Chapter 2 — The Orphanage of Eighty-Two Children

She had no idea how long she'd been asleep.

Maybe it was the bed—hard as a rock—or maybe she just wasn't used to sleeping in unfamiliar places. Either way, Baisha woke up early the next morning. The sky outside her window was still dusky, painted at the edges with a faint, neon-like purple.

Natural phenomenon, or artificial pollution?

Her mind wandered to the mechanical arm she'd seen yesterday—the one called "Gwyneth." A robot, clearly, and an intelligent one at that. After all, she even had a feminine name. It seemed the Federation's technology was quite advanced.

Back in Baisha's old world, robots that showed emotions or argued with people were the stuff of science fiction. Now, she was living it.

The thought sent a little thrill through her.

Knock knock.

The door creaked open, and a tall woman stepped inside. Compared to Homan, she looked much more dependable. She wore a tailored gray-white dress, her brown hair swept into a neat bun. Though lines etched her forehead, the corners of her eyes and cheeks like fissures in volcanic rock, her posture was straight, her movements crisp. A bracelet-like device on her wrist flickered with soft lights, data streams swirling into floating holographic screens that hovered near her gaze—sleek, mysterious, and very high-tech.

"Baisha, is it?" the woman said, glancing at her. Baisha scrambled out of bed, smoothed the blanket, and sat quietly on the edge. The woman seemed pleased with her manners. Her tone softened a touch.

"I've spoken with Homan. We can take you in here at the Charity Home. All we need is to file a new identity record for you. That's no big deal on Lanslo Star."

She spoke slowly, almost gently. "At your age, if you don't have a guardian on this planet, you'll end up here anyway. We've already posted a notice on the star network, but there's no record of your parents anywhere in the system. Realistically, your chances of finding them are slim. Maybe someone on another planet might want to adopt you—but here on Lanslo Star, that's unlikely. So, would you like to stay here with us?"

"I'd be happy to," Baisha thought. She was just an orphan—what right did she have to be picky? Orphans in orphanages, wasn't that how it went?

"I'm Joan Picole, the director of this home. You may call me Mrs. Joan." She gave a nod. "We currently house eighty-two children, including you. Unfortunately, we are severely understaffed. Counting caregivers, teachers, the medic, and maintenance staff, we only have seven adults total—"

"Wait, you mean Gwyneth's one of them?" Baisha asked.

"Indeed," Mrs. Joan replied. "Gwyneth is a medical robot equipped with an emotional chip. She's caring, empathetic, and deeply loved by staff and children alike. She's very much a part of our teaching team."

Baisha: "…"

So, if you don't count the robot, they had only six actual adults running this place?

Even if you divided the work strictly, that would mean each adult had to look after more than ten kids. That sounded… impossible.

Mrs. Joan continued, "So, you'll need to contribute to chores within your ability. It helps the home run smoothly. Are you good at anything?"

Baisha suddenly felt like she was in a job interview. "Um… I can design small mechanical things. I also draw… and garden?"

Mrs. Joan gave her a long look, as if resisting the urge to sigh.

"Better help in the kitchen."

She waved, and a barrel-shaped robot rolled in carrying a small package. "This contains your essentials—clothes, shoes, toiletries, stationery. It's all the home can currently provide. If there's anything more you want, you'll have to wait until you're old enough to take on part-time work."

"Get changed. I'll take you to breakfast."

…

In all her lives, this was Baisha's first time in an orphanage. But she had a pretty good idea of what to expect.

Worst case, something out of The Promised Neverland. Best case, maybe a sci-fi version of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

Mrs. Joan gave her a brief tour. There wasn't much high-tech wizardry here—just a modest, ordinary orphanage. The biggest difference from Baisha's original world was the lack of soil, and the absence of trees.

Eventually, they reached the hall where everyone gathered for breakfast. Mrs. Joan handed her a printed schedule: after breakfast, children would be assigned chores based on their age, which would take an hour or two. Then came study time. After 2 PM, younger kids were free to play, while the older ones received "job training"—basically lessons on how to survive and get hired.

Baisha keenly noted that nowhere in this plan did the word "school" appear.

She wisely chose not to ask.

Breakfast was chaos. The noise from eighty-some kids was something to behold.

Some were chasing each other, others shouting or bickering. The younger ones let out random shrieks or cries. In thirty seconds, Baisha noticed that maybe 20% of the kids had issues—physical disabilities, or… weren't particularly bright.

No wonder Homan's first concern yesterday was "just make sure she's not mentally impaired."

Two young caregivers in uniform were clearly overwhelmed. Homan and a tall, thin teacher were trying to keep order among the stampeding gremlins.

An old woman with snowy white hair and glasses slowly pushed a meal cart. Her body looked brittle as dry twigs, but her face was calm, almost smiling, as if she were strolling down a quiet, leafy boulevard. It wasn't until Baisha got close that she noticed the hearing aid tucked behind the woman's ear.

Baisha: "…"

Just as she thought the chaos might swallow the room whole, Mrs. Joan took two steps forward. Her gray skirt swished softly at her feet. She clapped her hands twice.

Clap clap.

The room fell silent instantly.

"Alright, children," she said, skipping niceties. "Return to your seats now. If you don't, I'll give your breakfast to someone else."

A scramble followed. Kids rushed to their spots like their lives depended on it.

"You'll sit there." Mrs. Joan pointed out a seat to Baisha and raised her voice again. "This is Baisha, a new friend joining our Charity Home. Help her settle in."

Dozens of curious eyes turned her way. Baisha kept her head high and sat down with poise.

Mrs. Joan then coldly called out two names—Vian and Kaleza—for getting into a fight yesterday and breaking a bone. As punishment, they'd spend the day in confinement.

At last, breakfast began.

Baisha picked up her spoon and tried the potato-like mash in front of her.

Strong potato flavor. A hint of milk. It was edible, but reminded her of instant food. Honestly, she would've preferred plain rice with soy sauce.

After a few bites, she sensed someone staring.

She turned her head—next to her, a red-haired boy about her age was eyeing her bowl with undisguised longing.

"You want more?" she asked.

He hesitated, then nodded.

"You could ask for seconds."

"It's a limited item. One serving per person," he said glumly. "But I'm still hungry…"

He looked like a starving puppy. Baisha's soft spot.

She pushed her untouched portion toward him. "Take mine."

"Really?" His emerald eyes lit up, going round with surprise.

Just like a puppy wagging its tail, Baisha thought.

He dug in immediately. "You're so nice. Not like Jingyi—she just hits me. I'm Yanning. You're Baisha, right? You can sit with us in class later—"

"Hold it. You're you. I'm me. Don't go making decisions for me."

The speaker was a girl who seemed to appear out of nowhere, half a head shorter than Baisha. She was covered in dust, her black hair a tangled mess. Despite her ragged look, she radiated pride—like a scrappy little rooster.

"I'm not like some people who get bribed by mashed potatoes. If you want her in your group, fine, but don't drag me in."

"That's Jingyi," Yanning said cheerfully, unfazed by her tone.

Baisha nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

Jingyi glared at her.

"She probably lost a fight earlier, that's why she's cranky—ow ow ow! Don't hit me! I'm still eating!"

Jingyi socked him on the arm.

Baisha watched their scuffle with interest until the old woman with the food cart came over and said gently, "Miss Baisha?"

"Yes?"

"Mrs. Joan said you'll be helping in the kitchen from now on."

Baisha was ready for that. Can't freeload forever. "Got it. I'll start right away."

Yanning and Jingyi both paused, exchanging looks of envy.

Yanning: "Need an assistant?"

Jingyi: "It's—uh—still an hour till morning lessons. We'll wait for you, then go together."

Baisha: "?"