“Traninum South High exemplifies successful public-private partnership. Through strategic sponsorship agreements, students benefit from enhanced infrastructure, optimized nutrition programs, and modern learning environments at no additional cost to families.

  Education succeeds when every stakeholder invests in tomorrow’s workforce.”

  — Traninum South High, Partnership Overview

  Friday morning…

  I knocked on Comma’s doorframe, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

  Her room looked exactly as it had a few days ago: clothes everywhere, desk buried under schoolwork and manga volumes, posters of AR idols competing for wall space with game tournament schedules. The lump under the blankets hadn’t moved since Wednesday.

  “Comma,” I called. “Time to get up.”

  The lump shifted slightly. A single eye appeared from beneath the covers, glaring at me with pure hostility.

  “Go away,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

  “Can’t. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”

  She sat up slowly, blankets falling away to reveal the same oversized Pawadai band shirt and a tangle of dark hair that had somehow gotten worse over the last forty-eight hours. “You didn’t care about my schooling the past few days,” she said, her tone carrying the specific accusatory weight that younger siblings had perfected over millennia. “I could stay home!”

  I shook my head. “Mom’s orders. Friday is test day and you know it.”

  “So is Monday,” Comma shot back, crossing her arms.

  I shrugged. “You still need to wake up. Besides not for me, only Friday.”

  She made a sound somewhere between a groan and a dying animal protest, then dramatically flopped backward, disappearing under the blankets again. Only her head popped out, hair sticking up at angles that defied physics.

  Her eyes narrowed, scanning me from top to bottom.

  “You’re not wearing any armor,” she said, suspicion creeping into her voice.

  I grinned. “I am.”

  Her expression shifted, that wicked smile spreading across her face that I’d learned to recognize as a warning sign approximately fourteen years too late.

  She exploded out of bed with surprising speed for someone who’d been pretending to be comatose seconds ago, crossing the distance between us in two steps.

  And punched me in the stomach.

  Hard.

  I hadn’t expected it; why would I expect it, and the impact sent me stumbling backward. My feet tangled, my balance went sideways, and I went down on my ass in the hallway with a grunt that was more surprise than pain.

  The impact foam in the hoodie had absorbed most of the kinetic energy, distributing the force across the padding at my midsection, but Comma was now cradling her hand against her chest, her face twisting in genuine pain.

  “HEY!” she yelled, her voice rising to that pitch that suggested I’d somehow wronged her. “YOU HURT ME!”

  I sat there on the hallway floor, speechless, staring up at my sister as she massaged her knuckles with an expression of deep betrayal.

  “We’re going to school,” I finally managed.

  “No,” Comma announced, turning on her heel and marching back toward her bed with the dignity of someone who hadn’t just assaulted their brother. “I’m sick.”

  She climbed back under the covers, pulling them up to her chin.

  “My hand hurts,” she continued, her voice muffled by blankets. “And I have a fever. Go alone.”

  I pushed myself up off the floor, brushing off my yellow hoodie. The impact foam had done its job perfectly… I barely felt the punch beyond the initial surprise. Comma’s knuckles, on the other hand, had met Series-7 combat fiber backed by impact-resistant padding.

  “Your hand hurts because you punched armor,” I pointed out, standing in her doorway.

  “Exactly,” she said from beneath the blankets. “I’m injured. Can’t go to school. Medical emergency.”

  “Mom’s going to kill you if you skip test day.”

  “Mom’s going to kill YOU if I tell her you made me punch you.”

  “Ten minutes,” I said finally. “Get dressed or I’m telling Mom you’re faking fever.”

  The lump under the blankets shifted, and one eye appeared again, glaring at me with renewed hostility.

  “I hate you,” she muttered.

  “I know. Love you too,” I said cheerfully. “Nine minutes now.”

  I heard her groan as I walked away, followed by the sound of blankets being violently thrown aside and feet hitting the floor with the enthusiasm of someone facing an incursion.

  I dropped Comma off at her school with the usual protest about Friday tests being cruel and unusual punishment, and watched her disappear into the morning crowd with her backpack bouncing against her shoulders.

  [Paid: ￠1]

  The ride to my school was quick as always, and the station here wasn’t a rough mining tunnel like the ones that led deeper into the earth where we actually worked, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either.

  Schwarzstahl Mobility had built the transit infrastructure years ago, and their logo was stamped on everything from the platform tiles to the handrails, small enough to be unobtrusive but present enough that you never forgot who owned the pipes you traveled through.

  [Paid: ￠2]

  I joined the flow of students moving toward the main building, our footsteps echoing off polished concrete that had been cleaned recently enough to still smell faintly of industrial solvent.

  The tunnel widened as we walked, transforming from a pure transit corridor into something that wanted very badly to be called an educational space. Corporate sponsorship plaques lined the walls at regular intervals, each one featuring a different Fortune 15 or Fortune 500 company proclaiming their commitment to “investing in tomorrow’s workforce” with varying degrees of sincerity.

  The surrounding students moved fast; we had done this walk so many times it had become muscle memory, and I realized with something approaching embarrassment that I’d spent months thinking of them as... lesser.

  Kids who couldn’t cut it at prep school, who’d settled for mining work because they didn’t have a system to carry them forward.

  Except that wasn’t true at all, was it?

  Two-thirds of humanity didn’t have systems, so this was normal. This was what most people did, what most people chose, and that Traninum South High offered better pay than standard education meant everyone here had actively decided that risking bug bites and tunnel collapses was worth the extra credits.

  I wondered how many opportunities I’d missed because I’d been too busy feeling superior to actually pay attention to the people here.

  If people said corpos were present in the city, it was kind of insane here.

  The ceiling lifted higher, fitted with recessed lighting that cast everything in “school shade of white” that was supposed to promote “alertness and learning”, according to posters Seorin Dynamics planted all around the hallways.

  Serrano Group had sponsored the school’s communication infrastructure, which meant their logo appeared on every holoband sync station and network access point.

  Rosenfeld Holdings had their name on the financial literacy posters encouraging students to “invest in your future” by opening youth savings accounts with competitive interest rates that definitely weren’t designed to extract maximum profit from teenagers who didn’t understand compound interest yet.

  I turned toward the cafeteria automatically, following a routine I’d established months ago.

  Long tables were arranged in neat rows, and a serving area along the far wall. Most of the seats were already occupied by small clusters of students, some reviewing notes on their holobands, others just talking and laughing with each other.

  I headed straight for the Jeup Synth Dispenser?, a sleek chrome machine that dominated one corner of the serving area like a monument to efficient nutrition. The company had sponsored the school’s meal program years ago, gloriously giving us unlimited access to their Jeup Protein-Rich Paste? for any student who wanted it.

  I was usually that student. I’d eaten this stuff every school day for months now, and honestly? It wasn’t terrible. Tasted faintly bitter and sweet, faintly savory, designed to be “pleasant enough to finish eating.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  How many stars would it get from Cecilia?

  I found an empty table near the back and sat down, spooning the paste mechanically while watching the cafeteria fill up around me.

  After the Thai noodles yesterday, the Jeup paste tasted exactly like what it was… optimized nutrition. But it was free, it was filling, yummy, and I didn’t have to think about it.

  The energy was casual and relaxed. Most people weren’t worried about today’s quiz. Mining Safety Protocols was one of those classes where if you’d actually been working in the mines, you already knew most of the answers from lived experience. The kids who showed up, who did the work, who paid attention to their surroundings... they’d be fine.

  I was halfway through my bowl when someone stopped next to my table.

  “Hi Dash.”

  I looked up to find Cindy standing there, her tray balanced in one hand and with an expression as if she’d already decided this interaction was going to be pleasant regardless of how I responded.

  “Hi Cindy,” I said, which felt inadequate but was apparently all my brain could produce on short notice.

  She waited, clearly expecting more, and when I didn’t continue, she tilted her head slightly. “Still won’t talk to me?”

  The question hit harder than it should have, carrying weight from months of similar attempts that I’d brushed off or ignored because I’d been too busy thinking I was above casual conversation with people who didn’t have Systems. Cindy had tried, actually tried multiple times, to include me in her group, to introduce me around, to treat me like a normal student instead of some prep school reject slumming it with the masses.

  And I’d been a complete jerk about it.

  “I...” I set my spoon down, meeting her eyes properly. “I’m sorry.”

  She blinked, clearly not expecting that. “About?”

  “...not talking,” I said, which sounded stupid but was accurate. “Being... dismissive. You tried to be nice, and I was an ass about it.”

  Her face changed, surprise giving way to something that looked almost pleased. She set her tray down on my table and slid into the seat across from me without asking permission, which somehow felt exactly right. “Really?” She said, grinning now. “Dash Kallum is actually apologizing? Should I record this for proof?”

  “Recently I realized I may be leaving this school at the end of the year,” I said, ignoring her teasing because she’d earned it. “And I... I don’t know. I might actually miss this?”

  “To Creston?” She sighed, her grin fading slightly. “You told me that before. Your dream school, right? Where all the system users go?”

  “This time for sure,” I said, though the words felt less certain than they should have. “I got... circumstances changed. But yeah, probably transferring once I can prove I’m qualified. Until then I am forced to at least show up on Fridays, grades carry over and system stuff is only like a third of classes.”

  She nodded slowly, studying me. “So you’re finally realizing what you’re leaving behind?”

  “Something like that,” I admitted, taking another spoonful of paste to avoid having to elaborate.

  She smiled then, and I felt something in my chest unclench that I hadn’t realized was tight. “No problem, Dash. Seriously. I get it... you had your reasons, even if they were a kind of stupid reason.” She paused, considering. “Tell you what. Come with us today after the quiz, and I’ll show you how we actually do things in the mines. My group’s been running together for months now; we’ve got a system down. Might be useful if you’re planning to stick around a bit longer.”

  I stared at her, surprised by the casual forgiveness, the easy acceptance of my apology without demanding I grovel or explain myself further. “You’re serious?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” She picked up her own spoon, digging into her bowl of Jeup Protein-Rich Paste?. “You’re not actually a bad person, Dash. Just kind of oblivious sometimes. And hey, if you’re finally ready to stop being weird and isolated, might as well start today.”

  “I...” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said, grinning again. “Wait until you see how competitive we get about quota numbers. Rico’s been talking shit all week about beating his personal record.”

  We finished our breakfast together; the conversation shifting to easier topics like the quiz we were about to take and whether Professor would actually show up on time for once or keep us waiting like he had last Friday.

  Other students drifted past our table, a few of them doing double-takes when they saw Dash Kallum actually socializing, but Cindy ignored them completely, focused on explaining the exact route her group used through the eastern tunnels that apparently had better bug density than the southern approach I’d been using and also deeper.

  By the time we stood to head toward class, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in months at this school: like I actually belonged here.

  We walked together through the hallways, joining the flow of students moving toward the testing wing, and Cindy kept up a steady stream of commentary about which professors were easiest to distract during quizzes and which ones would mark you down for breathing wrong.

  The Mining Safety Protocols lecture hall was on the third floor, and we climbed together, our footsteps joining dozens of others, and when we reached the floor, Cindy led the way toward the correct door without hesitation.

  The room itself was massive, a proper tiered lecture hall with hundreds of seats arranged in ascending rows that gave everyone a clear view of the front.

  “Everyone,” Cindy announced as we reached her group, her tone carrying just enough authority that the conversation stopped. “This is Dash. He’s finally decided to stop being weird and join us for actual mine runs. Be nice.”

  A guy with dark hair and an easy smile extended his hand. “Rico. Heard you’re the one who always works solo?”

  “Used to be,” I said, shaking his hand. “Apparently I’m trying something new.”

  “Good timing,” another student said, a girl with flickering augmented eyes. “Veronica. We could use someone who knows the southern tunnels. Our usual route’s been overcrowded. Or maybe we could go deeper—”

  “No. We’re not going to the -20, Veri, we would die,” Cindy denied, and Veronica slumped in her seat as the test started.

  I pulled out my holoband as the professor dismissed us after the test, students flooding toward the exits with the relieved energy of people who’d just confirmed they knew what they were doing. The test had been exactly what Cindy predicted: straightforward questions about tunnel stability, emergency protocols, and bug behavior patterns.

  I navigated to my messages, finding Cecilia’s contact.

  [Me: Hey, need to reschedule our call. Found a group to run mines with today.]

  The reply came almost immediately.

  [Cecilia: A group? That’s good! You shouldn’t work alone, but I still don’t know why you are in the mines.]

  [Me: Story for another time?]

  [Cecilia: Agreed. I can’t later today, but we can do the sword review tomorrow like at 10pm. I wanted to observe your technique and show you some forms that might help.]

  [Me: Thanks for understanding.]

  [Cecilia: Perfect. Stay safe today. And don’t show off too much… you have a tendency.]

  I grinned at that as I followed the flow of students toward the locker rooms. The hallways were packed, everyone heading to change into their mining gear, grab their weapons, and prepare for actual work.

  I kept walking past the locker room entrance entirely, finding a spot against the wall where I could wait without blocking traffic.

  Before I left home, I checked the time on the rune, and there was no point taking the book with me, so I left it in a secret compartment in TABLO, hopefully I get home before comma snoops around. I would love to train more, or learn more runes… but the system had another idea.

  [You can unlock more runes in: 21 hours]

  Anyway, I had to wait because my gear was already on.

  Had been all morning. The yellow hoodie, the tactical pants, both soul-bound and with a sword ready on my hip. Technically, the MIRAGE system was powered down in standby mode, waiting. Not sure if that worked on bugs though.

  I also left the rifle at home because I wanted to practice my sword technique with Cecilia, but maybe Cindy’s group wasn’t such a bad option. I heard divers had plebeian teams helping them clear adds, similar to work I did with Erika the other day, so maybe I could help them in the future.

  As I was thinking about the future, students streamed past me into the locker rooms, and I leaned against the wall, watching the chaos of people gearing up for dangerous work.

  Ten minutes later, the first person from our group emerged.

  Cindy stepped through the doorway, and she looked completely different from the casual student I’d eaten breakfast with.

  Tactical rifle slung across her chest, the weapon well-maintained but clearly seen use. Magazines visible in her chest rig pockets. Her hair was pulled back tight, and her look focused.

  She spotted me, her eyes scanning my outfit, and her brows furrowed.

  “Dash?” She walked over, frowning. “Where’s your armor? And why do you still only have a sword?”

  I pushed off the wall, shrugging. “I left my weapons at home, sorry. And this outfit is better than any armor anyway.”

  She stared at me as if I’d just announced I was planning to fight bugs with harsh language and positive thinking.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nope.”

  “Dash.” Her tone carried that specific weight of someone trying very hard to be patient. “We’re going into active tunnels. With bugs. Actual dangerous bugs that bite and spray acid and occasionally explode.”

  “I know.”

  “And you’re wearing a hoodie.”

  “A very good hoodie I made myself,” I corrected. “Trust me, it is better than any armor.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but then looked back toward the locker room as if hoping someone else would appear and help her deal with this situation.

  Rico emerged next, and tank was the right description. The guy was massive, and his gear made him look even bigger. A shield strapped to his left arm, proper riot-grade equipment that could probably stop a charging lower levels bug. Shotgun in his right hand, the barrel short. Heavy armor plates across his chest and shoulders, sacrificing mobility for raw protection.

  He saw me, saw Cindy’s expression, and grinned. “What’s wrong? Dash forgot his gear?”

  “He says he doesn’t need it,” Cindy said in a flat voice.

  Rico’s grin widened. “Oh, this is gonna be good. You think you’re one of those system users who thinks they’re invincible?”

  “I’ve got a system,” I said. “But I trust more in good equipment.”

  “Uh-huh, sure you do.” He looked me up and down, clearly unconvinced. “Nice hoodie, though. Very tactical.”

  Veronica came out last, moving gracefully. Her augmented eyes flickered as she scanned the hallway, probably running some automatic threat assessment routine. A basic carbine hung from a strap across her chest; the weapon was civilian-grade but well-maintained. Scanner module clipped to her belt, its display dark but ready.

  Light armor, minimal plating, everything designed to let her move fast and see clearly. She took one look at me and laughed. “Seriously? You’re going in like that?”

  “He says the outfit is better than armor,” Cindy explained, her tone suggesting she was still in the not believing stage.

  Veronica’s augmented eyes focused on me, probably running some kind of analysis. “I mean, the fabric looks decent, but it’s still just fabric without proper plating.”

  “It has impact foam,” I offered.

  “Impact foam,” Rico repeated, shaking his head. “Man, you’re either crazy or you know something we don’t.”

  “It’s very strong, trust me.”

  Cindy sighed as if accepting an inevitable disaster. “Fine. Probably some rich Kallum thing. But if you get hurt because you decided to cosplay as a civilian, I’m telling Professor it was your idea.”

  “Deal.”

  “And you’re staying in the middle of the formation,” she continued, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Rico takes point with the shield. I’ve got a rear guard. Veronica scouts ahead. You stay between us where we can actually protect you when your ‘very good hoodie’ fails to stop a bug from eating your face.”

  “I should’ve brought guns then,” I protested, but she furrowed her brows, glaring at me like Comma when I pretended I didn’t promise her ice cream. So I coughed and continued sheepishly, “But... I will use my sword only when I’m safe, that seems reasonable.”

  “Of course it’s reasonable,” she muttered, checking her rifle one more time. “Someone has to be reasonable in this group.”

  Rico clapped me on the shoulder hard enough that I felt it even through the impact foam. “Don’t worry, new guy. We’ll keep you alive. Probably.”

  “Very reassuring,” I said.

  Veronica was still studying me with those augmented eyes. “You know, if you actually survive today, I want to know where you got that fabric.”

  “I know a guy,” I said, which was technically true if “a guy” meant “Kallum store.”

  “Cool. Don’t die before you can introduce me.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Cindy started toward the exit. “Come on. We’re burning time, and quota doesn’t fill itself.”

  We followed her out, joining the flow of students heading toward the mine entrances, and I caught Rico glancing at me with half amusement, half genuine curiosity.

  “So,” he said, “how long you been doing this solo thing?”

  “Few months,” I said.

  “And you’re still alive with just a sword and nice pants?”

  “I had guns and a sword.”

  He laughed, a deep sound that echoed off the corridor walls. “Alright, Dash. You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that. Let’s see if you’ve got the skills to back it up.”

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