The Freshmen Dormitory

Jona received the formal report sent by Orknodi.

The rounded, bubbly handwriting matched the petite, adorable girl to perfection, bringing a spontaneous warmth to his chest.

One particular entry drew an immediate sigh from his lips.

A pouch of stones.

Had she truly not broken that habit yet?

'She will draw attention.'

Foundation scholarship recipients inherently commanded the academy's scrutiny. Countless incidents had unfolded over the decades, and the faculty understood the reality through bitter experience: the insidious danger of the Weihimhai Foundation, and the grim demise awaiting any scholarship student whose growth reached an impasse.

Whenever professors gave their hearts to one of these gifted pupils, they were inevitably cornered into an agonizing choice: either endure watching the child's talent stagnate until they were chewed up and tossed about by the Foundation's brutal mandates, or force their development by any means necessary to hoist them to greater heights.

It was a hideous hostage crisis disguised as patronage. The Foundation cultivated youths of monstrous potential, then held their futures over the academy's head to extort subtle cooperation.

Which professor would become entangled in the Foundation's web and shed blood this time?

'That is already out of my hands.'

Jona closed his eyes.

The lingering memories of his own former mentor. The tragic events that had unfolded between that master, himself, and the Foundation. He shuttered his mind to all of it. Nothing good ever came from unearthing the past.

'If there is anything I must concern myself with, it is this.'

Normally, children scrambled desperately to squeeze out every scrap of aid they could secure. Yet this child feared asking for help. No, she rejected it with pathological ferocity.

Orknodi had always been that way—a child perpetually rushing forward as though convinced that unless she handled everything entirely on her own, she would be unceremoniously discarded.

When her training had first begun, that sheer tenacity had appeared admirable, but now it only ached in his chest.

Yet this, too, was beyond his power to mend. Which meant he had to pour his focus entirely into the things he could control.

"— Be super careful not to step into Room 111.1, even by mistake!"

Had she scribbled that in her sleep? Was it merely a stray doodle?

He could have easily dismissed it as a child's playful nonsense, but he did not. Because he knew. He, too, had once been a freshman walking those same halls.

And because of that, he could state with absolute certainty that no such place as Room 111.1 existed in the Freshmen Dormitory.

Whatever it was, if it caused Orknodi distress, it warranted an immediate investigation.

Gift Academy stood perched upon an isolated island, constructed where leyline mana gathered in unnatural density to accelerate the students' growth.

Reaching the island through conventional transport without a Dimensional Gate was excruciatingly difficult. It lay buried deep within a perilous hazard zone that barred entry to anyone lacking exceptional combat prowess. Consequently, mounting a direct military threat against the academy was virtually impossible for any nation on the continent.

Naturally, the shadow factions keeping watch on the institution arrived at the same conclusion:

If an invasion is impossible, isn't it far wiser to plant spies and reap intelligence instead?

Thus, countless operatives roamed the campus under disguise. Among them was an operative belonging to the Weihimhai Foundation.

'A directive?'

Agent April, an operative who communicated with the outside world only on designated dates at clandestine drop points, found the latest order remarkably peculiar.

To investigate, she required a flawless pretext to approach the residential quarters without provoking suspicion. Fortunately, she possessed a cover identity tailored specifically for moments like this.

"Cleaning staff? Perfect timing. Change the sheets in my room as well."

"Hey, lady! Toss this in the incinerator on your way out."

Insolent freshmen could certainly be a nuisance, but she could swallow that much with professional composure.

"You there, woman. Come attend to me in my chambers for a while."

"...Excuse me?"

"I shall graciously grant you the honor of earning the favor of Yeltsin Brownie, eldest daughter of the noble House of Brownie."

It was situations like this, where students blatantly crossed the line, that proved bothersome. An aristocratic scion with an undisguised predilection for maidservants... Putting aside the sheer unpleasantness, April sincerely wished the girl possessed at least an ounce of shame.

Fortunately, the Foundation provided strict guidelines for handling such encounters:

If an enrolled student pesters you, recite the following phrase verbatim.

Recalling her handler's advice, April fixed her gaze on the girl and spoke in a crisp, deadpan monotone.

"I am an official employee contracted to Gift Academy. Should any enrolled student disrupt or obstruct an employee's authorized duties, I possess full jurisdiction to report the infraction to the administration and pursue formal disciplinary penalties."

"...W-Well, my point was merely that you possess an exceptional charm! It was by no means an attempt to interfere with your duties! Ahem! The command to attend to me was simply a jest, of course!"

Her handler had once remarked that invoking administrative regulations made one feel like an archmage without wielding a drop of mana. The efficacy was indeed magnificent.

Each floor of the dormitory accommodated twenty rooms. The first floor, offering unrivaled accessibility, was composed entirely of single-occupancy quarters—an unmistakable privilege compared to the four-person layouts standard from the second floor up.

'Could an issue truly exist on an exclusive floor subject to the academy's strictest oversight?'

Personally, April remained skeptical, but she had been dispatched to verify the facts.

Knock, knock.

"Housekeeping."

While most freshmen vacated their rooms to wander the academy grounds, the occupant of Room 111 had evidently been staying quietly inside. The door swung open almost immediately.

A small, dainty head poked out, tilting inquisitively like a fledgling bird.

"New event?"

"I am the assigned cleaner."

Was that some bizarre password common among children these days? Setting her bewilderment aside, April stepped inside under the guise of routine maintenance.

"There appears to be a smudge on the partition wall."

"Gasp! That wasn't me, I swear!"

"I harbored no such suspicion, Miss. You need not worry."

The real issue lay in whatever resided on the other side. Between Room 111 and Room 112 sat a slight structural void—roughly half a pyeong in area. It was an empty architectural gap engineered to house the load-bearing pillars that anchored the building's framework.

Press, press. Tap, tap.

She pressed her palms firmly against the surface and tapped with her knuckles, but the tactile feedback yielded nothing beyond ordinary drywall and stone.

Knock, knock.

From the opposite side, as though responding to her tapping, a faint answering knock echoed back.

Orknodi fidgeted with obvious unease, watching her every move, yet nothing overtly supernatural manifested.

"Have you encountered any difficulties while residing in this room, Miss?"

"None whatsoever!"

Her guard was impenetrable. There was no useful intelligence to be extracted from the girl. After finishing her routine sweep, April stepped out and moved directly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to Room 112.

"Cleaning? Sure, go right ahead."

Once again, April feigned inspecting the wall for scuffs while changing the bedding.

Knock, knock.

Knock, knock.

Aside from knuckles answering knuckles through the partition, nothing extraordinary occurred.

"Pfft. That's adorable. The kid next door did that, right?"

Evidently finding the knocking exchange charming, the occupant of Room 112, Hestia, beamed a broad, hearty grin. Even through April's trained eyes, the heavily built girl possessed an endearing earnestness.

"I imagine she was returning your gesture from earlier," April remarked neutrally.

"Earlier?"

"When the knocking came from next door, you returned it first, did you not? I was tapping against the wall just as I am now."

"I didn't knock back, though?"

"...Pardon?"

"Ah—haha, I get it! You're messing with me because I look like a gullible country mercenary, right? Nice try, but you can't fool me! We had hazing pranks just like this back in my old squad!"

April's expression hardened into dead gravity. Leaning closer, she addressed the partition directly.

"Lady Orknodi. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Can you hear me?"

"……"

"Can you hear me?"

A heavy silence lingered. Then, after a chilling beat, a hollow, muffled whisper seeped through the solid stone.

"...I hear you."

"See? Told you it was a prank," Hestia said, forcing a chuckle as she tried to shrug off the sudden chill in the air.

"...I deeply apologize for startling you," April murmured, her voice flat. "It appears I was mistaken."

"Nah, don't worry about it! Gets the blood pumping for once. Pretty fun, honestly."

"Moving forward, the dormitory strictly maintains an environment dedicated to academic discipline. Please refrain from calling out or speaking to your neighbor through the walls."

"Hey, you were just chatting through it yourself!"

"I ask for your understanding that it was an unavoidable procedure for safety verification."

"Alright, alright. I'll keep it down."

April stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind her. The moment she was alone, her hand reached up to grasp her forearm.

The violent goosebumps prickling across her skin refused to subside.

'It was faint, but my hearing is flawless.'

The voice that had answered through the hollow stone wall... That had not been Lady Orknodi.

Standing in the empty hallway between Room 111 and Room 112, April stared grimly at the blank stretch of wall dividing the two doors. A crawlspace far too cramped for any human being to occupy.

What in the world was lurking inside?

Grotesque, sinister possibilities swirled through her mind, feeding a rising dread she could barely suppress.

"Ugh..."

Shivering in sheer terror, April whirled on her heel and hurried down the corridor. She was far too rattled to notice the other freshmen on the floor watching her in amusement, gossiping over what could have possibly terrified a cleaning maid so badly.

Phew. I thought I was busted for a second.

Inside the narrow structural void separating Room 111 and Room 112—the hidden space designated as Room 111.1—resided an anomaly unknown not only to the student body, but to the academy's faculty as well.

The Answering Door.

An entity that reliably replied whenever a player attempted to interact with it. And come the first semester's midterm exams, this insidious door was programmed to trigger an absolute catastrophe.

Its target was none other than the girl in the adjacent quarters: Hestia.

The anomaly's role was to awaken her as the scenario's first major obstacle—the mid-boss known as Frenzied Hestia.

The mechanism behind the tragedy was simple: Hestia spent the entire semester building an emotional bond with what she believed was her neighbor through the wall, only to discover one day that no living person had ever occupied the space between them. That horrific revelation completely shattered her fragile sanity.

A Berserker-class warrior suffering a full psychic collapse was a recipe for unmitigated slaughter. In the original storyline, dozens of first-year students were maimed, and several were outright killed before the faculty brought her down.

So how did veteran players who already knew this secret handle the encounter?

Clueless newbies would wet their pants in panic and immediately run to snitch to a professor, permanently purging The Answering Door from the game. But a hardcore, pickled veteran would never commit such an unforgivable waste of resources.

All I have to do is casually play along from my side and keep her company, right?

If Hestia believed she was genuinely talking to a friend, her mental stability would remain pristine, preventing her descent into madness. And as a bonus, The Answering Door would remain fully intact and operational inside the wall.

Because in the original game...

Once midterms rolled around under those specific conditions:

This wonderfully obliging anomaly transformed into the ultimate private exam tutor.