughly 100 won and 300 won.
The teacher pressed his lips together.
“At that price, I can at least cover material costs.”
For reference: the lowest-grade F-rank potion usually costs 1 silver (10,000 won).
Low-grade E and D-rank potions cost about 100 silver (1,000,000 won).
Mid-grade C- and B-rank potions cost around 500 silver (5,000,000 won).
High-grade A-rank and top-tier potions often sold for whatever price the seller demanded.
“…Even considering they’re student-made, that’s excessively cheap.”
I’d thought I was about to secure my first customer by offering cheap, decent potions.
But the tone almost sounded like he was telling me to charge more.
Suspicious, I kept my guard up.
There was no way this rank-obsessed capitalist was giving me advice for my benefit.
‘He’s testing me. Waiting to see if I push back.’
In the suddenly quiet faculty office, I quickly waved my hands.
“No, not at all. I—I’ve never practiced before. I think that’s a fair price for beginner-made potions.”
Normally, healers were assigned a dedicated instructor to teach them techniques.
I didn’t have one.
Coincidentally, there were no healers in the current first-year cohort, so I’d been naturally neglected.
