Chapter 9: Floor 22

A new doorplate wasn't a home—it was where the rules began.

Morning came before the sun fully rose.

Mr. Zane walked beside Elric on a quiet path lined with trimmed hedges and scattered steel sculptures.

The air smelled faintly of cleaning agents—cold and clinical.

There were no school bells here. No buses. No noise.

Only a building of brushed silver-gray, standing still and silent.

They didn't head for the front entrance.

Instead, they approached a side gate reserved for residents of the boarding program—quieter, more secure.

A man in a grey uniform was waiting at the door.

He stood perfectly straight, hands folded, with cool but clear eyes.

He gave a polite nod.

"I'm Saki. An operations officer for Floor 22."

Mr. Zane nodded in return, stepped closer, and put his arm on Elric's shoulder.

"You remember what I told you yesterday."

Elric responded quietly:

"I remember."

He didn't look back.

Just like he hadn't looked back at his mother the day before.

Mr. Zane didn't follow.

He stood there, watching as the steel door closed behind them.

In that moment, a thought passed through him—

Some journeys only come with a one-way ticket.

**

The elevator stopped at the 22nd floor with a muted chime.

The doors opened to a space so composed, it felt designed down to the millimeter.

Cream-white walls. Slate-gray accents. Dark wood floors.

Not a single fingerprint on the doorknobs.

The central area was an open lounge.

On both sides stretched long, linear hallways.

"This will be your residence floor," Saki said.

"Each floor hosts up to five students. Three are already in class."

**

He led Elric down the corridor.

To the left: kitchen and dining area.

To the right: an open study and a communal room.

On either side—two private rooms.

At the far end—one corner suite: the staff quarters.

In the kitchen, a woman stepped away from the stove.

She wore a pressed apron over her uniform, her voice calm and even.

"Hello. I'm Aunt Ann. I handle meals and maintenance on this floor."

Elric nodded. He said nothing more.

He never spoke much in unfamiliar places.

But his eyes scanned the layout—subtle, clean, intentional.

**

"Every detail of your schedule is logged," Saki continued.

"Breakfast at seven. School transport at seven-forty. Return at four."

"Room check at nine. Lights out at ten."

"Study blocks, physical training, open time—they're tracked, reported, and stored."

He handed Elric a thick manual.

The front cover read: 22-F / Student Handbook.

"You're allowed to think.

But you're not allowed to be without structure."

"Welcome to Floor 22, Elric."

**

Elric stood in the center of the floor.

One hand held the pocket watch his father had given him.

The other held the rulebook.

No one told him what to say.

And he said nothing.

But his eyes had sharpened, just slightly.

He looked at the perfectly ordered space—so quiet, so efficient.

And slowly, a thought took shape:

This wasn't a place to live.

It was a place to build the future.

And he—

was just now standing at the threshold.

—

[Chapter Prologue]

This wasn't a place built for comfort.

It was made for discipline.

And the first rule he learned was simple:

You're allowed to exist.

But not to delay.