Chapter 19

After receiving their books, Masamichi Yaga produced eight keys for the three students to choose from. Each key was engraved with a number on one side: 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, and 208.

Room 201 was directly opposite 205, 202 opposite 206, 203 opposite 207, and 204 opposite 208.

The girls' dormitory was located on the third floor, also containing eight rooms. Each room was roughly the size of a standard bedroom, furnished with a single bed, a desk with a chair, and a wardrobe. The washroom was at the far end of the hallway; it was twice the size of a regular room and featured a partial partition—the outer area was for brushing teeth and washing faces, while the inner area was for bathing. The technical college also provided washing machines, located in an open, concave alcove around the corner, with three units available. The balcony was right next to them, where students could hang their laundry on ordinary days.

"That’s about it. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?" Yaga stood on the balcony where he had finished the tour, turning to face his three students.

No one spoke. That meant there were no questions.

"Tomorrow is Sunday, so get some good rest. School starts the day after tomorrow. I’ll send the class schedule to the group chat in a while."

"Understood," Fyodor replied obediently.

Yaga nodded, feeling a touch of relief. "Right, if that’s all, I’ll be heading out."

The moment the man left, Satoru Gojo familiarly threw an arm around Fyodor’s shoulder, grinning. "What do you want to eat tonight?"

"Don't lean on him," Suguru Geto frowned, reaching out to brush Satoru’s right hand off the black-haired boy’s shoulder.

Although it was unclear whether Fyodor’s condition was due to a short-term illness or long-term frailty, he clearly looked unwell. Satoru was tall and burly, and even though Fyodor wasn't short, his weakness was plain to see; there was no need to risk knocking him over.

Satoru lowered his head, his sunglasses sliding down his high bridge to rest on the tip of his nose, revealing two blue eyes with an unnaturally high saturation. They weren't like the deep ocean or the clear blue sky, but rather a chilling, translucent blue that felt like a blend of icy mountain peaks and the sea.

Sunlight filtered through the glass window, hitting the floor and walls, and shone into Satoru’s ethereal blue eyes. When gazed at by such eyes, one felt as if their soul were being pierced, everything about them laid bare. A strong, unbearable sense of intrusion and discomfort washed over Suguru, his body tensing in an instinctive defense against danger.

...The air suddenly felt thick with the scent of gunpowder.

At that moment, the black-haired boy reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to room 205 he had just received. His movement drew the attention of both boys, who looked at him simultaneously.

Noticing his two classmates staring, Fyodor looked bewildered. "What’s wrong...?"

Oblivious to the tension of the standoff, Fyodor voiced his confusion.

Suguru and Satoru both went silent.

*The guy is a total airhead,* they thought.

"By the way, did Satoru-kun ask what to eat for dinner? Suguru-kun, what do you think?" The black-haired boy looked at Suguru and asked with a smile.

"Anything is fine. I'm not picky."

"And what about you, Satoru-kun?" He turned back to Satoru.

"I'm not picky either."

"Oh... so you're leaving the choice to me?" Fyodor mused, looking troubled. "How about... barbecue?"

"Sure," the two said in unison.

"?"

"Tch!"

"???"

"Copycat!"

"Pfft."

Suguru and Satoru froze, then turned to look at Fyodor.

"You two get along so well," the latter said sincerely.

"Who gets along with him?!" they retorted in sync.

"Alright, alright, I know you have a rapport. Well, I’m going to go organize my room."

Watching Fyodor open his dormitory door with his key and step inside, Suguru and Satoru turned their gazes back to each other, their eyes brimming with fighting spirit.

"Want to spar?" Suguru asked, jerking a thumb backward.

"Sure, let's go to the field we passed earlier," Satoru replied, grinning with excitement.

"The loser runs errands for the winner for a week."

"Deal—don't go crying when you lose."

"I was going to say the same to you."

The two high-spirited boys, one in white and one in black, walked out of the dormitory building side-by-side, each subtly exerting force against the other, neither willing to yield an inch.

On the second floor, a slender figure stood by the window, deep violet eyes like rich wine watching the two backs disappear.

"New students?"

A curious female voice sounded from above.

The black-haired boy blinked, and the gloom in his eyes vanished like dispersing clouds. His purple pupils caught the light, sparkling like the surface of a rippling lake, revealing a clear and pure clarity.

He looked up to meet a pair of brown eyes with drooping corners that gave off a languid impression. A short-haired girl with a tear mole under her right eye was looking down at him, her eyes sparkling with mischievous light.

"Who are you?"

"I’m Shoko Ieiri. I’m in the same year, so I suppose I’m your classmate. I live right above you."

Hearing this, the black-haired boy quickly replied, "Nice to meet you, I'm Fyodor."

The girl hummed, her tone trailing off lazily. "Are those two our classmates too?"

"Yes. By the way, we're planning to go out for dinner tonight. Would you like to join?"

"I'll pass."

Shoko Ieiri had no interest in such activities.

The only girl in the class indicated she was going to chat with her friends and pulled back.

Fyodor also left the window and knelt by his suitcase to start organizing his belongings. He had brought very few things: three sets of spring/autumn clothes, two long-sleeved shirts, two sets of pajamas, and the rest were shoes and undergarments packed in separate bags—courtesy of the kind-hearted Tsuneoshi Gennai.

Fyodor had offered Gennai some business advice and pointed out a loophole the man had overlooked: a department manager who had been embezzling funds. The man had been very careful and cunning, but he had run into a tough opponent; Fyodor had spotted the trick at a glance. After Gennai dealt with the man in a rage, his respect for Fyodor deepened, and he nearly begged to become his sworn brother.

Fyodor had refused.

Gennai thought for a moment and then offered to give Fyodor two 'small' shops.

This time, Fyodor did not refuse, but he didn't take them for free either. "We'll split the profits fifty-fifty."

...He took out his clothes and hung them in the wardrobe, placing his shoes neatly at the door.

Once finished, Fyodor took out his phone, entered the class group chat, and opened the form Masamichi Yaga had sent earlier regarding opinions on school uniforms.

Unlike ordinary schools, the Jujutsu High allowed students to design their own uniforms—because they were involved in combat, and each person had different habits and fighting styles, the clothes they wore had an impact.

Fyodor pondered for a moment while looking at the form, then typed:

[Make them a bit thicker; I’m afraid of the cold.]