Night Bell

The night bell tolled across Semesta Academy — soft, melodic, yet heavy with authority.
Along the marble paths, the lights shifted from white to warm amber, signaling the hour when lectures ended and the fortress of learning became a fortress of silence.

Hundreds of students streamed through the tree-lined avenues toward the twin dormitory towers.
The towers faced each other across a moonlit courtyard — male and female wings joined by an arched bridge of glass and steel that shimmered like water under the evening breeze.

Floating drones drifted overhead, scanning identification bracelets and projecting rings of pale blue light across the ground.
Every few seconds, the announcement system repeated its calm refrain:

“Curfew begins at twenty-two hundred.
Energy calibration logs must be submitted before rest.
Violations will be handled by the Crimson Watch.”

Tom Anderson walked alone, hands in his pockets, steps unhurried.
Around him, first-years hurried with anxious chatter about the lesson today, while upper-forms moved as if the air itself yielded to them.

Clusters of first-years walked in hurried groups, their voices a low mix of awe and anxiety.

“Did you remember just now the footage from the expedition feed?” one whispered. “That thing was three kilometers long!”
“Orrhos the Resonant Devourer… they said its roar shattered satellites,” another replied, clutching his tablet.
“Commander Vyran’s team fought it in the upper Rift Belt. Half the Astralis-7 was destroyed.”
“But he survived. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah, but the Glassfall—people could see it from every continent. My brother said it looked like raining stars.”

Tom passed through them silently. Their chatter rippled around him like distant static.
He neither slowed nor joined in; the scene of the Leviathan’s fall lived sharper in his memory than any projection.
To the others, it was legend.
To him, it was a reminder.

The students’ voices faded as he reached the courtyard steps, leaving only the sound of evening drones humming overhead.

From somewhere behind him, a teasing voice cut through the chatter.

“And here we go again,” Ryo Katsuragi groaned to no one in particular. “One broadcast and suddenly every first-year thinks they’re destined to fight Rift monsters. Give it a week—they’ll be bragging about who’s gonna be ‘the next Vyran.’”

His friend snorted. “You’re not impressed?”
Ryo shrugged. “Sure, it’s heroic. But half of them don’t even know what resonance feedback feels like. They’d pass out before they hit the stratosphere.”

Dormitory

Inside, the corridors glowed a tranquil blue — the color of calm aura.
Holo-signs pulsed softly along the walls:

Form 1 Students
Silence After 22:00 — Respect the Seniors
Discipline Ensures Harmony — Crimson Watch Patrols Nightly

Tom stopped at Room 1003, the suite assigned to the top three students in the ceremony results.
The door scanned his bracelet and slid open with a muted hiss.

The Tier-A private suite felt more like an observation capsule than a dorm room — polished silver floor panels, a narrow bed beside a transparent wall, a desk with an integrated holo-display, and a balcony overlooking the glowing courtyard.
A low hum vibrated through the air: the personal Aura Stabilizer, fine-tuning resonance levels during rest hours.

Across the courtyard, the opposite tower glittered with countless small lights — the female dorms, Jenny’s wing, just across the bridge.
Tom leaned on the railing, eyes half-closed.

Tier-A suites were luxury compared to the twin Tier-B dorms where most students stayed — shared rooms, thinner stabilizer shielding, common showers humming with half-synced resonance hums.
Farther out, the Tier-C blocks resembled military quarters — no balconies, no privacy, only steel walls and a single ceiling stabilizer per corridor.
Semesta’s hierarchy was built into its architecture: comfort earned through merit, silence bought through control.

Neighbors

A knock echoed from next door.

“Yo! You must be 1003,” a cheerful voice called.

Tom opened the door to a boy with messy brown hair and a grin too wide for academy formality.

“Gareth Lowell,” he said, offering a lazy salute. “Just checking if my new neighbor’s alive.”
“Room 1005?” Tom asked.
“That’s me. You topped half the resonance sims without touching the console. Everyone’s curious.”
“Curiosity fades quickly.”
“Maybe,” Gareth said, grinning. “Anyway, floor-two vending wing — edible noodles. Sort of.”

A calm, composed voice joined them.

“Are you both quite done discussing noodles in the hallway?”

Zachary Adam, from Room 1010, stood nearby, datapad in hand, still wearing the stunned grin of someone who’d just made it into Tier-A housing for the first time.

“Is 1001 still alive?” he asked dryly.

All three laughed — the first real laughter of the night, breaking through the academy’s silence like light through glass.

The Crimson Watch

Footsteps — steady, disciplined — echoed from the corridor bend.
A crimson glow preceded five students in formation, black coats trimmed in red.
At their head walked Stephen Lo, his aura a dull, flickering crimson: D Low Rank.

“Curfew checks,” he announced. “Any open rooms past curfew — report immediately. No leniency.”

A Form 2 boy stepped out with a laundry bag.

“Sir, I was just —”
“Curfew means silence,” Stephen cut in. “Or shall I teach you to read?”

Tom moved forward.

“He’s late by a minute. That’s all.”
Stephen’s gaze snapped toward him.
“And you are?”
“Tom Anderson, Room 1003. Form 1.”
“Ah, the prodigy from the entrance tests,” Stephen said flatly. “Learn quickly: discipline keeps this academy from falling apart. Defend him again, and you’ll share his punishment.”

He turned sharply. The patrol continued, the corridor temperature dropping in their wake.

Ryo Katsuragi, leaning by the stairwell, exhaled.
"Thanks, but please be careful next time. By the way, I'm Ryo Katsurugi"

“Form 3 captain stuck at E-Rank High Tier for a year. Makes him mean.”
Tom watched the fading aura trace — uneven, pulsing like a heartbeat under strain.
“He’s fighting himself more than the students.”

Ryo chuckled dryly, folding his arms.

“The Crimson Watch… supposed to be the academy’s good guys. Peacekeepers, right? Internal defense, protect students, stop resonance accidents, keep order — that’s the sales pitch.”

His grin soured.

“But somewhere along the line, it stopped being about balance and started being about control.”

Tom glanced his way. “Control?”

“Yeah,” Ryo said, gesturing toward the passing patrol drones. “See, the system’s full of loopholes. They can use ‘forceful resonance intervention’ if they claim it’s to prevent instability. Sounds responsible, right? But it means they can detain anyone whose aura they don’t like.”

He shook his head.

“They’re basically the dormitory’s peacekeepers — Officially, they’re called the Crimson Watch, but everyone just calls them the ‘Red Patrol.’”

He counted on his fingers.
“First, Curfew Enforcement. They make sure the dorms go silent by twenty-two hundred sharp. No talking, no aura training, no music. The stabilizers monitor our energy output while we sleep, so if your field’s unstable, they’ll know.”
He grinned. “So, if you snore too loud, they might knock.”

Tom raised a brow. “Efficient.”

“Creepy-efficient,” Ryo corrected. “Then comes Resonance Regulation — they use these Crimson Drones and handheld analyzers to detect unstable auras or rogue duels. If you even think about testing your resonance past curfew, they’ll find you before your aura finishes flaring.”

He leaned closer conspiratorially.
“Conflict Mediation is another fancy term for ‘they break up fights and drag people to detention.’ And trust me, they’re not gentle. The Watch believes every emotional outburst is a potential feedback accident — like your soul short-circuiting.”

Tom’s expression stayed calm. “They prevent collapse.”

“Sure, but they also enjoy showing it off,” Ryo muttered. “Which brings us to Trial Supervision. Every time someone breaks the rules, they hold these public ‘demonstrations’ in the courtyard. Symbolic punishment, they say — reminds everyone of the dormitory rules. More like entertainment for the upper forms.”

He paused, lowering his tone.
“And the last one’s Emergency Containment. If a Rift ever breaches near campus, the Crimson Watch drops their whole ‘school guard’ act and turns into a full combat unit. Defensive formations, energy lockdowns, the works. They’re trained to seal off dorm sectors within minutes.”

Tom looked thoughtful. “So they keep order by control.”

“Exactly.” Ryo shrugged. “They’re useful, sure — without them, half the students would burn the place down by accident. But the problem is…”
He looked out toward the courtyard, where a faint crimson light pulsed in the distance.
“Sometimes they forget the difference between discipline and fear.”

Tom’s gaze drifted toward the courtyard’s red-lit patrol grid.

“Systems like that always fracture,” he said softly.
Ryo blinked. “You sound like you’ve seen it before. You’re only a Form 1 student”
“I know enough.”
“Well,” Ryo muttered, “Stephen’s the type who believes the louder he enforces discipline, the more control he has. He doesn’t see it cracking.”

The Villa Between Worlds

Far across the Virdan highlands, golden light shimmered inside a quiet villa hidden beyond the academy’s detection field.
Maria looked up from the sofa as Tom materialized in a ripple of gold.

“Back from class?”
“The dorm’s loud. Easier to think here.”
“Blending in well?”
“Enough.”

He glanced through the window toward the distant spires of Semesta.

“Their system works — discipline, rank, order. But it’s fragile.”
Maria smiled faintly. “Every world starts fragile. That’s why you’re there.”

He said nothing. The wind outside carried distant echoes — laughter, tension, the hum of surveillance drones.

Crimson Plans

In the patrol office beneath the male dorm, Stephen Lo removed his gloves, setting them neatly beside a glowing datapad.
His five subordinates waited in uneasy silence.

“That freshman — Anderson,” Rika began. “Should we report him?”
“No,” Stephen replied, voice cool. “Keep an eye on him.”
“Another rebel?”
“No.” His eyes narrowed, aura flickering. “He just doesn’t know his place yet.”
His crimson resonance surged, painting the room in heat haze.
“A piglet shouldn’t test a tiger.”

No one argued.

End of Chapter 14 — Dormitory Shadows