A Little Commotion in the Dining Hall
Lunchtime. I wasn't hungry, so I figured I'd skip a meal, but the dorm alarm blared like a banshee, forcing me out of bed. Come on, threatening to report me to the dorm supervisor just for missing one meal? That's overkill. Skipping one won't kill me.
Usually, I'd pass by the nearby Fuga Hall, but today I just wanted to grab food fast and go. Even if it's a bit farther, I headed through the common area called Binding in the center of Choir Dormitory and down to the first floor. Out into the stinging sunlight, then down the hill toward the cafeteria.
The structure here is huge rings sinking in concentric circles, so from up high, you get a panoramic view of the whole school. the whole school. First thing you see is that rectangular concrete blob in the center, the Grey Ark Research Institute. A white wall encircles it. At equal distances from that wall are rings, with the university buildings between the wall and the first ring, and between the first and second rings too. Past the flatland, the hill rises, and way up— not right away, but after a good climb— comes the third ring. That's where the affiliated school is, packed with buildings for about eighty percent of the ring. In contrast, the fourth ring up top has just Choir Dormitory and a tiny building directly opposite the research institute at the center. And atop the rings? Grass and trees, maintained like parks, not just overgrown wild. Students wander in little groups through those parks. Yeah, aside from it being a tad hot right now, it's prime weather for strolling. Sure enough, I spot clusters of kids hanging out in the distance— not just playmates, but several pairs that scream "couple" mixed in.
Whoa, this could get juicy. Can't resist live teen drama. School doesn't clamp down on dating here. Love the free-spirited vibe. Marveling inwardly at that liberal atmosphere, I reach the bottom of the hill and head to the cafeteria entrance. Inside, it's already packed. Makes sense— local students plus those trekking from afar. Most use the comfy underground passages, so not too many milling outside. Going underground without even a moving walkway sounds more hassle, but with this heat still raging, maybe it's the smarter pick.
Shaking off the thought, I check today's menu. Two options, as usual. First up: short pasta-like noodles catch my eye. The other... what the heck? Looks like meat and veggies wrapped in a big flatbread? Curiosity wins— I'll try it. Back on Earth, I wouldn't have touched this. Picky eater, me. But reincarnating here? Every food basically became "pick what you want." Gotta eat to live, right? Even trying to get used to it was tough— grains like rice or wheat, but with flavors subtly off from memory. I legit cried while eating at first, but eventually got numb to shoving weird stuff in my mouth. Boo-hoo, humans adapt, huh.
Plus, mana here mixes synesthetically with taste when you eat— makes it even weirder. Starving meant survival chow-downs, so picky eating? Pretty much gone in this life. Do all "immigrants" suffer the same sad fate? Lost in dumb thoughts, I grab my tray and scan for a seat. Peak lunch rush, busier than usual. Adults mixed among the students— folks who can't come on weekdays, probably. No empty spots, so I plop down at the first available. Light nod to the guy next to me and across. When trying new food, scope how others eat it first.
Sure enough, most fill the thin bread with veggies and meat, fold and munch handheld, or roll, slice, and eat. Hate messy hands, so slicing it is. Carefully roll and cut— hey, the meat seasoning tastes familiar. Like the spices from Station Hotel? If it's here too, must be a staple. Never had it back home in the south.
"Ah, damn. Lost again."
While prepping my bite, someone claims the empty seat across. Voice is frail, clashing with the gruff words. Look up: kid clutching a pad, glued to the screen. Familiar gym uniform with bold vertical purple stripes. Same grade as me at the affiliated school. Well, duh— all kids around here attend it. But most tote student handbooks; pads like mine are rare. Seen it in class or heading to dorms— no one else pulls out anything but the handbook.
Whatever. Eat my food. Curious, yeah, but same grade aside, face rings no bells. Chewing meat, lost in thought— kid notices my stare, eyes meet. Loses interest quick, back to pad. Shovels food in mouth-or-nose-who-knows style. Rings familiar. Been there, done that. Never actually, but!
Finish up, stand—
"Huh?"
"Eek!"
Scream, and something dumps overhead. But instead of hitting me, everything freezes midair.
"[Halt.]"
Me included— tray, contents, all suspended. Dining hall falls deathly silent, like sound froze too. Kid across stands, walks over, yanks me back, resets the toppled tray mid-flip to its spot on the table ahead.
"[Resume.]"
Everything around snaps back into motion.
"Watch your surroundings, both of you."
Kid says it casual, returns to meal like nothing happened.
"Thanks!"
I bow quick, but kid waves it off lazily. Kid or not, manners matter when someone's saved your ass. Then approach the collision culprit.
"Sorry. You okay?"
"Uh? Oh, yeah. Fine. My bad too— didn't see you. You hurt?"
Guy stammers, dazed. Yeah, my fault too. Sat near crowded serving line, should've minded foot traffic. Just stood without thinking.
"All good. Enjoy your lunch."
"Uh, yeah. Whatever."
Guy glances between me and kid, starts to say something, sighs heavy, grabs tray, heads far off. Swallowed words? Rage building, then fizzled sans justification? Yep. Manners like that? Keeps aggression in check, gives grounds to block attacks. Sure, some mix lowering hostility with absolution— separate issues. Confuse 'em, make enemies. Note to self.
Out the cafeteria, vibe's off. Tense stares at the place, several pulling student handbooks— all gawking like doomsday hit. Handbooks? I flip mine open, skim the board.
Copy a standout name, search— detailed info floods in. This nation's history: survivors from various pre-flood countries banded after the mana beast great flood. Among 'em, royalty and high nobles from one kingdom formed this lineage. Sounds elitist, but here? Like independence heroes from my past life. Common knowledge.
In a mana-magic world, greatness means powerhouse mages. These are descendants who led the frontlines back then. Even in a rebuilt classless society, respect runs deep. Web summary nails it.
Reading sparks recall: that familiar tingle sweeping my body. Brushed it as village norm— seasonal thing. But replaying? Mana storms like that hit wilds, not here. Kid didn't finesse magic— raw power crushed reality flat. Or both. No wonder folks freak.
With tensions high, hyper reactions make sense. For me, just a passing weird buzz. But family— bro, sis— suffered bad. Never sickened myself, but they'd crash for days if it grazed 'em on off days. Pro? Con too. Sense mana fine, but not like my own body. So funk hits, it's just "odd vibe"— can't fight it.
Dulled senses? Asset in my rural home, but not always. Mana feels foreign, resists control. Sis out-magics me despite my past-life edge— pros and cons. Wait, is that why Lambda Lilion calls reincarnators "disabled"? If thoughts physically impact here... yeah, I'd get that diagnosis. Lucky era: tech lets magic-weak thrive.
Musing, I head back to Choir Dormitory— pad in one hand, student handbook in the other.