The remaining days until my departure for university, as marked on the calendar, slipped away as if they were one. They blurred into a continuous cycle of repetition. I kept up my morning training with the Padawans, then returned home, took a brief hour-long stroll, ate breakfast, and resumed my exercise regime. The surge of inspiration that had swept over me on the morning after the Orpheidos Breakthrough revisited me and showed no signs of leaving this time. I used this renewed energy to hone my fencing skills.
Arguably, I had more pressing matters to attend to. I needed to visit the libraries a few more times, and ideally wrap up the Sire Campeador issue. Preparation for the journey was crucial, as was reading student reviews and recommendations. A visit to the BKDW website under my own account wouldn't hurt either. All this was necessary, but inspiration is not something one can command. It seizes you and pulls you in the direction it wants, sweeping you away like a warm wave.
In reality, these days filled with labor and sweat, exhaustion, and muscle ache were somewhat exhilarating. I imagine it's how a composer feels when crafting the music of their life, a poet whose verses and rhymes flow effortlessly, or a dancer who pulls off the most intricate routines. It's a feeling I shared. While I understood that true mastery was as distant as the moon, the journey itself — the fact that I wasn't static, but moving, growing — propelled me forward, akin to a mountaineer who has sighted the peak and knows it can be scaled, no matter how daunting the task.
My training was not driven by the knowledge that being more skillful at wielding my blade would prolong my life. Instead, I was drawn to the process, which entirely enthralled me. As a result, one might say I disengaged from reality, performing only the necessary tasks outside of my training.
In these few days, I made leaps in understanding the dance of the sword, as if I had continued my training with Vicky for over a year without interruption. I didn't neglect the aspects of the Break either, practicing what I learned in reality within this spectral space. At times, I needed to reconsider my moves and combinations, but more often, the new movements seemed perfectly suited to the projection's speed capacities, as if they were specifically designed for it. They were sharper, more effortless, and faster. They may have lost some smoothness and a portion of their beauty, but to me, this was a worthy "trade-off."
I spoke with the Padawans the day before my departure. They had made remarkable progress in wave-dancing: even with their eyes shut, they could handle the simplest tasks I assigned. A considerable breakthrough. Considering their initial inability to do anything, they surpassed my wildest expectations.
I handed out assignments and arranged to meet them in a week and a day at the stadium at our usual time. I also advised them to practice parkour not in the Break, but in reality. This would foster understanding, broaden horizons, and provide a clearer distinction of the benefits the projection state bestows on them. So far, I hadn't initiated their weapons training; I merely offered some general advice and limited it to that for now. Upon my return from the university trip, I would assess what they had learned in a week, and then start practicing fencing with them.
The night before my departure, I slept like a hibernating groundhog. Everything was packed and ready — there was nothing to fret about. Of course, I harbored fears about how things would pan out and whether I could assimilate into the society of Izao's peers. However, the recent cafe encounter and casual chat with previously unknown individuals had somewhat alleviated these concerns. If I hadn't erred in communicating with members of a youth subculture, then dialoguing with ordinary students shouldn't pose any difficulties at all.
The alarm clock, set an hour earlier than usual, went off just before sunrise. I stretched languidly in bed, lingered for a short while, then sprang to my feet, set the kettle on, and headed for the shower.
The bus designated to pick up prospective students from the embankment and transport them to the university was slated to arrive at eight in the morning. After breakfast, I double-checked my luggage to ensure everything was packed. This pre-long trip check has become a necessary habit for me. Due to my past life's work, I have become well-versed in travel, and I didn't carry anything superfluous, but my suitcase still ended up being hefty. Books, notebooks, textbooks, brochures — all this paper adds up. Ideally, I should have packed everything into a wheeled travel suitcase, but according to certain local traditions, that seemed inappropriate. Consequently, I had to use a regular suitcase, which was inconvenient as I had to bear all the weight. I even considered hailing a taxi, but at this early hour, the roads would be crowded with people commuting to work, and getting stuck in a traffic jam was highly likely. If it weren't for the heavy suitcase, walking would have been optimal — the destination was easily reachable within an hour on foot. However, due to the cumbersome luggage, I opted for trams; in Wilflaes, they operate on dedicated lanes, avoiding the main traffic congestion. Of course, I would have to make several transfers, but I could accurately estimate the travel time.
Ten minutes before departure, Melanie rang me, her voice teeming with anxiety. She peppered me with an incessant stream of questions, each one nibbling at my patience: "Did you pack this? And this? And that? Are you sure you didn't forget anything?" Emulating Izao's manner, I responded vaguely while checking over the list one more time. Eventually, having exhausted her maternal concern, she wished me good luck and bid me farewell.
Having switched off all the electrical devices, except for the refrigerator, which only housed some ready-to-cook meals, I took a moment to sit and reflect before leaving.[1] Looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but notice that I appeared more like a high school student than a university attendee. The stringent trousers, pristine white shirt, impeccably polished shoes, and a dark blue tie seemed proper, but these items accentuated my youthful face and slender build to such an extent that a casual observer wouldn't estimate my age above fifteen. Frankly, I feared this could complicate my life there more than I desired. With such a vulnerable exterior, it would be all too easy to become a target within a group. Most concerning was that even my style of dress couldn't be altered abruptly without contradicting Izao's established habits.
Well, I would have to manage. After all, appearance only constitutes the first impression; the key lies in conducting oneself appropriately. If anyone attempts to harass me, I'll be compelled to set them straight.
After adjusting my grip on the suitcase, I exited the apartment, secured all the locks on the door, and called for the elevator.
The northern embankment is typically deserted at this early hour, but today proved an exception: droves of youths were gathered, each one laden with luggage as if they were being banished from home for at least a year. Compared to them, with my solitary suitcase, I seemed like the odd one out. However, my attire didn't stand out — everyone was dressed in a similar fashion. This wasn't surprising since the letter regarding the trip explicitly mentioned the attire prospective students were expected to wear. This institution was renowned for its traditions and principles.
At least two dozen buses were lined up along the embankment, each one sizeable, reminiscent of those used for sightseeing tours, each with fifty-six seats — if I interpreted the signs on their sides correctly.
Similar "tours" are conducted throughout August. Prospective students are divided into four groups, each residing on the university premises for a week. If the arrangements were different, many more buses would be needed since, according to the university's website, over twenty-three thousand people studied there concurrently, and every year about five thousand freshmen enrolled across various faculties. Given that this is the largest university in one of the largest countries, such numbers do not surprise me.
The assignment to buses was conducted alphabetically, not by faculty — an odd system to me, but that's how it was. Consequently, I found myself trudging to the back of the line. As I hauled my suitcase, feigning its weightiness, I looked around. The first thing that struck me were the girls. They were all dressed somewhat like Jeanne when she joined me for ice cream — stockings, skirts — it was quite a sight! It took considerable effort not to overtly gawk at their legs. There were many girls, constituting about a third, perhaps a little more, of the crowd. While I knew the dormitories would be segregated by gender, there was no such separation on the buses.
My apprehension regarding Izao's appearance proved to be overblown. Roughly a quarter of the guys were equally geeky and non-threatening. In contrast, I had a distinctive bearing thanks to my upright posture. About half the young men looked average — not nerdy, but certainly not athletic. Yet, the remaining quarter was somewhat disconcerting for me. Many appeared older than their actual age by five or even ten years, with their build and faces resembling those of wrestlers or rugby players. They could be problematic in the future, not now. Many of these robust individuals appeared even more anxious than the nerds — though they tried to conceal it, their nervousness was evident to me. Most likely, they gained admission through sports scholarships or in faculties where the main subjects pertain to security, protection, and law enforcement management. Still, I could be wrong.
Upon spotting my name on the door of one of the buses, I approached a young man, likely in his early twenties. He wore a university badge above the left breast pocket of his shirt, displaying the number four and the letter "P," indicating that he was a fourth-year student in the Philosophy Faculty.
"Last name," he commanded, without lifting his gaze from the folder of papers, as I halted next to him.
"Vaillant. Izao Vaillant."
"Vaillant... Vaillant..." He muttered under his breath, his finger trailing down the list, "Sign here."
I signed next to my name and handed back the pen and folder. After a brief rummage in a bulky shoulder bag, the student pulled out a laminated card strung on a wide ribbon. The card bore my photo, name, and some sort of barcode.
"Stow your suitcase in the luggage compartment, wear the 'card' around your neck, your seat is number twenty-four," he instructed, immediately shifting his attention to the next person after his brief monologue.
I loaded my suitcase into the open side compartment and ascended into the bus. It was a rather ordinary, even familiar, vehicle with rows of four seats divided by a central aisle and comfortable high-back chairs. I quickly located my assigned seat. My neighbor turned out to be an unremarkable girl — a brunette in slim glasses and the same style of blouse as everyone else. Before I could courteously greet her, she looked me over, defiantly donned her headphones, and turned towards the window. Acknowledging my other neighbor with a nod, I settled into my seat. I didn't pester the girl. If she chose not to engage, that was her prerogative. Who knows what was going on in her head? Or perhaps she simply found me off-putting. Anything was possible.
What am I worried about? I'm surrounded by ordinary first-year students, fresh out of high school. There shouldn't be any problems with them. In the movies, trouble seems to always find the newcomer, but reality doesn't work like that. I think back to my previous life as a student. I never had any serious conflicts in the dormitory; sure, there were disagreements, but no serious fights. Even a single night at a disco could present more dramatic adventures than a year in a student dormitory, unless I actively sought those adventures myself — which I was definitely not planning to do. I hope that "Purity" will support me in this decision.
Right?
Well, it's okay. You can stay silent, just don't pull me into anything.
I brought only my music player and a small bag with me. From the bag, I took out a brochure about the university and conspicuously opened it, feigning interest. The bus filled up quickly — in a mere seven minutes, all the seats were occupied. We had been forewarned that there would be no waiting for stragglers.
The bus door swung shut as the student guide ascended the steps. He made a quick survey of the cabin, confirming all the seats were filled, before settling into a chair next to the driver. A microphone appeared in his hand, and he gave it a tap, drawing the attention of the passengers.
"My name is Alev Romani. I'm a fourth-year student at the Philosophy Faculty. Today, I'll be your tour guide..."
The guy was clearly not interested in improvising. He was merely reciting from the very brochure I was holding. I was tempted to switch on my player and tune out his spiel — especially given his slightly grating voice. But it would be considered disrespectful — not only to him but also to the university he was telling us about. Even the girl sitting next to me removed her headphones, feigning intense interest.
Novilter State University, or NSU, was not the oldest educational institution in the country, but it was undeniably the most esteemed. The university took special pride in being the third institution globally to educate both regular humans and shapeshifters side by side. This groundbreaking approach enabled Novilter to swiftly - in historical terms - rise to a leading position among global universities, surpassing many old-world monarchies.
The university was situated on Kostara Island, within the bay. The entirety of this island was dedicated to the university's needs, and it was no small piece of land, stretching seven kilometers in length and three kilometers in width. Essentially, it was a self-contained city district, boasting a robust infrastructure, including a circular tram route. Apart from academic buildings, labs, dormitories, and various sports facilities, there were hospitals, hypermarkets, and more. There was even a stadium seating ten thousand at the northern tip of the island.
The shape of the island stretched irregularly along the coastline. Access to Kostara was only possible via a specially built bridge spanning over eight hundred meters. There was also a dock for yachts, boats, and even small ferries, but ordinary students couldn't use it.
In general, the university's territory was like a city within a city, operating under its own rules, with its own police force, and even its own administration. It didn't answer to the mayor of Wilflaes, but directly to the ducal house. Despite this autonomy, the island was officially considered part of the capital — a separate municipality, as per the official terminology.
About four minutes into the volunteer's speech, the buses began to move. The journey to Kostara was not long at all. Approximately twelve minutes of driving along the bay on the highway passed, and we arrived at the bridge linking the island to the mainland.
In reality, each prospective student could have easily made their own way to the university, but this would have overwhelmed public transport and created a massive traffic jam at the checkpoint. So the decision to organize this bus convoy for check-in was logical and sensible. As the road curved, hugging the coastline, I noticed a fairly sizable procession of expensive cars following the buses. I deduced that these were the children of influential families, also enrolling at the university, traveling the same route. This made sense, given the local society still largely retained a certain caste division: shapeshifters and the rest. Putting a noble in a common bus would be a loss of face for their clan.
Also, the clan members, of course, didn't reside in dorms. There were dedicated houses for them, some of which even resembled villas complete with their own staff. But only the wealthiest, well-born, and influential could afford such luxury. Despite the university's attempts to promote equality — "all students are equal to us" — its leadership couldn't entirely overcome the traditions of a predominantly class society, even in this century.
Our guide finished reciting the brochure verbatim just as we cleared the checkpoint. It seemed he was quite experienced in this task and had precisely timed his presentation.
"Exit one by one, starting from the front seats," our fourth-year guide instructed, standing at the entrance. "Don't crowd, get up from your seat only after the person in front of you has exited. As you disembark, you'll be divided into smaller groups of six, each with its own guide."
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Following his gesture, passengers started to disembark. When my turn came, and I descended the stairs, the volunteer promptly directed me.
"Look for a girl holding a sign with the letter 'R' and the number three and go to her. Don't forget to collect your luggage," he advised.
Retrieving my belongings from the luggage compartment, I headed in the indicated direction. The organization of the check-in process was highly efficient. There was no chaos, no crowds, no lost people shouting, none of the usual features of such large-scale events. The groups of prospective students appeared to move chaotically at first glance, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that there was no shoving or running, and everyone knew where they were headed and what they were doing.
I approached a pretty brunette holding a small pole with the sign pointed out by the volunteer, being the sixth and last person in the group.
"Good morning," the girl greeted us all at once. "My name is Sophie, and I'm a third-year student in the Faculty of Robotics. Today, I'll be showing you around our amazing university and telling you everything about it in more detail than what's stated in promotional materials, and even more than you could find yourself on the internet." She winked. "First, we need to take your luggage to your dormitory, where you'll be staying for the entire introduction week. We're lucky: your campus is number twenty-three and it's located very close. No need to squeeze into the tram; we can easily get there on foot. In the meantime, let's get to know each other. You already know my name."
In our small group, everyone but our guide was a young man. Barring racial and individual physical differences, most were similar to Izao: lean, slightly frail-looking, and seemingly a bit overwhelmed by their surroundings. Only one stood out — a short, sturdy figure with a genuine smile that seemed out of place in the robotics department, as if he'd stepped straight out of a pastoral poster. We all introduced ourselves, but the names of my companions immediately slipped my mind. Our guide chatted away amiably about various topics, not so much to inform us as to help the newcomers relieve their anxiety. I, on the other hand, was more interested in taking in my surroundings.
Wilflaes is renowned for its greenery, boasting numerous parks and avenues, with trees lining almost every street. The university grounds, however, had taken this concept even further. Whether someone had meticulously planned the landscape design or it had spontaneously evolved following the terrain, it was an unexpected sight for an academic center's premises. The entire island was a sprawling park. Alleys, lawns, and even small groves effectively hid the buildings, sports grounds, academic buildings, roads, and paved paths. As you strolled, you felt as if you were wandering through a well-kept forest, but with a turn in the path, an entire mini-neighborhood would come into view, buzzing with life and activity. Another turn and you were back in the forest.
Seeing this live, as opposed to in online videos, was an astounding experience. A mere fifty steps later and the forest would spit you out onto a busy street. Trams ran along tracks, and electric cars hummed quietly along clear road markings at a low speed. The route was lined with various shops, clubs, and recreational spots. People were everywhere, mostly young men and women, most of whom had the same ID cards hanging around their necks as I did. Then, another bend in the path, and all the hustle and bustle would be obscured, cut off by a low hill. In a matter of seconds, you'd forget where you were, as if you'd been walking through the woods all along and the buildings, trams, cars, and people had been figments of your imagination. And so it went, until the path took another turn...
The paved path inclined slightly, leading us to the crest of a hill which offered another bustling view of the island civilization. A semicircle of few four-story buildings stood before us, a playground for sports and outdoor training in the center, encircled by a dual-lane road with distinctive markings. Each building boasted a small fountain, each styled to represent a different faculty.
"Our destination," Sophie announced. "This is residential area 'D.' At our university, students are typically arranged to ensure that representatives from as many different faculties as possible live in the same dormitory. This will broaden your circle of friends and acquaintances." I silently added to her statement in my head: it also prevents us from forming insular groups. A wise decision, in my opinion. "Now, I'll take you to the buildings and introduce you to the superintendents. They'll show you to your rooms. Leave your things there, then meet me back at the platform. We'll continue our tour from there. You have fifteen minutes to check in. Please don't be late — our day is scheduled down to the minute!"
My building was the third in the lineup, marked "D-3A". Sophie quickly handed me off to a tall man in a blue uniform before returning to the rest of the group.
"Vaillant, huh?" asked the middle-aged man with a military bearing, almost rhetorically.
Pinned to his robe was a metal badge showcasing a dog baring its teeth, bordered in bronze. If I remembered the local heraldry correctly, this sign indicated he was from a vassal family of the Alihark's Loyal Dogs clan — an additional source of pride for the university. After all, this same clan also ensured the security of the House on the Hill. Of course, my greeter was an ordinary man, not a shapeshifter, likely from a family that had served the clan for generations. They earned this distinctive badge, placing them on some intermediary level between ordinary people and shapeshifters.
"Sign here," he ordered.
I did as told, setting my suitcase on the pavement.
"You can call me Mr. Redtliff," he said. "I'm the superintendent of this building. Grab your suitcase and follow me!" With that, he spun on his heels and strode toward the door.
He was undoubtedly a military man, or rather, an ex-military man.
"Rules!" he continued, not looking back and not questioning whether I had picked up my luggage and was already rushing after him. "Maintain order, don't make loud noise, and don't bring women. If you need a place for a date, come see me. I'll show you where to go. Heh." His laugh was as dry and forced as a military report. "Rooms are double occupancy. Each has a shower and toilet. Unlike the old buildings, where there's just one shower room and five closets for an entire floor. If I like you, you'll keep this room. Break the rules and I'll ship you off to those old buildings. Heh..." I'd only known him for a minute, and he was already driving me to the point of kidney colic with his irksome demeanor.
More accurately, if I were my true age, I'd find common ground with him rather quickly; I might even coax out of him a handful of privileges and concessions. But I've known people like him — I've met them before in my past life. As long as I'm his "charge," or "junior in rank," he'll only communicate with me in commands. Persuading, asking, or telling such a person anything is fruitless. "It's in the rules! Follow it!" is a typical dialogue with him.
"Right, second floor, room two hundred and thirty-three," the superintendent consulted his paper and halted at a door. "Keys," I accepted them. "Rules," a sheet with a printout of at least thirty points was handed to me. "Open the door. Why are you standing there like a young bull before a heifer? Heh..." I wished I could go home, away from such humor.
I opened the door. A small entryway, about a meter by a meter and a half, contained only a coat hanger and a shoe cabinet. To the left was the bathroom door. Beyond the hallway was the room itself. Two neatly made beds, a nightstand in military style, a pair of small tables, the same number of chairs, and one tall wardrobe. A wide window faced south. The wallpaper-less walls were painted a light, dirt-tinged green. It was asceticism in its purest form.
"You're the first one here, so choose a bed," he directed.
At first glance, I could tell that the left bed was superior. It was out of sight from the bathroom door, and the morning sun wouldn't shine directly in your eyes. I placed my suitcase next to the chosen bed.
"Brochures," he gestured towards the papers I'd been holding. "Put them on the bed to show it's taken. Put the player there as well — you didn't come here to listen to music. Don't worry: no one steals here. Heh..." I could see that the absence of theft seemed to mildly disappoint him. If a thief were to appear in his building, he'd likely enjoy making life difficult for them. The thought was written all over his face in bold letters.
"Thank you," I complied with his advice.
"But take the building's rules back!" he caught me off guard. I sensed a trick but fell for it nonetheless. My own fault. "Memorize them until you can recite them in your sleep!"
"Understood," I responded, which caused his face to twist in displeasure. I was slightly pleased by that — it was exactly the reaction I was aiming for. A small act of revenge for his "take it back" prank.
"To the exit! Close the door," he monitored my actions as if unsure I could handle such a simple task. "At midnight, the building entrance doors are locked. The only exceptions are Friday and Sunday. If you're late, you'll spend the night on the lawn. Heh," he checked his watch. "Think you can find your way out?"
"Yes," I answered tersely, afraid I might not be able to resist responding sarcastically. That would have been a massive stupidity on my end. It was evident that the superintendent had taken an immediate dislike to me, for no discernible reason. It made no sense to exacerbate the situation.
"Twelve," he tapped his wristwatch and sauntered off down the corridor.
When he warned me to return before twelve, I thought he was joking. Apparently, he wasn't. Our temporary guide and caretaker, Sophie, kept us on our feet all day! She showed us everything, chattering non-stop as she did so. She led us to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, each at different cafeterias. We were inundated with information about local life. However, due to Sophie's constant chatter, much of it simply went in one ear and out the other.
The "primary sightseeing tour," as Sophie labeled our ordeal, didn't end until half past nine in the evening! She also invited us to a party in honor of our arrival, set to last until midnight. None of our small group accepted her offer. Not only were my legs aching from a full day of walking; I could barely feel them. The rest were equally exhausted, and even the burliest among us declined the party. She had run us ragged, yet she didn't seem tired at all. Finally, she led the group back to our block, waved goodbye, and took off for the party. How does she have so much energy?
I yearned to visit the Break and leave this exhaustion there, but I didn't dare to do so in an unfamiliar place. It was okay; once I reached my room, I'd sleep soundly.
The building's front doors were not closed. Nearby, leaning against the wall, stood two fifth-year students, quietly complaining about some professor who had them working all summer instead of lounging with girls on the beach. As I walked by, I nodded politely. They merely waved back, continuing to air their grievances.
The dormitory's layout was straightforward, even for those with a poor sense of direction. The entrance was in the center of the building, with a wide staircase leading upstairs. Each floor had about fifty rooms, if my count was correct. The rooms followed a hotel-style numbering system with three digits, the first one indicating the floor. For example, my room was two hundred thirty-three, meaning it was the thirty-third room on the second floor. Simple enough.
At first glance, there appeared to be complete freedom — no security or surveillance cameras. But something felt off, like there was a catch. The lobby was vacant, yet an oppressive sensation of being watched sent chills down my spine. Surely, a building housing so many students couldn't be entirely unattended. I ascended halfway up a flight of stairs and crouched down, pretending to tie my shoelaces. Indeed, I had been wrong about the cameras — I spotted two now. They were masterfully concealed by the interplay of shadows and the flower pots hanging on the wall, invisible from below. Seeing them gave me a sense of relief — it meant my instincts were functioning well, and I wasn't just imagining things.
I found my room without difficulty. In fact, it would've been challenging to get lost here. Along the way, I encountered several students and a couple of newcomers like myself. Everyone was preoccupied with their own business, so I only offered a polite greeting as I passed.
Pausing in front of my door, I fished out my keys. The lock gave a click, but I hesitated before entering. There was someone in the room — the light was on, and quiet music, sounding like a local classical piece, was playing. It seemed the superintendent had assigned someone to the room during my sightseeing tour.
The music led me to hope that my roommate might be even more bookish than Izao. I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was my belongings scattered on the right bed. My suitcase was precariously balanced on its side, propped up only by the corner of the nightstand. My music player was on the bed, but the headphones had rolled underneath.
I was just about to voice my displeasure at the sight when the bathroom door swung open and my roommate tumbled out like a bear from its den. How thoughtful of the superintendent...
The roommate was a tall guy, taller than Izao by a head and almost twice as broad. His skull was bald, his eyes vacant, and his neck seemed non-existent, merging directly into his muscular shoulders. His ears were cauliflowered, his nose skewed slightly, and his skin was as smooth as a baby's bottom.
"Ah!" he grumbled, sizing me up with a disdainful gaze. "So you're the weakling Mr. Redtliff was talking about..." He scratched his head. "Izao, huh? That's right!" He seemed pleased to have remembered my name. "I'm Tom, but you can call me Shell Tom!"
He didn't extend a hand or nod in greeting, disregarding even basic etiquette. I was taken aback. This was truly disorienting. This young man, who couldn't be more than eighteen, could have easily overpowered me with one hand, even if I were in my previous body, let alone my current state. A shiver of fear trickled down my spine. I'd anticipated some bullying as the newcomer, but I hadn't expected to end up with such a hulking brute of a roommate.
After introducing himself and without waiting for my response, the thug turned and ambled towards the left bed, now seemingly his. The corridor suddenly felt more spacious. Unlike mine, his belongings were neatly organized. A small, inexpensive tape recorder sat on the nightstand, from which pleasant, melodic classical music flowed.
Recognizing that standing still like a statue wouldn't be a productive choice, I summoned my resolve, entered the room, and began to gather my scattered belongings, all in silence.
"You didn't mind me moving your stuff, did you?" my roommate smirked, observing my actions. "I need plenty of good sleep, and this spot," he patted the bed he had claimed, "is better for sleeping."
I chose to ignore his words. I had a strong feeling that if I opened my mouth to complain, I'd be falling into some sort of trap. He seemed far too confident and arrogant. The mere disparity in our physical sizes couldn't account for this attitude, given we were both newcomers here. It was more likely he had the superintendent's backing. Or, even worse, the superintendent might have instructed him to give me a hard time. After all, I did sense an immediate dislike from Mr. Redtliff for reasons unknown to me.
After collecting my belongings, I stowed them in my bedside table. Then I took out a change of clothes and a towel, stood up, and headed for the shower.
"What, gotta take a dump?" I wished I had a steel rod — I would have wiped that smug grin off his face. "Smart. You're supposed to crap in the toilet, not in the bed." He chuckled in a manner eerily reminiscent of the superintendent.
Ignoring his comment, I closed the bathroom door behind me and stepped into the shower, turning the water on full blast.
[1] TLN: There's a tradition to sit down briefly before a long journey. I never quite understood it, but perhaps it helps some people gather their thoughts and mentally double-check they haven't forgotten anything.