Chapter 116
ORIENTATION
In Room 13 of Dorm Nine, silence hung like a warm blanket. Three boys lay sprawled in their respective beds, tangled within sheets and dreams, their breathing slow and steady, as if time itself had paused to let them rest.
Outside, a soft golden light filtered through the cracks in the thick curtains, casting faint, slanted rays across the room. It kissed their skin, a warm, almost reverent touch that danced along their cheeks and shoulders. The morning sun of Hope had risen again, and with it, another day in the academy had begun.
The peace didn't last.
Suddenly, the smart panel installed on the smooth white wall next to the entrance flicked to life with a mechanical click. Without warning or courtesy, a shrill alarm blared through the room. The sound was offensive—sharp, repetitive, and almost mocking—as if it had been programmed to take pride in dragging people out of much-needed rest.
Groans erupted from the beds.
Muffled curses could be heard. A long, exhausted sigh, and a pillow was thrown at the panel.
IAM, half-buried beneath his sheets, let out a groggy but somehow satisfied stretch. His arms reached up like vines toward the ceiling, joints cracking softly. He let out a breath as his body arched lazily. Reuel, in the center bed, yawned like an animal—loud and open-mouthed, his wild mullet flopping slightly as he rubbed his eyes with balled fists.
Then there was Yohan, whose reaction was slightly more dramatic. Without so much as lifting his head, he simply rolled too far to the left and thudded onto the floor with a startled grunt, blanket still half-wrapped around him like a cocoon unraveling.
IAM blinked at his phone. The screen glared back at him with striking brightness: 7:00 AM. The orientation was at 8:30.
He exhaled slowly and began to rise from the bed.
But Reuel was faster.
"I call dibs on the bathroom!" he barked, launching himself off the bed with shocking speed. Before either of the others could protest, he had already darted into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a smug smile.
IAM didn't even react. He just reached for his suitcase, dragging it up onto the bed and flipping it open. He pulled out his morning essentials—bonnet, toothbrush, deodorant, a small towel, and a folded MINE-branded undershirt.
Yohan stood slowly. He passed by IAM on his way to the kitchen, pausing for a moment, his body language uncertain. His hand hovered near the fridge handle, but his eyes were on IAM.
"I…" he began, his voice rough with sleep and something else—remorse. "I'm sorry for what happened last night. That wasn't me—"
IAM didn't look up. "No, it's fine," he said calmly, brushing his words aside. "You were drunk. And I understand you're going through grief right now…"
Yohan paused. He looked like he wanted to say something more. But the words never came. He simply gave a small shake of his head and turned away, walking into the kitchen to start making breakfast in silence.
…
An hour and twenty minutes later, chaos returned.
The trio were now thundering down the stairwell like their lives depended on it, nearly tripping over each other in a frantic race. The once serene dorm was now eerily empty, echoing with their rushed footsteps and frantic muttering.
Yohan shouted over the commotion, voice sharp with blame. "This is all your fault, Reuel! Why the hell did you spend an hour in the bathroom?!"
Reuel, despite his breathlessness, managed to toss his head with exaggerated flair. "Oh, come on! How do you think I maintain this beautiful face? It takes time and effort—skincare, detail—"
"Shut up and run!" IAM snapped, as he sprinted ahead. He wasn't interested in hearing the rituals that reuel took this early in the morning.
They burst through the front doors of the dorm building into the cool morning air. Dew clung to the grass, and the scent of early city life tickled their noses.
Despite being bound to the academy's strict dress code—mandatory colours of red, black, and white, along with the crest of the academy: a bold red 'H' layered over black and white geometric—each of them wore a version that spoke volumes about their unique identities and the sponsors backing them.
Getting into the academy didn't just mean prestige and education—it meant visibility. It meant stepping into a spotlight watched by corporations, aristocrats, and the elite. For that reason, nearly every student fortunate enough to be accepted was almost immediately scooped up by a brand. Sponsorship was one of the best ways to advertise: a way for companies to associate themselves with rising stars, future legends, and the children of the wealthy. And so, the uniforms were often wildly different in design and flair.
Reuel's uniform was the flashiest. Down the right sleeve of his uniform jacket, in vivid crimson, ran the word ROLEN. On the left sleeve, in a more refined black, was REUEL—his own name, branded like a product. His shoes, polished black with subtle crimson stitching, bore the same ROLEN insignia in an elegant cursive along the outer sides. But the true highlight was the watch wrapped around his left wrist. Also by ROLEN, it was crafted from a smooth, obsidian-like material with hints of ruby in the hands and dial. The piece shimmered under the light and practically screamed wealth. ROLEN wasn't just a clothing label; it was a luxury powerhouse, known for their watches more than anything else.
Yohan's outfit bore a simpler but striking design. A stark white X ran across the front of his uniform, intersecting and looping into a black X at the back. The shoes matched, white and black with the same X-logo wrapping around the soles and tongues. It was the signature style of XMON, a newer yet fast-rising brand that pushed urban, angular fashion with minimalist flair.
Then there was IAM.
IAM's uniform was bold in its own right. His built-in hood bore a stylized, spray-painted logo: MINE, printed in streaks of white, red, and black. The chaotic brushstrokes matched the eccentric aesthetic the brand was famous for. The rest of the outfit bore signs of that same chaotic artistry. Splatters of stylized lettering, jagged lines, and layers of subtle messages all formed a pattern that somehow obeyed the academy's colour rules…
His shoes were no less dramatic—each step he took flashed the name beneath the sole, on the tongue, even embroidered along the laces.
IAM owned three different uniforms from MINE, each more chaotic than the last. When he had first received them, he'd nearly cried, horrified by the loud designs—seen how wild everyone else's clothes were too. The relief he felt shook his bones.
Sponsoring multiple students was common, so brands took it as a chance to show range. Some stuck to sleek uniformity. Others, like MINE, went wild with customization, proving they could make anyone look unforgettable.
"Okay, whose driving?" Yohan asked breathlessly as they stopped before a sleek academy-issued mini car.
IAM looked over at Reuel.
Reuel groaned. "Ugh, fine." He slid into the driver's seat with a dramatic sigh.
IAM climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up. "Step on it," he said flatly. "We don't want to be late."
The doors slammed shut. The engine hummed.
And off they went—hurtling toward the orientation.
What a mess.
What a horrible way to start the day.