First Meal and Senior Encounters
My eyes were drawn to a flood of posts on the school cafeteria's board. Tapping through them one by one, it was the usual mundane stuff—things like "What should I have for lunch today?"—nothing groundbreaking. I settled onto my bed and flipped through the student handbook diligently. From that, I gleaned a few key facts.
The handbook's intranet only covered up to Pristine Comprehensive University Station. Choir Dormitory had a capacity of 240 students, and the second- and third-years were already settled in, with some resting in the room next door. Meals generally involved picking one of two set menus. As I confirmed these little but crucial details, a sudden alert popped up on the student handbook.
> First meal is now prepared. Please proceed to the cafeteria following the guidance.
The screen politely highlighted a map. Tapping it brought up a rough layout. A line started from my room, led to the central stairs, then veered off toward the dormitory exterior. Dragging along the line, a building outline a short distance away thickened before fading to emphasize the destination.
This must be the cafeteria. Judging by the route we'd taken earlier, it was about a five-minute walk. In reality, it'd probably take ten more from my room.
I stood up, glancing at the map. Stepping out, I turned right and spotted other kids emerging into the hallway just like me. Most weren't in casual clothes like mine but in similar uniforms. Oddly, instead of the suit-like outfits I associated with school uniforms, these were hoodie zip-ups—pretty casual. Simple shirts, pants, and sneakers made it easy to throw on.
They were all heading in the direction of my lodging block. Maybe from beyond room 120, farther out. There could be another entrance there. For now, though, I'd follow the map. Better to complete the tutorial properly and avoid confusion later.
Descending the central stairs, I saw the line ahead had mostly cleared. Kids clutching their handbooks like me funneled out of the building. Outside, a wide-open space stretched ahead. Dominating the center was a massive, stele-like structure. Surrounding it were sleek, glossy gray buildings blending straight lines with fluid curves, their vibrant exteriors like colorful garments.
These stood in the basin's relatively flat central area. Higher up, where buildings climbed the hillsides, the gray base faded away. Instead, elegant curved structures wrapped in translucent glass-like material rose. If they'd been white, I'd have pegged them for science halls, but as I'd seen from the shuttle ride, murals and lettering on the walls showed this wasn't some rigid academic fortress.
Even higher, Choir Dormitory-like rings hugged the basin's slopes. Then came expansive green belts, punctuated by occasional buildings. Some greenery wasn't just sloped—it was terraced into sheer walls. A track looped the inner basin ring. Artificial features dotted the green and rings alike, radiating outward like a target from the center. Whoever designed this loved symmetry.
The cafeteria on the map was down below—a five-minute descent. Among the varied shapes, its blocky, classical form stood out. In other words, downhill to eat, then uphill on foot after. Stairs lined with tree benches and seats helped, but climbing back up would wreck anyone.
Chuckling at the thought, I followed the awkward, handbook-clutching students downhill to the cafeteria. It was huge. Beyond newbies like me in casuals or dorm kids in hoodies, crowds of all ages queued up. I folded my booklet-sized handbook and pocketed it, joining the line behind the person ahead.
Impressively, everyone—from kids to adults—held the same student handbook. Mimicking them, I pulled mine out for a scan. Something checked off. No separate purchase, apparently? That thought didn't last.
A major issue arose: screens labeled Menu 1 and Menu 2, listing options below. Just like the board posts, pick-your-menu style. Honestly, I recognized maybe one in five dishes—eight out of ten were mysteries—so I went with the familiar ones. Even if something's inedible, I won't starve. Right?
Grabbing a tray—surprisingly compartmentalized after folding—I realized post-selection, you portion as desired. Menu 1 folks veered right, Menu 2 left. Nice split.
Mystery sauced meat. Reliable whole-wheat bread as staple. Familiar greens, unknown sauce salad. Sweet fruit juice and a handful of nuts. Pretty healthy spread.
Following the flow, I easily found the seating: round tables. A nearby empty spot let me sit right away.
"What's with the affiliated school kid in casuals?"
"Opening was yesterday, so probably today's newbies."
A guy and girl already eating piped up the moment I sat. They looked more young adult than teen. Unlike chubby, dog-eared Carlo senior, this guy had round bear-like ears atop a muscular bulk. The woman was burly for a girl.
"Hello."
A light greeting.
"Oh, hey! Rare for a kid to chat us up—neat."
"Hey. Kid. Kid. Don't scare the newbie; eat quietly."
The woman beamed back brightly. The man, less comfy with it, gave a stiff smile, slight nod, and returned to his food. Fair enough—if I were a normal kid, those two would intimidate anyone. Even a one-year age gap feels adult-sized. And with their builds, adults might tense up too.
Me? If it goes south, oh well—dead's dead.
"You two look seriously strong. What's your major?"
Casual chit-chat. The woman grinned wide; the man blinked at me.
"Already knows 'major'? I was clueless at that age."
Surprisingly, the guy seemed like a straight-from-affiliated-school senior. Context suggested as much.
"New Materials Engineering! Fancy name, but really it's scavenging ore too mana-dense for life—picking through wastelands. Find a lattice-distorted crystal, haul it out. One mana slip, and it denatures—or boom. Boom. So we carry 'em barehanded, and voila—this happens."
She gestured at her frame. Solid muscle peeked through thin clothes and a lab coat slung around her waist.
Short silence followed. Their eyes darted. The woman sighed deeply, smacking the man's shoulder.
"This guy's Structural Geomagic."
"Structural Geometry Magic Studies."
"Same diff! Sounds fancy, but basically: you used your handbook to get here, right?"
I nodded.
"Stuffing all sorts of spells into it? That's his gig. I fetch materials; he processes 'em. Well, engraving's someone else, but yeah."
She laughed heartily. The man wore a 'not quite accurate, but age-appropriate enough' face—lots to say, swallowing it.
Designer, huh?
"What about that overwhelming strength?"
I pointed at his thigh-thick arm.
He eyed it, then me, replying in a subtly amused tone:
"Genetics."
"He means it'll make sense to the kid!"
She swatted him, but I'd caught it all and nodded.
"Genetics are that powerful, huh."
"Whoa, knows that at your age? Pristine material for sure."
Really? I vaguely recalled early genetics lessons back home—but maybe not here. My terminology suggested Earth-style genetics, fuzzy now.
"Anyway, that's us. Newbie got dreams?"
Before dredging memory, it was my turn. The woman handled people smoothly; the man seemed awkward—not with talk, but kids specifically.
Dreams, eh. I chewed meat for energy, pondering. Honestly, just one.
"Live in the city?"
"Oof, no dreams, this kid."
"Plenty for a wilderness kid."
The man surprisingly defended me. Too worldly for this knowledge-hive uni, sure. But no need to lie—just facts. Not folks to impress; quick chat.
"How'd you know I'm from the wilds?"
Rubella sat in rough grasslands, mobile with prime Eritros zones. Fixed spots grow okay, but potency drops. So corps and states buy bulk land? Nah—we supply.
He pointed around me.
"Mana field's fluctuations are faint. Not mana poverty—it's laminar adaptation from harsh mana winds. Smooths flows to cut drag, shielding your field from ripping."
Knowledge-bomb incoming, classic among experts.
"Plus unique short-cycle phase shifts. Usually transient from Eris dosing, but stably fixed like yours? Rare. Proof of long-term premium tea-form Eritros. No blue-tipped ears or sallow skin from overdose means top-grade only—or native to the source. Your getup rules out the former; sole premium spot's Rubella. Local, right?"
The woman smirked wryly beside him, unnoticed as he stared earnestly, awaiting confirmation.
Explanation given; answer time.
"Didn't realize Rubella screamed that loud."
He grinned slyly, pleased.
"Hey, food going in mouth or nose? He just got excited—don't freak."
His 'oops' face cracked me up.
"Nah, perfect Pristine welcome."
I grabbed bread, munching. She blinked, then chuckled softly.
"Yeah, prime Pristine welcome. You're the special one here, kid."
The seniors' cafeteria welcome wrapped up nicely.