Chapter 9 – Mystery
"H-Hnng…"
A groan escaped Zane's throat as his eyelids fluttered open. A blinding white light pierced through the fog of his mind, forcing him to squint. His head pulsed with a dull, rhythmic throb—like someone pounding a hammer against his skull—and every inch of his body screamed in agony.
He winced. His limbs were heavy, as though someone had tied weights to them. A warm blanket was draped over him, but the stiffness beneath it told him he was thoroughly bandaged.
"Where… am I?" he muttered, his voice dry and hoarse.
The room was sterile white. The sharp scent of disinfectant lingered in the air. It only took a few seconds for the fog in his mind to clear enough to remember. The infirmary. He had dragged himself here after the beating, bloodied and broken.
'Right… I made it to the infirmary. Then I must've blacked out.'
He tried to sit up, but a searing pain in his ribs made him freeze halfway. He gritted his teeth, reluctantly letting himself fall back against the pillow.
'At least she didn't send me to the hospital… That would've ruined everything.'
There was no time for rest or recovery. If he missed his injection ticket, everything—everything he'd worked for, bled for—would be gone. No second chances. No exceptions. Even lying on the brink of collapse, that truth rang loudest in his mind.
"What time is it…?" he coughed out, his throat bone-dry.
His gaze found the clock hanging above the infirmary door. 3:40 PM.
His heart dropped.
"Shit—I'll be late!"
The words burst out as he sat up again, wincing as a fresh wave of pain tore through his torso. He gritted his teeth and yanked the curtain aside, revealing the nurse sitting at her desk. Her head snapped up, eyes widening when she saw him.
"You're awake?" she said, startled.
"Hah… Yeah," Zane muttered, trying to mask the pain in his voice. "Thank you for helping me. I feel better now, so I'll be on my way."
She stood up abruptly, waving her hands. "Wait—what? You're far from better! I spent an hour just stopping the bleeding! Go lie down, you need to rest. Do you have a guardian I can call?"
He paused for a second, looking at her calmly despite the storm raging in his body.
"I don't," he said simply. "And I'm really fine. I just need to go."
Her brow furrowed. "Look, I know it's not my business… but what the hell happened to you?"
Zane's steps slowed. Facing away from her, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
'Of course she'd ask that.'
"I fell off my bike," he said with a small, forced smile as he glanced over his shoulder.
"…Fell from a bike?" she repeated, eyebrows rising skeptically as her gaze drifted over the clearly brutal bruises and bandages covering him.
Anyone with half a brain could see that wasn't true. A fall from a bike wouldn't cause cracked ribs and busted lips. It was a lie—and a poor one.
'He's lying to protect someone,' the nurse thought, pursing her lips. 'He's being bullied. No doubt about it.'
She'd heard the rumors about Zane. The strange boy everyone avoided. He was always alone, always quiet, always worn down. Most just dismissed him without a second thought. Even she had, in truth. But now, watching him limp toward the door, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.
"Wait," she said gently. "You know you can report it, right? If someone did this to you, you can talk to a teacher. They could get expelled."
Zane stopped.
There was a long pause. He didn't turn around.
"I told you," he said softly, "I just fell."
Then, finally, he turned to face her again. His expression was calm, even polite, but his eyes… They flickered with something cold. Quiet. Dangerous.
"I'll take care of it."
The nurse stiffened. For a second, she felt her breath catch. There was something unsettling in that look—not violent or cruel, but deeply resolved. Then, without another word, Zane stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
"…Odd kid," she murmured, still staring at the door.
The halls outside were quiet. Zane moved as quickly as his battered body allowed, one hand gripping his side as he fought to keep his breath steady. Every step was agony.
'I need to get my ticket… I'll deal with the rest later.'
The building's north wing was where the administrative offices were—where the ticket distribution was happening. As he reached the hallway, he found it already packed with students. Dozens stood around in clusters, talking, whispering, checking their phones. A few laughed nervously. The atmosphere was tense, but not terrified—yet.
Zane kept his distance, leaning against the wall as he pulled out his phone. The buzz of voices around him grated on his nerves.
'I hate crowds…' he thought, jaw tightening. 'Too noisy. Too distracting.'
He opened a blank note and started scrolling to calm himself.
'I wonder if the Delegation's involved with the distribution itself… They probably are. No way they'd risk something this important falling into the wrong hands. I heard they're strict—makes sense, given what's at stake.'
The door to the teacher's office opened, cutting through the noise like a blade. A stern-looking teacher stepped out, clapping his hands loudly.
"Alright, quiet down, everyone!"
The room settled almost immediately.
"We'll be calling names one by one. When your name is called, step forward, enter the office, receive your ticket, and leave. No loitering. No questions. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the students replied in unison, a mix of tension and excitement coloring their voices.
The teacher nodded and pulled out a list.
"The names are randomized. Let's begin."
He called out the first name. A student near the front flinched, then stepped forward and entered the office. The door shut behind him.
Silence fell like a curtain. Not a whisper stirred.
Zane watched closely. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
A minute passed before the door opened again. The student stepped out slowly. His face was blank, almost vacant, like he'd seen something he couldn't explain. He glanced back once at the door, but didn't say a word.
"Move along," the teacher instructed.
The boy nodded, barely registering the command, and wandered off down the hall. A few others tried to approach him, curious—but the teacher shot them a look so sharp they immediately backed off.
Zane's eyes narrowed.
'So they're not even letting us talk about what happens in there?'
The next name was called. Another student stepped in. Another silent exit followed.
Each one came out the same—dazed, glassy-eyed, like they'd just woken from a dream they couldn't remember.
One by one, they went in and came out. One by one, their faces mirrored that same distant expression.
Zane studied them, trying to find any common thread, anything to explain what was going on inside. But there was nothing obvious. No one spoke. No one resisted. And no one looked the same when they came out.
'Why do they all look so stunned? Every single one who walked in came out feeling... different?' He asked himself.
He squinted, watching the process repeat again. Every student left with the same look, and it was clearly not a coincidence.
Zane couldn't really put his finger on what was happening, but he was certain that this was the doing of the person distributing the tickets inside. 'Could they have told the students not to say a single word? Maybe threaten them to not leak any info?'
It made sense. After all, the injection wasn't just some ceremonial step—it was the gateway to every other world. The start of a new life. Or, for the wrong person, the start of chaos. The Dimensional Knights cannot afford to let the injection reach the wrong hands, no matter the cost.
The world couldn't afford a disaster of that scale.
Zane crossed his arms, ignoring the burning pain in his chest.
Soon, it would be his turn.
"I will see for myself what this is all about."