The first full day at the training campus did not feel like a day.
It felt like a schedule wearing human skin.
A whistle sounded before sunrise, sharp enough to cut dreams in half. Lights snapped on in the dorm corridors. Doors opened in sequence like someone had rehearsed it. Staff voices moved down the hallway calling out times, not names.
"Five minutes. Roll call."
XH woke instantly, heart already moving too fast. His bunk creaked as he sat up. The air inside the dorm was cold and dry, as if warmth was considered a privilege. He swung his legs down and felt the floor shock his feet awake.
JP was already upright, rubbing his face hard, buzzcut making his head look too exposed. TZ yawned like he wanted to mock the whole system by refusing to look bothered. HS sat up slower than the others, eyes unfocused for a second before he forced them sharp again. NS was standing already, bed made with unsettling neatness.
XH watched that for a moment.
NS didn't need time to adjust. NS had already adjusted.
"Move," a staff voice shouted from the corridor.
The group got dressed quickly. No one wanted to be the first to be marked late. They filed out into the morning air with dozens of other Health Track students, all of them forming lines that hadn't existed yesterday but now felt inevitable.
The center square held the bell.
Even at dawn, it looked heavy.
A dark shape against pale sky, rope hanging still, waiting. XH felt his eyes drawn to it automatically, like a reflex. He looked away and focused on the roll call board, because staring at the bell felt like looking at a future you didn't want.
They marched, not officially, but through enforced pathways. Dorm block to washrooms. Washrooms to dining hall. Dining hall to lecture zone. Lecture zone to physical conditioning. Conditioning to simulation labs. Simulation labs to study hours.
Everything timed.
Everything observed.
If Campus 2 had felt like a university, this place felt like an experiment.
Breakfast was beans curry, rice, and water again.
No coffee.
No juice.
No fruit.
Just fuel.
JP stared at his tray like the beans were personally responsible for the existence of dictators. "If I eat this every day, I'm going to start speaking in beans."
TZ took a bite and shrugged. "It's not poison."
JP leaned closer and whispered, "That's exactly what poison would say."
XH ate quietly. He didn't like the taste, but he liked hunger less. He forced himself to swallow because the day was too long to start weak.
Across the table, June and Kitty sat among the girls' group. They were separated from the boys by staff preference, not by student choice. Kitty held her spoon like she was trying to be polite to the food. June ate efficiently, eyes scanning the room as if she was mapping escape routes even while chewing.
Kitty caught XH's gaze once and looked away quickly, not cold, just careful. June didn't look at him yet. She looked at the staff walking between tables.
They ate like prisoners who didn't want to admit it.
After breakfast came lecture blocks.
Not the familiar rhythm of Campus 2. No joking professors. No soft warnings. No gentle reminders about attendance.
Here, instructors spoke like commanders.
"Your performance determines your continuation."
"Failure is not a surprise. Failure is a choice."
"Discipline is the difference between value and waste."
Words like waste sat wrong in a classroom.
XH's pen moved, but he didn't absorb much. His mind kept returning to the bell, to the rope hanging motionless, to the idea that leaving was simple if you were willing to accept what leaving meant.
After lectures came physical conditioning.
Not sports. Not friendly competition. Conditioning.
Pushups, timed runs, station circuits. Staff counted loudly. Students who slowed were singled out. Not beaten, not screamed at, but watched in a way that felt like an invisible mark being stamped onto them.
HS struggled more than he wanted anyone to see.
He forced a smile when he caught XH glancing at him, as if to say, I'm fine.
He wasn't.
And the staff noticed.
NS noticed too, eyes tracking the weak points in their group like he was taking notes for survival.
At lunchtime, beans curry again.
JP looked like he was going to cry from boredom.
TZ cracked jokes anyway, using humor like a small rebellion.
When the day finally began to dim, it didn't feel like relief. It felt like a new phase.
Evening roll call.
Mandatory study.
Then the announcement that changed the shape of the night.
At 7:45 PM, staff walked down dorm corridors posting notices on doors. Printed sheets, uniform font, official language.
NO PHONE USE AFTER 8:00 PM
DEVICES MUST BE STORED
RANDOM CHECKS WILL OCCUR
NONCOMPLIANCE RESULTS IN DISCIPLINE POINTS
JP read it out loud, then laughed once.
"Random checks," he said. "So they're going to come into our room and search like we're criminals."
TZ leaned against the bunk ladder. "It's just phones."
JP pointed at him. "That's the whole point. It starts with phones."
XH stared at the paper, feeling something tighten. At Campus 2, his phone had been comfort. Here, his phone was a liability. Here, connection was treated like contraband.
NS spoke quietly. "Do what they say."
JP snapped his head toward him. "Since when are you their spokesperson."
NS's eyes stayed calm. "Since we need to survive the first week without getting targeted."
XH felt the tension between them spark again, and it wasn't just about phones. It was about control. About who got to decide what obedience looked like.
At 7:58 PM, the hallway lights dimmed slightly.
At 8:00 PM, the rule became real.
Phones went into drawers. Bags. Hidden corners.
Not everyone complied.
But everyone pretended they did.
At 8:10 PM, staff walked down the corridor with clipboards, knocking on doors, checking quickly. Not searching deeply yet. Just reminding students that the rule wasn't optional.
Then came the second notice.
Mandatory assembly at the propaganda hall.
The word propaganda wasn't used, of course.
It was called:
Civic Education Screening
Attendance Recommended
Extra Credit Available
Extra credit.
A bait word.
As if they could trade obedience for points and call it a benefit.
Students were guided in lines toward a large hall near the center square. The hall was built like a cinema, wide screen, rows of seats, speakers mounted high. Staff stood at exits. Attendance was taken by scanning IDs at the door.
As XH stepped inside, he felt the air change. The lights were too bright at first, making everyone look pale and exposed. The seats were arranged in long rows, making students look small.
On the screen, a logo appeared. A stylized emblem, bold and severe.
Then a face.
The supreme leader.
MALT.
The video began with swelling music and slow footage of soldiers marching, flags waving, crowds cheering. The narration was warm, rehearsed, confident.
"MALT has restored order."
"MALT has protected the nation."
"MALT has given the youth direction."
The phrasing felt wrong.
Not because it was unfamiliar. Because it was too clean. Too smooth. Like language that had been scrubbed of truth.
The camera cut to images of smiling children, grateful farmers, hardworking citizens, and then to shots of weapons framed like ornaments.
The voice continued:
"Obedience is peace."
"Unity is strength."
"Sacrifice is necessary."
XH's stomach tightened.
He glanced sideways.
June sat two rows ahead with the girls. Kitty sat near her. Both were watching the screen, faces blank in the way people go blank when they don't want their reactions recorded.
NS sat behind XH, posture straight, eyes forward, like he was taking notes. JP shifted restlessly. TZ looked bored but alert.
HS sat still, too still.
The video shifted to a segment praising "discipline campuses" and "training youth to become pillars."
XH felt the trap closing.
Then came the "extra credit" part.
A staff member stepped on stage and held up a clipboard.
"Students who stay until the end and complete the reflection form will receive evaluation points," he said.
Some students nodded, already calculating.
Others looked away.
The hall felt like a test.
Not of knowledge.
Of compliance.
JP leaned toward TZ and whispered, "If I stay here, I'll lose brain cells."
TZ whispered back, "Save your brain cells for beans curry."
XH didn't laugh.
He watched the exits.
He watched the staff.
He watched how some students were already planning to behave, to cooperate, to earn points.
He also watched how others were slipping into quiet resistance.
A group of Health Track students near the side row stood slowly and moved toward the restroom door with practiced casualness. Not running. Not sneaking like criminals. Just moving like people who had decided their dignity was worth more than extra credit.
JP's eyes brightened. "Look at that," he whispered.
TZ nodded. "We should."
NS spoke quietly behind them. "No."
JP turned his head. "Why."
NS kept his voice low. "Because they'll check attendance."
JP scoffed. "So what. They can't arrest us for peeing."
NS didn't answer.
XH felt it again.
NS's instinct for control.
For caution.
For positioning.
XH stood anyway.
Not dramatically.
He leaned forward and murmured, "We're not staying."
JP stood immediately like he had been waiting for permission. TZ followed. HS hesitated, then stood too. NS paused for half a second, then rose with them, expression unreadable.
They moved in a small cluster, slipping toward the side exit that led into a corridor.
No one stopped them.
Not yet.
They walked quickly but not fast, blending into the movement of other students leaving in waves. In the corridor, the sound of propaganda faded slightly, replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights.
They reached an outside door and pushed through.
Cold air hit them.
The night was darker than it should have been. Wind moved through the center square. The bell stood there, huge and silent, rope swaying slightly.
The propaganda hall glowed behind them like an eye.
Outside, students were gathered in small circles, whispering.
This was the real assembly.
Not inside the hall.
Here, where they could speak without microphones.
JP exhaled like he had been holding his breath for an hour. "That was disgusting."
TZ shrugged. "It was predictable."
HS spoke softly. "Why do they want us to watch it."
June's voice came from behind them.
"To see who claps," she said.
XH turned.
June and Kitty had slipped out too, moving with the girls' group. Kitty's face looked tense, jaw tight. June looked calm but angry in the way people are angry when they refuse to waste energy.
Kitty glanced at XH, then away. June's gaze stayed on the propaganda hall for a moment longer, as if she wanted to burn it down with her eyes.
NS stepped slightly closer to June without thinking.
XH noticed.
Kitty noticed too, her eyes narrowing briefly.
JP didn't notice. He was too busy being JP.
"So what now," he asked.
June answered, "Now we make our own circle."
That's what they did.
They stood in the cold outside the hall, forming a small social orbit made of whispered truth. Students shared real news they had seen before phones were locked away. Election unrest. Strikes. COVID rumors overseas. The way the world felt like it was tightening.
No one said coup yet.
But the word hovered.
The bell rope creaked once in the wind.
Everyone looked at it.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Because the bell was always there now.
Not just a physical object.
A reminder that surrender was always available if you were willing to pay for it.
They stayed outside until the propaganda screening ended.
When students began pouring out of the hall, some looking dazed, some looking proud, some looking amused, staff scanned faces and checked clipboards.
XH felt his stomach tighten again.
They were tracking.
They were counting.
This wasn't education.
It was sorting.
Back in the dorm, phones stayed hidden. The rule was the rule. But students whispered anyway.
In the dark, voices traveled through bunk beds and thin walls.
JP lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling.
"This is going to get worse," he murmured.
TZ replied softly, "It always does before it breaks."
HS didn't speak. XH could hear his breathing, shallow and uneven, like he was trying not to panic.
NS sat on the edge of his bed, posture perfect even in exhaustion.
XH looked at him. "You already knew about the propaganda, didn't you."
NS's eyes flicked toward him. "Everyone knew."
"That's not what I asked," XH said.
NS didn't answer directly. "Sleep. We have roll call early."
XH stared at him, feeling irritation rise.
NS wasn't just adapting.
NS was aligning.
And XH couldn't tell yet whether that alignment was for survival or for power.
Outside, the wind moved through the center square.
The bell rope swayed.
The night was quiet.
But in the quiet, XH felt it clearly.
This campus was teaching them obedience.
And the person named MALT on that screen tonight was not just a face.
He was a future.
A future that would later order bombs, raids, and force.
They didn't know the details yet.
But the cruelty was already there, hiding behind music and slogans.
Year Two had not even reached its first major battle.
And still, it felt like they had entered a story where the enemy wasn't a person with a weapon.
It was a system that wanted you to clap while it prepared to hurt you.