The first week of school was exactly what I had feared—maybe worse. I wasn’t looking forward to pretending to be a five-year-old, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood to play along with the childish nonsense around me. But, well, I had no choice.

  Tuesday morning hit like a brick wall. Kids were crying. Parents were fussing. Teachers were forcing their bright, fake smiles, trying to keep the chaos under control. It was a mess—the first day of school always was. I stuck to the back of the classroom, quiet, observing, trying not to get pulled into the ridiculousness of it all. At least the teacher didn’t mind setting up the fan at the back of class.

  Then there was the same chubby Korean kid from registration, Kim Ji-Min. He kept glancing at me, curious, maybe a little nervous. I ignored him at first, too busy trying to drown out the noise and irritation of being stuck in a classroom full of toddlers. But by lunchtime, he finally worked up the courage to talk.

  “I saw you at registration. Do you like robots?” he asked, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

  I shrugged. “I guess.” Thinking that there is a reason for calling children, snot-nosed brats.

  That was apparently the right answer because his eyes lit up. He launched into an excited explanation about some new toy he got, and before I knew it, we were… talking? It was all childish nonsense to be sure, but it still helped with boredom. From my perspective, we were not friends, he was FIVE after all, but at least I wasn’t completely alone. Maybe in the future he can become my lackey?

  Not that I cared about finding lackeys among five-year-olds, also who needs a lackey? I think I read too many Chinese novels. I had bigger things to focus on. The system, for one, and my writing, for another. Whenever I could, I hid in the library, scribbling down thoughts, memories, anything to keep myself grounded. It was the only thing that made me feel like myself.

  Of course, school had its share of annoyances.

  Jose, the neighbor kid, was very hyperactive. He wouldn’t stop talking about soccer. Every recess, he’d beg me to join his team.

  “Come on, Alex! You gotta play! We need one more!”

  “No thanks,” I muttered, flipping my notebook shut. Sports weren’t my thing, and I wasn’t about to waste my energy pretending they were. Even though my dad wanted to be buddies with Emeliano and his family, it didn’t mean I did.

  Then there was a Chinese student who got annoyed at me for not “showing face.” At first, I didn’t even know how. Was this some kind of cultivation novel? Apparently, I had ignored him when he was trying to show off in class. He expected me to nod along, smile, or at least acknowledge his "greatness." Whatever. I wasn’t here to win a popularity contest or help him win one either.

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  The little girls in class, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. They giggled, twirled, and acted cute all the time, like they were trying to get attention from the whole world. I avoided them as much as possible. Even though I was 25 mentally and not gay, I had never had a girlfriend, and five year olds weren’t my thing, so I was definitely not interested in hanging out with little girls.

  And then there was recess.

  If I had to sum up recess in one word, it would be disgusting.

  Day one, I witnessed my first true horror: a kid peeing himself.

  And not just peeing himself—no, that would’ve been too easy. This kid, some hyper little monster named Dylan, stood right in the middle of the playground, legs slightly apart, eyes narrowed in concentration. And then—like some deranged warrior refusing to yield in battle—he just… let it happen.

  A dark stain spread down his pants, soaking into his socks, and yet he did not stop playing.

  “Dylan!” one of the teachers shrieked. “Why didn’t you tell me you needed to go?”

  “I don’t wanna stop playing!” he wailed, kicking at the wood chips beneath his feet like this was somehow our fault.

  I stood there, horrified. The other kids barely reacted—like this was normal. But I knew the truth. This was how society crumbled. This was how the world ended—not with war, not with famine, but with children too stubborn to use a bathroom.

  The teacher finally dragged Dylan off, leaving behind a cursed patch of damp wood chips that everyone avoided for the rest of the week. Or at least, I did. Some of these kids had no sense of self-preservation.

  Lunch was no better. Someone always threw up—always. The first time, I barely had time to react. One second, I was minding my own business, poking at the questionable cafeteria food, and the next—

  “BLEEEEGGGGHHHH!”

  A tidal wave of half-digested spaghetti splattered across the floor. The smell hit like a punch to the face. Teachers rushed in with napkins, but it was too late. The damage was done.

  Meanwhile, the other kids just… kept eating.

  I pushed my tray away, stomach churning. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. That was it. I was never eating in the cafeteria again. From that day on, I spent my lunch hiding in the library, where at least it was quiet and vomit-free. There, I kept writing, losing myself in my own world.

  Strangely enough, my small connection with Ji-Min turned out to be useful. One afternoon, he mentioned liking the fan I had brought to class. Apparently, he and his dad both suffered from breathing problems, and being in class all week, he noticed a marked improvement when he used it. So, naturally, he wanted more for his house.

  “Do you have more?” he asked, shifting nervously.

  I thought for a second. “I can make some.”

  His mom seemed happy he had made a friend, so she willingly bought four total. Yay! Quest completed. And since Ji-Mins’s family had 4 fans, they would be one of the first affected when the world got spiritual energy. When that time came they would have more strength, and it is always better to be friendly with stronger individuals. Lackeys shouldn’t be too weak.

  Even though I was only five, I could still contribute to sales. While I was no Jeff Bezos yet, it was something. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a total waste of time.

  By the end of the week, I had survived. Barely. If this was what school was going to be like every day, I was in for a long, miserable year.