This Life, I Will Be the Protagonist

Rita still wasn't entirely sure what the ranking criteria were for It's Not the Craft That Sucks.

When Nivalis had played it in February Theme Park, she hadn't made the leaderboard—there hadn't even been a ranking notification.

This game was similar to the Claw Machine and Ferris Wheel in that every player's game session varied in length. Rankings weren't given at the end of a match, only when the player entered the global leaderboard.

She had speculated that Ferris Wheel ranked based on duel win rates, but It's Not the Craft That Sucks left much more room for guesswork.

Could it be based on time to finish the game?

The number of players you sent back to the starting point?

The number of dice rolls?

Or the quantity and quality of the crafted items?

Too many variables.

But ranking rewards were important—so was milking the system.

Rita quickly made a decision: her goal this round was to milk the system. She'd drag out her game session, purposely lose once near the finish line to reset back to start, and stretch her time as long as possible. That way, she could farm more materials, knock more players back to start, and collect everything she could.

If that didn't get her into the leaderboard, she'd try again in another Month Theme Park, and on the second run she'd aim for a fast clear. If that didn't work, a third run focused on duel wins.

As she strategized, her turn came up. She rolled the dice and landed on a tile already occupied by another player.

A circular platform rose up in the middle of the game tile. The red half pointed toward Rita, the white toward the other player.

Rita placed a Question Capsule into the red-side slot. The other player placed a bowl of noodles—a finished product from the Cooking profession.

The platform rotated. The noodles spun toward Rita. The capsule rolled toward the other player.

A ten-second countdown appeared overhead.

Rita immediately felt a debuff settle over her—likely from the noodles, which seemed to shrink visibly as she watched. She didn't even have to eat them; the food's effect kicked in the moment it hit the platform.

The Question Capsule worked the same way, launching itself right into the opponent's arms.

Rita asked, "Tell me—how many teachers have I had in my life?"

Out of kindness, she even used a language the player could understand.

The beauty of this capsule was that she didn't have to. Understanding the question wasn't her problem.

Even so, the player looked completely lost. And they weren't alone—the players nearby were just as confused, question marks practically floating over their heads.

Rita's HP was bouncing wildly from the food's effect. A few big drops were yanked back up by her pity-balloons, never dipping below 30%.

The other player clutched the capsule helplessly, panicking as the timer ticked down.

"Uh… eight?" he guessed.

Rita chopped the air in front of her with one hand, voice full of game-show energy: "WRONG!!!"

Ten seconds later, her opponent—left with only 10% HP—was teleported back to the start.

Rita hopped forward three tiles, landing on a blank space.

As she exited the crafting space, she heard B8017913 from one tile behind her ask curiously, "So, how many teachers have you had?"

Rita shook her head solemnly. "Hard to say."

Truthfully, she didn't even know herself…

Were elementary school and kindergarten teachers included? What about gym and arts instructors? She'd even transferred schools after moving cities as a kid.

She couldn't begin to count them.

Though if the question had been, "How many teachers has BS-Rita had so far?"—now that would be easier to answer.

Elsewhere, Drummer had just plucked a few feathers to pay for a ticket when he paused at Rita's response. He looked ahead to Deceitful Bloom and asked, "So how many teachers has she had?"

Deceitful Bloom, who had been watching BS-Rita longer than anyone, gave the question some thought before replying, "Are we counting everyone she's ever called 'teacher,' or only those who've taught her systematic knowledge?"

"…Forget it. I don't care that much."

…

Rita rooted herself in this game. Every time she entered the crafting space, she focused on producing new capsules. Right before the timer ran out, she'd pick the priciest-looking material and try to stuff it into her capsule machine.

She'd asked B8017913 if the trick worked—he'd tried bringing high-grade materials out through temporary storage skills but failed. Any attempt to take something out ended with both ejection and confiscation.

So the glorious burden of loot exploitation fell solely on Rita.

She wasn't just fleecing the Divine Game, either—she was proudly fleecing other players.

She used I Just Want to Improve So Badly to keep attacking. With her balloons constantly healing her, and the skill now only costing 5% HP per use, her success rate didn't even need to be high. She just kept spamming it.

Her rewards piled up—not just Blocks but also various crafted items from other players.

Her only headache now was that her capsule machine was almost full. She had room for maybe ninety more capsules.

Just as she was thinking of how to reorganize, an Event Loot Crate hopped onto her tile.

Rita casually tossed another Question Capsule onto the platform.

But the moment her capsule hit the red slot, her pupils shrank.

The Event Loot Crate had also placed a capsule.

Her eyes locked on the other player.

Was it… a teacher?

Was the act up?

She understood now how B8017913 had figured out these two were divine beings. Maybe they, too, had once revealed themselves in a moment like this.

Rita didn't say a word.

The platform rotated. The capsule rolled into her arms—Confession Capsule.

[Confession Capsule]: Confess the most shameful thing you've done in the past 12 hours. The more sincere the confession, the less HP you lose.

"There are way too many to choose from! I don't even know where to start!"

Rita decided to skip the confession and used the chance to ask her teacher a question.

She didn't waste it on something trivial—this was too rare an opportunity. Instead, she asked a specific question from the capsule machine crafting course, something she hadn't had the chance to ask in class.

Deceitful Bloom raised an eyebrow but wasn't all that surprised. He gave a soft chuckle and answered.

Rita held her breath, eyes gleaming like two shiny black beans as she listened closely.

There were only ten seconds to answer. Deceitful Bloom's response was short, but elegant—like a complex math problem solved with just the most essential formulas.

It was enough.

The answer was correct. The Event Loot Crate took no damage, and Rita's mana surged.

Rita, who hadn't confessed, was kicked back to the start.

But even as she flew through the air, her eyes never left the loot crate.

Deceitful Bloom glanced down at his feathers. Why did he suddenly feel so on edge?

What's going on? Am I in danger?

The answer came quickly.

Because BS-Rita seemed to be… chasing him.

And those shiny black bean eyes were practically screaming one sentence:

Teacher, I want extra lessons!