The classroom had fallen so quiet that one could hear the soft whisper of their own breathing. Merlio glanced around and noted the skeptical expressions on his classmates' faces—a mixture of suspicion, curiosity, and guarded interest. Mr. Ashworth stood at the front, marker in hand, commanding attention without effort.
"First, I shall explain to you what this is." He wrote on the clean whiteboard in bold, decisive strokes: CREDITS.
Merlio's eyebrow rose slightly. Beside him, a boy leaned forward in his chair, curiosity evident in his posture.
"The credit system is very simple. Put simply, it is the school's own form of currency. One credit point equals one euro." Mr. Ashworth paused, letting that sink in. "With your student card, you can purchase items. If it has a price, it can be bought."
The effect was immediate. Students who had been slumped in their chairs straightened. Eyes that had been glazed over sharpened with interest. Merlio spun his pen slowly between his fingers, a idle motion that helped him think.
"Right now, you each currently have 10,000 credits in your accounts. Furthermore, credits will be deposited into your student accounts at the end of every month."
Merlio's pen stopped mid-spin. From his peripheral vision, he noticed the boy beside him jotting down figures in a small notebook. Merlio filed that observation away and returned his attention to the front.
Mr. Ashworth gestured to a stack of manuals on the desk. "Pass these to the back." Mia, at the front, took one and passed the stack along. As the manuals reached Merlio's row, Mr. Ashworth added, his tone shifting slightly.
"By graduation, your accumulated credits can be carried forward to your next college. The credit system is recognized and used worldwide." He paused, and his expression darkened almost imperceptibly. "However, you cannot transfer credits to a personal bank account. They operate only within the confines of the education system."
His eyes swept the room, sharp as flint. "In other words, credits cannot be used outside of schooling. Some universities even outright refuse to accept credits from other institutions. So be careful."
Merlio squinted slightly, his mind turning over the words. His phrasing is carefully chosen. A bit vague upon closer inspection. There's something he's not saying directly.
"Any questions?" Mr. Ashworth asked.
Silence stretched for several seconds. Then the boy beside Merlio raised his hand.
Merlio took the opportunity to study him properly. I haven't actually taken a good look at this guy yet. But upon closer inspection... The boy had dark brown hair, neatly combed and well-kept. His eyes were sharp, intelligent. He carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to academic success. A model student, by the looks of it.
"Go on... Flint Woods?" Mr. Ashworth consulted his roster.
"Yes, sir." Flint stood as he spoke, a gesture of respect that felt almost formal. "I'm bothered by the whole idea of this system."
"Why is that?"
Flint straightened further. "It seems as if we're being paid to perform better as students. That's a harmful type of motivation—extrinsic. It undermines genuine curiosity and the love of learning for its own sake."
Mr. Ashworth chuckled slowly, a dry, knowing sound. "A rather basic question. However, that's not the case. If you look clearly at things, you'll find the answer to your question."
Merlio furrowed his brows at the teacher's response. He didn't really answer. He deflected.
"Okay, then. Class dismissed." Mr. Ashworth walked toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle. "And have a wonderful day." His expression was utterly robotic as he said it—a performative pleasantry with no warmth behind it. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence reigned for a moment longer. Then, almost imperceptibly, murmurs began to ripple through the room.
Some groups were already leaving. The mean girls' clique departed first, their leader casting a dismissive glance back at the room. A few other students followed. Those who remained were scattered, isolated, or deep in conversation with the one or two people they'd already latched onto.
Merlio shook his head with a soft sigh. Somehow, we're already at a disadvantage as a class. Not a single formal introduction from one to another. No class representative. No cohesion. Islands forming before we've even mapped the archipelago.
He stood, tucking his sketchpad away, and walked toward the door. As his hand closed around the handle, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.
He turned. Gertrude stood there, her pale face expressionless but her eyes holding a question.
"Mind if I come with?" she asked.
Merlio shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure. Why not?"
---
They emerged from the lecture building into the mid-morning light. The sun had climbed higher, warming the concrete pathways and glinting off the windows of distant buildings. They stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the next campus bus.
Gertrude glanced at him sidelong. "You seem disappointed."
"Not particularly..."
She stared at him, waiting. Merlio kept his gaze fixed forward, watching students stream past.
After a long moment, he muttered, "...Not yet."
A faint smirk touched Gertrude's lips. "First class session, and every student is already in groups. Cliques. Friend circles."
Merlio nodded slowly. "Which is bad, because islands can't form a large mass of land. Even when you pull them together, it's still just a cluster of separate islands."
Gertrude shifted her weight, considering his words. "Yes. So you understand that with the environment of this school—which is extremely competitive—we're at a disadvantage."
Merlio squinted against the sun but said nothing.
Gertrude's eyes dropped to his hand. "Are you going shopping?"
"Why do you ask that?"
"Well..." She pointed. "You're holding your credit card rather firmly."
Merlio looked down. He'd been gripping it unconsciously, the plastic warm from his palm.
"Or maybe I just don't want to lose it," he offered. "I'm a bit careless."
"Wouldn't it be better to place it in your pocket? Your bag, even?"
Merlio tilted his head, a rare flicker of dry humor in his voice. "Okay. You got me."
Gertrude's teasing smile widened. "Don't feel bad. I also want to buy a few necessities."
"You mean you want to see how feasible the credit system is?"
"Touché."
The bus arrived with a gentle hiss of brakes, and they stepped aboard together.
---
The Commerce Hub sector was a world unto itself. As the bus rolled to a stop, Merlio and Gertrude stepped off onto a plaza that could have been transplanted from a small city. Towering buildings rose on all sides, their ground floors lined with shops, cafes, and services. Students flowed through the space in a constant current.
"The school is absurdly large," Merlio murmured. "Good thing it has a transportation system."
The campus, he'd learned from the orientation materials, spanned 800,000 square meters. Four sectors: Education, Commerce Hub, Events, and Residential. Each had its own purpose, its own ecosystem. And at the heart of the Commerce Hub stood the largest structure Merlio had yet seen.
The Oval Plaza Mall.
He read the name silently, committing it to memory. Gertrude walked past him without waiting, and after a moment, Merlio tucked his hands in his pockets and followed.
---
Inside, the mall was overwhelming. Light streamed through a massive glass ceiling, illuminating multiple levels of stores, restaurants, and walkways. Escalators crisscrossed the open atrium. The hum of conversation, the beep of register scanners, the distant murmur of music from a store—it all blended into a urban symphony.
Merlio let his gaze wander, momentarily dropping his guard. It feels like a city in here. How many stores are there, anyway? He caught himself staring and quickly reasserted his usual mechanical expression.
Beside him, Gertrude walked like a child in a dream world, her head swiveling, her eyes wide.
"You want to go eat first?" she offered.
Merlio opened his mouth to reply, but Gertrude raised a hand abruptly.
"No! Essentials first!" She snapped her fingers and pivoted, marching in the opposite direction.
Merlio rolled his eyes slowly and followed.
They found a shop that sold home amenities—everything from bedding to kitchenware to toiletries. Gertrude grabbed a basket and dove into the aisles with purpose. Merlio watched her for a moment, noting how naturally she moved through the space, picking up items, examining them, placing some in her basket and others back on shelves.
He looked down at his own empty hands, then at the rows of products stretching before him. I'm not sure how to shop.
After observing Gertrude a while longer, he grabbed a basket of his own and chose an aisle at random.
So this is shopping, huh?
At first, he simply reached for anything his hands could grasp—a pack of sponges, a bottle of shampoo, a set of utensils, a small lamp. But after a few items, he stopped and looked down at his basket.
That's not right. I should probably get only what I need. He began replacing items, methodically selecting toothpaste, a toothbrush, a small towel, a notebook. He was reaching for a pack of pens when he felt eyes on him.
"You cook?" Gertrude's voice came from directly behind him.
Merlio turned. She stood there, basket in hand, expression blank.
He looked at the shelf, then back at her. "I could learn."
"So, no?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
Merlio deflected. "Are you done with your shopping?"
"Not quite." She gestured at her basket with a frustrated wave. "Things are too expensive here."
Merlio raised an eyebrow. He picked up the pack of spoons he'd been considering and checked the price tag. His eyes widened slightly. "Yeah... I wasn't even paying attention to the prices."
"Be more careful. Let's find another store."
They both began returning items to their proper places, weaving through the aisles. As Merlio reached for a shelf to replace a box, he noticed another section he'd missed before. He walked over and examined the products.
Stacked neatly were home goods, each bearing a distinctive label: the school's logo, printed prominently on the packaging. And beneath the logo, in bold red text: FREE.
Merlio picked up a duster. The box was pristine, sealed, with the school's crest embossed on the corner. What's this?
He scanned the shelf. Some items were marked free. Others were fifty percent off. Others still were discounted by varying percentages, but all bore the school's branding.
Gertrude appeared beside him. "What are you doing?"
"...Nothing. Just curious about the existence of these."
She took a product off the shelf and examined it. "Free?"
Merlio nodded. "Not all, though. This one's fifty percent off. Some are just—"
"Free," she completed.
"Mhmm. And the school's logo is on each package."
Gertrude rubbed her chin thoughtfully, her brow furrowing. "Maybe the school partners with certain brands to offset inflated pricing?" She was thinking aloud now, working through it. "Shop owners could inflate prices and disrupt the school's economic balance. So as a countermeasure, the school buys products in bulk and sells them for half the price—or gives them away free for essentials."
Merlio watched her reason it out, saying nothing. He found himself impressed by the speed of her deductions.
After a moment, he carefully placed the products back on the shelf and arranged them neatly, as if they'd never been touched.
"The day's running out," he said. "How about that meal now?"
Gertrude looked up from her thoughts, meeting his monotonous expression with one of her own. "Sure. Why not."
---
They found a small cafe on the second level, tucked between a bookstore and a electronics shop. The interior was warm, smelling of fresh bread and roasted coffee beans. They ordered simply—sandwiches and bottled water—and sat at a small table by the window.
For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, watching students pass by below.
Finally, Gertrude spoke. "You're not what I expected."
Merlio looked up from his sandwich. "What did you expect?"
"I don't know. Someone more... eager? You seem like you're observing rather than participating."
He considered this. "Isn't that a form of participation?"
She tilted her head, acknowledging the point. "Maybe. But at some point, you have to stop watching and start acting."
Merlio took a slow bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. When he swallowed, he said, "I'm aware."
Gertrude studied him for a long moment, then returned to her meal. The silence between them was different now—not awkward, but charged with unspoken understanding.
Outside the window, the sun continued its arc across the sky. Students came and went, laughing, arguing, studying, living. And somewhere in the depths of the mall, the credit system hummed along, tracking every purchase, every transaction, every choice.
Merlio finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on a napkin. Islands, he thought. We're all islands. But maybe... maybe some islands can form archipelagos.
He glanced at Gertrude, who was staring out the window with an unreadable expression.
Maybe.