Academy’s Drunk Fighter

Dueling in Central Academy.
It’s one of those tropes now considered a kind of romanticized cliché.
A hallmark scene every "protagonist" is expected to pass through.

The villain picks a fight, the protagonist crushes them with overwhelming power, and the heroines begin to fall for him, one by one!
...If that’s the standard script for your average academy story, then my situation was definitely playing out a little differently.
A vast floor of white composite material stretched out before us.

It looked kind of like stone—some kind of fancy stone—but I couldn’t say exactly what kind.
The guy who’d shoved me—wait, no, the guy I shoved—stood across from me, raising his weapon.
Clack.

In his hand was a spear.
A blunt-looking spear made of wood.
But even if the weapons provided by the academy’s training rooms were wooden, a direct hit from one would definitely mess you up.

And on my side?
"Aren’t you gonna pick a weapon?" "Mm… don’t know how to use any!"
Just your average civilian who’s never once used a weapon.

Not that I had any special weapon of my own… unless you counted the liquor bottle in my right hand.
The outer shell was decently sturdy, so if it landed a solid hit, it might hurt.
"Y-You’re mocking me, aren’t you?!" "Not really."

But judging from how his face was flushing red again, he definitely thought I was mocking him.
Still, it’s not like I could help it.
Even among the simple weapons, sure, there was a spear available—but I’d never touched one in my life.
There was even a revolver among the provided choices, but what kind of drunk lunatic would try to shoot in a close-range duel?

Especially in a girl’s body, with no ability to handle the recoil?
No thanks. Even I knew I’d get KO’d before I could even aim.
Not to mention, I wasn’t exactly confident I’d win either.

[Current Intoxication: 1%]
[Curse – Alcoholic and Trait – Drunken Fist synergy triggered]
[Drunken Fist is now always active]
I’d been holding back on drinking as much as possible, trying to let the drunkenness wear off so I could reset Fajing’s cooldown, but I hadn’t waited long enough.
And even if I managed to reset it and use Fajing again… I’d immediately be left powerless afterward.

I was thinking through as many future contingencies as I could, but this wasn’t some overpowered fantasy setting where I could win easily just because I’m the MC.
Completely unaware of my internal panic, a crowd of what must’ve been hundreds had started to gather around the dueling ring.
And in the distance, the gym-rat professor was making her way over...

"HIIK!"
Her violent muscles and overwhelming aura made me shrink back before I even realized it.
"So, I heard there’s a duel happening here?"

"Ah—Professor Philia, right?"
"That’s me! We can’t let anything go too far, so I’ll act as referee."
"That would be appreciated."

She gave me a wide grin as she looked my way, and I tried to turn my head and pretend I didn’t see her.
Why… why is she looking at me like that…?!
Does she not realize that excessive attention is fatal to introverts?

"Alright, additional rules: No unauthorized weapons. You may only use the weapon you’ve chosen. Lethal intent or kill-focused attacks are prohibited. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Yeees…"

 
****
BWEEP!

A whistle echoed from somewhere the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} moment we separated to our starting points.
TAK!
We both moved at once—but he was faster.

His spear was flying toward me.
"Ugh!!" "Tch."
Faster than I’d expected.

I nearly lost sight of the spear altogether, dodging it by sheer luck.
He pulled it back instantly, ready to thrust again.
Well, that made sense. These people had trained for combat their entire lives.

You could even say that everyone here had enough talent to mop the floor with Olympic athletes.
It was obvious I was at a disadvantage.
Whoosh!

Swish!
I dodged again, trying to figure out a path forward.
"This is… exhausting…"

And that’s when I finally realized something.
I was even more of a scrub than I’d thought.
"Hah…!"

Just dodging left me winded.
Even if someone’s a seasoned RPG player, when thrown into a real boss fight, things like dodging and parrying go out the window.
What, you think a regular person can deflect a ten-meter greatsword with their bare hands?

Please.
SHHHHHK!!!
I barely slipped past the edge of the spear as it grazed my cheek.

I ran along the shaft of the spear aimed at my chest.
I broke through the awkward joint in his footwork.
THWACK!!

And finally, a fist landed squarely on his face, buying me a brief pause in the battle.
Still, the only reason I could even somewhat hold my own with my pathetic skills boiled down to two things.
First—he was clearly aware of my Fajing.

Most likely, Fajing was a unique skill only I possessed in this world.
No one knew how it worked, how powerful it was, or what the conditions and cooldowns were.
So, unless he was an idiot, he had to be thinking about it.

Especially since he’d already experienced it once.
It was a trump card strong enough to turn the tide of a fight.
"Faj—" "...!!"

The moment I said the skill name, his body froze just slightly—
and I used that timing to drive an attack in.
"Y-You...!" "Hehe."
His face turned bright red, like a tomato—guess he finally realized he was getting played.

But so what?
If you hate it so much, maybe you should’ve gotten the info advantage.
And the second reason I could still keep fighting—

"Come on, just get hit already…!!!"
[Drunken Fist] was doing way more work than I expected.
Whoosh, swish!

It wasn’t just a clumsy stagger.
Everyone here was what you’d call “gifted,” and they knew it.
Even I could tell.
When you play games, you naturally start predicting your opponent’s next moves.
Doesn’t matter if it’s an FPS, an RPG, whatever.

But even then, those movements are always confined by a body’s limits, physics, and the laws of the world.
I mean, no one expects a foot soldier 1000 meters away to suddenly teleport right in front of you.
So you move according to expectations.

The talented ones take it further—
They build entire trees of possibilities, planning five, ten, even hundreds of moves ahead.
But...
CRACK.

"Strike!" "GUHH!!"
[Drunken Fist] shatters that very first step.
Movements that completely disregard plans, logic, or physics—
they’re impossible to predict.

If this were real-life drunken boxing, I’d be influencing it a bit more consciously.
But this was my trait—and most of the movement came from my intoxication level itself.
Plus, it came with passive evasion boosts.
And so, barely, I was still keeping the fight going.

"Huuph!" "Ugh—"
Thud!
But dodging forever? That wasn’t an option.

A perfectly timed thrust hit me right in the gut.
I barely managed to deflect it with my hand and stagger backward.
He’s got the momentum now.
I wanted to keep chaining those bait-and-punch moves, but even booze couldn’t fully cover my physical limits anymore.

For the hundredth time, I regretted not training my damn stamina stat.
I could still barely dodge thanks to the trait, but at only 1% intoxication, this was the end of the line.
"It’s over!" "Ahh…"

Yeah, this was about as far as I’d get.
 
[Current Intoxication: 0%]
[Drunken Fist deactivated]

Cooldown done.
As a dizzy spell struck my brain, I quickly raised my right hand and took a swig.
"Fajing." "As if I’d fall for that again—!"

He’d been baited by fake-outs so many times already, he tried ignoring it—
 
[Current Intoxication: 1%]
[Synergy Triggered – Curse: Alcoholic + Trait: Drunken Fist]
[Drunken Fist reactivated]

 
Too bad. This time was the real deal.
BOOOOOOM!!!

A thunderous roar erupted.
Wind whipped through the arena. Smoke exploded outward.
Yeah, that hit was serious.

But…
RUMBLE...
It wasn’t over yet.

Through the fading smoke, he was still standing.
Judging by the snapped shaft of his spear, he must’ve blocked the blow using the center of the weapon.
"Wow… is this academy always this cracked?" "Hah… huff..."

It would take at least five minutes before Fajing came off cooldown again.
He looked exhausted too, sure—
but no way I’d survive five minutes in this state.
"This suuucks..."

But there was no way I was walking away from that 1 million won liquor tab.
What, you expect me to drink cheap corner-store vodka for three more years?
HELL. NO.

With tears in my eyes, I popped open the cap of my liquor bottle again.
Gulp. Gulp.
The fruity liquor ran down my throat, burning its way into my gut.

Farewell, precious taste…
but this one’s for the future—
for the good stuff yet to come.
"You… what are you—" "PUHAAH! Cheers!"
He seemed stunned by my sudden move.

But before he could process it, I’d already steadied myself.
"You’re not going anywhere—"
Before he could even react, I was already moving.

BANG!
"Ugh!"
The difference in speed was clear.

About 1.5x what I was before, give or take.
My head was swimming, but my body felt light.
"Heheh~"

WHAM!!
 
[Current Intoxication: 3%]
[Trait – Potion of Courage activated]
[Physical stats slightly increased]

 
"…!"
He lunged again, thrusting his spear forward.

But—
"Too obvious!!!"
Even a goldfish could see it coming.

Sure, he had talent—but that’s it.
And so I moved half a step in, closed the gap, and drove a straight punch right between his eyes.
THUMP!!

"Khghhh..."
My bottle caught the light, glinting brightly overhead.
"Wait! Stop! That’s enough—!"

The musclehead professor jumped up—
But she was too late.
SMASH!!

"GUAAARRRGHH!!"
"...Oops? Too much? Haha!"
Glass shards sparkled like confetti as they scattered across the air.

But while I looked down at the guy I’d just knocked out cold, my own body couldn’t escape the backlash of all that overexertion.
"Ugh… wait—my stomach—"
And then…

All hell broke loose.
"Kyaaaaah!! SHE’S PUKING!!" "WHERE’S THE MED TEAM?!!!" "SHE’S COMING THIS WAY—MOVE!!!" "WHY IS SHE COMING TO ME?!"
That day, I earned a title at Central Academy—one for the history books.

[The Mad Bitch of the Entrance Ceremony]
Not that I even knew it existed, but hey… cheers to that.