Back pain was a terrible way to start the day. I'm guessing that a school that treats its students like dirt isn't interested on purchasing new mattresses. ‘They are handed down and are as ancient as the College itself’. If someone told me that, I would believe them. On the bright side, waking up early was a breeze. I practically jumped out of the bedding. Following that, the morning routine which I drilled daily got to resurface. Despite my best efforts to bleach my memory of my previous schooldays, the algorithm was kept intact. It had survived the time when I could get out of bed whenever I got bored of sleeping. Now that I'm back at studying, it's a damned alarm clock. Not to mention the thing can't be reprogrammed. So, each morning, at 7 AM, an alarm rang.

I washed my face. And at the mirror, there was the face of someone whose body was fed up with the bare minimum diet. Over by the kitchen, ‘fresh produce’ waited for my hands to prepare breakfast with it. One by one, foodstuffs were taken out of the box. A huge roadblock existed between them and me. My skill at cooking was practically non existing. Heck, my home economy skills were almost zero. I imagined how the apartment was going to look in a few months. An absolute disaster of disrepair and filth.

To prevent that, something must be done. Even I, had limits. Very relaxed limits. So, I was going to get the bare minimum standards for the minimum amount of effort. Which I call being efficient.

Frankly, this is a problem other people are faulty for. Back at home domestic employees kept everything in top shape. And I could have three meals per day. Looking at the week’s pantry, I doubted I could prepare an excess of two daily meals. Diversity wasn’t there. I scrambled the cans, jars and bags to notice which breakfast options were available.

A can would be easiest, right? I picked up a can of sardines. The notion of eating them can be considered a disgrace to the Friedd name. I did enjoy such a prospect. Yet, I didn’t savor the unfiltered smell of the fishy fillets. The open can was thrown inside the miniature fridge. Though it was too late for the room’s ambient odor. Not this. Not alone. So…rice? Rice is a staple food of many cultures. People even ate it for breakfast.

After trying to read the packet’s instructions, I felt an urge to rip it apart and scatter the grains on the floor. The lovely people working food delivery had gone out of their way to procure imports. With their instructions and nutrition data written in foreign language. Judging by the strangely shaped characters, the bag came from the other side of the ocean. Are they doing it to save money or just to spite students? My stomach rumbled, ordering its master to stop the complaints.

The answer to my food trouble came in the form of a ringing doorbell. She was dressed in a frilly maid outfit. One which was sewn by hand, probably by its owner. The black fabric had a sleek contrast with the pearly whites. All I could compliment. Everything else reeked of do-it-yourself. It was more of a costume than a functioning uniform. I have to admit, her maid act gave me specks of self-guilt.

"Hello Neighbor! It smells funky in there. Are you in need of a maid?" She referred to the lingering scent of sardines.

"How do I cook rice? My only interest lies in cooking rice."

"Uh? Water level over the grains, cover with a lid and cook it with gentle heat. Are you in need of a maid?"

“Big thanks, you are a life saver.”

Goodbye. I almost shut the door on her, almost. She had acted on a whim and tried to peek inside my residence. Which resulted on her head being squashed by the closing door.

Thank you. I took a few steps backwards and almost shut the door on her. On a whim, she tried to stop me. But her head, got squished on the way, blocking me from closing. So irresponsible.

“Good thing I didn’t slam it. You would have died from a concussion.”

The maid imitator had a lost, confused expression. Did she suffer actual head trauma? The nurse here seems to be pretty skilled…

"Didn’t your parents teach you not to enter strangers’ homes” If she even has parents. These days orphans are like…in vogue.

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"I'm h-here to prom-mote my s-services." She wasn't able to speak properly.

When I freed her, she gasped to the max of her lung capacity. It took a while to recover her breath.

"I clean the homes around here. I'm the only one who does it, but I don't charge that much. Just a little."

"Academic Credit?"

"Yep."

She had confessed she was cheap despite having a monopoly on cleaning services. With monopoly involved one assumed that her fees would be quite high. Unfortunately, adolescents with really bad grades didn't care for tidiness. Lump me in with them.

"I don't get you. Browse your surroundings. Who would give the slightest turd about such a derelict environment?"

"You do have a point. Once upon time, this maid asked faculty if we students could cooperate to paint our residences. But they wanted to sell us the paint at ludicrous price. A whole pile of credits."

How…depressing. Meeting her had changed my perception on Class F's student body. They weren't a crowd of delinquents. They were poor, we were poor.

"I'm short on credit. But I'll keep you in mind."

I was as useless in cleaning as I was cooking. My motel life did include a maid service. It may be useful, at a later date.

"It's normal for new arrivals. It will get better! By the by…You already took the test, right?"

"Don't remind me…"

And I had to explain the whole story. About my activation conditions, that teacher Alan had assigned me to find my esper ability. Actual homework was less intellectually demanding. If one could get homework while in a boarding school.

"I won't be of use to you. I'm also a support." That you are support type is pretty obvious. "Tough break, to join a triad with those activation conditions of yours. But hold on,

despite all hardships."

"Ah…Thanks for supporting me."

The maid’s recipe turned spot on. So foolproof, that even after messing the water ratio, breakfast was very edible.

It took me quite a while to finish preparations for class. I had to rush to the classroom. After going up the flights of stairs, my energy exhausted. But when I expected a forgettable entrance, I happened to be the center of attention. My classmates were entirely focused on me. They demanded me to share my diagnostic results. I didn’t want to confess something as laughable as ‘ESP coming soon.’. However, peer pressure won the day and I told them what happened. All the hype quietly died. For being honest, I was rewarded with rejection.

Citing my teacher, my role is to provide support for other espers. For homework, I was obliged to find a willing test subject. Who could pass a finicky activation check.

'You don't seem useful.', 'Sorry, team's full.', 'Support? We need a buff guy fighting on the frontlines.' I had my doubts anyone would have wanted to help me. But it was colder than I imagined. Was it right to judge them negatively at the time? If anything, well put together team compositions fascinated me, since success depended on team balance. My skills were still an incognita. So, taking me on was a leap of faith. A burden. I wouldn’t have taken me in either.

Defeated, I paraded towards the back of the classroom. Where I slumped into my desk just to use the surface as a pillow. I pondered on my bleak state, on this school prison. Why did my life had to get shredded like this? Can I return everything back to how it was? This ESP isn't doing anything for me. I knew all that self-pity was unhealthy, but I kept going, hooked in the opioid of victimization.

It took an embarrassingly long time for me to notice her. She had to knock on my head, to pull me out of my ranting.

"You sleepy?"

"Depressed." That's how I compacted my feelings. Packed into a single word.