Morning arrived gently, as if the academy itself understood that something fragile was being rearranged.
Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Ra Yellow dormitory with its usual warmth, spilling across stone floors worn smooth by years of students pacing, arguing, studying, and pretending not to be nervous about their futures. The air smelled faintly of detergent and citrus polish: clean, but lived in. Comfortable in a way that could not be engineered, only accumulated.
Julian Ashford stood in the center of his room with his new jacket draped over the back of a chair, sleeves rolled up, a half-packed box at his feet.
It was strange how little there actually was.
Not because he lived sparsely, he didn't, but because so much of what mattered to him was not the kind of thing you put in boxes. Books he could replace. Clothes he could fold. Duel notes he had already condensed into a single worn binder. But the rest… the habits, the routines, the sense of ownership over the quiet creak of the floorboard near the window, the way the light hit the wall at exactly this hour, those things did not come with handles.
He closed the last box carefully, pressing the flaps down as if the cardboard might protest.
That was when the knock came. A familiar pattern. Not sharp, almost gentle. Julian didn't call out. He already knew. The door opened a second later, and Syrus Truesdale stepped in with Bastion Misawa right behind him.
Syrus froze just inside the threshold.
For a moment, he only stood there, eyes flicking across the room as if he were seeing it for the first time, really seeing it. The desk by the window. The shelf stacked with unevenly organized books. The chair that never quite sat straight no matter how many times Julian adjusted it. The bed, neatly made, no longer with the rushed precision of someone expecting to collapse into it later, but with the finality of someone who knew they wouldn't.
"Oh." Syrus said quietly.
It wasn't awe, it was weight.
Julian turned, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Hey, Sy. You're up early."
Syrus nodded a little too fast. "I… I didn't really sleep."
Bastion adjusted his glasses, scanning the room with the same analytical calm he applied to duel fields. "That tracks statistically." he said. "Major transitions often disrupt circadian rhythm. Especially when tied to identity reinforcement."
Julian snorted softly and smiled with the man's predictable nature. "You don't say."
Syrus glanced between them, then back at the room. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure what to do with themselves. "Professor Satyr said…" He hesitated. Swallowed. "He said this room was going to be mine."
Julian watched the words land.
Not with sadness or even with regret. Something quieter, more subtle.
"That's right." he said. "Figured it made sense. No point leaving it empty when someone could use it."
Syrus took a step in, then another. Each movement was careful, like he was afraid the floor might reject him. Like he still thought he was invading what was considered Julian's space.
"It's bigger than the one I had to share with Jaden and Chumley!" he murmured. "And there's a… there's a sink."
"A half-bath." Julian corrected, smiling warmly at the other boy's excitement.. "No shower. Don't get too excited."
Syrus laughed weakly, then stopped, hand drifting to the edge of the desk. He ran his fingers along the surface like he was confirming it was real.
Bastion folded his arms. "Functionally, it's efficient. Ra has been over capacity for years. Promoting Syrus and reallocating rooms minimizes disruption."
Julian shot him a look, ironically questioning. "Practiced that speech in the mirror much?"
"Twice." Bastion replied. "Once for administration. Once for myself."
Syrus smiled at that, small but genuine. Julian sweatdropped, never knowing if Bastion's statement was a playful gist or a sad and obsessive reality.
Julian stepped aside, gesturing loosely. "It's yours. You can rearrange. Paint if you want. Don't let anyone tell you Ra doesn't allow personality."
Syrus nodded again, then paused. His expression shifted: not fear, not excitement, but something softer.
"…Are you sure?" he asked.
Julian met his eyes. His tone did not carry reassurance as much as simple certainty.
"Yes. It's your room." Julian stated without a second thought. "It never crossed my mind who was the previous owner of this space, so neither should you. I'll have my room at the blue dorm, as you have this one now. Make it yours, life goes on."
That seemed to do it. Syrus's shoulders loosened, just a fraction, like a knot finally giving way. He took another step into the room, this one less tentative than the last.
"Okay…" he said. "Okay. That's nice."
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.
"Yo… Where do you want this one? Downstairs?"
Jaden Yuki appeared in the doorway carrying a box that was definitely too large for him to be lifting alone, his jacket half-zipped and his hair already sticking up in three new directions.
Julian blinked, recognizing the package he left in the corridor outside the room. "Those are my books."
"Yeah!" Jaden said cheerfully. "Bastion said you'd try to carry them yourself and throw out your back. So I volunteered."
"You volunteered." Bastion echoed dryly. "After I pointed out that if Julian injured himself during relocation, it would statistically increase the chance of Crowler inserting himself into the situation as he's now one of his blue students."
Jaden grimaced. "Yeah. Nobody wants that."
Syrus laughed again, this time without stopping himself.
Jaden set the box down with a thud and straightened, looking at the room properly in a different manner for the first time, and grinning when he noticed Syrus standing in the room. "Whoa. This is yours now?"
Syrus nodded, still a little shy. "I guess so."
"That's awesome!" Jaden said immediately. "Man, Ra rooms really are nicer. You've got a sink and everything. Luxury."
Syrus flushed. "I didn't ask for it."
Jaden waved that away. "Doesn't matter. You earned it."
The words landed gently. They carried no pressure, just simple and warm acknowledgment in the most Jaden of ways.
Julian watched Syrus absorb that, watched the way his posture shifted: not taller, not prouder, just… steadier. It was incredible how the same words from the red boy's mouth could carry so much more warmth, so much more… meaning.
"Hey." Jaden added, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh. Guess this means it's just me and Chumley down in Slifer again."
There was no bitterness in his voice, but there was awareness.
Julian turned toward him. "You know you're always welcome to visit, right."
Jaden smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes this time. "Yeah. I know. Just gotta get permission everytime I want to spend time with another one of my friends, right?"
The word permission hung there. Thin, ironic.
Julian didn't answer immediately. Because there was no argument that would make it untrue.
Bastion broke the silence. "Statistically speaking, Jaden, your probability of promotion to Ra is nontrivial. Your performance metrics are already above threshold."
Jaden made a face. "Yeah, yeah. I know. It's just… red looks good on me."
Julian smiled faintly. "So did the training wheels. So much for the world champion's legacy."
Jaden snorted. "Cold."
Syrus looked between them, uncertain. "You could come to Ra. Surely the test would be easy for you." he offered quietly. "Then we could all still hang out. Study, play, duel."
Jaden's grin returned, softer this time, his mind probably on a previous conversation with Julian on this very theme. "Maybe. We'll see."
The moment passed, not unresolved, but postponed.
Julian checked his watch. Right on cue, there was a polite knock at the door. This one crisp. Professional.
Two men stood outside in Obelisk Blue faculty uniforms trimmed with silver, their posture immaculate. One held a digital tablet. The other gestured smoothly toward the hallway.
"Julian Ashford." the first said. "We're here to assist with your relocation."
Assist. Not help, not supervise. Assist. Like he was the one in command. Julian stepped aside automatically.
They moved with quiet efficiency and professionalism. Lifting boxes, cataloguing items, scanning tags that Julian hadn't even noticed had been placed earlier. Not one of them asked him where anything went. They already knew.
Syrus watched, wide-eyed.
"They're… taking everything." he whispered.
Julian shrugged. "Perks of the snotty elite."
Bastion observed silently, then adjusted his glasses. "The Obelisk dormitory employs a contracted logistics service. It reduces friction, especially useful during transitions."
Jaden frowned. "Man. When I moved into Slifer, I had to carry my own stuff up a hill."
"They probably told you that the hill builds character." Julian said lightly, and they all laughed.
The last box disappeared down the hallway. The room looked different now. Not exactly empty, but vacated, similar to almost a month ago when he arrived at the island.
Julian took one last look around, then reached into his pocket and placed a small keycard on the desk.
"For the storage locker." he said. "I never used it."
Syrus stared at it like it was something sacred.
"…Thank you."
Julian nodded once, placing one hand at the boy's shoulder. That was all.
They walked together to the dormitory entrance, trading meaningless and easy conversations.
The Ra Yellow doors stood open, sunlight spilling out onto the steps. Students passed by, some glancing over, some pretending not to.
Julian paused at the threshold.
Not because he hesitated. Because he understood the moment.
This wasn't simply leaving, it was crossing. Behind him: warmth, familiarity, friendship, friction, laughter that didn't care who was watching. Ahead: space, silence, privilege, and eyes that would never stop measuring.
The Obelisk transport waited at the curb: sleek, quiet, impersonal. Julian turned back one last time.
Syrus stood just inside the doorway, hands clasped in front of him, Bastion beside him, Jaden leaning against the railing with a grin that tried very hard to pretend nothing had changed.
Julian raised a hand. Not goodbye, but a see you soon that knew that things would be different from now on.
Syrus lifted his own hand in return. And the doors closed behind Julian with a soft, final sound. With that, the Ra Yellow dormitory, warm, imperfect and alive, continued on without him.
Julian didn't leave alone.
He'd stepped into the corridor with the Obelisk staff moving ahead of him: smooth, practiced, already halfway treating him like a logistical item on a schedule, but the moment the Ra dorm doors shut behind his back, the air shifted.
Not colder. Not literally. Just… a different kind of pressure he was already familiar with.
Ra had always sounded like life. Doors opening, voices overlapping, laughter that didn't ask permission. Even the arguments felt honest. Here, in the open stretch of campus between dorms, the academy's quiet returned like a held breath. The walkway stones were pale and immaculate. The hedges were trimmed so precisely they looked artificial. Even the fountains seemed to run at the exact same rhythm every day.
Julian kept his pace even, hands in his pockets, face neutral. And then the first small tug of presence brushed the edge of his senses. A whisper of movement, a flutter of something light.
He didn't turn his head immediately. He didn't need to.
"Are we really going?" A tiny voice asked, as if the question itself had to be whispered to avoid offending the campus.
Julian's eyes slid sideways.
They were there, half-seen, half-felt. Small silhouettes in the periphery of the world, where the human eye was trained not to look. A handful of the Reject Well children, keeping pace with him in the margins like they belonged to his shadow.
Petit Angel drifted closest, wings beating in tiny, anxious bursts. There was a smear of soot on one cheek like a fingerprint. The child looked excited and wary at the same time, as if joy and fear were two colors painted onto the same face.
Behind Petit Angel, another small spirit: rounder, with a wobbling gait and big curious eyes, hopped along the line of hedges. Watapon glancing up at the Obelisk transport with open fascination.
Further back, one of the older ones (Skull Servant), older by spirit standards, meaning not wiser, just sharper, moved with arms folded tight, chin tilted up. That one didn't look at the transport at all. It looked at the path ahead like it was already judging it.
Julian didn't speak at first. Not because he didn't want to, because he had learned, painfully, that when you acknowledged them too publicly, things got complicated. People noticed the pauses. The small turns of attention. The way a boy's gaze lingered on empty air.
So he answered without moving his lips much, voice low enough that it could have been directed to himself.
"We're going." he murmured. "Yes."
Petit Angel brightened like a candle catching flame. "It's really ours now?"
Julian exhaled faintly, amused despite himself. "It's mine on paper. It's ours in practice."
The older child, arms still folded, snorted quietly. "Paper doesn't mean warmth."
Julian's gaze stayed forward. "Neither does luxury. But we'll deal with it."
That earned a small, grudging silence.
They crossed the campus plaza at the edge of lunch-hour traffic. Students moved between shops, stalls, and the cafeteria with the restless energy of people who had too many opinions and too little authority. A few heads turned at the sight of Obelisk staff walking with him. Those turns weren't surprised, not anymore: they were calculating. Measuring him against whatever story was currently fashionable.
"Is that him?"
"That's Ashford."
"Obelisk already…"
"Yeah, but did you hear…"
Julian let the words slide off him. He'd already paid the price of being noticed. He wasn't going to keep paying interest at each single little thing. His sanity would not last long otherwise.
The Obelisk transport vehicle glided ahead toward the east side of campus, away from the chatter and the storefronts. It didn't take the common paths. It took the clean ones, probably made for infrastructural reasons, like renovations or, in his case, moving. Wide, slightly elevated walkways lined with manicured trees that never dropped a leaf out of season.
As the path rose, the mansion came into view.
Obelisk Blue wasn't a dormitory in the way Slifer was a dormitory. It wasn't even like Ra, despite Ra's better architecture and the constant attempt to make the yellow students feel like they were being "prepared." Obelisk was a statement.
A limestone estate with clean blue banners hanging from tall windows. A front courtyard that looked like it had been designed for ceremonies. Stone steps wide enough to walk five abreast without brushing shoulders. It was beautiful in the way palaces were beautiful: built to impress, built to intimidate, built so that no one forgot who it belonged to.
Even the air smelled different, a faint perfume from specific plants on a garden Julian couldn't see, and something sharp and antiseptic beneath it, like polished marble.
The spirits reacted before Julian did. The excited ones drifted forward, whispering with delight.
"So big…"
"Look at the windows!"
"It's shiny!"
"Can we run inside?"
"Can we, can we?"
The more experienced children didn't move.They stayed at Julian's side, gaze narrowed.
"It's too quiet." one said.
Julian finally let himself glance down. "Quiet isn't evil."
"It's not nice either. Or safe." the child replied.
For a moment, Julian felt the temptation to dismiss it. To reassure, rationalize. But he'd learned that the Well children were rarely wrong in regards to the atmosphere. They were sensitive in a way humans weren't, because they didn't have the luxury of ignoring what a place felt like. So he didn't argue.
He only said. "Then we make it safe."
Petit Angel floated closer again, peering up at him. "Can you do that?"
Julian's answer came without hesitation. "I don't know if we can, but we will."
The transport stopped at the front steps, and the staff stepped aside like attendants at a court. Julian walked up the stone staircase alone, the spirits trailing in the invisible slipstream behind him. He could feel them at his back, pressing close to his presence the way children pressed close to a guardian when they entered somewhere unfamiliar.
At the doors, a man in academy staff attire waited: older than the Obelisk students, younger than the Chancellor, and with the kind of polite smile that never revealed a single real emotion.
"Julian Ashford." the man said, tone precise. "Congratulations on your promotion."
Julian gave a small nod. "Thank you."
The staff member held out a DuelPad and scanned Julian's ID. The device chimed softly.
"Your relocation has been authorized and processed. Your quarters have been prepared. As you are aware, Obelisk Blue is both a residence and a representation. We expect…" he paused as if choosing a word that sounded kind rather than sharp, "…standards."
Julian's expression didn't change. "Of course."
The man gestured toward the entrance. The doors opened silently.
Inside, the Obelisk dormitory did what it was built to do: it swallowed sound.
The entry hall was massive, polished stone underfoot and high ceilings above. Soft light poured from chandeliers that looked expensive enough to be museum pieces. A grand staircase curved upward like a stage set. On either side, corridors led deeper into the mansion, each one lined with artwork: some of it abstract, some of it portraits of past "Kings" and "Queens" of the academy, all of it framed to remind you that history and power lived here.
Julian stepped inside and felt something in him tighten.
Not fear, but an uncomfortable sense of awareness. This place did not feel like people lived in it. It felt like people performed in it.
The spirits, again, reacted immediately.
The excited ones drifted to the edges, peering at paintings, touching nothing. Their movements were careful now, as if they sensed some invisible boundary.
The older child stayed glued to Julian's shoulder, gaze darting.
"It's like a museum." it whispered.
Julian murmured back, almost amused. "That's one way to put it."
The staff member continued speaking, voice echoing lightly off the stone.
"Perks include access to the Blue library wing, private study rooms, training facilities restricted to Obelisk candidates and members, and the dining hall services. Meals are prepared by staff; requests can be submitted. The cinema hall is available upon booking. The game hall likewise, amongst dozen of other things you may find on your DuelPad's rulebook app."
Julian let the words wash over him. Private chefs. Private study rooms. Restricted training facilities. A better life, at least on paper.
But he could already feel the cost of it, not the obvious one, not money or effort, but the subtle social gravity that came with privilege. Everything here required permission. Booking. Submission. Schedules.
Even leisure had rules.
"And of course…" the man added, tone smoothing itself into something almost friendly. "Security is tighter. Obelisk is not an open-access dormitory. Students from lower dorms require an escort and formal permission to enter. The same applies in reverse, you may visit other dormitories, but you will need authorization to remain for extended periods."
There it was. The invisible fence.
Julian's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Understood."
He didn't miss how the staff member said lower dorms without thinking. As if it were a natural category, like weather or height.
A small spirit tugged at Julian's sleeve. Petit Angel, its eyes huge.
"Does that mean… they can't come?" it whispered.
Julian didn't answer aloud. He only lowered his gaze a fraction.
"It means…" he said softly, "We have to plan. Or go to them."
The staff member led him down a corridor lined with plush seating and quiet alcoves meant for conversation. Julian could imagine Obelisk students sitting here with practiced laughter, making alliances that sounded like friendship until you listened closely enough.
At the far end, they stopped before a door with a brass plaque. The staff member slid a keycard, and the lock clicked.
"This will be your room." he said.
The door opened.
Julian stepped in and, despite himself, felt his breath catch. Not because it was gaudy. It wasn't.
It was tasteful, the way expensive things tended to be. His gaze lingered first, inevitably, on the bed.
Not a dorm bed. Not even a good dorm bed. A king-size structure that looked less like furniture and more like a ceremonial installation. The mattress alone was thick enough to make him wonder if it had been engineered rather than manufactured. The sheets caught the light with a subtle sheen, layered in a way that suggested an absurd thread count. 'A billion threads', his tired brain supplied, fully aware of the exaggeration and unconcerned with correcting it.
There were pillows. He knew that intellectually. Somewhere beneath the elaborate architecture of folded fabric, accent cushions, and precisely arranged covers, pillows existed. He simply couldn't see them. Whoever had made the bed had done so with the reverence of someone preparing an altar rather than a place to sleep.
Julian stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
He had no doubt it would be the most comfortable thing he had ever slept on.
That, somehow, only made it feel more unreal. But the bed was only the beginning.
Julian's eyes drifted downward, then outward, and only then did the rest of the room begin to register as a coherent space rather than an accumulation of expensive impressions. The floor beneath his feet was polished hardwood, not the utilitarian kind used in hallways or administrative offices, but wide planks of noble wood, each one subtly different in tone, grain, and age. It gave off a faint, clean scent, something between cedar and resin, that suggested it had been treated recently, perhaps even that morning.
It didn't creak when he shifted his weight. It didn't complain. It simply accepted him, as if it had always expected someone to stand there.
The room was large. Not theatrically so, not a ballroom pretending to be a bedroom, but spacious in a way that made movement feel unhurried. There was room to walk without navigating around furniture, room to pause without blocking anything, room to exist without constantly being aware of the walls.
To one side, a sitting area had been arranged with quiet intent. A deep sofa upholstered in dark blue fabric: Obelisk blue, though mercifully not screaming it, rested against the far wall. It looked firm enough to maintain posture but soft enough to forgive exhaustion. In front of it sat a low table of dark wood and glass, its surface perfectly clear except for a small tray holding a carafe of water and three crystal glasses.
Julian approached it, almost cautiously, and ran two fingers along the edge of the table.
No dust. No residue. Not even the faint trace of a fingerprint.
Opposite the sofa, mounted discreetly into the wall, was a large flat display panel. Not ostentatious, not framed like a trophy, just there, seamlessly integrated. A control panel beside it hinted at access to the academy's internal media library, recorded duels, lectures, and… other, less academic forms of entertainment. There was probably some kind of hidden television on the walls or projector somewhere he could not see. A cinema room existed elsewhere in the dorm, he knew, but this made it clear that privacy had not been sacrificed in the name of communal luxury.
Near the window, tall, arched, and overlooking a manicured section of the campus Julian had never had access to before, stood a desk.
It wasn't a student desk. It was a workstation. Something you would expect from a high-paid lawyer, not from a school dorm.
The surface was broad enough to comfortably support stacks of books, open binders, a Duel Disk laid flat for maintenance, and still have space left over. Drawers were built flush into the sides, their handles subtle enough to disappear unless you were looking for them. The chair that accompanied it was adjustable in ways Julian immediately recognized as ergonomic rather than decorative, but still being luxurious, beautiful and posh in all of the ways possible. He pulled it back slightly. The motion was smooth. Silent.
On the right side of the desk, recessed into the wall, was a narrow shelf system already stocked with blank notebooks, official academy stationery, and several sealed folders marked with his name. Administrative paperwork, no doubt. Schedules. Privileges. Rules written politely enough to feel optional until they weren't.
Below that, nearly invisible unless you knew what to look for, was a small biometric safe.
Julian paused. The door was flush with the wall paneling, its outline barely perceptible. A subtle scanner sat where his palm would naturally rest if he leaned forward. The message was unambiguous: you are expected to have things worth securing.
Cards. Rare ones. Personal documents. Maybe things that didn't exist yet but inevitably would.
He withdrew his hand without touching it.
And then there was the bathroom. Calling it a bathroom felt almost dishonest.
A short, carpeted passage led to a wide doorway, and beyond it, the space opened into something that belonged more to a private hotel suite than a student dormitory. The floor shifted from wood to pale stone, pleasantly cool beneath his shoes. The lighting here was softer, warmer, indirect… designed to eliminate harsh shadows.
To the left, a long counter of polished stone supported two sinks. Two. Each with its own mirror, the glass treated to prevent fogging and framed by subtle lighting that made even the idea of exhaustion seem negotiable. The faucets were minimalist, touch-sensitive, responding instantly when Julian waved his hand experimentally beneath one.
Water flowed at exactly the right temperature. To the right, behind a frosted glass partition, was the shower.
Not a stall. A space.
Towels, thick and heavy, folded with precision, were stacked within arm's reach. In the shower itself, multiple heads were mounted at different heights, along with a rainfall fixture above. Controls on the wall offered settings Julian didn't immediately recognize: pressure variations, directional flows, even timed sequences. Built-in shelves held neatly arranged bottles, unbranded but clearly high-end, their labels understated to the point of anonymity.
And only then did Julian notice what occupied the far end of the room.
Set into a slightly lowered section of the floor, just enough to demarcate it as its own space without turning it into a spectacle, was the bath. Calling it a bathtub felt also insufficient, like most things in this dorm.
It was wide. Not long in the traditional sense, but broad, oval in shape, carved from the same pale stone as the floor itself. The edges were smooth, rounded in a way that suggested the stone had been worked until it forgot it had ever been sharp. It sat partially recessed, as if the room had been built around it rather than the other way around.
Controls were embedded into the stone lip: discreet touch panels that lit up softly when Julian's fingers hovered near them. Icons bloomed into view: temperature regulation, depth markers, jet configuration. More than one set. Julian's brows knit together slightly.
Jets were placed not just along the backrest, but around the sides. Lower, higher. Some clearly meant for the spine, others for shoulders, legs… and enough space between them that the implication became difficult to ignore.
This wasn't designed for efficiency. It was designed for leisure. For staying… and for not being alone.
Julian straightened slowly, eyes flicking back to the rest of the room: the double sinks, the king-sized bed layered like a ceremonial altar, the sheer amount of space between furniture.
"…Subtle." he muttered jokingly under his breath.
There was no embarrassment in the thought, just a faint, incredulous edge. The administration wasn't telling anyone to bring guests. They didn't need to. They had simply created an environment where the assumption was baked into the architecture.
Privacy. Comfort. Discretion.
And the quiet understanding that Obelisk students were expected to live like adults, with all the unspoken permissions that came with that status.
Julian exhaled and shook his head once, half amused, half wary.
"Guess they don't really bother pretending this is still a school dorm." he muttered to the empty room.
The bath remained still, pristine, untouched. Like everything else here, it wasn't demanding to be used, it was waiting. And Julian couldn't quite tell whether that was generosity or expectation.
There was no sign that anyone had ever used this room and yet, it didn't feel sterile. It felt… prepared.
Behind him, a soft cough.
Julian turned to find one of the Obelisk dorm staff standing just inside the bedroom, posture respectful but unassuming. The man wore the academy's formal service uniform, expression neutral in the way of someone accustomed to discretion.
"Just to clarify, Mr. Ashford." the staff member said politely, as if explaining something self-evident. "You are not expected to personally maintain the room."
Julian blinked once.
"I… honestly wasn't thinking about that." he admitted.
The man allowed himself the faintest smile.
"Of course. Obelisk rooms are serviced daily. Cleaning, linen replacement, waste disposal, dusting, restocking of amenities. Bed arrangement as well." He hesitated, glancing briefly toward the bed. "Especially the bed."
Julian exhaled, a short sound of disbelief escaping him before he could stop it.
"If you require privacy at any point…" the staff member continued, his words bringing again the thought of assumed company he had before "You may toggle service suspension via the panel near the door, it shows the planned time for the cleaning crew to go through your area. They stay for about an hour daily. Otherwise, the assumption is that your time is better spent elsewhere."
Studying. Training. Winning. The unspoken words lingered in the air. They did everything for the elite students so they could focus solely on their prospects to be future professionals on a career that made millions monthly for those on the top.
Julian nodded slowly. "Right."
The staff member inclined his head and withdrew without another sound, the door closing behind him with a soft, cushioned finality.
Julian stood alone again in silence. In comfort so absolute it bordered on oppressive.
Everything here had been designed to remove friction. To eliminate inconvenience. To ensure that nothing mundane ever demanded attention. The room did not ask him to adapt to it, it adapted to him.
And that, he realized, was the point.
He turned in a slow circle, taking it all in once more.
"So this is home now…" he murmured, not quite convinced.
Somewhere at the edge of his awareness, the spirits that followed him finally entered the area, too excited before to go through the room itself..
The room was perfect. And perfection, Julian had learned, always came with expectations.
The Well children drifted into the area behind him like smoke slipping through cracks.
The excited ones lit up immediately.
"So much space!"
"Look! Look at that bed!"
"Can we hide under it?"
"There's a mirror bigger than me!"
Petit Angel floated toward the couch, then hesitated. Hand hovering above the fabric without touching.
Skull Servant walked to the center of the room and looked around slowly. Then, very quietly, it said. "It's still cold."
Julian closed the door behind them with a soft click. The sound was small in a room like this.
The quiet returned instantly.
Julian set his hand against the door, grounding himself for a second. Then he turned and crouched down, not because the spirits needed it, but because he did. Because lowering himself made the moment feel less like a coronation and more like a conversation.
"Listen to me." he said softly, gaze sweeping over the small faces and shifting forms. "This is not a museum. This is not a cage. This is a room, our room, no matter how fancy it is."
The older child tilted its head skeptically.
Julian continued anyway. "And I don't care how many banners they hang outside, or how polished the floors are. If you live with me, you belong here. All of you."
Petit Angel's eyes shimmered. "Even if it's… fancy like that?"
"Especially if it's fancy." Julian said, and there was something almost stubborn in his voice now. "We'll show them that fancy doesn't get to mean empty."
The spirits hovered, listening.
Julian stood and walked to the desk. He pulled the chair back and sat down like he'd done it a thousand times, like this was his space already.
Then he tapped the wood lightly with two fingers.
"Rule one." he said. "This room is safe."
He tapped again. "Rule two: if anything or anyone makes you feel like you don't belong, you tell me. We'll deal with it."
He tapped a third time. "Rule three: we make our own warmth."
There was a moment of silence. Then Baby Dragon, one of the smaller spirits, with a braver face now, fluttered forward and plopped onto the couch with a decisive bounce.
"It's soft!" it announced, happily.
That broke the tension. The others followed, drifting closer, exploring more freely. Petit Angel finally touched the couch fabric, then smiled.
Skull Servant stayed still a moment longer. Then, reluctantly, it took a slow step toward the bookshelf.
"It's still too quiet." it muttered.
Julian's mouth curved faintly. "Then we'll be loud enough for it."
He meant it. Even as some part of him appreciated the quiet and cautious nature of the place, he was already aware of how this dormitory worked, knowing that Obelisk didn't like noise unless it was for actions and company they approved. Julian ignored that voice, at least for now.
He leaned back in the chair, letting the room settle around him. A new color, a new set of rules. A new kind of danger.
And a handful of spirits drifting through the luxury like children in a palace they didn't trust yet, waiting to see whether their guardian could turn marble into home.
Julian watched them, steadying his breath.
He had crossed the threshold. Now came the harder part: staying himself on the other side.
And, from the excited murmurs to the worried comments, everyone started to make the room theirs, when a known sudden shift in the air happened. It was subtle, too subtle for most people to notice. A change in pressure rather than sound. The sort of thing you only caught if you were used to sharing your space with something that didn't quite belong to it.
Nightmare-Eyes had finished his circuit.
The guardian manifested near the far wall, his presence coalescing out of the ambient shadows rather than tearing through them. No dramatic entrance, no theatrical flare. Just the sense that something ancient and watchful had decided it was satisfied.
He stood still for a moment, elongated silhouette cutting against the polished surfaces of the Obelisk suite. The contrast was striking: ceremonial darkness framed by obscene luxury.
Julian glanced over his shoulder.
"Well? Happy?" he asked quietly.
Nightmare-Eyes tilted his head, a gesture that had become familiar enough to read despite its inhuman geometry. His gaze moved once more across the room, over the doors, the control panel, the windows, the hallway beyond, before returning to Julian.
"The perimeter is clean." the Ka said at last, its mind's voice resonating low and even against Julian's brain. "No wards. No concealed surveillance beyond what is standard for this dormitory. Staff presence is… efficient. Minimal loitering."
One of the smaller spirits from the Well peeked out from behind the sofa, eyes wide.
"So no traps?" it asked hopefully.
Nightmare-Eyes regarded it for a fraction of a second.
"Not in the usual sense. Only the obvious ones." he replied dryly.
Julian huffed a quiet laugh. "Figures."
The Ka stepped closer then, his form subtly adjusting to the room: drawing inward, refining himself so as not to overwhelm the space or the children clustered around Julian. Despite his monstrous aspect, there was something unmistakably protective in the way he positioned himself: not between Julian and the door, but adjacent to him. A silent acknowledgment of shared responsibility.
"This place was built to impress," Nightmare-Eyes continued. "And to isolate."
Julian nodded slowly. "Yeah. I felt that too."
The guardian's gaze lingered on the door to the hallway, then on the vastness of the suite itself.
"You can make it yours." he said. "But it will never meet you halfway."
Julian didn't argue. He rarely did when Nightmare-Eyes spoke with that kind of certainty.
Instead, he stretched, rolling his shoulders once as if shaking off the weight of the morning. The tension didn't vanish, but it settled. Managed. Like a flame banked rather than extinguished.
"Well…" he said, turning back toward the room with renewed energy, clapping his hands once. "If we're going to survive the coldest dorm on the island, we might as well test the perks."
The children from the Well brightened immediately.
"Food?" one asked.
"Food." Julian confirmed, already moving toward the control panel embedded near the seating area. He skimmed his fingers across the surface, and the interface responded instantly, blooming into layered menus far more intuitive than he'd expected.
Private dining. Chef's selection. Dietary preferences. Portion scaling.
Julian stared.
"…This is ridiculous," he muttered, then grinned despite himself. "Okay. Let's see what all the envy of the academy is about."
He selected a spread without overthinking it: something warm, something filling, something that felt shared rather than indulgent, and confirmed the order. A little bit of a lot of things. A soft chime acknowledged the request, followed by an estimated arrival time that was offensively fast.
As the panel dimmed again, a section of the wall opposite the sofa shifted almost imperceptibly.
Panels slid aside with silent precision, revealing a huge seamless projection surface that blended so well into the architecture it had been invisible until activated. Light spilled gently across it, resolving into a clean interface.
Julian blinked. "Ah. There it is."
He glanced back at Nightmare-Eyes. "I knew there had to be a hidden screen somewhere."
"Naturally." the Ka replied. "Otherwise, it would be ludicrous to have the control panel with the replays and other things."
Julian laughed properly this time. "Unless they wanted me to watch them on my DuelPad."
"It would not befit the expected behaviour for the blue dorm to watch those things in such a way." Julian's laughter increased even more with the lack of acknowledgement by his Ka of what was obviously a joke.
He flopped down onto the sofa with far less ceremony than the furniture probably deserved, stretching out and patting the space beside him. The children scrambled up immediately, clustering close, their earlier unease softened by the familiar rhythm of normalcy.
Julian flicked through the media options, bypassing recorded duels and lecture archives with a dismissive swipe.
"Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. We're not watching academic content on our first day here."
He paused, then selected something light. Animated. Absurd. The kind of show that didn't demand attention so much as invite it.
As it began to play, Julian leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the sofa, the other resting loosely near the smallest of the spirits.
Nightmare-Eyes remained standing for a moment longer.
Then, with a faint exhale that might have been amusement, or resignation, he settled near the edge of the seating area, presence coiling inward like a watchful shadow content to rest.
The room filled with color. With sound. With something dangerously close to warmth.
Julian let himself sink into it, just for now.
"Alright." he said lightly, eyes on the screen as the opening credits rolled. "Let's see if Obelisk cuisine and all of these other perks actually live up to the legends."
He smiled, teeth flashing with boyish excitement that no amount of status could sand down.
"And if it doesn't?" he added. "Well. At least we'll have something to complain about together."
The door chimed softly somewhere in the distance. Lunch was on its way.
The first bite should not have been able to change anything.
Food was food. Comfort was comfort. Julian had eaten on worse days than this and still walked away intact. He had slept on rougher beds, in louder buildings, with thinner walls and thicker problems. He had learned, through necessity, how to make a "home" out of whatever space the academy decided he was allowed to occupy.
And yet… The Obelisk suite made a liar out of his instincts with embarrassing ease.
The tray arrived not with a knock, but with the kind of discreet chime that sounded like etiquette rendered into technology. The panel near the door lit once. When Julian opened it, a staff member stood there in navy-and-white livery that matched the dorm's color palette without quite calling itself a uniform. Much more appropriate and tasteful than the maid outfit he thought the staff would be made to use (maybe his head was a bit too much on butlers and maids). Her hair was tied into a neat and precise bun, her posture polite. Hands steady in a way that suggested she had delivered meals worth more than Julian's entire monthly DP allowance and had never once dropped a fork.
"Mr. Ashford." the attendant said, voice soft and neutral. "Your lunch."
The cart rolled in like a ceremony. Covered dishes. Steam trapped beneath silver domes. A faint scent of herbs and seared meat that had no business existing inside an academy cafeteria pipeline.
Happy Lover hovered at Julian's elbow as if afraid the food might vanish if they blinked. Outstanding Dog Marron leaned around the cart, staring with the shameless honesty of someone who hadn't learned social restraint in any living dorm.
"Is that… for us?" Happy Lover whispered, as if asking whether wealth could hear them and decide they didn't deserve it.
Julian put a hand on the spirit's head, rubbing kindly the heart mark on its forehead. He thought on the answer, and let Nightmare-Eyes convey the message to not arise suspicion in front of a staff member. 'It's for whoever's in my room. Just wait for them to leave and try to not make a mess, guys.'
Nightmare-Eyes stood behind them, half a shadow in a bright room. The message was quickly passed forward and the excitement in most spirits faces was noticeable. Petit Dragon was flying in circles around the staff member, as if hurried to make them leave to take a bite for himself.
The attendant set the cart near the sitting area, the motion practiced, almost graceful. "If you would prefer a different selection, Mr. Ashford, we can have the kitchen adjust the menu in future moments. The chef asked whether you have any dietary restrictions."
Julian stared for a second longer than necessary.
There were a thousand things he could have said: something polite, something sharp, something that would test the boundaries of what "Obelisk privilege" truly meant. But the words that came out were the simplest, because the situation itself was already absurd.
"Sorry…" he said, realizing he hadn't even asked. "What's your name?"
The question seemed to catch her off guard. Not dramatically, not comically, just enough to register as unexpected. Her posture remained perfect, but her eyes flickered.
"Ah. It's Eleanor, sir."
Julian nodded once, committing it to memory the same way he did with duelists' names. "Thank you, Eleanor. Everything looks incredible. Please tell the chef I appreciate the care."
That earned him a small pause. Not really long, but long enough.
"I will." she replied, a touch warmer than before, her politeness less mechanichal.
As she turned to leave, Julian added, almost as an afterthought. "Oh, and no restrictions. But if there's ever something I should know, feel free to mention it."
Eleanor inclined her head again, this time with something closer to genuine ease. "Of course, Mr. Ashford. Have a nice day."
When the door closed behind her, one of the children looked up at Julian, puzzled.
"That was nice. You didn't have to do that." they said.
Julian glanced back at the table, at the food that smelled like effort and skill and time.
"I know." he answered simply.
Behind him, Nightmare-Eyes watched the closed door for a moment longer than necessary.
'Interesting.' his guardian murmured. 'You're making sure to acknowledge the hands that build the cage. You didn't do it for the first guy, though.'
Julian didn't look back. "Honestly, I was too shocked with the room to remember. I'll correct that later. If I'm going to live somewhere, I'm not pretending the people that make all of this possible are invisible. And in a wise man's quote: If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." he stopped for a second and thought better about that famous quote from Sirius Black. "... Well, not that the staff is inferior in any sense, but you know… Hum... I mean… When there is nothing to gain, I guess. Anyway, let's eat."
The first dish was a cut of meat: seared crust, pink center, juices collected like molten gold. The second was a bowl of rice with some kind of paste and some little gelatinous balls on the top, so carefully prepared it looked like individual grains had been personally coached into cooperation. The third was an assortment of greens with a citrus dressing that smelled like summer. A small dish of deeply caramelized canelés sat at the end like an afterthought that would have been a main event anywhere else, their appearance promising a heavenly difference from the slightly crunchy exterior to the soft custard-like filling.
One of the kids made a sound that was half awe and half grief, and Julian realized, too late, that it wasn't just hunger. It was the simple shock of being treated like someone that not only mattered, but was inherently special.
Julian sat on the edge of his couch, because the couch looked too clean to be real, and started plating food like they were a normal group of friends in a normal dorm. He handed out pieces first, then ate last. It was an old habit, one he'd picked up without realizing. A remnant of scarcity, perhaps. Or of leadership.
The first bite hit his tongue and made him close his eyes. It was… unfair.
Not unfair in the obvious ways, like Prohibition on Necrovalley. Not the kind of unfairness that you could point at and argue about in front of a judge. This was subtler. This was comfort weaponized into a statement: This is what you could have had all along, if you belonged here.
A kid with a mouth full of rice looked around the suite, then up at Julian. "So…" they said, voice muffled. "This is our house now?"
Julian swallowed. "It's my dorm." he corrected, gently. "Which means it is yours as well."
Nightmare-Eyes' voice slid into Julian's head, amused and distant. 'Such good treatment. How generous.'
Julian shot him a thought back that was half a glare and half a plea. 'Let them have this.'
Nightmare-Eyes, who had once called himself a god with a straight face, hummed. 'Very well. Enjoy your banquet. The cage is gilded, after all.'
Julian ignored him on principle and turned back to the tray. Dessert came last.
He passed the small canelés along without ceremony, watching as the children accepted them with an enthusiasm that had nothing to do with hunger. There was no rush, no urgency… no need. He knew that, they all did.
Spirits didn't require food in the way humans did. They endured on resonance, on spiritual density, on the ambient charge of places like the Reject Well. Or at least, now, on the steady tether they shared with him. Energy sustained them, presence anchored them. But that had never meant taste was meaningless.
One of them bit into the dessert and froze, eyes widening in honest surprise. Another laughed softly, turning the fork placed for Julian as if inspecting it from a new angle before trying again. A third closed their eyes entirely, savoring the moment with exaggerated seriousness.
Julian smiled despite himself.
Pleasure, it turned out, didn't need necessity to exist.
Sweetness was still sweetness. Texture still mattered. Novelty still delighted. Even without bodies that needed to eat, the experience of flavor: of contrast, of warmth and richness and careful craft, was its own kind of nourishment.
Nightmare-Eyes watched them for a moment, unreadable.
'It seems pleasure in consumption is not necessarily linked to a dependence on physiological needs.' he observed quietly.
Julian nodded, leaning back into the couch and taking one of the deserts for himself as the spirits continued to enjoy themselves.
"Yeah…" he murmured. "Some things are worth doing just because they're good."
And for a little while longer, the Obelisk Dormitory in all of its luxury, silence and expectations felt like a place that, even with all of the expectations, rules and plotting could be called home.
When he reached for the final piece of the dessert, he finally returned to the still active giant screen, leaning over towards the wall panel the first attendant had shown him earlier.
The panel responded to his touch with a soft glow and unfolded a menu of options: academy broadcasts, recorded duels, lecture archives, news bulletins, dorm announcements. A "recreation" tab. A "personalization" tab. An "order" tab with a list of chefs' names.
Julian changed the menu for an old comedic series, light and loud enough to fill the room with normality, and let it play while they rested after the meal.
For twenty minutes, in a suite built for people who didn't need to pretend to be human, Julian almost forgot the academy had teeth.
Almost.
After lunch, the kids drifted. Not out of boredom, but out of instinct.
They explored the suite like small ghosts given temporary permission to be alive. One crawled onto the king-sized bed and vanished into the pillows as if swallowed. Another stood by the window and watched the manicured Obelisk grounds with a fascination that was almost suspicious. A third hovered near the bathroom door, peeking in and out as if expecting it to bite.
Julian cleaned up automatically, then stopped halfway through stacking plates because he remembered, with a sudden, ridiculous clarity, that he didn't have to.
He could leave the mess. Someone would handle it. That thought should have been comforting. Instead it felt like a hook sinking into his skin.
He looked at Nightmare-Eyes. "You're enjoying this," Julian said under his breath.
Nightmare-Eyes didn't deny it. 'I am appreciating the honesty.' he replied, its mind's voice almost pleasant. "The Obelisk Dorm does not pretend it is kind. It is efficient, indulgent. Designed to keep its residents productive… and loyal."
Julian picked up a fork, then set it down again. "I can be productive without being… bought."
Nightmare-Eyes' gaze slid to the bed, to the couch, to the panel, to the door. 'Can you?' he asked softly. 'Or can you only be productive while being bought?'
Julian didn't answer. He didn't have to. The question lived in his chest and echoed through him anyway.
He glanced at the kids again, then made a decision.
"Alright." he said, clapping his hands once and quickly going to the bathroom to wash his hands and brush his teeth. "Tour time."
They perked up instantly. Nightmare-Eyes sighed in a way that implied patience. 'You intend to explore the nest?'
"Well, you did it, didn't you? I intend to learn with my own eyes where the snakes sleep. Can't be seen hiding from everything and everyone as well." Julian thought back.
That finally made Nightmare-Eyes smile.
The Obelisk Dorm was less a dorm and more a private estate that happened to contain teenagers.
From the outside, it was all white stone and elegant architecture, banners draped like declarations. From the inside, it was a deliberate assault on the senses: polished floors, art that looked like it had been chosen by a committee of rich people who didn't want to look like rich people, chandeliers that made the ceiling feel higher than it had any right to be.
And everywhere… everywhere, space. Space to breathe, space to move. Space that didn't require you to apologize for existing. A stark contrast against the overcrowded Ra facilities.
Julian walked through the main corridor with the kids trailing him, and the first thing he noticed was how quiet everything was.
Not empty quiet. Controlled quiet.
There were students, yes. Obelisk jackets, clean posture, careful laughter, but their noise didn't spill. It didn't bounce. It didn't become part of the building. It stayed contained, like even their voices had learned the rules of the place.
"Is it always like this?" Julian murmured.
A well kid beside him shrugged. "It feels like a museum, I told you." the kid said.
Another kid, older, narrower eyes, stared at the passing students. "It's like they're acting."
Julian didn't correct them, because they weren't wrong. He caught glances.
Not openly hostile. Not even openly curious. Just… evaluative.
A boy in a blue jacket paused by a pillar, speaking to two others. His eyes flicked to Julian, then slid away with practiced indifference. One of the others looked Julian up and down in a single sweep, the kind of glance that wasn't flirtatious or aggressive, just cataloguing.
Julian had been looked at like that before. Like the expectation of adults in the development and the future choices of a child.
The well kids drifted close when another cluster of Obelisk students passed, like fish drawing toward a reef when a shark shadows the water. Julian didn't blame them.
He didn't like that it was happening anyway.
They reached a common area, if you could call it that.
It had couches that looked like they belonged in a corporate lounge. A grand piano no one was playing. A wall of glass that opened to a terrace overlooking the academy grounds. A few students sat in elegant little groups, talking quietly, their Duel Disks either absent or displayed like accessories.
Julian didn't sit. He didn't want to sink into anything that might swallow him.
He walked past, toward a corridor labeled with subtle signage: OBELISK LIBRARY - RESIDENTS ONLY.
The sign alone was enough to make a Ra student salivate. Julian stepped inside.
The library smelled like old paper and new money. Rows upon rows of books, organized not just by subject but by lineage: old duel theory texts, archived tournament reports, rare magazine runs. Holographic displays floated between shelves with interactive indexes. There were private study carrels with privacy screens. A section labeled RESTRICTED that required a fingerprint scan and a student ID.
Julian's fingers twitched with the urge to touch everything.
One of the kids wandered toward a shelf, ran a finger along the spines, then frowned. "Why so many?" the kid asked. "They read all this?"
Julian's gaze tracked across the room.
There were students studying. Truly studying. But there were also students sitting with open books as if the books were props.
"Some of them do, but that's the purpose of a library." Julian said quietly.
Nightmare-Eyes spoke into his mind, voice smooth. 'Some of them are merely being seen.'
Julian didn't argue. He had already started to understand the difference.
He moved deeper, toward a display of archived duels. The screen flickered when he touched it: championship matches, school tournaments, promotional duels. He recognized names, some from magazines, some from Obelisk gossip.
Then he saw it.
ZANE TRUESDALE — DUEL RECORDS
The folder alone felt heavier than the others. Julian tapped it.
A list unfolded: training duels, academy finals, exhibition matches. A neat, sterile record of someone who treated dueling like a craft and social interaction like a tax.
There was something almost comforting about it. Something honest.
Zane's duels didn't need to be narrated by a crowd. They spoke for themselves. Julian stared a beat longer than necessary, then stepped back.
He didn't need to watch right now. The name was enough. The reminder that the Obelisk Dorm had produced monsters long before it produced him.
As he turned away, voices drifted from the far end of the library. Low. Controlled. The kind of conversation that wasn't meant to be overheard, but also wasn't guarded against it, because Obelisk students didn't usually worry about being listened to.
Julian didn't freeze. He didn't press closer. He simply let the sound reach him.
"…I'm telling you, give it a month."
The speaker sounded bored rather than dismissive, the tone of someone stating a statistic rather than an opinion. Leather chairs creaked softly as someone shifted their weight.
"A month?" another replied, amused. "You're generous."
"Two weeks, then. Same pattern as always."
A quiet laugh followed. Not cruel. Almost indulgent.
Julian's gaze remained on the shelves in front of him, fingers trailing along the spines of books he wasn't really reading.
"You're all acting like he already failed." a third voice said. Younger, sharper. There was curiosity there, not hostility. "He did beat Cauldwell publicly, making use of a political maneuver. With half the academy watching."
"That's not the part that matters." the first voice replied calmly. "Plenty of people beat Cauldwell-level duelists. That's not what makes you Obelisk."
A pause. Someone exhaled through their nose.
"He's… impressive." the third admitted. "I'm not denying that. He's clever. Disciplined. You can't fake that kind of pressure control."
"No." the second agreed. "But you can misunderstand what it's for."
Julian turned a page.
"The problem." the first continued. "Is that people like him always think getting here is the finish line. They treat Obelisk like a reward. Like they've won something."
"We are the elite, after all. That's wrong because…?" the third prompted.
"Because this place isn't a prize." the second answered. "It's an expectation."
There it was. Julian felt the shape of the idea settle into place, familiar and alien at the same time.
"You don't get promoted here to relax." the first said. "You get promoted because the academy expects more out of you than it expects out of everyone else, especially if you don't have a big family name or the money behind you. More discipline, more restraint. More results."
"And most of them crack." the second added lightly. "They see the rooms, the service, the access, the freedom… and they think it means they've arrived."
A faint, almost sympathetic chuckle.
"Nouveau riche, right?" the third said, tasting the phrase. "They spend everything."
"Exactly." the first replied. "Time. Focus. Reputation. They start hosting, showing off, indulging. They forget that Obelisk isn't only about having privileges. It's about using them and still being useful."
Julian's reflection stared back at him faintly from the polished wood of the shelf.
"They stop sharpening themselves," the second continued. "And then when the pressure comes, and it always does, they don't have the same edge anymore."
"Statistically…" the first added. "Most promoted students don't last a year without plateauing. Some don't get demoted back, but even they don't advance either. They become… furniture."
That one landed heavier. Julian's fingers stilled.
"And you think Ashford's headed that way?" the third asked.
A pause. Longer this time.
"I think…" the first voice said carefully. "That he's at a crossroads."
"Oh?"
"He hasn't severed ties yet."
The word yet was unspoken, but present.
The second voice hummed thoughtfully. "Yeah. I noticed that too. Still spending time down in Ra. Still walking with… what's his name. The Kaiser's younger sibling…"
"Syrus." the third supplied.
"Right. That one."
Julian felt a quiet, familiar pressure behind his ribs. Not anger. Not hurt. Recognition.
"That kind of attachment usually fades." the first said. "Not because anyone forces it. It just becomes inconvenient."
"Obelisk isn't patient with inconvenience." the second added. "Schedules get tighter. Expectations get higher. You start choosing where your time actually matters."
The third voice hesitated. "Unless he doesn't."
Silence.
Then a soft, incredulous laugh. "You think he's going to keep one foot in each world?"
"I think he might try." the third said. "And that's what makes him interesting."
"Or naive."
"Or stubborn."
"Or temporary."
Julian turned another page, even though he wasn't reading.
"What about Zane?" the third asked suddenly.
The name shifted the atmosphere. The tone sharpened, just a fraction.
"That's different." the first said immediately.
"Is it?" the third pressed. "He ascended too. He wasn't born into this either."
"Yes." the second replied. "But his anchor was already here. Atticus. He didn't have to choose between worlds. His gravity pulled him upward, not sideways."
"And once Atticus left…" the third murmured.
"…Zane stayed." the first finished. "Because by then, this was his world."
Another pause.
"That's the thing." the second said quietly. "Not whether you can win duels. Whether you can let go. It's a cute phase, a rebellious one. But if he wants to reach the top and become a true elite, it's a phase."
Julian finally closed the book in his hands, the sound soft but decisive.
Let go.
Of warmth. Of noise. Of familiarity. Of people who didn't serve a function anymore.
He exhaled slowly and stepped away from the shelves, his footsteps soundless against the polished floor.
Behind him, the conversation continued: speculating, measuring, categorizing him like an investment with uncertain returns.
Julian didn't turn back.
They weren't wrong about one thing. Obelisk wasn't a finish line. But they were wrong about something else. It wasn't an all-or-nothing situation. And as he walked on, posture relaxed, expression composed, Julian made no effort to correct their assumptions.
Let them think he was in transition. Let them believe the comforts would soften him. Let them expect the inevitable shedding of old ties.
Waiting, he had learned, was the oldest strategy in the world.
And Obelisk was very good at waiting.
They found the training facilities next.
Obelisk didn't have a "training room." It had an entire wing.
Multiple duel stations, some for hologram duels, some for real card-based sparring. A gym that looked like it belonged to professional athletes, not teenagers. A meditation room with soundproof walls. A "strategy lab" with interactive duel simulations, AI-based puzzle drills, and replay analysis tools that would make Bastion weep tears of joy.
Julian lingered there longer than he meant to. Not because of the luxury, but of the purpose.
Here, at least, the perks had a spine. This wasn't just comfort. It was infrastructure aimed at turning duelists into weapons. Julian could respect that.
He watched a pair of Obelisk students spar: clean plays, tight lines, minimal banter. Their Duel Disks synced to the room's system, projecting data overlays with probabilities and optimal sequencing paths.
It looked… clinical. Effective.
One of the kids tugged Julian's sleeve. "Is this what you wanted?" the kid asked. Not accusatory. Just curious.
Julian looked at the duelists again.
"I wanted a place to grow." he said slowly. "This is a place that makes growth… easy."
Nightmare-Eyes' voice slid in, quiet as a blade. 'Easy growth is still growth. The question is what it costs you.'
Julian didn't answer. He couldn't. Not yet.
The card market was the most telling.
It wasn't a "black market." It wasn't even hidden.
It was official enough to have a designated space: a bright, open room with tables and display cases, a rotating board listing "offers" and "requests," and a staff monitor sitting in the corner not to police the trades, but to prevent fights.
Ra and Slifer students traded too. Of course they did. Cards were currency. Cards were identity. But their trades were messy: handshakes in hallways, whispered deals. "I'll give you this if you give me that."
Things that lived in the cracks of school life. Obelisk had taken the same impulse, but turned it into an institution. There were price standards. Reputation tags, trade histories. A ranking system that functioned like a social credit score.
Julian's stomach twisted. Not because it was evil, but because it was brilliant. And because it made the inequality feel clean.
A boy behind a table with a neat display case looked up as Julian approached. His smile was polite, practiced. "New resident?"
Julian nodded once.
The boy's eyes flicked over him. Not hostile. Just assessing. "You're that one…" he said, quietly. "The Cauldwell thing."
Julian's expression stayed neutral. "That was yesterday."
"That was an event." the boy corrected, as if duels were less about time and more about narrative. "Anyway. Welcome. If you're looking to round out your list… this is where you do it."
Julian looked at the case.
Cards Julian recognized as "rare" sat there like they were everyday collectibles. Promos. Limited runs. Things that would have made the main academy shop clerk cry with joy. A few students hovered nearby, trading with the casualness of people discussing lunch.
Julian felt the pull in his chest, the old collector's hunger, the same part of him that had smiled when the Obelisk briefcase had clicked open.
He hated that he felt it. He hated more that he couldn't pretend he didn't.
One of the kids whispered. "You must be thinking: Is this where rich people buy friends?"
Julian almost laughed. Almost.
Before he could answer, a familiar voice drifted from behind him: low, amused, carrying the confidence of someone who had never been locked out of anything.
"That's exactly what it is." a third-year Obelisk student said, strolling past with two others. His jacket was worn in the way of someone who actually lived here, not someone who had just been awarded it. "Cards are a love language in this dorm. You offer the right one, and suddenly you're a person. But friends up here are called allies."
The boy's companions chuckled softly.
Julian didn't turn fully. He didn't give them the courtesy of a face-to-face confrontation.
The third-year didn't stop. He didn't need to. His comment wasn't meant to fight. It was meant to place Julian in a mental category.
As he passed, he added, almost idly, like it didn't matter: "Enjoy it while it's new."
Julian's jaw tightened.
Nightmare-Eyes murmured in his head, delighted. 'There it is. The kindness of the elite. They do not bite. Not yet. They simply let you know they can.'
Julian exhaled slowly. He looked back at the display case.
He could feel the system pressing gently at his ribs, like a hand guiding him toward the life Obelisk expected him to accept.
A part of him wanted to push back immediately. A childish instinct, almost.
Another part, older, colder, recognized that pushing back openly would only give them what they wanted: a spectacle. So instead, Julian smiled at the boy behind the table.
"Do you have anything interesting?" Julian asked.
The boy blinked, slightly thrown by the casualness. Then he recovered. "Depends what you call interesting."
Julian's smile sharpened. "Something people would assume I don't belong holding. Y'know, I kinda have too much new stuff roaming around in a certain case…"
The boy's eyes brightened, and Julian hated himself a little for knowing exactly how to play that.
He didn't stay long. He didn't buy anything, yet. He didn't trade. It was simply a learning experience.
And as he walked away, he heard more voices: distant, half-caught, not meant for him but bleeding through the air anyway.
"…he's walking it like a tourist."
"…give him a week. They all do."
"…not all. Some drown."
"…what, you think he's going to drown?"
A pause.
Then the older voice again, quieter now, almost thoughtful.
"No," the third-year said. "I think he's going to learn how to swim. The question is whether he's going to swim back to the people he came from… or pretend they were never part of the shore."
Another voice, softer, female. "Zane didn't swim back."
"Zane didn't have to." someone else replied.
He walked faster after that.
Not running or fleeing. Just… moving with purpose, as if motion itself could keep the dorm from closing around him. It was the second time that comparison with Zane was being made, and with good reason.
By late afternoon, the kids had grown restless.
They were not meant for this place. Not in the way Obelisk understood 'meant'.
Julian returned to his suite with them, let them sprawl across the couch again, let them eat leftover things from the lunch tray like stolen treasure. He sat at the desk, fingers hovering over the control panel.
He could stay here. He could spend the rest of the day absorbing the Obelisk Dorm, letting its comforts sink into his bones until they felt normal.
And he could, if he was being honest, let that normalization become an excuse.
I'm busy. I'm adjusting. I'll see them tomorrow.
The thought made his stomach turn.
Julian stood.
The kids looked up immediately, like they could sense a decision.
"I'm going out." Julian said. "Back to Ra for a visit."
One of the kids blinked. "Can you?"
Julian paused.
That was the thing, wasn't it? It wasn't just comfort that came with Obelisk. It was boundaries.
He looked toward the door, toward the corridor beyond. He could walk there. He had legs. He had authority. He had the jacket.
But the academy was the academy. Rules did not disappear just because you moved up the ladder. They simply changed shape.
"I'll get permission." Julian said.
Nightmare-Eyes' voice slid into his head, almost approving. 'Good. Let them see you ask.'
Julian ignored the tone and headed for the door.
Getting permission was… polite. Which was worse than difficult.
At Ra or Slifer, permission was a gate. A guard. A hard no that you could resent. At Obelisk, permission was bureaucracy wrapped in velvet.
The desk attendant in the Obelisk administrative hall didn't look at Julian like he was beneath them. They looked at him like he was a new file.
"Visiting Ra Dormitory?" the attendant repeated, fingers already moving across a console. "Of course, Mr. Ashford. For what purpose?"
Julian's eyes narrowed slightly. "To see my friends."
The attendant's expression remained neutral. "Yes. Of course. It's simply required that we note the reason for cross-dorm travel. You understand."
Julian did understand. He understood perfectly. The system didn't stop you from being human. It simply recorded it. They wouldn't deny you, but your choices were obviously and conscientiously analyzed and registered, even if a single word about it was not muttered.
He signed and received a temporary pass. He was told, kindly, that he had a time window to return.
He took the pass with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
The walk from Obelisk to Ra felt longer than it had any right to.
The campus hadn't changed. The sun hadn't shifted dramatically. The air still smelled like salt and stone and the faint ozone of Duel Disks powering up.
But Julian's perception had. Now, when students looked at him, they looked twice. Now, when whispers followed, they carried different assumptions. An Obelisk jacket did that. It turned you into a story people wanted to interpret.
He passed the plaza, where Slifer and Ra students lingered like birds in shared territory. He heard fragments of it.
"Hey, that's him."
"Is that the new Obelisk?"
"Dude, he really got in…"
"Doesn't he look weird in blue?"
Julian didn't stop. He didn't correct them. He walked as if he belonged, because that was what the jacket demanded.
When he reached Ra, the single guard at the entrance, usually too distracted to properly do its job, glanced at his pass, then at his jacket, then back at his pass.
The guard's expression didn't change. But something in their posture did, an unconscious straightening, a recognition of hierarchy.
Julian hated that, too. He was a part of this dorm not even a day before. He entered anyway.
The Ra Dorm felt like warmth made into architecture. Not as loud as Slifer or opulent as Obelisk, but alive.
Students moved through the halls in clusters, talking, laughing, arguing about duel theory or cards or gossip. Someone ran past carrying a stack of books too big for their arms, almost tripping, then laughing it off with the person who bumped them.
No one here looked like they were performing being human. They were simply being it.
Julian's chest loosened in a way he hadn't noticed was tight. He found Syrus and Bastion near the common area.
Syrus looked up first, and the reaction on his face was immediate: joy, embarrassment, pride, a sharp flicker of something like grief.
Because Julian was wearing blue.
Julian didn't give him a chance to overthink it. He stepped in close and bumped Syrus lightly with his shoulder.
"Hey." Julian said.
Syrus's mouth opened, closed. Then he smiled. Small, real. "Hey."
Bastion adjusted his glasses, gaze already analyzing Julian like a new variable in an equation. "How is it?" he asked, voice neutral, but eyes sharp with curiosity.
Julian exhaled once. "It's…" he started.
He could have said "amazing." He could have said "cold." He could have said "dangerous."
Instead he chose the truth that mattered.
"It's Obelisk." Julian said. "And I'm still me."
That made Bastion's expression soften, just slightly.
Syrus stared at the jacket again. Then, very quietly, as if admitting something embarrassing, he said, "It looks… right. Suits you."
Julian felt something in his throat tighten.
"Yeah." Julian said. "I know."
He didn't add: 'And that's what scares me.'
Because he didn't need to. The thought hung there anyway, invisible as Nightmare-Eyes.
He didn't stay long. Not because he didn't want to. Because time windows existed now.
He talked with them: briefly, casually. He asked about Syrus's adjustment to Ra, about his new room, about the quiet shock of not being Slifer anymore. He listened to Bastion talk about new study resources, about the way Ra's academic environment changed when you weren't living in constant chaos.
Julian smiled. He nodded. He filed it away.
And through it all, he felt the subtle weight of his visitor pass in his pocket like a reminder: You are a guest here now, too.
When he finally stood to leave, Syrus walked him to the door.
Not the dorm door. Just the hall.
Like he didn't want to make a scene. Like he wasn't sure what the rules were anymore.
Julian noticed. Julian hated that he noticed.
"Same time tomorrow?" Syrus asked, voice careful.
Julian's answer came instantly. "Yeah. Let's meet all in the plaza. Jaden and the girls too. I still need to see how you guys are on your training."
Syrus nodded, then hesitated. He looked up, eyes flicking to Julian's jacket again.
"You're not going to…" Syrus started.
Julian didn't let him finish.
He reached out, tapped Syrus's chest lightly, right over his heart.
"I'm not going to forget where I came from. Or who got me here." Julian said, voice low. "I'm me, Sy. No blue jacket will change that."
Syrus swallowed hard, and words were not necessary to feel, for the third time, as a heavy thump on his heart, the silent comparison: 'But it changed my brother.'
Julian turned before the conversation could become something Syrus would remember too sharply later. He just left.
The walk back to Obelisk felt colder.
Not because the air had changed, but because Julian had. When he reached the Obelisk entrance, the guards glanced at his face and clothes, then let him in without a word.
Inside, the corridor lights were softer, more flattering, like even illumination had been designed to make the residents look better.
Julian's footsteps didn't echo. The carpet swallowed sound like it was swallowing evidence.
He passed a group of Obelisk students near the terrace.
They didn't stop him, or greet him.
But one of them, an older boy, maybe third year, watched him with a faint smile.
Not cruel or unfriendly. Just… patient.
As Julian walked past, he heard the boy speak, voice low enough that Julian could pretend he hadn't.
"Told you." the boy murmured, almost amused. "He went back."
Another voice replied, female, soft. "Of course he did. He's still excited. Still trying to keep everything."
"And?" the third-year voice asked.
A pause.
Then, with a quiet certainty that made Julian's skin crawl:
"He'll grow out of it."
Julian didn't stop walking.
He didn't turn.
He didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing the words landed.
But in his chest, something tightened into a single clean line.
Nightmare-Eyes' voice slid in, soft as silk.
'They do not hate you.' he observed. 'Not yet. They are simply waiting for you to become what they expect. Or to fall. And if you do not… then the waiting might end.'
Julian reached his suite door, swiped in, stepped inside, and let the quiet swallow him again.
The kids looked up from the couch, the projected show still playing on the wall like normality stubbornly refusing to die.
Julian stood there for a beat, staring at the room, his room: too large, too clean, too perfect.
Then he took off the Obelisk jacket. He draped it over the back of a chair like it was just fabric and not a statement.
He sat down on the couch between the kids, letting them lean into him without fear of staining something expensive.
Nightmare-Eyes stood behind them, silent, a guardian shadow in a palace.
Julian stared at the projection for a moment, not really seeing it.
Then he spoke, quietly, as if saying it out loud could make it true. "I'm not growing out of it."
The kids didn't understand the words. Nightmare-Eyes did. And in the silence that followed, the Obelisk Dorm remained what it was: beautiful, efficient, indulgent.
A place that offered everything. And expected, sooner or later, to be chosen over anything else.