Leveling Up By Surviving Alone - L.U.B.S.A Chapter 19

His father used to say that just adding the word “combat” could make any activity more engaging and improve efficiency—whether it was “combat training” or “combat camouflage.” Ji Yeonwoo’s father told him:

> “Back then, I denied it, but thinking about it now, it really did help.”

And so “combat” was prefixed to the green onions, because the “commander” wanted them to grow with fighting spirit.

Now, this newly named *Combat Green Onion* trembled its leaves with a little quiver—no other visible changes, but it sure was interesting that the plant quivered at all. The same thing happened with every other plant: each time he watered them, the system asked if he wanted to “register” that plant, and after he nodded, it prompted for a name. He attached “combat” in front of it, the plant shook, and the naming was done:

– *“This plant is now named Combat Garlic.”*

– *“This plant is now named Combat Onion.”*

– *“This plant is now named Combat Ginger.”*

– …

– *“This plant is now named Combat Watermelon.”*

– *“This plant is now named Combat Orange.”*

“Huh, why is it suddenly asking me to name them like this?” he wondered.

Then:

– *“This plant is now named Combat Bamboo.”*

– *“Currently, you have 8/10 plants you can register.”*

He had named the onion, garlic, ginger, banana, orange, watermelon, and bamboo—eight in total. The system said he had room for two more. He didn’t have other plants to claim, so maybe it wasn’t that important.

“You’re saying there are two slots left?”

“Cluck-ooook!”

That was Kim Kkokko, apparently out for a morning stroll and returning now that it saw Ji Yeonwoo awake. He noticed something odd above the bird’s head: like a video game avatar, Kim Kkokko had *“@#%@#%”* floating in the air over it.

“Hey, that’s Kim Kkokko’s real name,” he muttered. Usually it didn’t display, so it was strange seeing it suddenly.

—

– **“@#%@#% has high affinity with you.

– Would you like to register them as a ‘pet’?”**

—

“Huh…” Ji Yeonwoo cocked his head, then gave in to habit, saying, “Yes.”

—

– **“You have registered @#%@#% as a pet.

– Please name it.”**

—

“…Kim Kkokko?” he replied. He’d already been calling it “Kim Kkokko,” so he saw no need to rename it “Combat Kim Kkokko,” unlike the plants.

—

– *“You now have a companion pet named Kim Kkokko.”*

Fwaaash—

A bright glow shone from Kim Kkokko’s body, then faded.

“Cluck?”

Kim Kkokko tilted its head in confusion, unsure what just happened.

“You feel any different?” Ji Yeonwoo asked.

“Cluck.”

No obvious change—except for Ji Yeonwoo:

—

– **“You receive a representative trait from the tamed monster.

– Skill ‘Enhancement (F) (Passive)’ acquired.”**

—

“What the—!” he exclaimed. A new skill, “Enhancement.” As usual, the system offered no details, but it sounded potentially powerful.

“Not bad…” he mumbled. He figured the system would let him know how it worked when the time came.

Everything was so peculiar today. Why was it prompting him to name all his items and to tame Kim Kkokko as a pet?

He joked, “Next the system’s gonna want me to name my tent ‘Combat Tent’ or something. Hah!”

Then the system unexpectedly responded:

—

– **“An object can serve to declare your territory.

– Would you like to center your territory around it?”**

—

“…What now?”

Suddenly, the tent glowed golden, shooting a beam of light skyward, which spread into a semicircle dome.

—

– **“A 100-meter radius is claimed as your territory.

– Inside this territory, you and your allies recover and grow faster.

– Territories claimed: 1/3.”**

—

A translucent sphere about 100 meters across formed around Ji Yeonwoo’s tent. He looked around, blinking.

“Uh… something happened?”

But functionally, it didn’t seem to alter his day-to-day life. Kim Kkokko, however, reacted very differently:

“*Clu-eh…eh-EAAAK!!*”

The bird hopped and jumped like crazy. It felt like it was shouting, Awesome! This is amazing!

Ji Yeonwoo could vaguely sense Kim Kkokko’s joy. Maybe now that they were “pet and owner,” he could read its expressions more easily. From the bird’s perspective, living off the bizarre, “transformed” foods was already wonderful, but this new domain effect accelerated its healing toward “full form” for doing essentially nothing. A massive boon.

“All thanks to that pseudo-monkey!” Kim Kkokko seemed to crow.

“‘Keep watching over me, buddy!’” Ji Yeonwoo grinned.

The pair seemed to cement their partnership. Then:

Grroowl…

They both growled with hunger at the same moment.

“Haha, guess we need breakfast, huh?”

“Cluck, cluck!”

First, let’s give Kim Kkokko the bamboo shoots prepared yesterday.

In the pot on the stove, the bamboo shoots he had prepared the day before were peeking out above the water.

Now, all he had to do was hand them to Kim Kkokko.

Just as he was about to hand over the bamboo shoots,

—

– **“This ingredient has an effect.

– Use your profession skill ‘Manifest Effect?’”**

—

“…Profession skill?” Ji Yeonwoo mused. “I got a new profession at some point?”

He reflected briefly. Since he’d arrived in the rift, so much had changed: his stats rose, he gained multiple skills, a special title… That alone was a milestone after three years of being awakened, but now he had a new profession?

The system clarified:

—

– *“This profession is the result of evaluating your 7 days of activity.”*

—

“So that’s why we had those day counters…” he’d vaguely wondered what would happen at 7/7. But with survival occupying his attention, it had slipped his mind. Now that he’d completed 7 days, he had apparently “changed class.”

He recalled the oddities of the morning—naming, territory claiming—and realized they must be effects of his new profession.

“You should’ve told me sooner! I’d have tried harder… Psh.”

The system didn’t answer. It rarely did when he complained. Shrugging, he saw Kim Kkokko squawking, clearly eager for its bamboo shoots.

“All right, all right. Calm down.”

—

– *“Using profession skill ‘Manifest Effect.’”*

—

A faint aura drained from Ji Yeonwoo, causing the bamboo shoot to glow blue.

[Mana Bamboo Shoot]

*Restores 20% of your Mana upon consumption.

“Whoa! That’s really good.”

Mana depletes as you use skills, and mana potions—especially the stronger ones—are even more expensive than health potions. The lowest-tier mana potion might only restore 5%, so something that gives you 20% was on par with a fairly high-tier potion.

“So that’s what ‘Manifest Effect’ does, huh?”

He handed the Mana Bamboo Shoot to Kim Kkokko. The chicken tilted its head, hesitated, then gingerly clamped its beak around it. The moment it took a bite, its eyes went wide.

Then—thud.

Its legs buckled, and it collapsed. For a little while, Kim Kkokko just stared blankly into space before springing back up and hopping around in excitement.

“Bwoo-eeeeek!”

Its speed of pecking and the rhythm of its munching were unusually enthusiastic this morning. Even while devouring the bamboo shoot, Kim Kkokko’s gaze never left Ji Yeonwoo, eyes brimming with awe.

For Ji Yeonwoo, it restored 20% of his Mana. But for Kim Kkokko, the effect applied differently—and more powerfully. Of course, Ji Yeonwoo had no idea. He simply found it adorable to watch his pet’s happy feasting.

“I guess since it has a better effect, it must taste better too?”

With the skill triggered, Ji Yeonwoo was struck by the realization that he truly had changed jobs.

“A job… now this is a cause for celebration.”

Stats, skills, titles—all rolled together didn’t feel as big as getting an actual job. That’s how difficult it was to acquire one.

Among all Awakened individuals, 80% don’t have a job. They just have roles—Tank, Healer, Damage Dealer, Buffer, etc.—assigned by the government based on the direction and range of their innate stats.

A job, on the other hand, is the threshold that separates those who remain in B-rank from those who can rise to A-rank or higher. No matter how gifted you are, you can’t surpass A-rank without a job.

And acquiring a job is notoriously tricky. Even if two people end up in the same job class, the methods they used to get there can be entirely different. Some go through life-or-death struggles and fail, while someone else might slip and fall while eating and somehow obtain one. It’s all random.

Because of that, jobs are called the Wall of Wailing—no matter how talented you are, without luck, you might never obtain one.

True, there are some special professions—like Swordsmanship Instructors or Magic Instructors—who can forcibly bestow a job on a promising candidate. But that comes with a heavy condition: you must obey your instructor’s commands without question for a set period. Effectively, you’re putting your leash in someone else’s hands. Truly gifted people often refuse to do so, holding out hope that they’ll find another way to gain a job on their own.

Still, many people yearn to be taught by such instructors, even under strict control, but there’s a cap on how many apprentices they can accept. Only the most talented manage to qualify, and money alone can’t buy your way in. It’s like trying to enroll in an elite private academy in Daechi-dong without sufficient test scores.

“All this reminds me of the old days.”

Ji Yeonwoo recalled that his mother had been obsessed with education when he was young. She wanted him to grow up as a child prodigy.

“Yeonwoo, what’s two plus three?”

“Five!”

“Ohoho, that’s right! Then if you have two apples and a friend gives you three more, how many apples do you have?”

“Hmm…?”

Ji Yeonwoo believed this wasn’t just a simple 2 plus 3 problem.

Otaku_Senpai

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