Master of Cotton Thread

Quill lingered in his seat until the crowd of students had thinned.

Preferring solitude to chaos, he felt that waiting a few minutes was a small price for a peaceful exit.

With the hall now quiet, he headed directly to his dorm.

The dormitories at the academy were divided by rank, fostering a fiercely competitive atmosphere from the start.

Higher-ranked students shared spaces with their equals and enjoyed greater privileges, such as private training facilities and superior living conditions.

While the baseline standard of living was already decent, those striving for excellence always sought more.

Quill walked briskly, his thoughts racing. "Alright, focus," he muttered to himself.

The academy prided itself on a meritocratic system, yet social dynamics still seeped in.

The Sentinel rank hierarchy, established solely for the duration of the academy stay, meant that upsetting an influential student—even a low-ranked one—could lead to trouble after graduation.

This fear led some students, particularly those from humble beginnings, to deliberately underachieve, staying under the radar to avoid future conflicts.

Quill shook his head.

One might assume this was a flaw in the academy's system, but it was quite the opposite.

It was designed to weed out the weak. If someone was already afraid of another's wealth, they wouldn't be a valuable asset against Humanity's enemies.

'Deliberately staying low just to avoid trouble... not really my style,' Quill grinned, recalling how he had never been popular among his peers too.

He had always been a thorn in the side of the noble kids in his life, and there was no way he would change in this world.

When he learned he was ranked 3662 out of 5000, a surge of mixed emotions swept over him.

For a member of the distinguished Nocturne family, this rank was somewhat disappointing.

"3662? That's... underwhelming," he muttered, tapping his scroll.

His mind buzzed with thoughts of family expectations and personal goals. 'No wonder I—Quill—didn't show up in the beginning.'

He was certain the protagonist hadn't met another Nocturne, except for Erisa, here at the academy.

Altough with the sheer number of students, it made sense that the novel would only highlight the important characters.

Yet it remained peculiar that the original Quill, with his ties to the Nocturne family, was not mentioned at all.

Guided by his scroll, Quill made his way toward the Defender Dorm.

The dormitories at the academy were segmented by rank, creating an exclusive environment where access was determined by one's academic standing.

Students ranked between 4000 and 5000 were assigned to the Vanguard Dorm, a sprawling structure designed to comfortably house a thousand residents.

Similarly, those like Quill, ranked between 3000 and 3999, called the spacious Defender Dorm home.

Quill glanced around as he walked. 'Defender Dorm... sounds about right,' he mused.

Despite each building accommodating a thousand students, the architects had ingeniously designed the spaces to avoid feeling overcrowded.

The exception might be the cafeteria, which could become packed but only in the rare event that every student decided to dine at the same time.

Privacy was a given—each student enjoyed the luxury of a personal room.

Ascending the rank ladder, students ranked between 2000 and 2999 resided in the Protector Dorm, and those between 1000 and 1999 lived in the stately Guardian Dorm.

The exclusivity intensified higher up the rankings.

Students in the ranks of 500 to 999 were housed in the Paladin Dorm, and those from 11 to 499 enjoyed the prestige of the Sentinel Dorm.

At the pinnacle of this hierarchy, the top 10 ranked students were afforded the privilege of living in the Eclipse Dorm.

Smaller yet far more opulent than the others, this elite residence boasted numerous benefits, setting apart its distinguished inhabitants in both comfort and status.

There was a logic behind the naming of the dorms.

It mirrored the actual categorization of power levels in this world, with Hunters in the Vanguard Rank being the weakest of the chain and Hunters in the Sentinel Rank the strongest.

An unspoken level existed beyond the Sentinel: the Eclipse level Hunter.

This rank was reserved for the elite, surpassing even the Sentinels, but such a title was exceedingly rare and granted only to the very strongest of Hunters.

At the academy, these rankings were more symbolic.

No one here could win against a Vanguard-ranked Hunter—not even the protagonist at this very moment.

It highlighted the vast gap between Hunters in training and those already established in their careers.

Even after graduation, one would have to achieve significant feats and handle themselves well to be considered a Vanguard-level Hunter.

"A Hunter... I guess that is the plan for now," Quill whispered to himself. 

'To survive this world. To adapt and get stronger. To return home.'

Stopping in his tracks, Quill looked up at the bright blue sky.

The final realization struck him. He really was in his favorite novel, The Purple-Eyed Prince.

Students rushed and walked past him, forming groups and exploring the surroundings. Some were probably already training in their respective dorm facilities.

Everything seemed so peaceful. But it wasn't. Quill knew it best.

Why would the world focus its resources on creating Hunters? Why were families like his own as influential as they were? Where was the need for Hunter training?

Reapers.

Creatures named for their devastating acts.

Horrible monsters that wreaked havoc on the world.

Humanoid, devilish beings with cursed blood.

The only similarity they shared with humans was their form.

Everything else was simply hollow smoke. Dark as shadows, their eyes were white holes, as were their mouths—no nose or ears. Simply Reaping Shadows.

Some were simple-minded, some intelligent, others purely demonic.

One might assume it was clear who the enemy in this world was.

Yet humans themselves created obstacles.

Some partnered with these Reapers, others indulged in full symbiotic connections with them, making one wonder if those individuals were still human.

But these were problems for another time. Not now.

"Focus," he said firmly to himself.

"One step at a time."

/||\

Making his way inside the Defender Dorm, Quill noticed a line at the entrance, but it wasn't much of a wait.

A scanner verified identities as students stepped through.

When Quill's turn came, the scanner lit up green, confirming his identity.

No one bothered to check further—faking an identity was virtually impossible, even with shapeshifting abilities.

This system also ensured that only residents, or those with special permission, could enter a dorm.

Quill took one of the four elevators and pressed the C button; his room was C-32, as his scroll had informed him.

He noticed a few students glancing his way. Identifying a Nocturne wasn't difficult, and Quill assumed their nervousness stemmed from that.

'Guess they recognize the eyes,' 

As the elevator ascended, a murmur broke the silence. "Is that really him?" someone whispered.

"Yeah, I think it is," another voice replied.

Quill's ears burned, but he kept his face impassive.

There would undoubtedly be students trying to get on his good side or make connections simply because of his name. Fortunately, this wouldn't be a new experience for him.

He had learned to distinguish between those who genuinely wanted to be friends and those who saw him as an opportunity, thanks to his own past.

As the elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the C floor, Quill stepped out and headed down the corridor.

The design was sleek and modern, with a touch of the academy's emblem on the walls, reminding students of the prestige and responsibility they carried.

Quill followed the numbered doors until he found C-32.

A small plate on the wall displayed the door number along with a little screen—details he either forgot or that weren't mentioned in the novel.

It wasn't really surprising; no one wanted to read about minor and annoying things like these.

"Hmm," Quill muttered, examining the screen. He placed his thumb against the display, hoping it would activate like his scroll. Nothing happened.

"Great," he sighed, contemplating other methods. "Whole hand? Maybe an eye scan?"

Then he remembered Erina's speech about the scrolls being essential tools. He placed his scroll on the display, and with a small click, the door unlocked.

"Perfect," he said, relieved.

With high anticipation, Quill entered the room, greeted by a well-organized and neatly prepared space.

It had the elegance of a high-quality hotel room, yet with a personal charm that made it feel like a home.

The bathroom was spacious, with sleek, modern fixtures and a large mirror framed in ornate gold.

Soft lighting emanated from vintage-style sconces, casting a warm glow.

The bed was inviting, draped in luxurious linens with a canopy of intricately carved wood, flanked by nightstands with brass lamps designed to resemble gaslights.

Across from the bed, a big TV was mounted on the wall, cleverly disguised within an antique wooden frame, adding a touch of old-world charm to the cutting-edge device.

To one side, there was a compact yet fully equipped kitchen.

The appliances were state-of-the-art, but their exteriors were designed with a Victorian aesthetic—rich wood paneling and brass fittings.

A high-end coffee maker and a small wine cooler added a touch of luxury. The cozy dining area featured a polished mahogany table with two high-backed, velvet-upholstered chairs.

Quill couldn't help but marvel at the thoughtful details.

'This is just as good as my apartment back home,' 

He wondered how the other dorms looked. The novel hadn't delved deeply into descriptions, so seeing them with his own eyes would be a treat.

Slumping his briefcase and himself onto the bed, he confirmed its comfort.

It was really... fluffy.

Looking at the ceiling, Quill tried to organize his thoughts.

He was no longer in his world.

He was in the body of the character named Quill Nocturne, trapped in his favorite novel.

"...I am going crazy, aren't I?" he whispered to himself, a smile slowly creeping onto his face. "This is... exciting."

His heart trembled as the full weight of his situation hit him.

The thrill of living in a world he had only read about mixed with a profound sense of dread.

This wasn't just an adventure; it was life or death.

If he didn't act and plan accordingly, he could die or become a lifeless puppet—a tragic fate for those reaped by the Reapers.

No, he couldn't let that happen.

Death wouldn't greet him until he returned home.

His home.

He had to get back. Otherwise, his little sister would be all alone again.

His parents weren't horrible parents—quite the opposite. They were loving and caring. But lately, they had been distant, away from home, leaving his little sister all alone.

He remembered her bright, innocent eyes and the way she clung to him whenever she felt scared or lonely.

The thought of her enduring that loneliness without him brought a lump to his throat.

His smile turned sad; his heart belonged back home, where a little girl needed her big brother.

He straightened himself up, placing the briefcase onto his knees. "Alright..."

'What could it be? A super rare artifact? Maybe pills to make me stronger or potions giving me lasting abilities.'

Quill slowly opened the briefcase.

...

...

"...What the f—"

There were dozens of different colored packs of cotton.

Freaking cotton.

There was also a little envelope. Opening it in the hopes of discovering that the cotton was simply hiding a super rare artifact, Quill's last hope was crushed.

"Oi, brat. If you were expecting a rare artifact, tough luck. What you're looking at is the finest quality of cotton threads I could find. Enjoy! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH"

"..."

'Was it really necessary for him to include the laugh?'

He was screwed.

'Master of Thread my ass.'

His head began to throb. He was a freaking Nocturne, and this was his Gift? What kind of loser was Quill?

Though it wasn't guaranteed, each family had their specific tree of Gift they could inherit.

The Nocturne family was known for their abilities to manipulate spilled blood.

Quill calmed himself down, inwardly cursing the author for creating this convoluted power system.

In the novel The Purple-Eyed Prince, the power system was based on three factors that determined whether an ability would awaken:

Bloodline: A strong bloodline increased both the likelihood and strength of an ability. Families with a rich history of powerful Gifts, like the Nocturnes, had higher chances of passing down these abilities.

Talent: Natural aptitude enhanced the power and effectiveness of the ability. This was an innate trait that some individuals were born with, making their abilities more potent and versatile.

Will: The determination and desire to achieve something influenced the nature and potency of the ability.

This was the most mysterious factor, as it depended on the individual's personal drive and emotional state during their awakening.

These three factors combined to grant a Gift.

A powerful bloodline made the Gift stronger by default. If combined with natural talent, it became even more formidable.

The final touch was Will—something he himself never fully understood in the novel.

Will was the driving force behind the ability's nature, shaped by the individual's deepest desires or emotions, such as revenge, honor, or justice.

Most people in this world were not Gift users. 

Among those who were, only a small portion became Hunters.

The author simplified the process: an individual would either awaken their ability on their 16th birthday or not.

This binary outcome led to both ethical and unethical methods to influence awakenings.

For instance, if someone harbored immense hatred against Reapers during their awakening, they were likely to develop an ability centered on eradicating Reapers.

The strength of this ability, however, was still governed by their bloodline and talent.

This system led to various manipulative practices. Families and organizations would sometimes create conditions to evoke strong emotions in potential Gift users to shape their abilities.

There were also extremely rare cases of second awakenings—a once-in-a-century event—where an individual could gain an additional or enhanced Gift.

Most of the Nocturne family were without any Gift, which brought him back to Quill and his peculiar ability.

'What kind of will was this? Did Quill love knitting so much that he wanted to be even more efficient at it? What the hell?'

It was a strange and tragic case.

If he was in the body of a Nocturne, why couldn't he just have their trademark Gift?

'Whatever.'

Focusing back on the briefcase, Quill continued to clear it out. To his surprise, there was something else beneath all the cotton.

'A glove?'

No, it was too large for a glove; it reached up to his elbow and had a strange metallic mechanism. It resembled a slingshot but was more advanced and robust.

Trying it on his right arm, a blue window suddenly popped up.

[ Artifact Rank D equipped

Grade: 1

Name: Musketeer's Gauntlet

Function: Can store any kind of small object up to the capacity of 10 and use it as ammunition for shooting. ]

"Huh," he let out.

'The old man did give me something useful after all.'

"Ten small objects..." He looked at the cotton threads, each neatly formed into its own cube, perfect for use as ammunition.

Picking one of the threads, he brought it near the gauntlet. A small glowing scanner activated and, to his surprise, the thread was sucked into the gauntlet.

How that was even possible, he didn't know. But using human knowledge about logical science and physics in a world that clearly didn't follow the same rules wouldn't do him any good.

Looking at the gauntlet, he found a little button right by his thumb.

Aiming his right arm at the wall, he pressed the button with his index finger.

The result was disappointing.

It did shoot out one single thread, but there was no power behind it at all.

Quill had anticipated it to be firm and solid; instead, it was like throwing a cotton thread with his own hand, like a feather falling to the ground.

"Maybe I have to use my ability at the same time," he murmured. But how could he activate it? In the novel, the characters simply did it.

'...Maybe that is it—simply do it. Think as if it were natural.'

So he tried again, aiming at the wall and pressing the button, now focusing on what he wanted the thread to do.

And it worked!

The thread practically flew across the room. It was strong and taut, far more solid than before.

He was sure it could be longer if he shot it with more distance between him and the wall.

Touching the string, it felt stone-hard and thin, almost invisible to the naked eye. Out of curiosity, he put his finger on it and slid it quickly.

"Argh." Looking at his finger, he saw a small wound, a bit of blood trickling out.

"Haha."

Thousands of possibilities flashed through his mind. He could capture someone, set traps, and do all sorts of things.

But at the end of the day, it was still just a cotton thread. Any good weapon or strong fist would easily cut it.

Still...

'Maybe this isn't as useless as I thought it would be,'

The Musketeer's Gauntlet was still Grade 1.

He knew it was possible to level it up.

With a simple thought, the floating thread softened and obeyed his command, plopping back into its original state.

It seemed like his Gift allowed him to manipulate the cotton thread in various ways—changing its strength, making it hard or stiff, moving it in any direction he willed, and shaping it into any form possible with cotton.

He could also return it to its original soft condition with its natural physics.

While he could manipulate the thread without the gauntlet, carrying all these materials with him and unpacking them constantly would be inconvenient.

This gauntlet was his new friend.

Quill loaded nine more cotton packs into the gauntlet.

With a total of 40 packs left, he stored them back in the briefcase and placed it under the bed.

"Haah," he sighed, a mixture of relief and exhaustion washing over him.

It was 6 pm, still too early for him to sleep, but for some reason, he was very tired. He closed his eyes, knowing what awaited him tomorrow.

"Huh, this is... indeed very exciting," he whispered to himself, a smile tugging at his lips.