The day had turned gloomy, the sky a heavy canvas of grey that threatened to release its burden at any moment. Merlio walked through the hallway with his usual calm expression, footsteps echoing softly against the linoleum. He paused at the window of his classroom, peered inside at the near-empty rows of desks, and simply turned away.
The first week was designated for orientation—time to familiarize themselves with the campus, its systems, its rhythms. Lectures would begin officially in the second week. For now, students were left to their own devices, scattered across the sprawling grounds like seeds waiting to see where they might take root.
Merlio made his way toward the education sector's library. It was the second largest on campus, he'd learned. The largest was reserved for ceremonies and dedicated to some founding figure whose name he'd already forgotten. This one would do.
---
The library was vast, a cathedral of knowledge with soaring ceilings and rows upon rows of shelves stretching into the distance. The atmosphere was clandestine yet pristine—hushed voices, the soft rustle of pages, the occasional creak of a chair. Students were scattered throughout: some seated at long tables, heads bent over textbooks; others consulting with librarians at information desks; a few wandering the aisles in search of particular titles.
Merlio approached the circulation counter, presented his student ID, and completed the brief registration process. The librarian directed him toward the west wing, and he walked, letting his feet carry him through the maze of knowledge.
He found himself in the psychology section. His fingers trailed along spines until they stopped at one. He pulled the book free and read the title aloud in a whisper.
"Nadja, by André Breton."
He turned it over in his hands, examined the cover, then slid it back into place. His gaze drifted left, then right, along the endless shelves, then returned to the books before him.
"Are you confused?"
The feminine voice came from beside him. He turned to find a girl with glasses and her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Recognition flickered—he'd seen her before, though they hadn't spoken.
"...Not really," he replied. "It's just that most of these look a bit boring."
The girl giggled softly, a pleasant sound in the quiet library. "Well, you are standing in the psychology section."
Merlio stared at her blankly as she continued to chuckle.
"Hey," she offered, her smile warm, "I could give you some recommendations!"
My first chance at socializing apart from Gertrude. He nodded. "Yeah."
She led him through the library with the confidence of someone who knew its secrets. They wandered through different sections—literature, philosophy, history, science—and with each stop, she pulled books and held them out for his inspection. Merlio rejected most, finding the subjects too dense, the titles too imposing.
After nearly an hour, he found himself holding a stack of five books. He adjusted his grip with a soft grunt.
"This is a bit much, don't you think?"
"A bit much?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's only five books."
Merlio looked down at the stack, then back at her. "I don't read that much."
"I could tell," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. "From the way you rejected anything remotely deep. And how you claimed they were 'boring.'"
"..."
They reached the circulation counter, and as Merlio shifted the stack to retrieve his ID, his foot caught on the edge of a chair. He stumbled, the books flying from his arms and scattering across the floor with a series of thuds that echoed embarrassingly through the quiet space.
The girl immediately knelt, helping him gather them. Merlio paused, watching her for a moment as she stacked them neatly.
"What's your name, by the way?" he asked. "You look familiar."
She looked up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, me? I'm Flora Hans. First year, Class B."
Same class. Merlio squinted slightly, filing the information away. He extended a hand as they both stood. "Merlio Klein. Also Class B."
Flora's face lit up. "We're in the same class! That's great."
Merlio studied her for a moment longer—the genuine smile, the easy warmth. Then he spoke carefully. "I have trouble understanding some terms in books. I could use your... wider knowledge."
He left the words hanging, an invitation.
Flora tilted her head, then nodded. "Hmm... I could give you my number. I'll walk you through anything you need."
They exchanged contacts, Merlio entering her information with methodical precision. As he bid her farewell and left with his stack of books, a single thought circled in his mind.
Making friends with one of the girls from the mean girls' clique wasn't something I expected.
---
The Commerce Hub sector buzzed with afternoon activity. Merlio had stopped at a fast-food joint on the edge of the plaza, ordered a simple meal, and paid with his student card. He stepped back outside, hands in his pockets, ready to head home—when the scene before him made him stop.
A group of students in black blazers surrounded a single student in deep blue. The color contrast was stark: black for upperclassmen, blue for first-years. Merlio quickly positioned himself near the building's entrance, half-hidden by a support pillar, and observed.
A first year? What's a first year done to warrant this?
He studied the trapped student. The boy wore the standard uniform but with deliberate carelessness—shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, dirty blonde hair disheveled in a way that suggested rebellion rather than neglect.
A delinquent, Merlio concluded.
"So what's it gonna be?" The lead senior—tall, broad-shouldered, with a sneer permanently etched on his face—stepped forward. "Apologize to my friend here for spilling his sauce."
The delinquent sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "I didn't do anything, damn it. Are you sure your friend here isn't just an idiot?"
The seniors erupted in laughter, harsh and mocking.
"These first years, man!"
"So naive."
"Dumb first years."
Their leader twirled a finger in the air. "Look around."
As he said this, Merlio pressed himself deeper into the shadows, avoiding exposure.
The delinquent glanced around, uncomprehending. "What about it?"
"Look closely." The senior's tone turned mocking, each word dripping with condescension. "There. Are. No. Cameras."
"So what?" The delinquent's ignorance was either genuine or a deliberate provocation.
The senior chuckled loudly and snapped his fingers. One of his companions pulled out a small camera, held it up, and stepped back, framing the shot.
"I'm having a tough day," the leader continued, his voice dropping to something darker. "My credits are shit right now. So I might as well take it out on an arrogant first year. The excuse? You spilled my friend's dish."
"You're damn right about that." The friend grinned, teeth bared.
Merlio watched, mind racing through the implications. The absence of cameras gives them freedom. But isn't bullying the highest form of non-tolerable activity? Unless...
He narrowed his eyes. The school operates on a laissez-faire model. Minimal direct intervention. They only act on reports with evidence. No cameras here means no evidence—unless they bring their own.
His gaze shifted to the senior holding the camera. They're recording. That's a headlock. If the first year fights back, they control the footage. They can edit, manipulate, frame. Either way, he loses.
Merlio watched the delinquent, curious how he'd respond.
After a long beat, the first year spoke, his voice dropping to something dark and dangerous. "I'm beating you all to pulp. You think I'm some weakling?"
Merlio rubbed his chin. Either way, you're at a disadvantage. He began to turn away—this wasn't his fight, wasn't his problem. But the delinquent's next words stopped him cold.
"The rest of the first years might be cowards. Maybe a few from my class, too." He cracked his knuckles, a slow, deliberate sound. ""I don't care about the 'Class B' label."
The seniors laughed hysterically.
"This dumbass thinks he can take all three of us!"
"Yeah, for real." One of them stepped forward, getting in the delinquent's face. "Come on. Hit me."
Merlio turned back. His hand moved to his pocket, retrieving his phone. He raised it just as the delinquent's fist began to rise.
Click.
The sound was small, almost insignificant, but it cut through the tension like a blade.
Every head swiveled toward him.
Merlio stood like a statue, phone held steady, face utterly blank.
The leader's sneer faltered. "What...?"
Merlio's voice was calm, measured. "My friend here is sorry for spilling your food."
The senior with the stained shirt glared. "Back off, freshman. We've only got business with this little punk."
Merlio waved his hand dismissively, the gesture almost bored. "That would be stupid. Didn't you see? I just took a picture. Any attempt to fight him and spin the footage your way will be invalidated once another party presents the full context."
The seniors exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes.
Finally, the leader spoke, his voice cautious. "What class are you?"
Merlio was silent for a beat, then exchanged a glance with the delinquent. "Class A."
"Then how do you know this guy? Different classes."
Merlio didn't miss a beat. "He threatened to beat me up last week. But we're all good now. Right... Dylan?"
The delinquent's eyebrow rose, but he caught on quickly. "Yeah. We're good."
Merlio turned back to the seniors. "See?"
The leader studied them both, jaw working. Finally, he pointed at the delinquent. "You're damn lucky, you little punk." Then his finger shifted to Merlio. "And see you later, chump."
The seniors retreated, their bravado deflating as they disappeared around a corner.
Merlio lowered his phone and turned to address the delinquent—but the boy was already walking away in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets, as if nothing had happened.
Merlio watched him go, a faint sigh escaping his lips.
He tucked his phone away and continued on his path, the encounter already filed away for future reference. The delinquent from Class B. The seniors and their camera. The absence of surveillance and the power it granted.
'This school', Merlio thought, 'is a bit more fascinating than it appears.'
The first raindrops began to fall as he walked, gentle at first, then steadily building. By the time he reached his hostel, the sky had opened fully, washing the campus in a cold, cleansing rain.
Inside his room, he placed the library books on his small table and sat in the single chair, staring at nothing.
Flora. The delinquent. The seniors.
"What a hassle."