UHNA 07

Chapter 07

 Surviving as an F-Rank Healer

He deliberately looked away from Jin Hari’s bright white smile.

‘…But if she doesn’t give up even after a year.’

Then, perhaps, he could slightly increase her chances of survival.

Han Sung twisted one corner of his mouth into a smirk and thought to himself about Jin Hari:

‘After graduation, I’ll help her survive at least until C-rank.’

How long that motivation would last, he didn’t know.

‘Miracles only drop a single drop for humans who work themselves to death.’

Gentle-natured people usually lack grit. If Jin Hari turned out to be that type, it would actually be fortunate. Keeping her alive would be much easier that way.

That thought was shattered just a week later.

Unaware that the protagonist had begun paying attention to me just from a single naive declaration, I diligently faced the next day.

Today, I had business in the teacher’s office.

I needed to get permission to use the personal crafting room.

Of course, there was a more important purpose, but that wasn’t something a teacher needed to approve.

“Teacher!”

“What is it?”

The homeroom teacher, who had disliked Jin Hari from day one, reluctantly answered.

“I have a request.”

“A request?”

The intent behind that tone screamed: “You, of all people, dare demand something of me?”

I lowered my gaze with an apologetic expression and said carefully:

“Could I borrow the crafting room during times no one else uses it? I don’t have a personal crafting room or equipment. Ah! I’ll provide all the materials myself.”

“Haa…”

He let out a deep, weary sigh, as if life itself were exhausting.

He’s doing it just to show me, obviously.

I stayed silent and watched carefully. After tapping his desk and stalling, he finally asked:

“Why do you need the crafting room?”

I answered calmly.

“Because potion-making is the only thing I can do.”

“You know how to make them, huh? Then you also know that the Narin Academy crafting room is too valuable to only be used for low-grade potions.”

The homeroom teacher gave a blunt critique with a neutral expression.

“Private rooms are only allowed from the second year onward.”

“That’s…”

I didn’t know. But second year is far too late.

‘Events start happening non-stop from the first year.’

Practicals start today itself.

I hadn’t asked any S-rank students from other classes to take me along, so of course, I would be left out—but others were different.

‘As far as I remember, there were no casualties this month.’

Sinister signs kept appearing, marking the period when the protagonist and main characters would have their first meeting incident.

I had to improve my skills as much as possible during this month.

The academy provided a fixed amount of potions, so anything beyond that had to be bought—but from intermediate grade onward, the cost was beyond what students could manage.

Normally, this system wasn’t a problem.

Dangerous situations requiring intermediate-grade potions rarely occur in the first year.

‘Or situations where intermediate potions are meaningless, so you die.’

But after this month, Class 8 would face all sorts of mutated dungeons throughout the first year…

I glanced at my skill window.

[Welcome to the world of “The Only SSS-Rank Party is Me”!]

• Your soul will sustain this world!

[This world is based on certain lore but allows minor anomalies to maintain the world’s balance.]

The window I had seen immediately upon possession was still the same.

[Character Info]

[‘Jin Hari’

• Unfortunate Extra (A): One lucky day, the remaining 364 days are unlucky! Wishes tend to be granted in reverse.

• Healer (F): Heals shallow injuries.]

Interpreted in the current situation, that useless A-rank passive meant that my potion success rate was significantly lower than that of a normal F-rank healer.

Sure enough.

[Exclusive Skills]

• Reverse Heal (F): Absorbs misfortune from a specific area to miraculously revive it. Occasionally blessed by otherworldly gods. Usable three times a day. Command: “Heal.”

• Potion Making (F): High chance of failure due to combined misfortune values! However, with otherworldly mana, there is a 0.001 chance of producing a lowest-grade potion. Command: “Mix” (can be executed without a magic window).

Look at this skill window, full of ominous warnings.

Since I decided to improve my skills to help the others as much as possible, there was only one thing I could do.

I had to roll.

To death.

“Th-That? What’s that?”

I swallowed hard and spoke to the homeroom teacher, who was waiting for my explanation.

“…Even a low-grade potion is still a potion, right?”

“At most, it only works for E and D ranks. It barely affects C rank. Beyond that, there’s no point in drinking it.”

“Exactly.”

I wracked my brain to come up with a plausible excuse.

“One-third of our class is E rank, and the rest are still D rank.”

There were only one or two C ranks.

“…I see.”

The homeroom teacher seemed to hesitate for a moment—was that my imagination?

I tilted my head but continued anyway.

“And even across the first-year students, there aren’t many above C rank.”

Our class had more E-rank students than others, but the situation in other classes wasn’t much different.

‘There’s only one S-rank in the first year, and he’s a trap character.’

At least in the first year, most students were average.

‘Later, rank gaps will widen depending on growth.’

So even the lowest-grade potions were needed.

The homeroom teacher frowned with a strange expression, as if he realized what I meant.

Yet, he didn’t immediately tell me to stop talking, and his silence was a hopeful sign.

A moment later, he pushed up his rimless glasses and said:

“…Go on.”

“If I make a lot, my success rate will improve. Even just one or two successful potions are better than nothing.”

“One or two potions in the crafting room?”

“I hardly go to dungeons anyway. I’m the only one with free time, so it feels wasteful to do nothing. I’ll prepare the materials myself and practice, so it might benefit the school… maybe…!”

“Hmm. Benefiting the school, huh.”

He turned his chair toward me.

His icy eyes studied me, as if checking whether I was lying.

“You won’t be able to keep supplying materials long-term, so it’s not really a benefit. Considering an F-rank’s success rate, it’s highly likely only the tools will wear out.”

Strangely, the contempt in his voice had disappeared.

‘Ah, maybe he finds it somewhat valuable?’

I remembered that this B-rank(?) gardener-like teacher became serious when he worked.

‘And one more thing. He’s stingy.’

I hesitated, then carefully added:

“Then I’ll sell them cheaply.”

“Planning to openly sell them at school?”

It wasn’t prohibited anyway.

“F-rank potions for 1 Dun, E-rank for 3 Dun.”

“…”

The Dun (DUN) is the minimum dungeon currency unit.

Converting it, 1 Dun and 3 Dun are 100 and 300 won. The homeroom teacher pressed his lips together.

“That should cover material costs.”

For reference, the lowest-grade F-rank potion costs 1 silver (10,000 won), low-grade E and D potions are 100 silver (1 million won), and intermediate C and B potions are 500 silver (5 million won).

High-grade A potions and above often cost whatever the seller asks.

“…Even considering they’re student-made, that’s extremely cheap.”

I thought I’d gained a customer for cheap, good potions.

But somehow, he gave me an impression of expecting me to ask for more—it was strange, yet I remained cautious.

This rank (sometimes golden) pragmatist wouldn’t give me advice that truly benefits me.

‘I’ll test the waters. He’s waiting for me to assert myself!’

In the slightly quiet teacher’s office, I quickly waved my hands and said:

“Not at all. I haven’t practiced… I think it’s a fair price for a beginner-made potion.”

Normally, healers had a dedicated teacher guiding them, but I had none.

Coincidentally, there were no healers in the first year, so I was naturally left alone.