As Isaac settled down in the dining hall for his lunch break, his mind could not help but wander to Biothaumics. The game's fight scenes were unfurling scientifically in his head.
The shriek of the Obsidian Shard-beast would be a Silicon-based while the glacial breath of the Frost Weeper was Ammonia lifeforms' excretions in a way.
A chill pricks his skin.
This digital bestiary, so vivid, so alive, should be impossible.
Earth's laws shatter against its hide like his dagger against the Ophiocervus.
Yet here, in this 'coded' world, biology played the game by the rules of Biothaumurgy.
What if nature itself is interchangeable?
The thought haunts him, not as fantasy.
Reality is only contextual and exists under observation.
It terrifies him.
This divergence, this sublime fracture in the fabric of what should be, is his only anchor.
In dissecting the science, Isaac became both scholar and ghost.
He remembers the controller vibrations and the pixelated roars… yet his bones knew.
These truths I uncover are beautiful lies.
Elegant fictions.
Isaac walks through valleys sculpted from someone else's dreams, hunting monsters spun from borrowed nightmares.
That is the paradox.
Understanding, therefore, deepens the isolation. The more he unravels Biothaumics' secrets, the crystalline lattice of a golem's heart, the mix of carbon and sulphur of a phoenix's rebirth, the more profoundly alone he feels.
An archaeologist in a ruin that never was.
A physicist in a universe that winks out when the server sleeps.
Perhaps it was | Media Literacy | fizzing up his isolation of awareness sourced from his Existentialism.
But he refuses. He refuses to stop.
His purpose remains.
Raising his head to show the world forward, his unnatural eyes. This story, tangled in its binary, needs a witness. An observer. To abandon it now would be a betrayal of every creature dissected, every law defied, every truth half-glimpsed in the glow of this screen.
So Isaac clings to that flicker of unreality. It reminds him.
He briefly turns off Topological Anchor V2 to bask in his own unfiltered thoughts.
Phew… I am not here to live, but to see and dissect the illusion, to peel back the gilded lies of 'Magic' and expose the clockwork beneath for myself.
This world will end.
Before it does, I will force it to confess its truths.
With science, not Magic.
If that's what it's pushing me to, I'll head home and use the findings of this world so that I may elevate the world when I return to Earth. To be a HDS far greater than Agerea could ever be.
If only I were smart enough back then to grasp it… Maybe mother…
Hah…
I can only hope the Clankers' mental state fares better at these revelations.
Kidding… Screw him.
Arc II of Act I: The Interest Arc.
All should go fine… Well… If that damn Clanker doesn't break first.
Caelum.
I do hope you find the strength in your programming to resist his temptations.
Isaac turned off Topological Anchor V2 after he finished his lunch quickly and efficiently, savoring the dish's taste and the proteins gained. To clarify, the 4th dish's taste before glancing at the clock.
38 minutes until history.
Plenty of time.
Aside from the main cast, I need to monitor the neglected.
Characters so irrelevant still must be watched.
I need to make sure that they are still rigorous and studious in their work. After all, the Institute's survival depends on whether its students have the combined power to face the future.
I cannot neglect everyone else for the main cast and place my hopes in them to carry through.
He slips out of the dining hall, blending into the stream of uniforms.
"Topological Anchor V2: Activate"
Once more, the familiar static green washes over reality again as the world dissolves into binary.
Ugh… It's annoying that I have to see and translate everything into English from Binary. Maybe version 3 automatically does that for me?
I hope so.
By fracturing another sliver of his sanity, Isaac gains five extra minutes of perception time.
38 minutes becomes 43 minutes just for me in this worldview.
First destination, House of Esyphyr. Isaac spots two students duel, their Clause-Constructs flashing in controlled bursts. One overextend whiles the other hesitates before countering.
Too predictable and too slow, do better for fucksake.
Opposite them, a Concordant and a Kynetic clash. A Wolf-like Concordee biting down on the Kynetics's claymore, forcing the slash through its masseter muscle and through its entire body.
Huh… Wait a sec, isn't that swordsman kinda familiar…
Oh, shit—I know him!
Oh my~ Seeing those muscles up close hits different.
Total ladies' man in the game's fanbase, too.
First-Year Novice Class Kynetic: Ivan Osmanov. The Dagestani Denier.
Defier of Magic, more so than me.
Eh… I didn't spot him in Biothaumics earlier… I bet he skipped class.
I relate to him a fair bit more. He, too, is stuck with a curse like me, maybe even worse.
Since birth, Ivan Osmonov had Congenital Tau-9 Receptor Cleavage Disorder, a congenital malformation of the Tau-9 receptor that severs its cognitive Thaumiton-sequencing function while disinhibiting its somatic branch, flooding Ivan's muscles with continuous, unregulated Thaumiton saturation from birth. One of the only examples in history. This led to him being unable to formulate any complex Clause-Constructs or techniques.
The worst part…
Unlike Isaac's | Hollow Frame| Attribute, expressed in the world via muscular dystrophy, Ivan's is permanent.
Though that's in Old EAA… I wonder how he would have developed as a smarter man?
It's a brutal way to live. But… He sure is making do with it.
On paper, a Concordant should dominate a duel. Distance is power, and Concordees care little for flesh and bone. Ivan, who has dealt with this issue his entire life, was ready to use a technique designed to cheat distance.
Phantom Step.
What fucking bullshittery would such a broken ability be called scientifically?
A single lunge that closes the distance between combatants.
Based on Synsōken. Do they use it here? Nevertheless, Ivan's application of it is great. Jack of all trades, master of all.
Form I: Gibon. The Basic
High Knyagatyrsk drilled the basics, efficiency over flair.
Structural and minimal wrist torque, plus disarmament via leverage.
Form II: Wiban. The Offence.
Mid Knyagatyrsk made the offence.
A lethal single-target offense, prioritizing weapon retention and micro-adjustments to nick.
Form III: Fang Yu. The Defence.
Low Knyagatyrsk protected.
Defence built on conservation of momentum and constant recentering to avoid overextension.
If it were Earth, Korean, Japanese, and Chinese working together in unison to develop this world's basic swordmanship. Of course, the French, which should be the Elenese, will later add onto this trio with some individuals taking up their own unique styles.
But… What great camaraderie, the world working in unison.
Since Ivan's primary weapon is a single-handed claymore wielded with superhuman strength, I mean, I don't think those weapons are really that heavy, but still, using it with one hand is mental…
But Phantom Step would allow distance to be cheated, for what is distance when folded against itself?
And if I'm correct…
The blunt wooden claymore ripped through the Concordee's body in a horizontal half before Ivan appeared directly against the Concordant, shoulder to stomach. Logically, the Concordant would try to flee backwards.
Ivan anticipated this.
The duel ended with the tip of the training blade barely stopping against the Concordant's internal jugular vein. As a teasing gesture, Ivan pretended to slit his throat ear-to-ear before sheathing the blade in a non-existent sheath.
Did this fucker really need to do that… Cringe.
I don't know a lot about fencing or swordplay cuz I was a person who prioritized hand-to-hand combat, but…
What a wonderful display of Form II Synsōken… And awfully realistic too, what the fuck?
I'm sure in EAA, there was all that flashy bullshit fictional swordplay that is depicted by all other similar shittily made media. It's refreshing to see proper technique in this world, I wouldn't know cuz my knowledge is from reels… Would that be called a parry and riposte, or rather a parry into pressure into a Flèche?
…
Eh, I don't fucking know.
I only know jab, straight, cross, and hook.
Though… I'd love an in-world explanation on how to perform Phantom Step with Magic.
Maybe one day I'll ask him if we grow close enough.
Isaac commits their mistakes to memory for future exploitation.
Never mind the dueling… I should go on some Clanker timing and anonymously motivate or incentivise practical combat instructors to drill on feints for the Mages and distancing techniques for the Tamers. Maybe study and publish some swordplay theory to improve their fencing?
I'll decide that later.
Next, the Library.
A debate erupted over a written report. A First-Year, with a small, ink-stained palm, had the audacity to correct a senior's errors on Clause-Construct formulae on her first day of lectures, the older student scowling but never arguing, for he knew he was wrong and accepting those facts.
Good. Very good progress. If all of Cohort 2409 are similarly prodigious, they will cement themselves as one of the most talented cohorts to enroll, which garners more attention, and more attention expands the positive Game Theory.
Caelum the Clanker at the epicenter.
Final stop, reluctantly, Isaac returns to the gym of Yves. The humidity hits like a wall, stale sweat and ozone. A girl slams a dumbbell onto the floor, veins outlined by sweat. Her form is flawless and controlled, but—
"Girl, you're… a bit too distracting for the other guys."
She looked down at her workout clothes and realized the strap of her sports bra had wandered a bit too far off to the side.
"A-ah, sorry!"
One poor soul fumbles his barbell—"OWWW"—right onto his foot.
They may be emotionally intelligent, but lust finds its way around.
Gotta keep all the First-Years undistracted and high in their testosterone to ensure maximum manliness and growth.
…
That's the end of my checklist. Good to see that most students are performing well while keeping themselves diligent.
In total, that took me 33 mins unslowed, leaving 5 mins to walk back to History Class.
No problem.
As Isaac turns and heads back to the main building for history class, he catches a familiar glint watching him. A pure red gaze, one of molten fire.
Hoh? First interaction with an FMC and it's her…
01010011 01100101 01110000 01101000 01100001 01101100 01111001 01101110 00100000 01010110 01100101 01101100 01100101 01100100 11000011 10110100 01101110 01101001 01100001 00001010
Sephalyn Veledônia.
She leans against a pillar, arms crossed. Observing Isaac observing the students.
Their eyes lock.
"Your highness?"
"Hey, creep~ Isaac Mun~"