The eastern route reopened at 6:40 the next morning.
It did not reopen because the transport strike had ended.
Police moved two abandoned buses far enough apart for emergency vehicles to pass in a single lane.
Grandmother's transfer ambulance left East District Hospital at 7:06.
I rode beside the driver because the treatment compartment had no room for family. Kitty followed with NC and Anna. JP and Jihye returned to Campus 2 to collect our bags and explain why none of us had attended the first lecture.
Rainwater covered North Ring Road in thin silver sheets.
The ambulance moved slowly enough that I could see people waiting beside closed bus stops. Nurses in uniform walked along the shoulder. A group of Water Workers Coalition members stood near the southern junction holding empty containers above their heads.
One sign read:
WE CANNOT CLEAN WHAT YOU KEEP POISONING.
Another read:
NO SAFE WATER. NO WORK.
The driver turned before I could read the others.
"Are the roads always like this now?" I asked.
"Only on days ending in day."
He checked the mirror.
"Your grandmother is stable. The slow route is safer than the fast one."
Stable had become a word everyone used when they could not promise better.
I held it anyway.
Yandong Cardiac Centre accepted Grandmother at 7:52.
The receiving team repeated the ECG, blood tests, chest imaging, and echocardiogram. They adjusted her oxygen and medication while a structural-heart specialist reviewed the valve measurements.
At 9:18, the specialist spoke to us inside a consultation room.
"She has severe aortic-valve narrowing with signs that her heart has been compensating for a long time," he said. "The collapse occurred when that compensation was no longer enough."
"Can she have the procedure?" I asked.
"Possibly. We first need her breathing, kidney function, blood pressure, and fluid balance to improve. If she stabilizes, the team can evaluate a catheter-based valve replacement. It may avoid open surgery, but it is still a major procedure and not without risk."
"What happens if she cannot have it?"
The specialist did not look away.
"Then we manage the symptoms and discuss what matters most to her."
Kitty sat beside me.
Her hand moved toward mine, stopped when she noticed the doctor watching, and continued anyway.
"What happens today?" she asked.
"Today we treat what can be treated and allow her body to show us what it can tolerate."
It was not a promise.
It contained enough hope to become dangerous.
Grandmother was awake by ten.
The cardiac nurse allowed us inside one at a time.
She looked at my clothes before my face.
"You wore yesterday into today."
"You noticed that before the oxygen?"
"The oxygen is helping. That shirt is not."
Her voice sounded stronger.
I treated that as evidence even though nobody had given me permission.
"The doctor said there may be a procedure."
"Doctors always have procedures. Students always have classes."
"I am staying."
"You are showering."
"Grandmother."
"And going to the Headmaster event meeting."
I stared at her.
"How do you know about that?"
"The television has repeated the advertisement every twenty minutes. Apparently grief requires sponsors now."
"I am not leaving you for Sleeping Man's fundraiser."
"You are not leaving me. You are going where I expect you to return from."
She looked toward the window.
"Headmaster N kept that pathway open when people wanted your cohort gone. If they are using his name, someone who remembers him should be there to notice what they change."
"You did not even know him."
"I knew what you sounded like when you believed school would still exist next semester. That is enough."
The nurse entered to check the monitor.
Grandmother closed her eyes.
"Bring Kitty before you go. She understands instructions."
"She encourages you."
"Because she is intelligent."
The nurse hid a smile.
Grandmother's blood pressure had improved slightly.
The specialist would decide the next step the following morning.
I allowed those facts to send me back toward campus.
HS remained at Yandong General.
His blood tests had not identified a toxic exposure. Fluids, food, and several hours of monitored sleep improved his heart rate and orientation. The emergency physician described severe sleep deprivation, dehydration, and an acute psychological crisis rather than a single clean diagnosis.
A mental-health clinician met him after breakfast.
NS waited outside with June and Mr. Kim.
When the clinician left, HS asked for all three of them.
"They want a discharge plan," he said.
"You are not going home alone," Mr. Kim replied.
"I know."
"You can use a guest room at my house," NS said.
HS looked at him.
"Your house has more security guards than my old school."
"They do not ring bells."
"That was almost a joke."
"Do you want the room?"
"No."
NS accepted the refusal without disguising that it hurt.
"I can stay with TZ," HS said. "He offered. His place is close to my program."
Mr. Kim nodded.
"Only if TZ understands the follow-up plan and you agree to the appointments."
"I agree."
June placed the festival announcement on the bed.
"The memorial is in five days."
HS read the legacy-guest list again.
"I am still not on it."
NS reached for his phone.
"I can change that."
HS caught his wrist.
The movement was weak.
The refusal was not.
"Do not buy me a door."
"I was going to call Acting Director K."
"With your family name standing behind the call. Same door."
NS put the phone down.
"Then what do you want?"
"If I decide to go, stand beside me when I ask why I was erased."
NS looked at him.
"I will."
HS released his wrist.
It was the first promise between them that morning.
Neither pretended it repaired Friday.
Campus 2 looked younger when we returned.
New Med Track students filled the orientation plaza wearing lanyards without scratches and white coats that had not yet collected pen marks. Some stood beneath the covered walkway taking photographs of Utopia Tower. Others circled the university lake as though its low waterline were intentional landscaping.
JP waited beside the registration banners.
"They are small," he said.
"They are university students."
"We were never that small."
Anna joined us.
"You tried to steal six juice boxes during orientation."
"For the group. That was leadership."
"You cried because the anatomy building had seven floors."
"That was architectural criticism."
TO approached before JP could defend himself further.
He was tall, narrow-shouldered, and carried the King-registration packet folded into the back pocket of his trousers despite the warning printed across the cover.
"Senior JP?"
JP straightened.
"That depends on whether you are collecting money."
"TO. Year One. We messaged yesterday."
"You are the palace-clock victim."
TO looked at me, then at the splint.
"Is he the nightclub fighter?"
JP closed his eyes.
"Young people have no respect."
"The video had one million views."
"And yet you came to me for advice."
"People said you survived more scandals."
JP considered him.
"I may keep you."
TO smiled.
It was the first uncomplicated expression any of us had seen since Thursday.
Elena Liu stood near the Grand Fountain with a clipboard.
The fountain remained dry.
A gold festival ribbon had been tied around the central sculpture to make the empty basin look ceremonial.
Elena had written the arrival times of every Queen candidate and marked which transport routes delayed them. Her own lanyard identified her as Year One.
"Senior Kitty," she said when we approached. "Thank you for answering my message."
"You can call me Kitty."
Elena looked at the other names on her clipboard.
"The instructions say formal address shows respect during candidate preparation."
"The instructions also say attendance is voluntary."
Elena understood the correction.
She drew one line through the word voluntary in her notes.
Shally Tuu arrived seven minutes late with her Foundation Year ribbon still pinned upside down.
She carried two different shoes in one transparent bag.
"I could not decide which one looks less likely to make me fall in front of donors," she said.
June examined both.
"Neither. Wear something you can stand in for four hours."
"The candidate guide says appearance is part of leadership."
"The candidate guide was written by someone sitting down."
Shally laughed.
Elena added the advice to her clipboard.
Kitty watched June kneel to fix Shally's upside-down ribbon.
For one moment, she remembered welcoming June in the same way.
A new girl.
A borrowed place in the group.
An act of kindness no one had considered a future debt.
Then Shally looked between them.
"Were you already friends when both of you entered Queen Selection?"
"Yes," June said.
"We thought we were," Kitty replied.
June's hands stopped against the ribbon.
Elena looked up from her notes.
Shally's smile became uncertain.
"Did I ask something bad?"
"No," June said. "You asked something old."
She finished fixing the ribbon and stood.
Kitty did not apologize.
The full conversation remained five days away.
It had begun choosing witnesses.
Acting Director K entered the orientation hall at 2:30.
His hair was perfectly arranged, his suit was too warm for the weather, and his eyes carried the heavy-lidded expression that had created his nickname.
He did not look asleep when he saw the sponsor cameras.
A scale replica of the Golden Lovers stood behind the lectern.
The male figure reached.
The female figure waited.
A memorial portrait of Headmaster N stood between them.
Sleeping Man welcomed the incoming students first.
Then he welcomed the Year 2 legacy guests.
"You are evidence that Utopia's pathways produce resilience," he said.
JP whispered beside me.
"We are evidence that survival can be misreported."
The Director continued.
Clinical-placement agreements required renewal. Laboratory upgrades required partners. Student-aid funds required public confidence. The festival would demonstrate that Utopia remained worthy of investment.
"No currently enrolled Med Track student will be abandoned," he said.
The room relaxed.
Then he added the condition.
"However, placement capacity will reflect the support secured during this campaign and the performance standards demonstrated by each cohort."
Nobody relaxed after that.
Meet the grade was no longer enough.
Now the size of the pathway depended on ticket sales.
TO raised his hand.
The Sleeping Man did not expect a question.
"Yes?"
"If the university already admitted us to Med Track, why are placements dependent on donations collected after we enrolled?"
Silence crossed the hall.
JP looked at TO with sudden affection.
Acting Director K smiled.
"Partnerships must remain sustainable. Your generation will learn that medicine requires adaptation."
"That did not answer him," XH said.
The microphone carried my voice farther than intended.
Every camera turned.
Sleeping Man looked at the splint, then at my face.
"Mr. XH. Your legacy participation remains under conduct review."
"The question does not."
Kitty touched my left arm.
Not to stop me.
To keep me from stepping closer.
NS spoke from the opposite side of the front row.
"The Director said placement capacity depends on funding. TO asked why students carried that risk after admission. A number would answer him."
Sleeping Man's smile weakened.
For one moment, XH and NS stood on the same side.
"Final placement numbers will be released after the festival," he said.
It was still not an answer.
It was the first public confirmation that none of us were guaranteed to remain.
TO found us before the photographer did.
"Thank you for asking," he said.
"You asked," I replied.
"He meant thank you for making Sleeping Man pretend to answer," JP said.
Elena joined him with Shally following behind.
"The old festival archive lists both Senior XH and Senior NS under King Selection," Elena said. "Which one became King?"
JP looked at TZ.
"Do we tell them?"
"There were too many rule changes to give a simple answer," TZ said.
"That sounds like nobody won," TO replied.
NS looked toward the Golden Lovers replica.
"Winning was never the part people remembered."
Shally lifted her upside-down ribbon, which had somehow become upside down again.
"The candidate guide says a kingdom cannot carry two final sovereigns. One remains and one steps down. Is that just palace folklore?"
The question was innocent.
Kitty's fingers tightened around the edge of her invitation.
I looked at NS.
He was already looking at me.
"It was folklore last year," JP said quickly.
"What is it this year?" TO asked.
"A fundraising slogan if Sleeping Man discovers it," Anna replied.
The juniors laughed.
None of the seniors did.
Behind them, the digital sponsor board refreshed.
NS's family name appeared beside an unconfirmed platinum table.
I saw it.
"I thought you declined," I said.
"I did."
"Your name stayed."
"That does not mean I agreed."
"Your name opens doors without asking you."
NS's expression changed.
"And your anger enters rooms before you understand them. We both live with reputations we did not fully choose."
"Only one of those reputations buys a clinical placement."
June moved closer to NS.
Kitty remained beside me.
TO looked between both pairs and stopped smiling.
NS lowered his voice.
"My family did not protect HS's place. It will not protect yours if you keep giving the university reasons to remove you."
The sentence struck the conduct probation beneath my name.
I stepped toward him.
Kitty caught my left sleeve.
"The photographer is waiting," she said.
NS did not move.
For the first time that afternoon, the new students saw that the old King story had never ended.
After the speech, staff arranged the legacy guests around the Golden Lovers replica.
Kitty and June stood beneath the waiting figure.
NS and I stood beneath the reaching one.
JP and TZ took their old positions behind us.
HS's place remained empty.
The photographer asked everyone to smile.
The flash returned NeverMore Palace in fragments.
Rain against gold stone.
June beneath my hand.
Kitty watching from beyond the statues.
NS arriving after the kiss had already become history.
JP, TZ, and HS laughing before any chair became permanent.
The second flash returned us to Campus 2.
Elena, Shally, and TO stood at the edge of the frame waiting for their own photograph.
"We look old," JP said.
"You look injured," TZ replied.
"That is how aging begins."
The photographer lowered the camera.
My phone vibrated.
The Cardiac Centre had posted a family-conference appointment for eight the following morning.
PROCEDURE ELIGIBILITY DECISION PENDING.
Hope entered through six words and demanded the entire room.
Across the hall, the new students took their places beneath the Golden Lovers.
For them, the statues promised a beginning.
For us, they remembered everything that beginning had cost.