Whispers in Fuga Hall
I returned to the Choir Dormitory, grabbed my pad, and before I knew it, evening had rolled around while I was lost in an endless stream of videos. Wait, where did my time go? I swear, I was just gonna watch a couple clips and figure out how to make some cash. This world’s tech for stealing people’s time is brutally effective.
I stared blankly at the dinner alarm blaring away. What can you do? These dorm alarms are made for kids, so they’re relentlessly persistent. Guess I’d better head out and eat. Gritting my teeth through the hassle, I grabbed my pad and student handbook, then stepped outside.
Out of room 114, I turned left right at the door this time. Rooms 115 through 120 lined up, and then a single door appeared. That’s a sort of lounge or common living area. Back when I’d spotted the Grey Ark Research Institute from the overlook, this was the spot at the far right end of the second floor. True to any magic school dorm, there were four more with names like that. I opened my student handbook and searched for Choir Dormitory. It pulled up not just the names of the lounges at each end, but their histories too.
First floor left: Cantus Hall. Second floor left: Canon Hall. First floor right: Anthem Hall. And second floor right was my own Fuga Hall. The funny part? These aren’t official names. They used to be just numbered, but the kids living here slapped on their own nicknames, and they stuck. And they change every few years or so, apparently. No wonder a dorm with what sounded like bookshelf labels had these random music terms tacked on. Quick search done, I pushed open the door to Fuga Hall.
“That him?”
“Looks like it, yeah?”
The murmurs hit me the second I stepped in, along with a barrage of stares. I blinked, scanning the room. What the hell? I just walked into Fuga Hall—what’s the big deal? I waited, wondering if they’d mistaken me for someone else, but the looks shifted from curious to certain. What on earth was going on?
Then the senior I’d at least exchanged words with last time approached. Didn’t know his name, but the orange stripe on his uniform marked him as a third-year—the highest grade in Fuga Hall. Though that’s only one-third of us.
“Hey, mind if we talk for a sec?”
“Starting some shady hazing right now?”
“As if! No, that’s not—”
I tossed out the joke, and he panicked, shaking his head frantically side to side. Of course, they’d seemed like a jolly bunch last time, so I didn’t really think that. He pulled out his student handbook, tapped the screen a few times, and showed it to me. It was a photo from the cafeteria: food frozen midair, the college guy I’d bumped into, and my classmate who’d helped me out. Where’s portrait rights in this world? Though, more than that, it figures—students everywhere whip out their phones for pics at the drop of a hat. Kinda creepy how crisp the image was, though.
“This you, right?”
“Yeah. Nearly got a food shower from bumping into that guy, but the classmate up front saved me.”
Oohs and aahs rippled around the room. Seriously, what’s the fuss? What’s wrong with this picture?
“Uh, yeah. Cantus folks were worried about you.”
“Everyone saw I came out fine, didn’t they?”
Though Cantus must be tight-knit. Makes sense—it’s like a pseudo-family system.
“Uh-huh.”
But the senior eyed me with total confusion.
“That girl... you not scared of her?”
Hold up. Let me process that. The question was so out of left field, I struggled to connect the dots. Scared? Of what? I racked my brain for reasons. Drew a total blank. Or maybe...?
“She from some huge noble house, gonna chase me down with a club for being rude?”
“Perfect. Got it. This guy faced that and still clueless.”
He waved it off like he’d figured me out. Half the kids who’d been on standby lost interest and turned away. Meaning the other half were still glued to me.
“Faced what?”
“That insane mana crashing down—you ever gonna see mana like that in your life? If I’d been a first-year, I’d have cried in terror.”
Ah. That tracked with me being a reincarnator and all. Good to know the blind spot.
“People with mana like that scare you?”
“What, you hang with types like her all the time?”
I shook my head at his question.
“Maybe my guts are just oversized.”
“Oho, you tanking my mana too?”
“Noble syndrome patient, cart him off.”
“What’d I even do!”
The especially pale-skinned senior got dragged off by his nearby crew amid laughter.
“First-year, make ‘em kneel.”
“Winter break that year, picked a fight with Anthem kids—turned into a full snow war.”
“Last year, fresh off the bat, made a first-year cry—memory wipe or what?”
Last time it was physical payback; this round, it was facts hitting hard.
“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong!”
The senior protested as he was hauled away, voice fading. And since it was old news, barely anyone paid mind. Maybe the awkward-looking first-years?
Anyway.
“Mana storms hit the southern wasteland a lot.”
“Southern wasteland? That got storms like that?”
Wouldn’t know Rubella either, huh. This senior’s face screamed “where even is that?” despite me calling it the deep countryside.
“Dustland native, huh.”
The guy getting fact-slammed surprisingly chimed in.
Dustland. Wait. I’ve heard that. Back when learning about Rubella village—what was it...?
“People live there?”
“Ignoramus. Northern Dustland, maybe not—but southern and eastern have folks! Hell, asking if people live there in front of her is ruder!”
Ah, right. Wasteland, but Dustland had a different vibe. Areas far from mana stabilizers in cities. Our village grows Eritros in spots without steady mana supply, so we adapted. Normals are advised to stick to cities. Mana storms sometimes pack wild anomalies, but even without, the storms suck. There are observers and gadgets, but they’re not foolproof, so nomad groups form instead of settling. Hate it if you hate it. Me? Internet’s all I need. Problem is, mana storms kill the web—er, network here too.
“You guys checking if I’d freak?”
“Yeah. Scary classmate in your year? Makes school a drag.”
Fair. And that’s why they’d gathered like this.
“No ‘watch out for noble kids’ warnings?”
At my question, all eyes turned to the pale senior.
“Gotta watch ‘em. Some got nasty tempers.”
As he finished, a forest of fingers pointed his way. He flipped out in rage, and the orange-clad seniors scattered, cackling.
“But first-years only know basic spells, so best not to mess with folks till winter’s past.”
A second-year nearby raised a hand—shouldn’t that apply to second-years too? But when hit with “you forgetting your screw-ups?”, a whole group slyly looked away.
Buncha troublemakers, every one. Not bad. Though living with ‘em might wear on you!
Conversation winding down, seniors grabbed chairs or drifted out. Oh, right—I came for dinner. Final wrap-up to the senior I’d been chatting with:
“No dinner for you?”
“Ate already! Hit the cafeteria before the alarm—fewer people.”
Explains why they were sprawled on the sofas. Note to self: raid that prime time slot next.
Broadcast chatter caught my ear from somewhere—they’d cranked the volume on the screen I’d glimpsed when entering. Channel? Cartoon channel, obviously. Seemed like one from my video binge earlier, but whatever. Waved bye to the senior and headed out of Fuga Hall.
Down from second to first floor, I paused at the basement stairs. Best setup, sure, but something about it creeped me out. No underground passages for a few days, at least. Turned heel and headed out from the first floor.
Outside, the evening sky stretched bright despite the hour. Sun dipping yellow in the distance, but days still outlasted nights. Natural-born city boy, but growing up farming Eritros in the village tuned me to seasons. September. Air still held summer warmth, but nights were cooling fast. This chill already? Come full dark for dinner runs, it’d be brutal. Guess underground it is then.
Vrrrrm.
A vehicle hummed by. I turned toward the sound: a long car climbing the hill. Huh? Wasn’t Choir Dormitory the highest? Stared blankly as it crested the ridge into shadow. Hard to see with the light contrast, but roughly? Draw a line from Choir Dorm straight to Grey Ark Research Institute, then veer ninety degrees up—that spot. Come to think of it, there was a building up there. Must be heading that way.
Innocent me would’ve shrugged it off. But suspicion lingered. I memorized the spot and walked on to the cafeteria for dinner.