[PoV: Nico #####]
When we returned to the dormitory building after the inauguration ceremony, I walked down the corridor toward my room—earlier, we cadets had been assigned one room for two people, and as for my roommate... he was not someone who spoke much.
When I stood before the door, my hand touched the handle and pushed it open.
Inside, there were two beds, a wardrobe in the corner, and a desk with chairs set at the middle wall that divided the beds, along with a private bathroom tucked inside.
And there was also a well-built, tan-skinned man sitting on the white bed to the right, reading a book. Yep, that was Gerrald—the one who had helped me so much during that deadly exam.
Now, it looked like he had just changed from his uniform into casual clothes.
His gaze shifted, those dark eyes now landing on me, tired, perhaps. Was he exhausted?
I swallowed, a little awkward.
Then, with a calm air—trying not to appear strange—I walked toward the wardrobe, grabbed a towel, and stepped into the bathroom, its door sitting on the left wall.
Inside the shower, I stared at my bare body reflected in the mirror mounted on the wall, as water cascaded from the showerhead, drenching me completely.
This was strange. A scar, a deep slash mark, ran across my chest, the kind that could only have been made by a large blade. But what was stranger still was that I didn't remember this old wound at all. Despite how terrifying and painful it must have been, I was still alive.
Who... exactly am I?
•
•
•
[A Few Hours Later]
After finishing my shower and changing from my uniform into casual wear—a plain white shirt and knee-length black shorts—I felt refreshed. I lay sprawled across my own bed.
"Nico." A voice called me. It was Gerrald, now sitting at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on me.
I looked at him, confused. "What is it?"
"I wonder, what exactly are you?" His question sounded like it was aimed at whether I was a commoner or a noble.
But if it was something deeper than that, I didn't know. Who am I? Even I didn't fully know myself without clear memories to define me. A commoner? A noble? Or a stranger? I had no answer.
I sat up, shifting to the edge of my bed as well.
"I... of course, I'm human," I replied with a smile, as if not taking it too seriously.
His face remained calm, unbothered. "For some reason, Nico... you feel different."
"Different? What do you mean?" I asked, uneasy and confused.
"I mean mentally. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but, how old are you?"
My age? My age... I wasn't even sure.
I said nothing, only looked at him.
Gerrald sighed. "It's fine if you don't want to answer, but I'll take a guess. Eighteen, judging from your young face."
I still didn't respond. My silence wasn't denial—it was ignorance. I didn't know.
Gerrald didn't push further, but continued anyway. "You... your mentality isn't like others your age. Anyone ordinary would've broken down from the battlefield, the corpses, the blood." His voice was steady. "But you—you're different. You don't panic excessively, you overcome your confusion and difficulties easily. And with thosetwo, the three of you managed to complete the exam brilliantly, even bringing the remaining participants here."
Did he mean Aurel and William?
Gerrald clasped his fingers together, leaning forward, elbows resting on his thighs. His tone grew heavier.
Was he suspicious of me?
"There's one thing I want to confirm. Are you..." He paused. "A mutant?"
The word echoed inside my head.
Mutant? What was that supposed to mean? A title? A creature?
"Mutant... what is that?"
Gerrald's eyes widened, confusion flickering in them. "You don't know?"
"I don't know what you mean. What is a mutant?"
A weary sigh slipped from him, followed by a bitter smile, as if realizing he had mistaken me. "Huft~ I figured as much. You really don't know what a 'Mutant' is. Most of our generation comes from either the 'Snau' or the 'Metik' classes."
Snau? Another strange word.
"Gerrald," I called, drawing his attention back to me.
"There's something you don't know. I've lost my memory," I said after a pause. "I've never told anyone this before. You're the first to hear it."
"And about all your questions... I stayed silent because I didn't know how to answer. As for my mentality, I just feel like I've already been... accustomed to it." I stopped. My palms pressed against my face, covering my vision. My head and back bent forward.
"Overcome? I never overcame anything. Fear? I feel it—I'm terrified that if I regain my memories, I'll become someone else entirely. This confusion, this hidden suffering, this hollow disappointment... it's unbearable. All I keep asking myself is, 'Who am I really?' To the point I've grown sick of searching for those fragments of memory, walking in a world I don't understand, afraid of every strange gaze from strangers. I... I truly don't know who I am, what my past is, or why I exist in this world. Until eventually, I found myself here, at the Nethera Academy." Tears streamed down my cheeks. My face still buried in my hands.
The room fell silent, only my sobs breaking the air.
Not long after, I felt something on my shoulder—a hand.
I lifted my head, pulling my hands away. My eyes were red, blurred by tears.
Through the haze, I saw him—Gerrald. He knelt before me, his left knee on the floor, his right foot planted firmly to balance himself.
"Sorry if I stirred up your emotions," he said, guilt lacing his tone.
"It's fine. I just got carried away. I shouldn't cry in front of someone else. Doesn't it make me look weak? I'm not like what you described."
I wiped the tears with the back of my hand, hoping my face would dry faster than the shame gnawing at me.
Still kneeling, Gerrald looked straight into my eyes. There was something in his gaze—an understanding I couldn't quite place. He drew in a long breath before saying, "Nico, you don't have to pretend to be strong in front of me. Strength doesn't mean never crying. Sometimes the stronger ones are those who keep walking even after they cry."
Simple words. Yet they pierced deep. I hesitated, wanting to reply with something unforgettable, something that showed I valued his words—but no such response came. In the end, I just nodded slowly.
"Thank you," I whispered hoarsely.
He patted my shoulder, then stood and returned to sit on the edge of his bed. The ceiling light bathed the room in a warm glow, casting our shadows long across the floor. The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It felt... grounding.
Eventually, Gerrald broke the quiet. "I never meant to accuse you. But in the world out there... the term 'Mutant' can mean dangerous, or extraordinary. Both cause problems. And that's something that's always bothered me."
"I don't feel extraordinary," I answered truthfully. "And if there is something inside me, I'm afraid to know it. Afraid that once I do, I'll become something unrecognizable."
Leaning forward, Gerrald's eyes locked onto mine. "Fear is natural. But hiding it forever will only become torment. If you want, I can help. Not to dig into your past—that's your right—but to make sure that if something dangerous ever surfaces, we'll know how to face it together."
"Why bother?" I asked.
"I have my reasons," he said simply, then offered a faint smile. "You helped me during the exam. You don't need to know the details. Just remember—you kept me alive. I owe you for that."
His words warmed something deep in my chest. Debt? Solidarity? I wasn't sure how to respond, but hearing him say that lifted some invisible weight off my shoulders.
We talked for hours—about things I'd never known. Yet every time the conversation drifted toward the past or terms like 'Snau,' 'Metik,' and 'Mutant,' I felt an invisible wall tremble inside me.
"Snau and Metik."
He fell silent for a moment, his eyes on me with a seriousness that weighed each word as if measuring how much to reveal. "The Exlish Federation is a collection of states ruled from the center, 'Exlish'. It's a modern, technological age, but it's not as simple as it looks, Nico. There are layers, classifications. 'Snau' is the name for those born into the lowest class—the manual laborers, the residents of tech-deprived districts, those who have almost no rights. Their lives are a daily struggle just to survive. 'Metik' is the middle class—skilled tech workers, cybersecurity operators, technicians, and other industrial laborers. They have a little security, a few rights, but still live under the shadow of those above them."
I nodded slowly, digesting the information. "And the 'Noble' and the 'Government'?"
"Those who hold the reins," Gerrald replied, his voice flat but laced with warning. "Old aristocrats with entrenched bloodlines and wealth, and high-ranking government officials who steer the machinery of state. They make the laws; they enjoy privileges. And they are the most wary—even paranoid—about 'Mutants'."
.....