Surviving the Magic Academy With Just Intelligence Stats

Nurse Elena stood alone in front of the small metal cabinet in the underground warehouse. With methodical care, she began to remove her dominatrix outfit—black leather straps and buckles sliding off her skin piece by piece. Her face remained completely expressionless throughout this ritual, as though disconnecting herself from the persona she had just embodied. She folded each item with precision before placing them gently to the side, a strange reverence in her movements.

The underground space remained silent save for the soft rustle of fabric and the distant drip of water from somewhere in the facility. There was also the random howling and growling but she had trained herself not to hear it. Elena moved toward the small shower room adjacent to the cabinet, her bare feet leaving behind faint impressions on the cold concrete floor. The sound of running water soon filled the space as steam began to escape from the partially open door.

Inside, Elena scrubbed her skin thoroughly, washing away what she considered "dirt"—not just physical grime, but the psychological residue of her work. The hot water cascaded over her body, carrying away evidence of her other self down the drain in swirling eddies.

After completing her cleansing ritual, Elena returned to the cabinet room, water droplets still clinging to her skin. She approached the metal suitcase resting on a small table and unlatched it with a soft click. Inside lay her neatly folded nurse's uniform—the pristine white fabric a stark contrast to the black leather she had discarded. She dressed methodically, buttoning each element of her uniform with careful precision, transforming herself with each piece.

When finished, Elena turned toward the reflective metal surface of the cabinet door. She examined her reflection closely, searching for any trace of her other self. A smile slowly spread across her face—not the gentle, caring smile of a school nurse, but something twisted and sadistic. Her eyes gleamed with a predatory light that would have terrified her students had they witnessed it.

Elena placed her hands over her face, closing her eyes as she took a deep breath. For several seconds, she remained perfectly still, as though engaged in some internal ritual of transformation. When she finally removed her hands and opened her eyes, she released a small, deliberate sigh. Looking once more at her reflection, she attempted another smile. This time, the expression had completely transformed—warm, soothing, caring. The perfect smile for the trusted school nurse, designed to put worried students at ease.

"It never ceases to amaze me how you can just do that."

The unexpected voice shattered the silence, causing Elena to flinch slightly. She turned slowly, composure quickly recovered despite the surprise.

"Principal?" she inquired, immediately adopting a deferential posture.

Principal Cassandra Blackvale stood in the doorway, her imposing figure framed by the dim lighting of the corridor behind her. Her eyes held a mix of curiosity and something else as she observed her subordinate.

"Well, it's my talent so I'm used to it," Elena responded with practiced humility. After a moment's pause, she added, "Anyway, why are you here?"

Cassandra stepped further into the room, her movements graceful despite her intimidating presence. "Just thought I'd come see you at work." Her tone shifted, becoming lower and tinged with regret. "Too bad I missed it."

The principal's eyes studied Elena intensely, searching for a reaction to her words. When Elena's expression remained neutral, Cassandra changed tactics.

"Have you gotten any useful information from the spies?" she asked, her tone deceptively casual.

Elena shook her head slightly. "Not really," she admitted. "I've tried many things, but they're not budging. I think they're just decoys without any real information."

"Or maybe they're just acting," Cassandra suggested pointedly, emphasizing the word "acting" with deliberate force.

Elena remained silent, the silence hanging heavily in the air between them. The uncomfortable moment stretched until Cassandra decided to release the tension.

"Well, get on with your duties. I don't want to keep you," she said, her voice returning to its normal authoritative tone.

"Thanks!" Elena bowed slightly before walking past the principal and out the door.

Cassandra remained motionless, listening as Elena's footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing fainter until they disappeared entirely. Only when complete silence had returned did she speak more to herself than anyone.

"Acting, huh," she murmured contemplatively.

In the next instant, Cassandra vanished—her form blurring momentarily before disappearing completely.

She reappeared outside a metal cage tucked away in another section of the underground facility. Inside, three figures huddled together on the filthy floor. Their clothes were tattered and stained with dried blood, the fabric torn in places to reveal angry red welts from repeated whippings.

At her sudden appearance, the Xian spies jerked in terror, pressing themselves against the far wall of their prison. They huddled together, shoulders touching as they trembled uncontrollably. Even their teeth chattered audibly in the silent chamber, their fear so palpable it seemed to saturate the air.

Cassandra observed them dispassionately, noting every tremor, every whimper, every sign of genuine terror. After several long seconds of assessment, she spoke softly to herself.

"Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

With that admission, she vanished once more, leaving the terrified prisoners alone in their misery, unaware they had just been evaluated by a far more dangerous predator than Nurse Elena.

…

In the academy's underground warehouse, the damp, musty air hung heavy with the scent of rust and lingering fear. Akira, Ruohan, and Min-jae lay sprawled across the cold stone floor of their prison cell, their bodies still trembling from their most recent session with the woman they had come to call "the crazy lady." None of them knew her real name—she never spoke during her visits, preferring to let her whip do the talking.

Blood trickled from fresh welts that crisscrossed their backs, joining the constellation of partially healed scars from previous sessions. Despite the excruciating pain, they had grown familiar enough with their captivity to recognize the patterns in her behavior. Today's session had been particularly lengthy, which usually meant only one thing.

"I think... I think she left us a message," Akira whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. The Xian spy was once an elegant imperial spy who had passed his exams with flying colors. Now, with his face gaunt and hair matted with sweat and blood, he barely resembled the confident operative he had been weeks ago.

Ruohan, the female spy whose graceful features had become hollow from their ordeal, nodded weakly. "When it lasts a long time…she always leaves something." She winced as she attempted to sit up, her torn clothing sticking to the fresh wounds.

"Let's decipher it quickly," Min-jae suggested, his usually stoic demeanor breaking under the weight of their imprisonment. "If there's important information, it might finally be our ticket out of here."

The three agents had long ago realized their torturer was paradoxically their ally. The seemingly random pattern of whip marks actually formed coded messages—well, sometimes. She didn't always bring information with her whenever she visited, but she sure does bring a beating whenever she visits.

"Why couldn't she just slip us a note?" Min-jae muttered, not for the first time. "Or whisper the information? Does she actually enjoy this?"

Before they could begin examining each other's wounds for the hidden message, a displacement in the air outside their cell caused all three to freeze. Someone had materialized just beyond the bars—appearing out of nowhere with a speed and silence that defied natural movement.

Terror seized their hearts. Had the crazy woman returned so soon? They hadn't even recovered from the last session. Acting on instinct honed through weeks of captivity, they huddled together, pressing their bodies into a tight formation against the cell wall. Their eyes squeezed shut, teeth chattering uncontrollably as they trembled in unified fear.

Don't look at her. Don't draw attention. Maybe she's just passing by, Akira thought desperately. They had learned through painful experience that making eye contact sometimes triggered additional "sessions." On her patrol rounds, the crazy lady seemed to select her victims based on who caught her attention first.

Seconds stretched into an eternity as they cowered together, waiting for the sound of the cell door opening, for the whistle of the whip cutting through air. The only sounds in the chamber were their shallow, panicked breathing and the faint dripping of water from somewhere in the distance.

When several moments passed without the expected violence, Min-jae cautiously cracked one eye open. The figure was gone, vanished as suddenly as they had appeared. A collective sigh of relief escaped from the three spies.

"She must have forgotten something and come back for it," Ruohan whispered, her body still trembling. "Thank the ancestors she didn't notice us."

"Or maybe she just wanted to check on us," Akira suggested, though none of them believed the crazy lady capable of such normal concern.

With the immediate threat gone, they returned to their original task. With gentle, pained movements, they examined each other's backs, cataloging each welt and cut, mentally translating the patterns into the cipher they had been trained to recognize.

"This mark here connects to this one," Ruohan noted, tracing a finger near but not touching one of Akira's bleeding wounds. "And the depth pattern on Min-jae's shoulder completes the sequence."

For nearly an hour, they methodically reconstructed the hidden communication, combining the marks spread across their three bodies into a complete message. Once assembled, they still needed to decrypt it using the code keys they had memorized during their training.

Finally, Akira sat back, his expression grim. "This one says that our plan will be put on hold for now," he announced, his voice flat with disappointment.

The news hit them like a physical blow. Their hearts sank collectively as the implications settled in. The plan was their only hope for escape from this underground hell. They had endured the daily torture sessions, the humiliation, the pain, all while clinging to the promise that their suffering would soon end.

"On hold? For how long?" Min-jae asked, desperation creeping into his voice.

"It doesn't say," Ruohan replied after double-checking the decoded message. "Just... on hold."

They fell into a despondent silence, each contemplating the same bleak question: how many more sessions with the crazy lady would they have to endure before freedom? How many more times would their bodies be torn open, only to heal just enough for the process to begin again?