Saturday afternoon.
The atmosphere in the academy felt slightly different.
Compared to the usual rhythm,
there was a trace of looseness in the air.
Classes were suspended.
The classroom areas were quiet.
Half of the training zones were closed.
The training prompts that usually echoed without pause were gone.
There were more people in the corridors than usual.
Footsteps occasionally echoed.
Students moved in small groups of two or three.
Some spoke in low voices.
Some simply walked slowly.
Gradually, they all headed in the same direction—
the Outer Facilities Zone.
One of the few places in the academy where relaxation was allowed.
Though "relaxation" was only relative.
No noise.
No music.
Nothing that could push emotions too far.
Everything remained within a controlled calm.
A deliberately regulated pace of life.
—
Seven walked along the long passage leading to the outer zone.
The corridor stretched far ahead.
His footsteps echoed faintly against the ground, steady in rhythm.
The floor was made of dark gray material.
Smooth.
His shoes made almost no sound.
There were no windows along the walls.
Just a continuous surface of the same color.
No decorations.
Only light strips appeared every ten meters.
Embedded into the walls,
they emitted an even glow.
Not harsh.
No strong shadows.
The brightness remained stable throughout the corridor.
The air temperature was moderate.
No wind.
Only the faint hum of air circulation.
At the end stood an automatic door.
Silver-gray.
Clean surface.
Above it, a small display screen.
Electronic text scrolled in repetition:
Outer Facilities Zone
Open Time
Weekends
Public Holidays
Designated Adjustment Days
The font was precise. Calm.
Beside the door stood an identification scanner.
Chest height.
A card scanning panel glowing with a soft blue ring.
Seven placed his card onto it.
A soft beep.
Green light.
Access granted.
The door slid open with a quiet mechanical motion.
—
The outside space came into view.
It felt different from inside the academy.
Less enclosed.
More open.
More like a normal living area.
—
First came the residential service section.
Rows of small shops.
Neatly aligned. Even spacing.
Each storefront was small,
yet exceptionally clean.
Supermarket.
Medical station.
Quick meal stand.
Laundry facility.
Stationery and daily supplies.
Simple signs hung at each entrance.
Clear fonts. No excess design.
No luxury.
No complex lighting.
Just clean and orderly.
The ground maintained uniform brightness.
The air carried faint traces of food,
mixed with the fresh scent of detergent.
Students moved quietly.
Some carried baskets.
Some held drinks.
Some stopped at storefronts to browse.
Purchases. Supplies. Small routines.
The overall noise level remained low.
All conversations subdued.
—
All transactions used the same system:
Points.
No cash.
No extra steps.
Everything processed through identity cards.
—
Seven entered the supermarket.
The automatic door slid open.
Inside, the space was compact.
The ceiling slightly lower than the corridor.
Lighting softer.
Shelves arranged neatly.
Wide enough spacing for easy movement.
Food.
Drinks.
Daily necessities.
Simple stationery.
Each item had a digital tag.
Small screens showing point prices.
Clear numbers. Occasionally refreshing.
Seven glanced at them.
Not cheap.
But not unreasonable.
Points in the academy came from fixed sources:
Course completion.
Stability evaluation.
Discipline score.
Task contribution.
As long as one followed the system,
life remained manageable.
But if points ran low,
living quality dropped sharply.
—
Seven picked up a box of black tea.
Simple packaging.
Minimal design.
But the taste was good.
He had tried it before.
The tea aroma was mild.
Suitable for long periods of drinking.
He added a box of biscuits.
The packaging crinkled softly.
Then a small box of pastries.
Transparent case.
Neatly arranged pieces.
Moderate sweetness.
Good with tea.
—
He moved to another shelf.
Tableware.
Bowls. Plates. Cups.
Everything aligned in order.
Seven paused.
His gaze moved slowly—
then stopped.
On a row of cups.
He picked one up.
White porcelain.
No patterns.
Clean lines.
Perfect thickness.
Ordinary.
But well-crafted.
The rim was smooth under his fingertips.
Suitable for tea.
—
He placed everything into the basket.
It shifted slightly.
He carried it to the checkout.
No staff.
Only automated systems.
Card placed.
Confirmation sound.
Items scanned one by one.
Numbers updated on the screen.
Points deducted.
Transaction complete.
—
Seven stepped out.
The plastic bag swayed lightly in his hand.
—
Next to the living area was the leisure zone.
More open space.
Coffee shop.
Public rest area.
Reading room.
Indoor activity hall.
Students were allowed to move freely here.
But entertainment was minimal.
No bars.
No game arcades.
No cinemas.
The academy intentionally maintained a low-stimulation environment.
Everything designed for calm.
Students sat in the café.
Tables spaced apart.
Quiet conversations.
Some read in the reading room.
Some rested.
Some leaned back with eyes closed.
The air remained still.
—
Seven didn't stop.
He continued along another path.
The social buffer zone.
More open.
Benches. Shared tables. Small interaction areas.
Students could communicate freely here.
Across grades as well.
Some discussed courses.
Some exchanged materials.
But surveillance was everywhere.
Corners. Ceilings.
Cameras.
Ability use was still prohibited.
In the distance—
boundary warning lines.
Between the academy and the outside.
Multiple layers of control:
First—voice warnings.
Second—visual alerts. Red floor markings.
Third—system records.
First violation: warning.
Second: restriction.
Third: expulsion.
Seven glanced once.
Did not approach.
—
He left the outer zone.
Passed through the automatic door again.
Returned to the corridor.
Same light.
Same silence.
Footsteps became clearer again.
The hallway emptied.
—
A few minutes later—
Seven stood in front of the infirmary.
The door was translucent glass.
Soft light inside.
He knocked.
Twice.
"Come in."
A voice answered.
He entered.
—
The infirmary was quiet.
The faint herbal scent lingered.
Relaxing.
Elena sat at the desk.
Medicine bottles. Records.
She was organizing them.
Pen moving across paper.
She looked up.
Saw him.
A slight pause.
Eyes widened a little.
"You're back already?"
She smiled lightly.
Seven placed the bag on the table.
A soft rustle.
He took out the tea.
Set it down.
Then the biscuits.
Then the pastries.
The transparent box caught the light.
Finally—
the white porcelain cup.
—
Elena looked at the items.
A bit surprised.
Her gaze moved between them.
"What's this?"
she asked.
Seven scratched his head.
A brief hesitation.
"I have a junior."
he said.
"Her name is Ros."
Elena blinked.
Seven continued calmly.
"She might come here often."
A short pause.
"Please take care of her."
Elena glanced at the tea.
Then the pastries.
She couldn't help smiling.
"Take care?"
she repeated.
Seven nodded.
"For example—
tea…
snacks…
that kind of thing."
—
Elena finally laughed.
Soft.
She covered her mouth.
Her shoulders trembled slightly.
"Alright," she said.
"Got it."
—
Seven let out a small breath.
His shoulders relaxed.
He didn't say more.
Turned to leave.
At the door—
he paused.
"Thank you."
Quiet.
Then he left.
—
The door closed.
Footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
—
Elena stood there.
Looking at the tea.
The biscuits.
The pastries.
And the white cup.
She stayed quiet for a moment.
Her gaze rested on the cup.
Then—
she smiled.
"That's love."
she said softly.
Her tone certain.
Like a diagnosis.
—
Outside the window,
the afternoon light softened.
Sunlight filtered in.
A gentle brightness settled over the table.
The academy remained quiet.