When Cuhlun opened his eyes, he found himself sitting in a row of desks. Dozens of voices filled the air—human voices. It almost felt like he was back in the old world, before the apocalypse ever happened. Still, the tone of the voices was eerily uniform.
He wore a sort of uniform himself—not too elegant, not too plain. Just… ordinary.
The floor was patterned like wood, and the walls were painted green. It wasn't just him—there were many rows of desks, each with a student seated at it. At the front stood an older person, clearly the one leading the class.
He was back at school.
In the Memory Realm, perception of time and reality warped constantly. Sudden changes weren't strange—they were expected.
Cuhlun took a calm look around, then stood up and asked the teacher,"May I go to the bathroom?"
The teacher paused, then nodded silently.
Cuhlun's face didn't move a muscle. He'd seen this before—countless times, in fact.
He stepped into the hallway. It was the same as always.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with classroom doors every ten meters. No restrooms, no staircases.
He'd recreated this school in his mind many times, and it always turned out the same. Still, he liked to check the infinite corridor each time, just to make sure.
He walked slowly down the hall and stopped in front of another classroom door.
This time, he was ready to use his dreams and mind deliberately—and he didn't intend to hold back anymore.
Before, in the endless sea, he'd hesitated because he was searching for Mind Eater. But now, he was certain she was nowhere near. She'd drifted far away. So he could do the same.
Cuhlun slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out. It could've been anything. But this time, he chose carefully.
He used this ability often, especially inside the minds of intelligent beings. Usually, he'd pull out a stick, a sword, a few coins… something trivial.
This time, it was a phone.
He held it for a moment, then pulled it out of his line of sight. When it came back into view—it had turned into a revolver.
He kicked the door open, charged forward, and sprinted toward the window. He fired once—the glass shattered—and he dove through the rain of shards.
Behind him, screams filled the air. Through the window, he glimpsed a city outside—only for the image to flicker out like a blink.
Boom.
When he opened his eyes again, he was back inside the classroom. Everyone was staring at him. He was slumped across a few broken desks, the windows now boarded shut. The revolver was still in his hand.
The students' faces were blank—no eyes, no real expressions.
Cuhlun muttered, "As usual… didn't work this time either."
Then we'll do it the usual way.
The class began whispering among themselves.
Cuhlun stood, gripping his right arm and cracking it back into place with a faint pop. A small smile spread across his face as he raised the revolver, holding it at eye level.
He aimed at one of the students.
His pitch-black eyes gleamed, colder than ever.
The student he pointed at—clearly the "nerdy" type, wearing glasses and surrounded by stacks of books—froze in panic.
"I didn't do anything! Please don't shoot!" he shouted, trembling.
Cuhlun replied evenly, "Why would I shoot you? That'd be pointless."
Then he tilted the gun slightly upward and fired. The bullet whizzed just above the boy's head.
"I'm just pointing it at you so you'll take me seriously. Now—take me to the principal's office."
The boy's legs shook uncontrollably, barely able to hold him up. Still, fear gave him strength enough to move.
Cuhlun stepped closer, pressing the revolver against his temple and whispering, "Move. There are a lot of people in this class. If you won't do what I say, I'll find someone who will."
He chuckled under his breath—the kind of sound that made him seem completely unhinged. It always worked better than being polite. Last time, when he'd asked nicely, the student had taken him somewhere else entirely.
He didn't want that again.
The nerdy student nodded and shuffled out of the room.
This time, there were no endless corridors. It was as if the boy had rewritten the entire system of the world. Maybe the simulation had heard Cuhlun's voice—or maybe, as an NPC, the student held some hidden authority here.
Either way, the hallways were finite now. They began climbing a staircase.
As they walked, Cuhlun couldn't help but question himself. Was the school really the best choice?
Probably, yes.
He'd been here many times. At first, he'd imagined grander places—the city square, the wizard tower, a military camp, a monster army, a space station, even Chernobyl. He'd tried summoning legendary beings too: a level-9 spellcaster, a sky-piercing swordmaster, a regressor…
None of it had worked out.
Since then, he'd learned: the school was his safest bet.
Everywhere else demanded negotiation, motivation, or allegiance. The school didn't.
On the surface, it looked like any ordinary setting—powerless, mundane. But here, in the Memory Realm, rules worked differently.
In Cuhlun's memories, school was the ultimate authority. Its rules were absolute.
So, what if he could change those rules?
What if he could make them more… mystical?
In this fractured world where boundaries blurred, the school's laws would spread everywhere, unquestioned, obeyed by all.
It sounded perfect—except for one issue. Only the principal could rewrite the rules.
That, of course, was why Cuhlun always chose the school.
The principal wasn't a hero, nor a villain—just a side character. A replaceable figure. And any main character could replace a side character.
When they reached the principal's office, Cuhlun slipped his revolver back into his pocket and spoke calmly, his tone now lighter—almost cheerful.
"Thank you for bringing me to my office, dear student. I won't forget your help."
The student turned, smiling brightly."Of course, Principal! You're new here—it's normal to forget where your office is."
As if he hadn't just been threatened at gunpoint. Time here was as warped as space.
Cuhlun smirked. His voice sounded deeper now, his clothes sharper. He stepped forward, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a key.
Of course he had one—it was his office, after all.
He unlocked the door, walked inside, and sat at his desk. A small nameplate read:
CUHLUN— Boss
Before him lay a sheet of paper. He flipped it over and saw faint lines and scribbles—barely the start of something new.
At the top, one word stood out:
Rules.
Cuhlun rolled up his sleeves and picked up his pen.