Chapter 10: So You’re Saying, Failing the Test Still Costs Money?

The next day, Lin Yu officially began his thirty-day “Newcomer Intensive Training.”
Contrary to the full military-style lockdown he had imagined, Dawn Corporation’s system was surprisingly…
“Humane”?

At nine in the morning, he had to clock in at the training center.
At six in the evening, if there was no “extra practice,” he could even clock out on time and return to his ten-square-meter “honeycomb” apartment.

And his “work content”?
From nine to six, inside that sterile white “simulation room,” he repeated a soul-crushing routine: clock in, transform into a girl, get beaten up by monsters, go home.

On the first day, when he finally came down from the agony of transformation and saw the gray-haired, green-eyed girl in the mirror, he simply raised a middle finger at the reflection.
No vomiting.
No terrified screaming.

f*ck!
Inwardly, using his original young man’s voice, he cursed flatly.
Fine, it’s just a job. Wearing weird costumes is normal… yeah, just like those guys who wear mascot suits at amusement parks. Work is work. Work my—f*ck this!

He clutched at the silky gray short hair, the texture so good it made him want to cry.

“[Executor, enter the simulation pod],” the cold electronic female voice urged.

“Coming, coming, stop rushing me already!”
Lin Yu snapped back in that crisp girlish voice, then shuffled into the pod like a cranky old man.

The result, of course, was him being smashed into the ground by a Pollutant with baby-sized arms.

After lowering the pain-synchronization a bit, the physical agony was barely tolerable.
Damn this job… not only do I have to gender-bend, I still have to get beaten up… Manager Qian, you old bastard, screw your ancestors…

At noon, it was break time.
Dragging his weary body, Lin Yu stepped into the employee cafeteria on the third floor of the training center.

He had expected tasteless nutrient paste.
Instead, the cafeteria was clean, bright, and served a spread comparable to a five-star buffet.
Juicy grilled steaks, elaborate Cantonese roasts, fragrant Japanese tempura, and even a dessert station.

Holy shit… this food…

He piled his plate sky-high, found a corner seat, and devoured everything like a storm.
Decision made! From now on, my main mission is raiding the cafeteria!

The beef’s juices burst in his mouth, the savory sauce and sweet rice blending perfectly.
It was the best meal he’d ever had.
…Alright, fine. For food like this, I’ll endure the afternoon beatings.

While eating, he observed the other “colleagues.”
Groups of JK-uniformed girls chattered away.

“Hey, look at my new pain gun skin! It’s the latest collab from SkyDome’s gaming division!”
A pink twin-tailed girl flaunted the virtual model of her magical pistol on her phone. The weapon was pink-and-white, with a wobbly cartoon keychain dangling from it.

“Wow! So cute! You bought it with performance points? Must’ve cost a lot!”

“Hehe, not really. I cleared a bunch of Ruikang’s escaped test subjects last month, so the bonus was decent.”

Gun skins? Performance points? Using monster-clearing bonuses for this flashy nonsense? These little girls sure have guts…

Lin Yu silently ranted, but his gaze drifted to a lone figure at the next table.
An older-looking girl with short black hair.
She spoke to no one, quietly eating her meal.

But what caught Lin Yu’s eye was her “uniform.”
Unlike the standard JK outfit everyone else wore, hers was a tailored, ornate dress in black and white, as elegant as formalwear.
Silver cords draped from her shoulders, and golden patterns embroidered on her skirt shimmered faintly as if alive.

This wasn’t a uniform.
It was a piece of art.

What’s that? Cosplay? No… Would the company allow this? Could it be… a whale-exclusive skin?

While he speculated, the girl seemed to notice his stare.
She shot him a glance—sharp as a blade.

Startled, Lin Yu quickly lowered his head and stuffed tempura into his mouth.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the ornate outfit represented some level or privilege far beyond his reach.

***

For the next three weeks, Lin Yu lived this fractured life of “get beaten at work, go home afterward.”
He still slacked whenever he could, let himself “die” in simulations without care. As long as he wasn’t pushed to the brink, he wouldn’t lift a finger.

After work, he’d ride a packed bus for over an hour back to his suffocating honeycomb apartment.
Over takeout meals from the company cafeteria, he would video-call his family.

“Son, how’s work today? Tired?” his mother asked warmly on-screen.

“Not tired, not tired. Just office stuff, moving my fingers.”
Expressionless, Lin Yu lied smoothly, carefully angling his camera so only a clean wall showed, not his messy den.

“That’s good. Remember to take care of yourself. Oh, your dad sent you two thousand yuan—said you just started and might be short on cash—”

“No need!” Lin Yu cut her off immediately. “Mom, tell Dad to take it back. I’ve been paid, I’m fine.”

He even pulled his younger sister, Lin Xue, into the call to show off his new sneakers—worth a thousand yuan.
Sure enough, Lin Xue’s face twisted into exactly the confused look he expected, like she suspected he’d been scammed into a pyramid scheme.

That tiny sense of “fooling his family” was one of the few small satisfactions in this crappy job.

He accepted it all numbly, like any beaten-down worker.
Until the day before the monthly evaluation.

***

On the final training day, Manager Qian summoned Lin Yu into his office.

“Xiao Lin, time flies, doesn’t it?”
Smiling warmly, he projected a holographic report on the coffee table.

“Here are your training stats. Total deaths: 457. Average survival time: 28 seconds. Active counterattack rate: 17%. Honestly… pretty bad.”

“Oh.”
Lin Yu answered flatly, sipping water from a paper cup.

Bad? Fine, let it be bad. I’m here for the paycheck, not some top-performer medal. Your KPIs aren’t my problem.
His face was calm, his heart screaming “dead pig not afraid of boiling water.”
Once a worker gives up on promotions and raises, fear disappears.

Manager Qian, seeing through him, shifted tone—still gentle:
“The company has invested heavily in you. Training costs this month alone—including multiple activations of the Persona Mask Protocol, simulation chamber wear and tear, energy supply, and the premium meals you devoured—I did the math. The total is—”

He tapped in the air.
A red figure popped up at the report’s end.

“Seven hundred and eighty thousand.”

The water in Lin Yu’s mouth nearly sprayed everywhere.
“Cough—cough, cough! How… how much?!”

Seven hundred eighty thousand?! Are you shitting me?! I only ate a few meals and charged up a pod for some hours—why so expensive?! Is your cafeteria beef made of gold?!

His inner bullet comments flooded. His face was a mask of disbelief.

“Manager Qian, this… this isn’t right,” Lin Yu croaked. “That cost is outrageous! It violates market logic!”

He tried his last weapon—reason.

“Market logic?” Qian chuckled, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Xiao Lin, you can’t view our investment with normal economics. Each Persona Mask activation requires SkyDome’s AI, Taiyi, for massive computation—server costs alone are five figures per use. The simulation pods? Military-grade, each activation’s depreciation equals your annual rent. As for cafeteria food—not gold, true, but much of it is gene-cultivated high-protein produce from NewAgri Union. You can’t buy it on the market.”

Each word sank Lin Yu’s heart further.

“In short,” Qian concluded, “seven hundred eighty thousand. At a discount, too.”

“So what?” Lin Yu forced composure, sweat beading on his forehead. “The contract says my salary is twenty thousand a month! It never said I’d owe money if I fail training!”

“Good question.”
Qian nodded approvingly, as if praising his “naïveté.”

“The contract is humane. We don’t make you pay directly. But—remember, we’re a business, not a charity. Based on your performance, the company can adjust your benefits and role.”

He pulled up the fine print.
“Employees who fail the evaluation are transferred to Logistics Observation Post. Salary remains twenty thousand. However—”

He stressed the word.

“All benefits—free meals, free gear maintenance, and most importantly, accident over-coverage insurance—will be revoked. And you must repay the seven hundred eighty thousand in installments. We’ll helpfully deduct eighteen thousand from your monthly wage. Until it’s done.”

Lin Yu’s brain went blank.
Cancel insurance?! Deduct eighteen thousand?! That leaves me two thousand a month! Not just broke—I’ll be worse than broke!

Fear.
Not just debt. A deeper, heavier fear seized his chest.
He feared death—but he feared poverty more.
A lifetime of poverty worse than death.

“This is unfair! A tyrant clause!” Lin Yu shouted, voice trembling.

“Sit, Xiao Lin.” Qian’s tone turned cold for the first time. “Black on white, your signature and handprint. Fully binding. You can quit now—by paying five million in breach fees. Two paths. You choose.”

Lin Yu collapsed into the chair, utterly defeated.
Silence smothered the office.

At last, hoarse, he asked: “…What’s the passing standard?”

Qian’s smile returned.
“D rank. Reach the bare minimum, and all debts are cleared.”

He patted Lin Yu’s shoulder, smiling mysteriously.
“Then, you’ll be a true Magical Girl.”

***

Lin Yu spent that night like a condemned man facing trial.
And the next few days, something changed.

The slacker turned feral.
First to arrive, last to leave.
Over and over, he charged into simulations, died, crawled back, eyes blazing with near-mad determination.
No complaints.
No rants.
Only one thought in his mind:
D rank! I must get that damn D!

He studied every monster’s pattern, calculated every energy unit of his standard-issue pistol.

***

Final test day.
Lin Yu stepped into the simulation chamber, his heart unusually calm.

[Protocol initiated.]
In pink light and familiar agony, he became the gray-haired, green-eyed girl.

[Test begins.]
Monsters surged from every side.

She moved.
Clumsy, unskilled, but every step, every shot, just barely hit the passing line.

[Test complete. Comprehensive rating: D.]

As the voice announced it, Lin Yu collapsed, blue pleated skirt spreading on the cold floor.
Breath ragged, sweat dripping down gray bangs, chest heaving.
He’d done it.
He looked at the white ceiling and grinned silently.

The door slid open.
Manager Qian entered, smiling as always, followed by a man Lin Yu had never seen.

A presence so overwhelming, the very air froze.
Tall, around thirty, clad in a flawless tailored black suit.
No tie, silk shirt unbuttoned at the top, revealing sharp collarbones.
Black hair neatly styled.
Features sculpted with precision.
Expression—cold as ice.

His deep eyes, bottomless as frozen lakes, regarded the girl on the floor as if she were a lifeless, appraised object.

“Let me introduce,” Qian’s voice carried a trace of reverence, “this is Mr. Bai, Regional Director dispatched by Headquarters.”

…Director? Big shot.
Lin Yu struggled to sit up, but the girl’s body was limp.

Mr. Bai strode forward. His polished leather shoes gleamed, reflecting Lin Yu’s bedraggled form.
Looking down from above, he spoke, low and steady, carrying the authority of someone who could not be opposed:

“Lin Yu.” He spoke the name like reciting a serial number. “I’ve reviewed all your data. Honestly, when Manager Qian submitted your hiring application, I voted against.”

His voice was calm, but cold as ice.
“Reason simple: your case had no reference value. Risk outweighed reward. But Manager Qian bet his next quarter’s bonus that you’d pass.”

Bai’s lips curved in a faint, mocking arc.
“Seems I lost. Congratulations. You’ve won your boss his bonus.”

He crouched elegantly, eye-level with the girl, eyes glinting with a spark of research interest.

“I must admit, your performance is… intriguing. Even the most malleable young girls take time to overcome rejection to the Phase Soul. But you—”

He paused.

“A twenty-six-year-old man, mind long set, yet in one month, you stabilized at D rank. Worth studying.”

…You bastard, treating me like a lab rat!
Lin Yu roared inwardly, but only weak gasps escaped her lips.

Bai stood, retrieving a velvet case from his suit pocket.
“Since you passed, by regulation, you now receive your codename.”

He opened it. Inside lay a brooch.
A jagged hexagonal crystal, carved from translucent gray stone.
Within, wisps of black mist swirled faintly, refracting a cold, desolate light.

“Your soul’s trait is Void. Rare. Absolute neutrality, rejecting neither positive nor negative energy. Like uncut gray crystal—uncertain, unpredictable. Could be diamond under pressure. Could shatter into worthless dust.”

With two fingers, Bai pinned the brooch to the blue uniform’s collar.
The cold needle pierced cloth and skin. Lin Yu whimpered softly.

“From today, your codename is Gray Crystal.”
Bai’s voice was judgment.
“Welcome to Dawn Corporation. Welcome to being… a true Magical Girl.”