Is It Tradition?
After they left first, I followed suit and stepped out of the restaurant. To head back to the dorm, I climbed the hill that had taken just five minutes to descend. As expected, it felt like a solid fifteen-minute trek uphill. I'm not exactly out of shape, so I took it easy and powered through. Soon, the glossy gray Choir Dormitory came into view.
Stepping inside, the wide lobby at the entrance was far quieter than before. I went up the central staircase to the second floor on foot, where my room was. In the space with chairs and tables scattered around, I spotted groups of students chatting here and there. They were all different races, but their outfits were strikingly similar—hoodies, short-sleeves, or long-sleeves. The styles varied, but the overall color scheme was grayscale, which struck me as more like gym clothes than uniforms. That said, there were vertical stripes of desaturated red and orange running down the front, back, and sides of the garments. It made it easy to pick out the colors no matter how they were sitting.
Maybe it was just an aesthetic choice, but since no other colors were in sight, it could be markers for year or dorm room location. I veered right immediately, heading to my room. A fair walk from the central stairs led to a long hallway that curved slightly, with rooms on the left. Earlier, I'd only noticed numbers from 2061 to 2120, but now the red and orange lines to the left of those numbers caught my eye. Red, red, purple, orange, red, purple, purple, orange... No clear pattern. And next to my room number? A purple stripe.
Three colors total. Mine was purple, and I hadn't seen any on the floors above or below, so year groups made the most sense... But something felt off. Wasn't the affiliated school only up to sixth grade? I placed my hand on the doorknob. Click. After a brief pause, the door swung open. I stepped in amid the chatbot's greeting, firing up my student handbook right away.
Straight to the school bulletin board. I scanned categories and searched for red, orange, and purple. Complaints about getting chewed out by an orange-striper, questions like "I'm red, what now?", and a post from last year where a purple said they were finally graduating from the affiliated school. Amid it all, some useful tidbits popped up.
IDs were all random mixes of letters and numbers, so personal identities stayed intact but hard to pinpoint individuals. Still, digging through boards and timestamps could track someone down. Handy for later. I swiped the screen away, thinking that.
Hmm... Staring at it more, I realized something: barely any profanity, sexual stuff, or trash posts. It had this oddly cautious vibe—like maybe there was moderation? Or just a culture against it? In a closed-off place like this, bans were a brutal weapon. Tough to flee to other communities, especially with school schedules tied in. Pretty lethal.
Then, like the lunch message earlier, an all-user alert blanked the screen. Tapping it brought up a guidance video telling me to get dressed properly. An icon blinked: "If it doesn't fit, tap here." Following the on-screen instructions, I pushed one wall, and a closet slid out. There hung the gray gym clothes I'd seen before—front, back, sides all lined with that desaturated purple stripe.
I changed as instructed, but now what about the discarded clothes? No washer in sight anywhere. Pondering how to handle this flashily enough to start rumors of competence, the student handbook—tossed on the bed while undressing—started playing a related video. I followed along, and a laundry chute popped out by the door. Peering in, it was just a bare frame that opened toward the entrance—no fancy automation. Not full-on sci-fi, then.
I shoved the clothes in and grabbed the pad instead of the handbook, swiping the screen. No new emails, web access smooth enough. Signal was a bit weak, but for Pristine Comprehensive University—handing out devices for their intranet—having it at all was a surprise.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Mid-thought, poking the pad, an alarm blared from the nearby student handbook.
> 14:00 - Proceed to Binding
Checking it: "It's 14:00, come to Binding." Tapped for details—turns out Binding was the main hall at the Choir Dormitory's central stairs. Wait, what? I'd gotten back around noon, changed, fiddled with the pad a bit—where'd my two hours go?! Grabbing the handbook like I was off to work, I trudged out.
Door open, tons of students already streaming down the hall from their rooms. All sporting purple stripes on their clothes. So, yeah—first-years confirmed. Did that mean this dorm was first through third-years only? Riding the flow to Binding, that seemed right.
In the wide second-floor central space where seniors had lounged earlier, a middle-aged woman stood with a younger adult man and woman, greeting us.
"Welcome to Choir Dormitory, everyone. I'm your guardian and overseer for everything that happens here—Friga Illid."
The middle-aged woman, Friga, stepped forward with a bow and introduced herself.
"My job isn't monitoring the numbers on your student handbooks. It's ensuring you sleep soundly at night, your room isn't too cold, and you have someone to lean on during tough days—that's the role of me and my assistants."
Her tone was ladylike, but stiff for talking to thirteen-year-olds. Dorm supervisor, huh? I'd vaguely glimpsed "witch hag" or something on the school board... Not my problem!
She slowly introduced her two assistants, explained to call them from your room or request counseling if needed. She wrapped up intellectually, urging rule-following without force. Thought that was it—free time? Nope, students' turn next.
No clue why, but a kid in orange-striped clothes stepped up: "Numbers 1 to 60, left end. 61 to 120, right end." Not all sixty moved—about twenty per side from the forty-ish there.
Heading down the hall, one thought hit me: groups rot easily. The more closed-off, the worse—turning into horrors even literature can't match. Worrying about that, my cohort of twenty ended up past 120, at the building wing's tip.
Opening the door? Not just stairs like I'd guessed. Cozier than Binding, with personal items and shared stuff scattered around. And in the center: a wide desk cluster piled high with snacks.
"Welcome to Fuga!"
Cheers erupted from all sides. Of course. Kids throwing a mini-festival for kids.
Kids hesitated, eyeing each other, then one grabbed a snack. Cue the flood—hands swarming the pile like a dam burst. Me at thirteen, reds at fourteen, oranges at fifteen. Yeah, to them, it probably felt like adults shoving treats their way. Belly full already, I skipped eating and scoped the room instead.
Including me, should be sixty—but only fifty-four. Confirmed twenty first-years, so... incident up top? Or enrollment not full. High competition here, but they absolute-grade cut first, trim from the top if too many admits. Even if numbers low, slice ruthlessly if you can't hack it. Unlike past-life Korea's education fever, it wasn't that packed. Bro tried a school in Salt Hub, quit after a year, learned a trade. No one batted an eye—not just parents, whole village. Novel. Do what you want, or don't— that mindset stronger here.
"What's Fuga, anyway?" I waited till even the wallflowers joined the party, then snagged an orange-striped upperclassman.
"Name for this second-floor right wing. First-floor left is Cantus, right is Canon, second left Anthem, here Fuga. Not official wings—just our tradition. Some ancient senior started it, they say. No clue? Wiki 'Choir Dormitory.'"
Wiki too? Made sense, though. Something just for us, adults oblivious? Maybe they pretended not to notice because it wasn't bad.
"Thanks for the info."
"No prob. You not eating?" He pointed where second- and third-years mingled, munching.
Would've bolted if hungry, but now...
"Ate my fill earlier."
"Didn't pass out climbing up?"
Everyone thought the same about that hill.
"Burns stamina, huh."
"Sadistic design. Affiliated school's cafeteria is downstairs, FYI. Get it?"
Grinning horrifically, he explained.
"Walk that distance post-class."
"Hey, free leg muscles." He flexed his sturdy thighs.
Living workout. Maybe intentional. Wrapped chat quick.
Meanwhile, cohort mingled with seniors or each other. To verify earlier stuff, I pulled up wiki on the handbook. Thought it always had these names—history showed name changes. Tradition over twenty years old. Started around ten years post-affiliated school founding, three years after dorm. Hmm... Gaps, but revivals—no accident, felt deliberate. Meaning? Figure slowly.
Good school, at least. But that weird boy-thing at the hotel yesterday, Guardian Knights jobless from tech... Unease creeps where student slots sat empty.
Should be fine, right?