Jiro stepped out of the campus gate, feeling the weight of his new reality settling in. He headed straight for the tricycle terminal just outside.
He climbed into the sidecar, securing a spot. He expected a quick departure.
Roar to life immediately?
Nope.
The driver sat relaxed, cleaning his nails. "Five more!" he shouted to the empty air.
Jiro sighed. Of course. The sidecar needed to be packed like a can of sardines before the wheels would turn.
Waiting game initiated.
He pulled out his phone and toggled his data on once again. He scrolled through Reddit memes, filling the boredom while the sun baked the metal roof of the sidecar.
Tick. Tock.
It took almost thirty minutes of staring at the same industrial fence before the rescue team arrived.
A group of students emerged from the chaos... I mean, from the gate. Crisp white uniforms. Loud chatter.
The Nursing Battalion.
They flocked to the tricycle, quickly filling up the empty seats behind the driver and inside the cabin.
"Uy, just move a bit, please," one of them said, squeezing in next to Jiro.
Finally, the engine roared to life.
The ride was short, but the wait made it feel like an odyssey. Jiro arrived home at 11:26 AM.
Calculated travel time: 10 minutes.Actual travel time: 45 minutes.
It was barely a 2-kilometer journey, yet it felt as long as the Morong pilgrimage. Efficiency rating: Zero.
4:10 PM.
The afternoon sun was softer now. Jiro emerged from a printer shop in his neighborhood, clutching a warm, crisp white sheet of paper.
It was the holy grail. The new Certificate of Registration (COR).
He stopped walking and held it up to the light to inspect the damage… silly, just a fresh copy of COR.
Course:Bachelor of Elementary Education (revised Curriculum 2023)Section:A
He stared at the letters.
BEEd 1-A.
His student number was still the same: KSU M2024-06519.
It was official. Ink on paper. No typos this time—no "Contruction" nonsense. But his eyes lingered on the acronym.
Where is the 'S'?
BSED... BEED.
Don't mind that, his thoughts whispered, trying to soothe the sting. Maybe next year. Just survive the year.
He scanned further down the page, checking the financial damage.
Tuition Fee:P4,252.80Total Balance:P0.00
Jiro let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The UniFAST scholarship kicked in automatically. The government paid the bill.
Okay. Free education. I can't complain about the price tag.
But then, his eyes drifted to the most important part: The Schedule.
He analyzed the flow of the days.
Monday: Class. Tuesday:Rest.Wednesday: Class. Thursday:Rest.Friday: Class. Saturday: ... Class?
It was a flickering light bulb schedule. On. Off. On. Off.
Tuesday and Thursday are free? I love this server.
But then his eyes landed on the Saturday subject: PATHFIT 1 (Physical Activities).
Saturday classes? And it's PE?
Ugh. Disgusting.
That means Friday isn't a weekend starter. It's a trap. We cannot laugh every Friday because there is one tomorrow.
Then, he looked at the instructors.
Subject: ENG 1 PC (Purposive Communication)Time: M/W 4:00 PM - 5:30 PMRoom: 407Instructor: TBA
Wow, first subject... TBA.
Jiro blinked.
Bruh.
A Ghost.
He scanned the rest of the entire list.
Subject: ETHICSTime: M/W 1:00 PM - 2:30 PMRoom: 407Instructor: Talashiro Giany
Subject: HIST 1 RPH (Readings in Philippine History)Time: M/W 2:30 PM - 4:00 PMRoom: 407Instructor: Brackin Jimmy
Subject: MATH 1 MMW (Mathematics in the Modern World)Time: F 8:30 AM - 11:00 AMRoom: 407Instructor: Manazaki Ricky
Subject: SELF 1 (Understanding the Self) Time: M/W 8:00 AM - 10:30 AMRoom: 407Instructor: Talashiro Giany
He counted them. Total of 26 units. Nine subjects.
There was just a single instructor slot filled with those three letters: To Be Announced.
It's mostly humans, but that first one... literally a ghost professor. Is the English faculty empty? Do I teach myself?
Wow, scary... early Halloween, I guess?
Tomorrow is Wednesday. Jiro's first class in another campus.
Let's see if the ghosts show up.
On the 14th of August, Wednesday, the morning routine was different. Today, Jiro wasn't alone.
He stood by the door, waiting for his companion.
Enter Jaizel Sanata. His sister.
She was a KSU Taytay veteran—a BSN 3-A student since August 2022. She wore the crisp white uniform of the Nursing department like armor, her ID lanyard proudly displaying a KSUTA2022 student number series.
The Local. The Senior. The Thriving One.
And then there was Jiro. The Freshman.
He stood there in the official blue uniform—a distinct shade that marked him as part of the College of Education. He wore black slacks and shiny black shoes, though he was still carrying the same "Hulk" backpack again.
The Blue Protagonist has equipped the starter gear.
At 8:53 AM, they began their journey together.
They navigated the short jeepney ride to the market, then transferred to the tricycle. It was efficient. It was familiar. It was... surprisingly quiet. Just two siblings heading to the same war zone, fighting different battles.
They reached the campus gate at 9:21 AM.
Early. Still on-time for the 10:00 AM classes.
Jiro entered first, nodding to the guard. "Good morning, sir."
They walked together to the middle point of the ground floor hallway. And then, the split happened.
Jaizel turned left, heading toward the UP ONLY stairs. Her destination was the Amphitheater on the second floor. The zone of the White Uniforms.
"I'll go ahead," she said, disappearing into the crowd of nursing students.
Jiro stood alone for a second.
Then, he turned right.
He headed toward the DOWN ONLY staircase.
Rules? Efficiency matters more.
He looked around. The coast is clear.
Ascend.
He took the stairs two at a time. First floor. Second floor. Third floor.
His breath started to catch.
Huff. Huff.
Why is the Fourth Floor so high?
He pushed through the burn in his legs, climbing the final flight. He reached the summit. The Fourth Floor.
Breathless, sweaty, but triumphant, he walked down the corridor until he reached the finish line.
Room 407.
The door was open.
He entered the room for the first time.
Chaos.
It hit him instantly—a wall of noise and chatter. The room was buzzing with an energy that felt less like a college lecture and more like a high school reunion.
Visually, it was a mess.
Most students wore the official school blue uniforms—uneven shades of blue that clashed slightly with the gray walls. Jiro looked down at his own blue polo, blending in with the sea of fabric. However, a few students scattered around were still in their freshman attire: white polo shirts, denim jeans, and sneakers. It was a sea of mismatched colors.
The classroom layout itself was... different.
Compared to the cramped, square-box prison of the Construction Technology department in Morong, this room was spacious. It felt huge.
It had two blackboards and a movable whiteboard, but they weren't clean. Old instructional materials—cut-outs of Pang-abay (Adverbs) and Pandiwa (Verbs)—were still stuck to the boards, peeling off like dead skin.
Bruh, Jiro thought, scanning the mess. Future educators, but they didn't even clean the room well? Is this the standard?
There was a teacher's table at the front, but no wooden platform stage to elevate authority. Just a flat, level playing field. And with a small smart TV attached on the wall, lifted. And the chairs? A variable set of wooden armchairs that looked like they had survived a war.
The reality check.
And then, the heat.
Sheesh. We are literally cooked inside.
The air was thick and still. Jiro wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and stepped further in. He needed to verify his location before he committed to a seat.
He spotted a female student sitting near the back just four rows away from the door. She was facing away from him, staring intently at her phone. She wore the official uniform, but something about her posture seemed different. More settled. Older.
Jiro approached her from behind. He hesitated.
Is she a freshman? She looks... mature. Like, 29 or something. Is she a senior crashing the room?
He swallowed his shyness and tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
Tap.
"Excuse me... uh," Jiro asked, his voice hesitant. "Is this BEEd 1-A?"
The woman turned around. It was Reo Bairo. She looked up at him, her expression unbothered.
She simply nodded.
Confirmed.
"Ay, okay. Thanks," Jiro offered a short, awkward nod.
He adjusted his bag strap and navigated through the maze of armchairs to find an empty spot.
He found his target: Second row, right side—the block nearest to the window and the hallway door. He squeezed into the middle seat, the third chair in a row of five.
Finally anchored, he dropped his heavy bag behind him and sat down.
Safe zone established.
He did a final scan of the area.
Right. The window, hallway, and skylines. Left. Strangers and windows. Front. The board. Bottom.
Oof.
The floor was a mess. Candy wrappers, dust, crumpled papers, hair. Messy.
Back.
Full of chatters.
The noise was overwhelming. Jiro shrank into his seat, terrified of making eye contact with anyone in the sweltering, noisy box.
Time for the ritual.
He reached into his bag, grabbed his phone, and fished out the red earphone pouch.
But while he was building his defensive walls, he was already being watched.
Three rows behind him, in the fourth row, a trio of girls was whispering.
Mira Palida leaned over to her friends, Niewi Voeliè and Ivyn Giron. She nudged them, eyes fixed on the back of Jiro's head.
"Uy, look!" Mira whispered, her voice buzzing with energy. "We have a new classmate? I didn't see him yesterday…"
"That guy?" Niewi peeked.
"Maybe that's him..." Mira theorized. "The one on the list? The guy who hasn't attended since last week? Let's invite him, come on!"
Really?
They didn't know the truth—that Jiro had literally just enrolled yesterday and the class list hadn't even been updated to include him yet. But to them, he was the Mystery Absentee.
"Talk to him… hahahaha," Ivyn dared and laughed.
"Hala, it's embarrassing..." Mira hesitated.
Meanwhile, Jiro had successfully deployed his defenses. He plugged his earphones in and queued up the GUTS album by Olivia Rodrigo. The angst of all-american bitch started playing, matching his internal mood perfectly. He opened Ao No Orchestra on his manga app, ready to disappear into the world of violin music.
Tap. Tap.
Jiro froze.
Someone is touching me.
He slowly turned his head.
It was Mira Palida, with Niewi hovering right behind her like backup support. Mira looked flushed, a mix of shyness and boundless energy.
Jiro unplugged one earphone. "Uh...?"
"Huy, hello!" Mira squeaked, then cleared her throat to sound more confident. "What is your name?"
She was stuttering a bit, vibrating with nervous energy.
Jiro sighed internally. Social interaction. Level 1.
"Uhh..." he muttered, his voice low and hesitant. "My name is... Jiro Sanata."
Mira and Niewi nodded in unison, their eyes lighting up.
"Ahhh..." they said together, covering their mouths with their hands to hide their sudden shyness. They were smiling wide, looking at him like they had just discovered a rare Pokémon or a new baby in the family.
Why are they looking at me like that?
Niewi leaned in slightly, recovering her confidence. "Uy, do you want us to add you to our Circle GC? And the KSU Taytay BEED 1-A GC? So we can contact you, you know, for updates."
Expected. The digital summoning ritual.
"Uhh, sure," Jiro nodded. "Okay."
Wow. Cool. I'm being adopted.
He recited his Facebook account details. Niewi typed them into her phone with lightning speed.
"Okay! Sent!" Niewi beamed. "Thanks, Jiro!"
Mira raised her hand. "High five!"
Jiro blinked, then awkwardly raised his hand to meet hers. Slap. A crisp high five.
"Yay!" Mira giggled.
The two girls finally retreated, walking back to their seats in the fourth row while giggling and whispering to each other, clearly still buzzing from the embarrassment and the successful interaction.
Jiro watched them go, then slumped back into his chair.
Doomed.
He let out a long sigh. Social battery draining... 90%... 85%...
He put his earphones back in and returned to business as usual. Olivia Rodrigo, save me.
10:14 AM.
He checked the time on his lock screen.
Still no professor. The door remained open, but no authority figure walked in.
So the ghosts are real, ah.
TBA really means To Be Absent.
Despite the lack of a teacher, the noise level in the room didn't drop. The chatter of the classroom continued, a perpetual engine that never seemed to run out of fuel.
Just a moment later, the volume in the room spiked.
It wasn't a gradual rise; it was a sudden burst of energy coming from the back rows—specifically the third, fourth, and fifth rows where the "Mira-Niewi Battalion" was stationed.
Jiro peeked over his shoulder to investigate the commotion.
A new figure had appeared at the door near their row. It was a girl, radiating an aura of absolute friendliness and energy that could rival the sun outside.
Enter Cosma Ibana.
She stepped in, breathless but grinning.
"Uy, girls!" she greeted the group near the door, waving enthusiastically.
Mira, Niewi, and Ivyn immediately swarmed her like bees reuniting with their queen.
"Cosma! Finally!" Mira chirped, scooting over to make space.
"You took so long!" Niewi teased. "We thought you got lost in the enrollment process forever."
"Seriously, the traffic was insane," Cosma laughed, dropping her bag familiarly onto a reserved seat beside them. "But I'm here! Are we complete?"
"Almost," Ivyn nodded. "We just adopted a new one though." She glanced at the back of Jiro's head.
The group instantly absorbed her back into their collective. They started chatting with the easy rhythm of people who had been friends for a long time—or at least, had been chatting in a Group Chat for weeks.
Jiro watched for a second, analyzing the data.
Wait. They know her.
He had assumed she was another confused late enrollee like him, wandering into the room for the first time. But the familiarity was obvious. She wasn't new to the circle; she was a core member who just arrived late.
So I really am the only new guy here.
The last puzzle piece. The first guy in their circle.
He turned back to the front.
False alarm. Not a professor.
Just a late friend.
He sighed, disappointed but relieved, and returned to his business. He adjusted his earphones, let the music drown out the rising volume of the classroom, and went back to reading.
He checked the time again. The morning was passing by, baking into the heat of Room 407.
Surely a professor will show up soon?
Or are the ghosts really in charge today?
He scrolled through his manga app, waiting for the inevitable.
END OF THE FINITE CLASS