I wanted to stand under the stream for a long time, maybe even the whole night, but remaining in the shower for more than ten minutes would signal my fear and confusion. So, after a quick rinse to wash off the dust and sweat, I shut off the water, dried myself off, and changed clothes. Much as I wanted to remain in the sanctuary of the bathroom, I couldn't very well move in!
Exiting, I walked over to my bed, feigning preoccupation with drying my hair. My roommate seemed to have lost interest in me. He glanced my way indifferently before returning to reading the dorm's code of conduct.
I sat on the bed, my mind racing. What was I supposed to do now?
At first glance, the safest option seemed to be to endure the situation. I could tolerate a week and then move to another, albeit less comfortable, dorm once classes officially began. I would have chosen that option if I had been certain that this bed swap was the end of it. But I wasn't.
Since I can't tap into the projection capabilities, physical confrontation is out of the question. I'd be flattened if I even hinted at throwing a punch. Of course, I could smuggle a baseball bat into the room, and when he's asleep... No, that's crossing into criminal territory, and I could be expelled from university.
Should I try to talk and make friends? No, my "Word" wouldn't allow me to fabricate the necessary lies to pull off such a task.
File a complaint? If the superintendent is indeed backing him, that's not going to work.
Perhaps I could provoke a conflict, making him appear as the instigator, ideally in front of witnesses? For now, I'll work with this plan. I just need to figure out how to execute it without jeopardizing my health and safety.
My legs are buzzing from a full day of walking, but I'm not ready to sleep. My adrenaline is surging; even sitting upright feels like a challenge. Think, head, think! I'll reward you with a new robot-themed cap!
Various strategies cross my mind, but all carry inherent risks or unpredictable outcomes, or are hindered by the "Purity" restriction. That damn blade nips many plans in the bud! And then there's "Word" with its infuriating restriction on lies.
I recalled a story a special task force operative told during a break near Palmyra, before the first assault on the city by the Syrian army. His squad had a sort of initiation prank for new recruits to test their stress resistance.
The newbie was well received by everyone, except one squad member who was always conspicuously absent from the welcome. After a round of hearty introductions, the newcomer was informed: "We're all good guys here, but we have this one soldier... He's shell-shocked and doesn't talk to anyone. Just don't cross paths with him, and everything will be fine."
By "total coincidence," of course, the newcomer's bed happened to be right next to that of the "shell-shocked" soldier. And then the game was on. The previously absent soldier would arrive, sit down, and fix his gaze on the newcomer. Constantly, without a break. Hour after hour, day after day. The newbie would wake up in the middle of the night to find himself still being watched. He'd fall asleep under the gaze, wake up, and the silent observation would continue. First day, second day, third day... As the storyteller put it, by the fourth day about half of the new recruits would break down, instigate a conflict, fight, or lodge a complaint. They were dismissed. Those who made it through the week were allowed to stay. Of course, it was all very cunning; they were piling on additional work on the newcomer and pressured them psychologically in addition to this test while the "shell-shocked" soldier took his rest during the day.
Should I try it out? Or was this just a story made up for the entertainment of eager listeners? Still, based on my understanding of psychology, even if the tale was exaggerated, there seemed to be some truth underlying it.
Summoning my courage, I began to blatantly stare at my roommate. Would this tactic work? Despite his confident demeanor, it didn't necessarily mean anything. His possessions... All neat and tidy, but unmistakably cheap. This could be a clue. If he couldn't afford even mid-range clothes, a suitcase, or equipment, then it's unlikely that he or his parents could afford his tuition. Of course, it's possible that he'd been saving up for a long time, sacrificing personal pleasures and the like, but even his shin pads sticking out of his suitcase and his sneakers were generic brands. This gear seemed to be his lifeline, possibly indicating that he's on a sports scholarship, a player in the local equivalent of rugby, if my interpretation was correct.
If my assumption is right, then a direct conflict with me would be disadvantageous for him. More specifically, a fight instigated by him could lead to his expulsion. I could leverage this. But should I?
Maybe I should just ignore all of this? Swallow my pride and pretend that nothing happened?
No.
That's not an option.
I am a Break Knight. I wasn't frightened by giant robots. I've battled ghostly skeletons from a legendary sailing ship... So am I supposed to back down now in front of this muscle-bound mountain? I'd lose all remaining respect for myself!
I climbed onto my bed, sat in a lotus position, leaned my back against the wall, and began to implement my plan. Watching my roommate quickly grew tedious, but I pushed myself. When it became too much, I'd defocus my eyes and start contemplating my own thoughts.
How long could I keep this up? I could easily stay awake for two days straight. If I found a safe way to enter the Break, then even longer. And I don't have to be awake all the time. Life has taught me to be a light sleeper. Besides, I can sleep in various positions: sitting, standing, even while riding a mule ambling along a mountain path. I've done it before.
I wouldn't instigate a conflict, but I intended to agitate my roommate enough that he'd regret his mischief. Of course, he might be as emotionally resilient as a hippopotamus, immune to such tactics, but his penchant for classical music was a giveaway. Most likely, this brutish facade was nothing more than a carefully crafted act.
So, we'd engage in a contest of nerves. The fact that I hadn't uttered a word all this time worked in my favor. He hadn't heard my voice at all.
"What?" At eleven o'clock, he cracked. "Do you like me so much you can't look away? Huh."
I responded with the sweetest of my rehearsed smiles.
"You're not one of those, I hope?" He asked, shrugging.
I remained silent.
"You know, I'm not into boys." He went off on a tangent. It's rightly said, leave people to their imaginations and they'll invent their own monsters! "If you try to get into my bed at night, I'll break your jaw. Huh."
I answered him with another smile.
Seeing that I wouldn't respond, he fell silent, finally setting aside the rules and taking out a book. It was called "My Game," written by some renowned coach even Izao, who had no interest in sports, had heard about him several times. So, I was correct - he wasn't as dim-witted as he tried to appear.
Half an hour later, casting an unfriendly glance my way, Tom rose and turned off the lights without asking for my consent. He then laid down on his bed.
Crap! I hadn't expected that! The guy had nerves of steel. He lay down, covered himself with a blanket, and immediately dozed off. He wasn't pretending - he was asleep. My plan seemed to be developing cracks. But I couldn't back down now, could I?
Approaching the situation as if I were in a war zone, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep while sitting. It didn't work at first, but by one in the morning, I finally managed to drift off. I woke up once during the night when my roommate got up to use the bathroom. I met his gaze, which was filled with the desire to bury me in the yard outside, and when he fell asleep again, I drifted off too.
In the morning, I felt better than I had anticipated, though my legs were numb, and my back and neck ached. As I'd expected, Tom woke up far earlier than needed to continue the tour. He washed up, put on a tracksuit and sneakers, and went out for a jog.
As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, I finally lay down and stretched my legs. It felt good! I wished I could slip into the Break and recover...
I would have, if not for my paranoia. There were certainly no cameras in the room; otherwise, I would've noticed. But there was a big "BUT": the sound of transitioning into the projection state, the "Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!", could be heard by all the Knights around. The walls here weren't particularly thin, but it didn't matter: as soon as I made the transition, a distinctive roar would resonate through the Break, reaching all the neighboring rooms, including the ones above and below. What if one of them housed another student chosen by the Break? I couldn't risk exposing myself like that. It wasn't worth it.
After lying down for half an hour, I got up and exited the room. I had an urge to snoop through my roommate's belongings, but I restrained myself. Not so much due to a sense of moral integrity but more out of caution. This Tom was far too suspicious. Who knows, maybe he had left some traps?
The situation was quite stressful for me. Not so much because of the obvious conflict with a roommate, but because I couldn't comprehend the reasons behind it. And this lack of understanding weighed on me like a heavy slab of concrete.
Sophie's scheduled arrival was still forty minutes away. I didn't fancy waiting in the room and running into Tom again, so I opted for some fresh air. I strolled around, relaxed, and familiarized myself with the surroundings without straying from the residential complex's territory. I noticed the cameras were practically everywhere – if not on every lamppost, then certainly on every third one. Moreover, much like the ones in the lobby, they were discreetly and professionally installed, not immediately noticeable...
Honestly, I had thought the second day wouldn't be so hectic. Wishful thinking.
Sophie arrived punctually, greeted everyone, and promptly whisked us away to the central educational buildings. She looked sleepy, likely having stayed up late into the night. Unfortunately, her incessant chatter remained unaffected. Instead of a tongue, she had a perpetual motion machine. Why was she studying at the Faculty of Robotics? She belonged in Philosophy.
The official proceedings began promptly at nine in the morning. We were neatly arranged into rows, and then the rector delivered a welcome speech that lasted an hour and a half. I thought I'd doze off standing up. I would have, if not for Sophie, who, with a sweet smile, elbowed me in the side as soon as I closed my eyes. Just when I thought we were done as the rector exited the podium, a gray-haired man in flowing robes, complete with a formal tie, stepped up to the microphone.
My heart skipped a beat when I saw him. Charles Boku - a professor of mathematics, recipient of numerous awards, and an honorary member of several academies and societies.
A Maker.
I immediately took cover behind our escort, trying to appear smaller. The old man spoke at length but with a captivating rhythm, touching on self-belief, how science propels the world, and the significance of a solid education. Thank God, he finished in just half an hour. It seemed to me that the Maker hadn't noticed me. Generally, he didn't pay much attention to the back rows, focusing more on those near the podium - the elite, the clansmen, and the wealthy.
Upon the conclusion of the welcoming portion, Sophie ushered us off to breakfast.
I attempted to engage my group at the table, but it proved to be somewhat perfunctory. We've known each other's names since yesterday, but any attempts at engaging conversation fell flat. It probably didn't help that our guide incessantly dominated the conversation, even when her mouth was full of food. Honestly, Sophie's incessant chattering was beginning to annoy me as much as Tom and Mr. Redtliff combined!
After breakfast, our guide led us to the laboratory buildings. Here, we met with several more groups from our faculty and listened to five more welcome lectures from our prospective instructors. Before we knew it, it was lunchtime.
This time around, Sophie convinced us to eat at a private cafe, assuring us the food was both delicious and affordable. She was half-right. The food was indeed scrumptious, but the price was nearly twice that of the official cafeterias. After waiting for Sophie to stuff a substantial morsel into her mouth, thus momentarily halting her chatter, I broached the topic of university sports teams.
Aside from the "farmer," all the guys cast sidelong glances at me, which I ignored. Our guide, however, seemed invigorated by the new topic and began rattling off so quickly that for a moment I doubted my ability to process such a barrage of words.
"Oh, they're so awesome!" "Oh, they train so hard!" "Oh, what good sportsmen they are!" "Oh, they've brought so many awards to the university!" "Oh, while we sit here, they're testing, running, lifting weights!" "Oh..." And so it went, for the entirety of our meal. A genuine chatterbox! I've encountered plenty of talkative people in my life, but none could rival Sophie.
After we finished eating, Sophie took us to the recreational area. The campus even featured a full-fledged amusement park. While the prices were steep, some of the attractions piqued my interest. After leaving us an hour to unwind, Sophie departed. In an effort to blend in, I bought tickets for a water steamer, chose a secluded spot, and snuck in a fifteen-minute nap. I then paid for three more rounds and ended up feeling almost refreshed.
We "explored" the laboratories and educational buildings until late in the evening. Our guide worked tirelessly to instill a sense of the university's layout in us. And, to her credit, she succeeded by some miracle. Even I, despite my best efforts to tune out her voice, managed to remember all the important locations on the island.
Following dinner, our group endured another round of directives, and finally, Sophie released us. Essentially, we were free to do as we pleased. By that time, it was half past nine in the evening.
I didn't head back to my building, not simply because I wanted to avoid Tom, although that played a part. The primary reason was different. I needed to establish habits in advance — or more accurately, the illusion of habits. Let others believe that I enjoy solitary walks, that I practically can't live without them, away from prying eyes for an hour or an hour and a half before bedtime. The keyword here was, of course, "solitary." I'd already noticed that the island's forested and park areas were outside the surveillance network, and I required such places to stay out of sight, slip into the Break, and spend a couple of hours doing my thing. Given the speed available to projection, during this time, I could visit home, train with the Padawans, and accomplish quite a lot.
So, I walked, identifying suitable spots and zones, yet abstained from entering the Break. Until I understood Tom's motives, I needed to be extra cautious and avoid standing out at all.
I approached my building at ten. At the entrance, the superintendent was chastising a newcomer, judging by the card hanging around his neck. I acknowledged him politely and moved on; it was none of my business. Nevertheless, I admired Redtliff's lexicon: the ability to swear subtly without resorting to obscenities was quite a skill.
Upon entering the room, I quickly scanned it from the doorway. My roommate was already there, freshly out of the shower. I kicked off my shoes and entered. Tom's smile didn't sit well with me. A damp towel lay on my bed.
My towel.
Damp.
Had he really...?
No, this ruse wouldn't work on me. He hadn't wiped himself with it; he had merely created the illusion by slightly wetting it and then crumpling it. What a cad — he was clearly trying to provoke me.
Nonchalantly, I tossed the towel onto the floor, then pulled out a new one from my suitcase. Flashing a saccharine smile at my roommate, I headed to the shower. He responded with a predatory grin, but his disappointment at my lack of reaction was evident.
Upon returning from the shower, I settled onto my bed with my legs up and, unashamedly watching my roommate, I started folding origami without looking at my hands. Tom pretended not to care, but he visibly flinched when I tossed a paper knife onto my nightstand. A simple trick I'd picked up during one of my business trips. Today, the score was one-zero in my favor.
I managed a little sleep. My roommate tossed and turned restlessly, waking frequently. He wasn't as impervious as he seemed. When Tom left for his morning run, dark circles were visible under his eyes. Another good sign was that he didn't once glance in my direction while changing.
I departed ten minutes later. First, I threw the old towel in the trash. Then, sitting on one of the park benches, I dozed off. It was only Sophie's boisterous greeting that roused me from my sleep.
Oh! It's her again!
Today was the first truly substantial day. We attended real lectures — ones that were genuinely educational. We saw little of Sophie; she only escorted us from one lecture hall to another and didn't have as much time to annoy us as usual. Mathematics, physics, history. Lunch. Literature, chemistry, astronomy, philosophy. Dinner. My head ached by the end of the day, but I must concede, the university professors and teaching staff were exceptional. What's more, the lectures were designed around the last year of the school curriculum, not the university standard — still, the instructors were captivating.
The day concluded with another solitary stroll. This time, I visited a store and bought a pack of razor blades. By precisely ten o'clock, I was back in my room.
"My headphones broke, so I borrowed yours," my roommate greeted me with a near-friendly smile. "But the wire got a bit tangled." He handed me a ball of wires, deliberately entwined in such a way that it would take an immense amount of time to untangle — if that were even possible. "You're not upset, right? They say roommates should help each other."
Silently, I took the headphones, tossed them into the drawer of my nightstand, and sat on the bed. He hadn't touched the origami knife — strange, it could have been easily torn. Well, it doesn't matter. Let's continue our "game" of stares.
At half-past eleven, as Tom began to change for bed, I took out the pack of razor blades. I opened it and conspicuously, grinning slyly, began to insert one blade after another into the paper knife. I nicked it slightly, fashioning a jagged razor edge. My roommate pretended to be preoccupied with his own things, but I noted how he involuntarily positioned himself slightly farther from me and closer to the wall than usual.
After completing the assembly, I clicked my tongue loudly as if expressing satisfaction. Then, slowly removing the blades, I returned them to the box. Obviously, even with razors, a paper knife isn't a weapon — I fully understand this. I needed a demonstration, and it worked out perfectly. My roommate didn't fall asleep until three in the morning. He kept tossing and turning, and occasionally, under the impression that I was asleep, he peeked in my direction from under his covers.
In the morning, when Tom went out for his run, he didn't smile — that was it. The circles under his eyes had transformed into bags. I didn't mind; I could sleep during lectures while he had physical training, tests, and workouts. If he doesn't perform well, he'll instantly lose his sports scholarship. It's intriguing to see if he'll maintain his performance with such little sleep.
Thanks to the talkative Sophie, I knew he was on a scholarship. Well, not directly from her, but she hinted at where to dig. A couple of inquiries directed at rugby enthusiasts revealed that my roommate was a promising scholarship recipient and a champion of some school competitions. He hailed from some backwater town, compared to which Troyusse might as well have been the world's capital.
The fourth day was once again filled with lectures, with one distinction: this time they were more advanced. It was intriguing, but I was drained from this ongoing conflict with my roommate. Consequently, during the last four sessions, I was virtually asleep with my eyes open, not paying attention. Our small group split into two factions: four geeks and myself along with the "farmer," who turned out to be a country boy named Nicholas. Interestingly, unlike everyone else in the group, he didn't have to pay anything because he demonstrated a unique talent — he assembled some gadget, submitted it to the university, and was admitted without exams.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He was an intriguing young man with a distinct perspective on the world. Being around him was engaging, and I didn't sense any age disparity at all. The subjects we discussed were naturally related to robots — he knew more about them than I did. Nick, as he responded to the shortened name, dreamed of building a Mars rover. Considering that in this world, only one automated mission had been dispatched to the red planet, it was a significant challenge. Nicholas was utterly fascinated by space and robots.
We chatted animatedly throughout dinner, completely ignoring Sophie, which seemed to slightly offend her. I almost spilled the beans several times — even my rudimentary knowledge of astrophysics would be a revelation for the local scientific luminaries. After dinner, I felt inclined to continue our conversation, but I still declined, telling Nicholas that I preferred to spend my evenings alone, reflecting on the day's events. Surprisingly, he wasn't upset and seemed to understand. Or at least, I thought he did. I only shared that portion of the truth which didn't provoke a reaction from "Word."
As usual, at five minutes to ten, I approached my dorm. Mr. Redtliff was reading a sports paper on one of the benches near the entrance. I nodded at him and continued on my way. I didn't appreciate the way he scrutinized me: not with irritation or anger, but rather with a calm, evaluating gaze. It sent a shiver down my spine.
I ascended to my floor and entered the room. My roommate was in a foul mood. His sneakers were scattered about haphazardly. His tracksuit, usually neatly folded, was tossed in a bag hanging off the end of the bed. The music blaring from the tape recorder was louder than usual. He simply lay on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Is he going to calm down today? It seems all my belongings are in order... but no, the origami paper knife is missing. The loss isn't significant — I can craft a new one in ten minutes tops. Just to be sure, I checked my suitcase and items in the nightstand — everything seems normal.
I didn't shower, simply out of laziness, and besides, the day hadn't been so strenuous that I was drenched in sweat. I simply changed into my pajamas and climbed onto my bed as usual. The staring game, day four. It was becoming tiresome, but the efficacy of this method was evident, so I compelled myself to persist.
I placed a new paper knife on the nightstand, and beside it, I positioned a sealed packet of razor blades. Tom doesn't visibly react to this, still lying back and gazing upward as if nothing else exists but the ceiling. It's a shame that smartphones were a relatively recent invention in this world. Their first models — quite primitive and cumbersome — had just started to appear on the market, and even then, at astronomically high prices. If mobile internet was as developed here as it is in my Earth, I'd already have details about his training sessions and his performance. Social networks aren't always a detriment; sometimes, they're a trove of useful information. But alas, they haven't reached that point here yet. So, I have to rely on observation and speculation.
If I'm interpreting Tom's mood correctly, things aren't going well for him. Quite the contrary, they seem to be going rather poorly. I should have spent the evening mingling at the sports fields instead of wandering in the forest, but this whole situation, combined with a constant lack of sleep, seemed to have dulled my thinking. I only considered that option just now.
I didn't sleep at all that night. Not because I didn't want to! It's just that my roommate didn't close his eyes until dawn. He just lay on his back, staring up at the dark ceiling — a chilling sight.
When the alarm prompted him to rise, he staggered slightly. I believe I might have overdone it; he's clearly in a terrible state, both physically and mentally. Oddly enough, he doesn't seem in a rush to run today. Instead, he heads to the shower and judging by the water's sound, he just stands there. It's peculiar: usually, he showers after his morning workout.
The bathroom door slams shut. Tom emerges, still damp, having not bothered to dry himself, with just a towel wrapped around his waist and his bare feet slapping against the floor. Oh... he's not heading to his own space, but mine!
It took a considerable effort not to curl up and retreat into the furthest corner. He looks angry, intimidating, and dangerous. Considering his currently frazzled psyche, this situation could turn out far worse for me than anticipated. I glance at the window — it's only the second floor, not too high. Perhaps...
"Feeling brave, are we?" He poses the question, looming over me like a towering cliff over a tiny pebble.
It's time to break the silence. My roommate is on edge, and his actions if I continue to remain silent are unpredictable.
"I'm just sitting here. What do you want?"
"Just sitting?" He bursts into a shout that quickly morphs into a hiss. "And the razors on the cabinet, the paper knife, do they mean nothing as well?"
"I enjoy origami..." I mask the rising fear with an air of indifference.
"How long can you go without sleep?" He steps back, smirking, but it's a pitiful sight.
"I don't need much sleep. I can catch up during lectures." My practiced smile, on the other hand, comes across almost naturally. "But your performance has been deteriorating every day..." Bullseye. "And tomorrow, you have a crucial game, right? You should get a good night's sleep."
If I misread him and he's just a mindless brute, he'll hit me now. But no, I was right — Tom is not stupid. Otherwise, I'd be in the infirmary after such comments.
"Shall we talk?" He exhales.
"Sure." I pat the spot next to me on the bed.
Half-turned, my roommate poses his question.
"What do you want?"
"I want my bed back."
"And that's it?"
"No, I also want you to stop all this nonsense: the towels, the headphones, and so on."
"Or maybe I'll just break your arm?"
"You could try." It takes immense effort to keep my voice steady. "I'll report you, and you'll be expelled."
"You disturbed my sleep! It drove me to a nervous breakdown, so I reacted. They'll understand me." He bares his teeth in a mock smile.
"And how did I disturb you?"
"You..." He falters, struggling for an answer. Chronic sleep deprivation makes thinking difficult.
"I didn't play loud music, didn't keep the lights on, didn't sing, didn't jump on the bed, I didn't even snore. I just sat there."
"You... you stared..."
"Umm..." I grin in response. "So what?"
"Continuously! Four nights in a row. It made me anxious."
"And how will you prove it?"
"I..." Right, it's unprovable, and he just realizes it. "There's the knife on your nightstand." He's grasping at straws.
"Made of paper. I can make a bird with it," I shrug.
"And the razors."
"They're not weapons; anyone can buy them at any store."
He places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes it like a vice.
"Are we still talking or?..." Grimacing in pain, I try to steer the conversation back on track.
"I see." He releases me. "You're not crazy. You're just pretending."
"We're all a little crazy," I retort. He gives me a puzzled look. "Well, that's what psychologists say. There are no normal people. The notion of psychological normality is just an abstraction."
"What. Do. You. Want. From. Me?" His words are chopped, delivered with a harsh edge.
"I want my bed back."
"What..." He throws his hands up in frustration. "We are just going in circles..."
"You don't like it yourself." It's a shot in the dark.
"Mr. Redtliff asked me to put some pressure on you. Just... in small ways." Bingo. Though it's unclear why the superintendent made this request.
"Perhaps we can put an end to all this?"
"He promised he'd help me with the team. Said he knew the coach."
"Then just tell him you've done as he asked. Something like, 'I've scared him. He's not sleeping, he's terrified.'" I suggest a possible resolution.
"It's not that simple. Either you leave this building, or I do."
"I won't: you're the bully, not bothered by rumors. But if I leave, it'll show I'm weak and I'll struggle to find my place in this university for all six years of my studies. They'll eat me alive..." I understand how young people operate; just give them a reason...
"Guess that's the end of our conversation then." With a sigh, he gets up and prepares to change.
He dresses in a tracksuit and sneakers in complete silence before leaving for a run.
Today was mainly busy. As usual in the morning, Sophie guided our small group to the academic buildings. But after lunch, we were given some free time. This was, regrettably, for a reason: we were "blessed" with the news of impending tests the next day. However, we were reassured that this testing was not the last additional entrance exam. They explained it was necessary for the professors to tailor the curriculum for the first semester, basing it on the results.
Overall, I remained calm: I was confident I could pass these tests with an average score. There was no need for me to overexert myself trying to prove I was the best. Besides, standing out from the crowd is not always the wisest decision.
I observed, trying not to get drawn into the idle chatter of our guide, that only Nicholas and I seemed relaxed on our way back. The other four were arguing about the test and clearly anxious. Sophie was trying to reassure them loudly, but from my perspective, she only exacerbated the situation.
Our guide led us back to the dormitory and announced that we had free time until the evening. Then, at seven, we would convene and go to dinner. After that, there was a social program, and our attendance was "highly encouraged." She wouldn't accept a refusal this time around. It seemed like she was serious, and I had no choice but to comply.
I approached my room with apprehension. What would Tom pull this time? Our morning discussion, after all, had been cut short without reaching a resolution. I opened the door.
Silence.
No sign of my roommate.
What a twist! His belongings were gone as well. Only a note left on the bed.
I pick it up and read a single line.
"I'm returning it to you."
That's unexpected. I anticipated an escalation of the conflict, but he just left. Why? Ah, right, his game is tomorrow! His beloved pastime would be at risk if he underperforms. He was more intelligent than I gave him credit for and made the right decision.
The problem is that although he has left, it doesn't mean the conflict is resolved; he may retaliate one day. But when? Maybe by then, I'll be beaten up by some creature from the Break. I should get it out of my mind: at least this episode is over before the academic year starts. I'm more concerned about the superintendent, but thinking is difficult. I need to sleep.
Setting the alarm for half past six, I collapse into bed fully dressed.
I immediately fall into a deep sleep. Stress, anxiety... When you're truly exhausted, sleep comes swiftly...
A knock on the door jolts me awake.
Glancing at the clock, I grumble. Who would bother me at this hour? I could have slept another half an hour.
"Yes, yes. I'm coming."
"Mr. Vaillant," Mr. Redtliff's voice floats from behind the door. "In my office in five minutes." Then, receding footsteps.
Great. What has Tom told him? Will I be evicted? There's no point in pondering now; there are too many possibilities. I just need to go.
The superintendent's office is on the first floor, adjacent to the lobby. I knock.
"Come in."
I had expected a cramped room, but instead, I find a full-fledged office spanning twenty square meters. The walls are lined with paper-filled shelves. A desk bears three monitors. Four chairs, ordinary, typical for any university lecture hall. Notably, the superintendent himself doesn't sit in an armchair but on a simple backless stool. At first glance, it's clear that this isn't for show: he's used to such minimalism.
"Have a seat," he gestures towards the chairs.
I choose the chair furthest from him and sit.
"Tell me, Mr. Vaillant."
"Excuse me, tell what?"
"Do you want to play with words, Mr. Vaillant?" I've seen such smiles on the faces of seasoned military investigators. Terrifying...
"No! What are you implying, Mr. Redtliff?" The "Word" sears my hand as a warning. "What do you want to hear?"
"Mr. Sawaisky requested a transfer to another building this morning."
"We didn't get along." The sword doesn't react to this statement.
"And he left, not you?" His gaze penetrates like an X-ray.
"Yes, Mr. Redtliff."
"How amusing." Saying this, he places his hands behind his head. "Indeed, it's amusing and unexpected. So, there was a conflict? Why didn't you inform me, as per rule three, subparagraph 'B'?"
"I didn't want to bother you." I thought about adding "over trivial matters," but the "Word" held me back.
"Mr. Vaillant, have you familiarized yourself with the rules?"
"I have."
"So, you chose to disregard them?"
"Yes." "Word," I love you.
"Mr. Vaillant, do you know the type of people I can't stand?"
"I presume so, Mr. Redtliff."
"Do you? Please, enlighten me."
"Those who are aware of the rules but choose to act independently, ignoring the written regulations."
"Exactly, Mr. Vaillant, exactly!" He places his palms on the table. "As per rule seven 'A,' you must provide me with a report on the conflict with your roommate. It can be verbal. I'm all ears, Mr. Vaillant."
"We had a disagreement about the choice of bed... the left one," I clarify, unsure why I feel the need to.
"Continue. And cease this stalling, Mr. Vaillant. Time is of the essence!"
Left with no choice, I relay a condensed version of the events that unfolded, leaving out our final conversation and the razors on the bedside table.
"So, you simply observed..." He flashes a grin from ear to ear, leaving me puzzled. Did I inadvertently crack a joke? "Four nights in a row! Your keys, Mr. Vaillant!"
Things seemed to be improving until now, and suddenly I'm greeting at a relocation.
"You know," the superintendent says, accepting my key, "Do you know the type of people I appreciate, Mr. Vaillant?"
"I have no idea, Mr. Redtliff," I respond, unwilling to guess.
"Men with balls of steel... Like you, Mr. Vaillant." He signs the tag and hands me back the key.
Well, that's a surprising turn of events! The superintendent rises from his stool and extends a hand to me.
"Welcome to the best university dorm, Izao..." His handshake is firm, not overpowering, just strong and masculine.
"Thank you," is all I manage, taken aback by his gesture.
"And I won't keep you any longer."
"Goodbye, Mr. Redtliff."
"Yes, yes..." he dismisses me, his attention already shifting to one of the monitors.
Exiting his office, I lean against the wall, trembling. Is he really just a superintendent? He seems more like a special operations officer who's been testing me!
More than just testing... he's recruiting me! But why does he want me?
Unable to hold up any longer, I step outside and slump onto the first bench I find. A headache is brewing, each throb feeling like a nail driven into my skull...
Sophie arrives precisely at seven. I'd forgotten about her. My headache hasn't eased. And now she's at my side, her chatter incessant. I barely touch my dinner; I simply can't manage to eat.
"Izao." Interrupting her stream of words, the escort scrutinizes my face. "Are you feeling alright?"
"My head aches. Severely. I haven't been sleeping well."
"Alright, boys, continue eating." She stands up from the table. "We'll be back shortly. Izao, come with me."
She leads me to a pharmacy where she insists I buy headache and sleep aid pills.
"You have an exam tomorrow; you need to rest," Sophie explains.
"Thank you."
"Let's see..." She ponders. "There's a performance at the theater hall tonight in your honor. Skipping it would be disrespectful to the undergrads who worked hard on it. But..." She rubs the bridge of her nose. "Given your upcoming exam and how exhausted you appear... Go back to the dorm and sleep. I'll cover for you."
"Thank you, sempai." I use the Japanese honorific, as is customary here.
"Get some rest!"
I bow, and she immediately dashes back to the cafe where she left the others. When did I become so bad at judging people's characters? I've made so many errors of judgment recently...
Tucking the packets of pills into my pocket, I meandered towards my dormitory. However, as soon as the path veered, I deviated from it and ventured deeper into the forest. During my previous solitary walks, I had taken a liking to a secluded spot by the coast.
After a leisurely ten-minute stroll, I arrived at my destination — a hideaway that was shielded from curious eyes and insulated from noise by a towering cliff on the shoreline. Dusk was descending, making it nearly impossible to discern anything from the sea unless one was within a couple of hundred meters from the coast. Ensuring that I was alone, I nestled myself into the darkness behind a massive boulder; one could only spot me if they were in extremely close proximity.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
A ten-minute respite later, I found myself feeling significantly better.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
Excellent! The nagging headache dissipated instantly. My energy levels didn't surge, but I was no longer fighting an overwhelming urge to sleep.
The dormitory was approximately one and a half kilometers away if I followed a direct path. I could have spent more time here, but if Sophie were to check on me in my room, it could lead to a scandal. Therefore, my only option was to return to my bunk.
My route home lay through deserted trails. I had observed that students typically preferred broad streets, while only a handful, like me, relished solitary walks. Interestingly, most of these individuals were teachers, which I found rather peculiar. Every evening, I would cross paths with at least five professors on my strolls.
Around another bend, I spotted a girl sitting on a bench near a scenic lawn. She was swathed in a plaid, covered with something like a shawl on her head, engrossed in a physics textbook under the faint glow of a headlamp. Her solitude led me to deduce that she preferred her own company, so I shifted to the far side of the trail.
She looked up from her book. Her face was obscured by the glaring light, preventing me from seeing her clearly.
"No way! Is that...?" She gasped.
Then, a long, resonant sound echoed in my ears.
Ra-a-a-a-i-i-i-ig!!!
The textbook tumbled onto the bench as the girl vanished, leaving behind a faint, ghostly shadow.
What is happening in this world?!
Can't I live in peace?
Feigning surprise, I glanced around, careful not to reveal that I could see the specter.
After circling me thrice, the apparition hastily retreated towards the sea.
Well... She left her textbook behind and the weather forecast predicts rain.
Sigh! Maya, why did you have to run off in such a hurry?
I picked up the abandoned textbook.
Click...
Everything clicked into place. The entire scenario began to make sense, the gaps filled, forming a coherent narrative. My roommate's behavior, the intimidation, the superintendent's mind games, and his recruitment tactic all fell into place.
Yes. Tom wasn't a fool: he sensed that something was amiss and escaped, giving me a subtle hint during our final conversation. He wasn't scared of me, nor was he unable to sleep; most likely, he just didn't understand what he was being roped into. Now, it's apparent to me: he was destined to be the fall guy. Had he attacked or harmed me, the superintendent would have swooped in as my rescuer. Tom was indeed clever! His logical thinking was commendable. He refused to partake in other people's games, caring little for his tarnished reputation. I was the fool, not him. How stupid I was.
Wait, there was still one piece of the puzzle that was missing. Without it, I couldn't comprehend the entire scheme. Now I finally have that missing piece...