"Next! Viktor Volkov, move your lazy carcass before I help you with the heel of my boot!"
The shout rattled my teeth. I stood in the center of the Grand Hall, feeling like I'd been dragged through a graveyard backward. My eyes burned, my head throbbed, and I hadn't slept since the Neolithic era. All I truly craved was a triple-shot espresso. Instead, I was staring at five hundred judgmental teenagers and a glowing red "Holy Orb of Truth" that looked like a giant, overpriced marble stolen from a billionaire's bathroom.
I moved, my boots feeling like they were made of reinforced concrete. The air was thick with stale incense and the sour sweat of terrified kids. My palms were slick. A cold drop of sweat raced down my spine. If I didn't manifest a Rank-B skill in the next five minutes, the guards were legally allowed to toss me into the gutters. One touch. That was the deal. One touch to decide if I was a god or a footstool.
I reached out. My fingers brushed the cold glass. A screen flashed in the air, neon-dim and mocking.
**[Skill Awakened: Interpretation — Rank F]**
The silence lasted exactly one second before the hall erupted.
"Rank F? Is that even real?"
"I've seen street cats with better potential," a voice jeered. "What's he gonna do? Interpret why he's a failure?"
Alexei, a Count's son with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, leaned over from the front row. "Hey, Volkov! Interpretation? Does that mean you can interpret why your father never came back after saying he was just going out for milk?"
The laughter hit me like a punch. Dmitri, Alexei's thumb-shaped lackey, barked like a dog. The High Priest let out a disgusted snort, his long white beard quivering.
"A mistake of the Heavens," the Priest droned, crossing my name off a ledger. "Begone, Meaningless. You're a waste of divine mana. Don't let the door hit you on the way to the slums."
I stared at the Orb. It was pulsing an annoying, judgmental red light. *Interpretation?* I thought. My vision flickered. A violet box snapped into existence.
> **[System Message]**
> *Scanning... Oof. This hardware is garbage. Is this running on a potato?*
> *Advice: This 'Holy Orb' is just a glorified nightlight with a short circuit.*
> *'Interpretation' isn't just reading, Viktor. It's 'Definition'. Re-write the narrative.*
I looked at the High Priest, then at Alexei. My grip tightened on the stone dais.
"Mistake of the Heavens?" I muttered. "This thing isn't a holy artifact. It's just a Low Battery LED with a short circuit."
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank F)]**
**[Target: Holy Orb of Truth]**
**[New Meaning: 'Dying Battery Indicator']**
*Clink.*
The red glow stuttered and turned a sickly yellow. A sound echoed through the hall—a long, agonizingly sad *waa-waa-waa-waaaa* trombone slide. The light died. Gray smoke drifted out of the base. It smelled like burnt rubber.
"The... the Orb? It's dark?" The Priest's hand began to shake.
"Looks like the battery's dead," I said, shrugging. "Maybe you should have charged it overnight? Very irresponsible for a man of the cloth."
"You broke it!" Alexei screamed, jumping to his feet. He stomped over, his S-Rank 'Solar Flare' aura flickering with golden light. "That's a national treasure, you Rank F rat!"
Alexei raised his hand, flames dancing between his fingers. The heat scorched the air. "Apologize on your knees," he commanded, "or I'll burn the 'Meaningless' right out of your skin."
I stepped directly into his space. "Your fire isn't even hot. It's just a really aggressive flashlight. It's flashy trash."
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank F)]**
**[Target: Alexei's Solar Flare]**
**[New Meaning: 'Cheap Disco Strobe Light']**
The golden flames shifted into flickering, multicolored neon lights. *Purple. Green. Pink.* A muffled, techno beat began to pump from his palm. Alexei froze, holding what looked like a miniature nightclub.
"What is this?" he stammered.
"Hey, Dmitri," I called out. "Is your boss taking requests? I'd love to hear some 'Sandstorm'."
Dmitri blinked. "I... I like the pink lights."
"Shut up!" Alexei roared, swinging a neon-fist at my face.
**[Interpretation Activated]**
**[Target: Alexei's Attack]**
**[New Meaning: 'An Intense Dance Battle Invitation']**
Alexei's momentum shifted. His body moved rhythmically. Instead of a punch, he performed a perfect, high-speed windmill spin on the floor.
"Stop it! My body is... I'm not doing this!" he screamed while his legs kicked into flawless breakdance flares.
"Look at him go," I said to the crowd. "The S-Rank genius. He doesn't just fight; he serves."
"Help him!" Alexei yelled at his lackey. Dmitri lunged at me.
> **[System Message]**
> *Target: Dmitri -> [Backup Dancer].*
"Don't leave him hanging!" I shouted.
**[Skill Activated: Interpretation (Rank F)]**
**[Target: Dmitri's Interference]**
**[New Meaning: 'Synchronized Jazz Hands']**
Dmitri didn't tackle me. He slid into position behind Alexei, hands shot up, and began a rhythmic jazz-hand routine. The High Priest watched in horror as the Academy's bullies turned the hall into a Broadway musical.
"I'll kill you, Volkov!" Alexei wheezed between spins.
"Can't hear you over the bass, DJ Alexei!" I waved and walked through the oak doors, leaving the disco behind. I felt great. The headache was gone.
But the victory lasted exactly ten seconds.
Two massive hands slammed onto my shoulders, nearly buckling my knees. I looked up. It wasn't the regular guards. These guys wore the black-and-crimson tabards of the High Inquisitors.
"The Dean wants to see you," the lead Inquisitor growled. He tightened his grip until my collarbones groaned. "And he's not in a dancing mood."
I tried to reach for my skill. A red notification flashed.
**[Skill Cooldown: 59:58...]**
"Wait, I can explain!" I croaked as they dragged me toward the dreaded Black Tower.
> **[System Message]**
> *Status: You are currently being dragged to your doom.*
> *Advice: Hope the Dean has a sense of humor. (He doesn't).*
The iron doors of the tower slammed shut behind us with a finality that made my blood run cold.