Chapter 05 – My First Day

  "Who could have guessed that people here are friendlier than they were back home?

  But I don’t mind being surrounded by kindness.

  Now, though, it’s time to head back."

  (...)

  Who would have thought the people here… were actually kinder than I’d ever known?

  Jason smirked as he walked. I never imagined I’d miss something like this—real kindness. But… I guess I wouldn’t mind having a bit more of it in my life.

  He exhaled deeply. Time to go back.

  (...)

  At the apartment door, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the slim access chip, and held it to the smooth terminal.

  A soft, mechanical hiss—the door slid open with a whir.

  Inside, he dropped the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter, shrugged off his jacket, and tossed it onto the couch with a satisfied sigh.

  A few moments later, everything was put away.

  He grabbed a chilled drink, a pack of cigarettes, and stepped onto the balcony.

  The sky over Rosina was leaden gray, rain drumming softly against the awning.

  Jason sat down, lit a cigarette, and leaned back—as if finally arriving somewhere after a long time.

  The soundscape of the mega-residential blocks was like a chorus of a thousand voices—conversations, snippets of music, a child’s laughter.

  Living here feels… different. But alive. And I like that. There’s something to hear, something real, Jason thought as he exhaled the smoke slowly.

  Just as he was about to take another sip—

  he heard something.

  (He hears his neighbors to the left. )

  A man’s voice grew loud: "You’re leaving. I’ve decided.

  It doesn’t matter what you want—you must go, you will go.

  So get ready before I lose my temper."

  A door slammed loudly. (BAMM..)

  "Wow, But he’s already angry," Jason muttered with a quiet laugh.

  Then the balcony door opened, and a man stepped out in a black suit and glasses, his face sour.

  He pulled a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket.

  He lit the cigarette, then got a call.

  He grew even angrier, so he answered.

  "Mr. Timber, where are you… You should’ve been here already?!

  …

  How could you not babysit?

  I’m paying you well enough for it!

  …

  Hhh… Seems like you won’t need further employment here."

  He placed the smartphone on the table and kept smoking.

  "I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes—his life’s falling apart."

  Jason couldn’t suppress an inward grin as he watched his neighbor.

  "Time for a drink: Dragonsoul–CherryStrawberry!

  Sounds… not exactly cool, but whatever."

  With childish anticipation, Jason grabbed the can.

  Fssst.

  He opened it and took a slow sip, letting the flavor settle on his tongue.

  "Okay, first comes the cherry—bold, sweet.

  Then the strawberry sneaks in and blends surprisingly well.

  And all without carbonation—it makes the taste smoother, gentler."

  He leaned back, mentally drafting a review—almost professionally.

  "Can design: 6/10.

  Looks okay, but the colors are too soft—needs more visual punch.

  Taste? Honestly: 8/10!

  Really good, but missing that ‘wow’ factor that lingers.

  Still—definitely better than the crap back home."

  He had to smirk. Jason enjoyed his little soda critique—something he’d definitely repeat.

  But then he suddenly felt a gaze.

  He turned slightly—there it was:

  His neighbor stared at him like he’d discovered a rare animal.

  Jason raised an eyebrow, returning the look with a questioning expression. He suspected what was coming.

  "Hello! You’re our new neighbor, right?"

  The man grinned broadly.

  Jason nodded slightly—not unfriendly, but terse.

  "Not much of a talker, huh?

  Whatever. Listen… Do you have an hour or two?"

  Jason lifted an eyebrow, took another small sip of his drink, and studied the neighbor briefly.

  "Depends… What’s it for?"

  His voice was calm, almost casual—but his gaze held a certain alertness.

  He was new here, and something about the question sounded… unusual.

  The neighbor raised his hands, placating, almost embarrassed—a rare expression on an otherwise controlled face.

  "Don’t get the wrong idea—it’s not a job offer or anything."

  Mike Westbrook glanced upward briefly, as if searching for the right words. Then he continued:

  "I have a favor. My daughter—she’s 18—is supposed to be in school today, but… she hates Saturday classes. Unfortunately, she can’t afford to skip them. I wanted to ask if you’d be kind enough to take her today?"

  Jason blinked in surprise. "They even have school on Saturdays here? Damn… No wonder the daughter’s not thrilled. Back home, I barely made it out of bed by noon…" he thought.

  He looked at Mike.

  "Sorry, I don’t know your school system at all. How does it work here generally? And how long do people stay in school? I’d like to know before agreeing."

  Mike smirked slightly, then nodded.

  "So that’s a ‘yes’? Then let me explain quickly."

  He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

  "Kids start school here at six. At ten, they’re in about fifth grade—then it gets intense. Schedules tighten up.

  Classes are Monday to Friday from 8 AM to 4 PM—no clubs or extracurriculars. Saturday school runs 9 AM to 1 PM. This goes on until the 20th grade. Most are mid-to-late twenties by then. College comes after, but it’s usually only two to three years. So much shorter than school."

  Jason raised an eyebrow.

  "Wow. That sounds… intense. But also thorough."

  Mike nodded.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "Yeah. That’s Rosina."

  Then a pause before he asked again:

  "So… would you do it?"

  Jason took a small sip from his Dragonsoul can and replied calmly:

  "Sure. No problem today."

  "Thanks, that relieves a lot." Mike exhaled audibly. Then he slapped his forehead lightly.

  "Oh—almost forgot: I’m Mike Westbrook. And my daughter is Ellaine."

  Jason shook his hand.

  "Pleased to meet you. I’m Jason Dorn."

  Then Mike grinned slightly, checking his watch.

  "So now we just wait for my daughter…"

  (...)

  The door hissed open. Jason stepped back as the girl appeared before him.

  She was about 5'7"—slim, almost fragile-looking, with a reserved posture that suggested cautious intelligence or simple indifference. Her long, curly black hair immediately reminded him of her father, though she seemed softer. And there were the eyes—brown, warm, just like Westbrook’s. Noticeable was a small mole left below her mouth, giving her a quiet, memorable mark.

  Jason studied her briefly—not judgmentally, but surprised by her self-assured presence.

  "You’re Jason," she said, no greeting, but a tone curiouser than she might admit.

  "Yes. And you must be Ellaine."

  She nodded, then wordlessly zipped her jacket and stepped out the door. Jason hesitated briefly, then followed.

  (...)

  The morning was cool but clear. The light fog over the floating sidewalks slowly dissipated as Jason and Ellaine left the building.

  The city around him felt like a living organism of steel, glass, and light—floating billboards drifted silently across the sky, autonomous taxis gliding noiselessly along magnetic rails beside them.

  Ellaine walked a few steps ahead, hands in her jacket pockets, then turned to him.

  "So… you’re really new here, right?"

  "Yeah. Is it that obvious?"

  Jason tried a half-ironic smile.

  "A little."

  She grinned crookedly but stayed beside him. "Most people here don’t gawk around. You’re staring like you’re in an amusement park."

  "In a way, I am."

  He stopped to look at a metallic tree whose solar-powered leaves moved in sync with the wind.

  "I mean—titanium trees? Where else does that happen?"

  Ellaine laughed briefly. It was an honest, bright laugh.

  "Probably everywhere, just not where you’re from."

  Jason nodded. "That’s probably true."

  A swarm of drones buzzed overhead, distributing tiny information capsules to pedestrians—likely news or ads. Jason instinctively ducked.

  Ellaine noticed and grinned.

  "No worries. They use facial ID. If you didn’t order anything, you won’t get it."

  "Glad to hear that…"

  They kept walking. The school came into view—a futuristic building with curved shapes and shimmering glass facades. Students in uniform yet stylish outfits wandered the grounds. Ellaine slowed.

  "So… thanks for bringing me. My dad never has time for stuff like this."

  She sounded not sad, just matter-of-fact. Almost accustomed.

  Jason looked at her.

  "No problem. It’s just a small detour for me."

  She studied him briefly. "You don’t seem like someone who finds teenagers annoying. That surprises me."

  "I’m no pro… but I used to be one."

  He shrugged. "And honestly, I find it kinda nice to have company again."

  Ellaine smiled faintly, then nodded slightly.

  "Okay. Then I hope we’ll see each other more often. Not just for school runs."

  Jason raised his eyebrows in surprise, but before he could reply, she’d already turned toward the school entrance.

  "See you later, Jason."

  He watched her vanish inside. No look back, no wave—just a light, springy gait that spoke of duty but also inner fatigue.

  This wasn’t just a new place. It was a new chapter.

  "Okay, in the end, it got weird. And what does ‘see you later’ even mean now?!"

  Jason frowned. Had she just said that casually? Or did she really mean she’d drop by later?

  It was odd. Not unpleasant—just… unfamiliar. Almost unsettling how quickly people here let him into their lives. First Mei, then Westbrook, now his daughter. And somehow, Ellaine radiated a calmness that felt strangely familiar.

  "She doesn’t act like other 18-year-olds," he thought.

  "Quiet, but alert. Like someone who knows too much to be loud."

  He leaned back, letting his gaze drift over the futuristic skyline. The metallic towers, the strange urban landscape, the sharp lines of this world—it all still felt foreign. But not entirely cold anymore.

  Maybe this wasn’t just a new planet. Maybe it truly was a beginning.

  Jason was glad he didn’t have to participate fully in this system.

  He had freedom gifted to him.

  Jason relaxed on his way home, trying not to draw attention.

  The metropolis was a fascinating dance between past and future, a living organism whose pulse was dictated by both weathered, monumental artworks of the 20th century and sharply cut, pragmatic skyscrapers of modernity. Old art, eroded by time, collided with gleaming surfaces bursting with technological efficiency.

  Here, everything seemed intertwined—the past and the future, nostalgia and progress.

  Between the colossal structures, drones buzzed like tireless bees, executing their missions in near-perfect synchrony. On the streets, people worked, hurried through the urban labyrinth, eyes always fixed on the next task. Everywhere, on every corner, something—a shop, a restaurant, an ad, a flicker of neon light.

  The city was an endless stream of impressions, a maze of life and machines that never slept.

  It was 9:00 AM, the morning still fresh, but the city was already fully awake.

  The streets were crowded with people of all kinds.

  The diversity was overwhelming, yet within the masses, a strange order prevailed.

  The city was not just a place; it was an organ, a living system functioning in every corner.

  Every detail, no matter how small, was thought through, meticulously designed. A microcosm where every part had its place—and yet, everything was interwoven.

  And in the middle of this complex web stood Jason, an individual like so many others in this network of life and technology, searching—for a reason, a goal.

  Yet the longer he moved through this artificially shaped world, the clearer it became that he, like everyone else here, was no more than a cog in a far greater system.

  As he strolled through the streets, he noticed that time lingered more for him than for others. Maybe that was the true luxury in this world—the freedom to pause and ask: What comes next? What is the next step in a space that’s always moving?

  And yet, despite the omnipresent rush and relentless striving, Jason felt as though he himself—amid this motion—was in a kind of suspension.

  While everyone else was swept along from task to task, he remained behind, trapped in a moment that felt more foreign than anything.

  Amid these thoughts, as he neared his apartment, a sharp gaze pierced the deceptive calm of the surroundings.

  Something was wrong. A sense of unease grew within him.

  Something in the shadows of the street, among the anonymous faces, caught his attention.

  A fleeting glance—and yet, he knew something suspicious hung in the air.

  Jason stepped into the narrow alley, his footsteps leisurely, as if simply taking a shortcut.

  The concrete beneath his feet was still damp from the rain, the walls glistened gray and bleak. Then—he stopped abruptly. Sounds. Not good ones.

  Dull thuds. Whimpering. A scream.

  He crept closer, peering cautiously around the corner. There, in the pale light of a flickering neon sign, lay a man on the ground. Two figures loomed over him—the one with a baseball bat, the other with a rusted iron rod.

  They shouted, laughed, insulted him as if he were trash. The man on the ground spat blood, gasped for air, his legs twitching uncontrollably.

  Jason froze. A lump formed in his throat.

  Damn… what should I do?

  He pressed himself against the wall. If I intervene, they’ll beat me too. And another’s coming from behind… I’m trapped.

  He pulled a cigarette from the pack, lit it. The smoke tasted like helplessness.

  "Perfect timing for a break," he muttered sarcastically, hearing the next scream.

  "Please…," the man on the ground choked out.

  "What do you mean ‘please,’ you little worm?!" snarled the first attacker, swinging the bat again. Thud! —a blunt impact on the ribs.

  "Aahh damn… Knocking women out is easier sometimes...," the injured man groaned through pain.

  Jason narrowed his eyes. The guy’s collapsing and I’m standing here like an idiot with a cigarette in my mouth…

  "You bastard!" roared the second attacker. "It’s not that hard—had him lulled already, but now it’s over!"

  Then the iron rod crashed onto his back. Crack!

  The scream pierced Jason to the core. He flinched, the cigarette trembling between his fingers.

  Okay, enough. I can’t stand here like a spectator at a circus.

  He glanced sideways—the guy who’d been at the alley entrance was gone. Perfect. Now I can escape.

  He turned away, rushed out of the alley, and looked around desperately for help—something, anyone…

  And there: A police car pulling up on the opposite street.

  Jason ran over, knocked on the window, which rolled down instantly.

  "Officer—the alley back there—a robbery. They’re beating him to death!" he gasped, pointing back.

  The driver, a square-jawed man with a cold stare, nodded sharply.

  "Show us the way."

  Both doors slammed open simultaneously. Two officers stepped out—bulletproof vests, tactical helmets, armored pants, both calm as predators before the strike.

  "Move, move," said the second officer curtly.

  Jason sprinted ahead, the officers close behind.

  The alley transformed into a tension field in seconds—

  and this time, Jason wasn’t on the sidelines.

  Jason rounded the corner back into the alley, panting. The two attackers noticed only when a thunderous command split the air.

  "Police! Off the man—hands up, now!"

  The one with the baseball bat jumped, nearly dropping the weapon. The other tried to flee—too late.

  A precise kick from the second officer sent him crashing against the wall, where he slumped with a wheezing groan.

  "On the ground! Now!"

  A sharp, electric zapping sound—the taser snapped. The first attacker writhed, twitched, and collapsed with a gurgling cry. The second was already pinned, professionally cuffed with glittering carbon tape.

  "Secure one—clear," said the first officer calmly into the radio.

  The other knelt immediately to the victim, checking breathing and pulse. "Severe bruising. Leg fracture. Back possibly injured. Call S.H."

  "On it." The first officer turned to Jason. "You did exactly the right thing. Name?"

  Jason hesitated a moment, then said: "Jason Dorn."

  The officer nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Dorn. Without you, this could’ve ended badly."

  The injured man weakly lifted his head. His blood-crusted lips formed a hoarse "Thank you…," before he closed his eyes in exhaustion.

  Sirens approached—a medical hovercraft descended slowly, its light dancing between the narrow alley walls.

  Jason stepped back, the cigarette halfway burned in his hand. The morning’s chill was no longer noticeable.

  Something stirred inside him—

  Not just fear.

  Not just pity.

  Something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Significance.

  Maybe… this day wasn’t entirely lost after all.