Book 1
Chapter 6: Room 404: Error in Progress
Kokoro Mone Academy was built with jade and gold walls that looked like they were floating, and hallways that probably smelled like new dreams and shiny wood floors.
KenHanzori had figured his dorm room would be just as fancy—a cozy spot with silk pillows, a calm vibe powered by spiritual energy, and maybe a private pond with peaceful koi fish. He was dead wrong. Like, completely, totally wrong.
His room was number 404. If finding yourself was a big, fancy house, this room was the gross, moldy basement underneath. And if the universe had a dark sense of humor (which, knowing Ken's life, it totally did), this room was its best joke yet.
The door groaned open like a ghost taking its last breath, showing a space that seemed to hate being clean. Mold, in shades of bright green, odd purple, and a weird, sweet-smelling red, was blooming all over the walls like a messed-up garden.
When Ken tried to just ignore it, the mold started moving into shapes.
Narutama squinted. "Is that… mold making a sad face?"
Ken: "IT'S MAKING FUN OF ME."
Another spot on the wall turned into a thumbs-down sign, glowing softly like a disappointed text from a demon.
The air in the room was thick with the gross smell of old socks, quiet sadness, and the faint, spooky smell of something that had died under the bed a long time ago.
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A Den of Despair (and Whispers)
"What in the… ancestral pigsty is this?" Ken yelled, his voice sounding offended as it bounced off the gross walls.
A big, chunky rat, looking way too comfortable, peeked out from under a broken-down bed. Its tiny, black eyes seemed to hold old secrets and maybe a hint of a sneer. It had clearly been through some stuff. Bad stuff.
The room wasn't quiet, though. Even with no one talking, Ken felt a growing, annoying feeling, like the dirt itself was talking right inside his head. It was a cold, scary feeling, a constant, low buzz of digital disapproval that shook him to his core.
"Your credit score is tanking…" a strange thought popped into his mind.
"Interest rates are going up…" another one seemed to whisper from the wet corners.
"There's a small fee to process your dreams…"
"Did you remember to balance your money account today? Tsk tsk."
Ken glared, kicking at a fuzzy patch of mold, which just got bigger, like he'd personally hurt its feelings.
"Shut up, brain! I don't even have a credit score! I have infinite Mone! Infinite!"
Narutama, standing carefully in the doorway, almost threw up. He was used to poor living, but this was a new, living kind of mess.
"This builds character, Ken. And probably a new kind of super-tough mold." He looked around for his own bed, wondering if the rust stains were holding it up, just for show, or maybe a map to a hidden treasure.
Ken, driven by his deep dislike for anything less than perfect, decided to fix things himself. "This is a mess! I'll just… powered through it!"
He took a big breath, puffed out his chest with a ton of confidence, and focused on using his power to make the mess disappear.
His spiritual power, which was usually so ready to do whatever he wanted, buzzed for a second, then coughed. Instead of getting rid of the mold, it just made a small, tough spot of green fuzz glow with a sort of happy light. A single, stubborn whisper came through, louder than the others: "Not enough creative power. Try again."
He tried again, this time trying to make new towels, maybe with a clean smell. Instead, a bunch of perfectly formed but soaking wet balls of dust dropped from the ceiling, landing with a soft splat. He tried to clean the floor.
The fat rat under the bed just watched him, yawning with total boredom. It looked like it grew a new, twitchy whisker. Ken's Mone, which was usually so good at causing chaos and blowing things up by accident, was totally useless against the pure, stubborn nastiness of Room 404. He was used to accidentally exploding stuff, but accidentally cleaning? That was apparently beyond his weird powers.
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The Bureaucratic Barrier
Furious, Ken stormed out, dragging a slightly green Narutama with him, heading straight for the dorm supervisor's office.
The supervisor, a scary woman named Ms. Grimshaw, looked less like a teacher and more like a stone statue who did paperwork on the side. Her office was clean, organized, and smelled a little like cleaning wipes, old coffee, and a lot of held-in anger.
"My room," Ken announced, slamming his hand onto her perfectly clean desk (which, thank goodness, didn't turn to gold).
"It's a health risk! The mold! The rats! The whispers!"
Ms. Grimshaw didn't even look up from her papers, her pen scratching a steady beat. "Room 404, Hanzori. Standard first-year housing. It builds character." Her voice was flat, with no feeling at all.
"Room assignments can't be changed. You'll learn to appreciate the… simple life." Her pen kept scratching, the only sound after Ken's outburst.
"Builds character? Simple?" Ken sputtered, not believing a word. "It ruins character! I demand a total fix! Or a new room! A gold one! With, like, a waterfall! And a sushi bar!"
Ms. Grimshaw finally looked up, her eyes cold as ice, completely unfazed.
"Fixes are planned for the next ten years. New rooms are only for second-years, as per rule 7B of the Housing Agreement. Waterfalls and sushi bars are too much, against the budget rules, article 14, paragraph 3." She hit her ledger with a loud, firm stamp with each refusal. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Ken tried everything he knew. He begged. He tried to explain (badly). He even tried to give Ms. Grimshaw a "gift" of spiritual energy, making a few shiny gold coins appear on her desk. The coins did appear, but instead of just sitting there, they started singing a very loud, bad opera about money problems, with a tiny, glowing spotlight that came out of nowhere.
Ms. Grimshaw didn't even blink. She just swept them into a locked drawer with a tiny flick of her wrist.
"Audio entertainment budget. Thank you, Hanzori. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have thirty-six more complaints about the snoring from Room 307 that need my full attention right now."
Ken was shocked. His charm, his abundant Mone—nothing worked on this woman. He had met his match in paperwork itself, a force stronger than any demon lord he could imagine. He had one last option: his totally unaware charm.
He smiled big, his most innocent, sweet smile, radiating honest sincerity.
"But Ms. Grimshaw," he said in a soft voice, "my parents are Lord and Lady Hanzori, very important Platinum-level supporters of this Academy! You wouldn't want them to… hear about my uncomfortable living situation, would you?"
Ms. Grimshaw's eye twitched. Just one tiny muscle near her temple showed her struggle. She tapped her pen on the papers, a beat that sounded like a ticking clock. "Okay, Hanzori. I will… look at your room assignment again. Go back to Room 404. For now. And stop all 'audio entertainment' right away."
Her voice was tight, like she was talking through clenched teeth and old rules.
Somewhere in the Academy's huge files, a quick note appeared next to Ken's name: 'Possible Problem: Medium.'
Ken skipped back to Room 404, a relieved smile on his face, with Narutama following behind, sure he had won just by being himself.
Narutama, though, just sighed, a long, tired sound that matched the room's sadness. He knew what that look on Ms. Grimshaw's face meant. It wasn't a win. It was the quiet before the storm.
The mold in Room 404, meanwhile, continued its slow, quiet, winning creep, already planning its next bloom. It pulsed once, as if saying hello to Ken's return with a slow, fungus-like smirk.