Where Is This Place?
Where is this? We'd wrapped up the schedule at the science building right in front of the research institute, gone underground, and this time looped all the way back to the affiliated school via the tunnels below.
There were crossroads down here in the affiliated school's basement too, just like the ones I'd seen earlier. The left and right paths looked the same, but there were no tracks for transport pods heading upward, and the color scheme was way whiter overall. Not like it was freshly painted white—more like the bare bones of a construction site, which fit the vibe of the passage leading up to the dorms. And since the upper section curved ever so slightly left and right, the angle here was much gentler. Unlike the university basement far ahead, a fire shutter–like metal door had come down a short ways in, blocking the path. Looked like they sealed off areas still under construction or expansion where fewer people went.
One thing worth remembering: kids have short legs, and hills are a pain to climb. Looking around from my seat, everyone was glued to their desks, totally conked out. The teacher had said we could chill in the classroom until the other group got back, then we'd be dismissed for the day. She herself was up front fiddling with something like a student handbook, taking a break. Compared to mine, it had a sleeker design. But the wear and tear in spots suggested it was an old model, despite the looks.
Around me, the kids who weren't passed out at their desks were all messing with their student handbooks. Guess pulling out your phone during break time is universal. Or not—couldn't connect to the external internet, what they called the web here, but they were still glued to them. Thinking that, I casually pulled out my pad.
No new messages when I unlocked the screen. Zero replies. Maybe nothing showed up on their end? Or they figured my "investigation in progress" was bullshit and blew it off. I'd seen a slim chance of free detective work, but it vanished without a trace. Sucks.
I pocketed the pad again and slyly took out my student handbook. Even during class, the bulletin board kept updating steadily. Students are the same everywhere, huh. Scanning the recent posts, there were tons about spotting us newbies.
I tapped through them one by one. Stuff like "takes me back," "good times," "library? Kids here too?"—all sorts. I figured affiliated school kids touring was common knowledge, so I checked the comments on that one. Poster was a first-year at the comprehensive university, external admit. Makes sense—testing into the uni directly is more common than rising from the affiliated school, so this was probably the majority take.
Flicking up the screen with my finger, something I'd half-forgotten—or maybe wanted to forget—popped into my head: that black silhouette. No reason for it, but I typed ghost into the search bar.
> 563,443 matches for "ghost"
A school being a school, plenty of "saw a ghost" posts. Tapping around, there were debates on whether ghosts exist, real talk on necromancy as an actual magic system. Surprisingly heavy on religion too. Or plausible stuff like spotting a suspicious shadow in a dark lab hallway at dawn. Rumors about something flickering slowly from afar, but rock-solid still when you got close. Comments there were full of playful jabs like "dangerous when it flickers again, right?" The OP replied laughing it off too. No big deal.
Stories about shady long vehicles at the affiliated school rear—someone debunked it as logistics trucks since no pod tracks go there. Lame ending. No record of the black shadow in the empty plaza by the science building, sadly. Tried adding science building to ghost, but nothing stood out.
Flipped back a few pages to double-check. Even promising ones were about stuff inside the building, not outside. Plenty with science building alone, but the endgame was quick. Then, right at the tail end, a cryptic one: "Now that the exorcism's done, hope we never see those things again." Twelfth comment on the last post. Checking the date—over 60 years old.
Before that, traces of a newbie poster who wrote once or twice, got no replies, and ghosted. Two-year gap between the 12th and 11th comments said it all. Searched the ID and alphanumeric code, but just sporadic daily life rants, weird incidents, gripes about bad relationships. Nothing after that final post. The tone and feels screamed female. That last one hit heavy, like she'd wrapped some epic adventure. Or maybe just meaningless ramble. Who knows.
"Okay, everyone. The other classes are all back too."
The teacher's voice cut through as I kept scrolling. Looking up, she was at the podium. Time to head home. Like this morning, she waited patiently until the room hushed and focused.
"Today, you took in the start and end point of this Pristine Comprehensive University. Now you'll prove yourselves here going forward. Regular classes start tomorrow for real, so refuel with a tasty dinner, hit the hay early for tomorrow. Got it? Great job today. You're dismissed."
And just like that, I experienced my first-ever dismissal from school. Boringly familiar, though.
I stood, said bye to Phaenax next to me. "See ya tomorrow, Faye."
Instead of replying, she blinked a couple times. Unfamiliar with goodbyes? Or the nickname? For someone whose brain I'd seen whirring before, the buffering was long.
"Yeah, see you tomorrow. Lian."
Reply finally landed. We walked out together to the school entrance without stopping, but she veered diagonally instead of straight up. Angle said dorms were beside the cafeteria, not above. Starting to get her vibe. Super rational. Whatever past forged that, I'd learn as friends or let it slide. Those calluses and scars on her hands screamed no easy life. Anything more was nosy bullshit.
I shook off the thoughts and headed up. Or started to—then glanced around. Kids climbing the stairs were all purple as far as the eye could see. And I'd just learned why no red or orange here.
Only a few steps up, so I turned right back to the affiliated school. Exit had crowds, but near the door, just purple stripes on uniforms. Deeper in, scanning, I spotted red heading central—not the side exits. Past exhausted classmates shambling home, chasing the red led to big stairs plunging underground. Some sharp first-years already on it; purple mixed with red and orange descending. No one stopped me—I flowed in, back below.
No musty basement stink, cooler than the late summer heat above. Felt like a sleek new subway station, not some ancient relic. Art and culture evolved different here, but why did it feel refined to me? Vague memory of Brutalism trending early 20th century, then retro-futurism or futurism by century's end. Convergent evolution?
Poking at the question while strolling the familiar-yet-fresh crossroads, the walls suddenly changed. Fine from school to cafeteria, but crossing into the Choir Dorm path from the cafeteria basement junction swapped glossy seamless panels for rough concrete slathered in white paint. No intermittent pods, not even tracks. Wider passage instead, climbing up.
Topside, where the crossroads and upward space should've been—a fire shutter down. What the? Trouble above? But red- and orange-striped seniors scattered left and right casually. Everyday scene, then.
So, left or right? Gauged my room: stairs up then right, so left from here. Found it—white-painted but unmistakably emergency-exit style, recessed in the wall. Everyone filed in like pros. I followed, climbed.
Second floor, Fuga Hall near my room welcomed me.
"Whoa, this first-year's quick on the uptake."
"Sweat buckets in this heat? You'd die."
"Eyes open now. Commute this way from here on."
"Honestly, nice days I prefer outside."
"Underground only for me."
"Get some sun, dude. Ugh, look at that pale ghost skin."
"Hey now. Noblesse oblige."
"Oh no, acute aristocratitis. Cure time."
The white-clad senior ahead got dragged back amid crashes and scuffles, but the orange one approached me quietly, offering candy.
"Candy for the wise. Revel in your savvy taking the cool path while others swelter."
"Not hush money for ignoring the violence behind?" I pointed at the group getting lightly smacked around—not hard hits.
He raised his hand again. "Bonus? Or healing?"
Message clear: play along. Obviously joking. I took it, popped it in.
"Sweet as hell."
Pretended not to see, headed to comfy room 114.
Short rest, dinner, back—internal system nagging about dangerous contamination levels, shower now. Caved, showered, sat on bed. Pad check time.
Should be. But...
"When did I end up in the hallway?"
Not my room's hall. Right smack in the middle of that sleek subway-like tunnel from afternoon. What the hell? Seamless white void stretching front and back. Wrong. Subway-style had tracks; blank walls were painted concrete. Never saw 'em mixed today.
"Fucked."
Perfect summary.