Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

Wei shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if what would come next was particularly difficult. His fingers nervously adjusted a stack of papers, aligning their edges with precision.

“What I need is… your help,” the words seemed physically painful for him. “To identify the most crucial errors, especially those affecting your classmates’ beasts. The main credit would be entirely yours… And also…”

Wei paused, unnecessarily readjusting his position.

“I also wanted to apologize,” he finally said, so quickly that the words almost stumbled over each other. “For my previous behavior. It was… unprofessional.”

Ren studied the professor for a moment. His mother had always taught him about the value of forgiveness, warning him against becoming “a small person” who clung to grudges. “Don’t let pride make you petty,” she would tell him. “Forgive when you can, but don’t forget to learn from what happened.”

Added to that, Ren had mourned the loss of people he had met only recently, which gave him a fresh perspective. It wasn’t worth holding grudges in times like these. Helping everyone could improve the city’s situation in the long run.

The city where he wanted to give his parents a better life.

“I accept your apology, professor,” Ren responded after brief consideration. “And I’ll help with your research, especially if it benefits my classmates. Well, most of them.”

Maybe Klein and Jin group’s beasts would have to wait longer to get their fixed methods… Maybe he was a bit petty.

The relief on Wei’s face was evident. His shoulders relaxed visibly, and color returned to his previously pale complexion.

“Excellent. Thank you, Patinder. I’ve prepared an initial list of five beasts to review: weak plants, frogs, and three types of insects that are traditionally cheaper and have shorter cultivation periods than others, between 150 and 130 days also…”

As Wei explained his plan, Ren understood the true scope of the project. It wasn’t just about correcting academic literature for wealthy students; Wei planned to seek volunteers outside the academy, young people from the peripheral areas of the city who normally wouldn’t have access to proper cultivation instruction, to test the revised methods.

“Thanks to Professor Zhao’s intervention,” Wei continued, shuffling through his notes with renewed energy, “Lin has authorized you to temporarily skip the nightly exercises to dedicate that time to this research.”

“Perfect,” Ren nodded. “We’ll start with the duration, mana quantity, and absorption method. It’s 100 days and not one more, the crystal must have stable brightness, and absorption must be done by circulating in a specific pattern than…”

♢♢♢♢

Professor Mei’s class, traditionally a quiet bastion where students learned information useful for daily life, had undergone a notable transformation in recent days.

The classroom, previously characterized by a relaxed atmosphere where no student actively participated, now vibrated with an almost palpable energy. The very air seemed charged with competitive spirit, crackling with tension whenever a question was posed.

Hands rose constantly at each question, voices overlapped offering answers and additional examples, and debates about theoretical applications frequently extended beyond the assigned time.

“Mana poisoning manifestation occurs because the body processes too much mana from the environment, exceeding the contracted creature’s absorption and expulsion capacity,” Mei explained, her normally monotone voice now carrying a hint of enthusiasm. “Could anyone provide the symptoms of this phenomenon?”

At least five hands shot up immediately. Klein, Jin, Luna, and several others from the noble group who rarely participated now competed for the professor’s attention.

Klein answered correctly when selected.

“Excellent answer, Goldcrest,” Mei nodded, genuinely pleased with the level of detail. “Can anyone give me an example of passive mana processing from their beasts?”

“My shadow wolf,” Luna interjected instants before being formally recognized, “causes a decrease in perceived luminosity of up to twenty percent, even when not actively manipulating shadows. The effects are more pronounced in enclosed spaces.”

“My tiger,” Jin quickly added, not wanting to be left behind, “increases air purity by approximately ten percent, which can be detected using appropriate perception instruments.”

Mei observed this display with barely disguised satisfaction. After years of teaching students who considered her subject merely complementary, this sudden enthusiasm was refreshing.

Her eyes sparkled with renewed purpose as she navigated the forest of raised hands.

What most didn’t notice was that Ren, the culprit behind this situation, barely participated in this competition.

Seated in his usual place, he meticulously took notes and responded when directly asked, but rarely raised his hand voluntarily. His mushrooms pulsed with their characteristic rhythm while absorbing the information, but his mind was clearly divided between the class and other matters.

For Ren, the research with Wei occupied a significant portion of his concentration. Correcting errors in cultivation literature seemed more valuable to him than conquering participatory points in a competition he didn’t even know was happening.

Because that was the crucial detail: Ren was almost completely unaware of what was at stake.

The semester student honor, an objective that had awakened such competitive fervor in his classmates, was for him an abstract concept with no apparent practical value. He had never asked about its real meaning, and nobody had bothered to explain it to him.

The academy’s system worked this way by design.

Certain knowledge wasn’t openly offered; it had to be sought, researched, conquered. Honor was one of those “open” secrets that separated the merely intelligent from the truly ambitious.

For most students, advancing at the academy simply meant passing all units satisfactorily. An Iron rank student who completed their first year without failing anything would automatically become a Bronze 1 rank student, with all corresponding benefits: a daily stipend ten times greater (ten crystals instead of one), better food, and access to new specialized classes.

Failure in theoretical subjects of low value like Mei’s meant remaining at the same rank, though advancing to the next year.

Failure in high-value subjects like combat or gathering implied repeating the entire year and receiving a “strike”; three of these meant the complete loss of academic support.

But there existed a system within the system, invisible to those who didn’t know to look for it.

The top ten students of each year had the option to pursue a more ambitious path, one that could eventually lead them to the coveted Gold and Platinum ranks.

Gold was the minimum rank Ren needed to achieve to realize the objective for which Selphira had planted a seed in his head.

This system of silent selection wasn’t determinative in the first year, but it established crucial foundations.

Every student who had reached Gold rank had been among the top ten of their generation. And all Platinum students, without exception, had obtained the honor of best student during their first year.

Ren, without knowing it, was about to secure that honor simply by doing what he considered right and necessary. His path, guided by instinct and intellect rather than ambition, was aligning perfectly with the academy’s highest trajectory.