Dorm 23: Where Sanity Checks Fail
The dorm door had veins.
Pulsing, glowing ones. They pulsed like it had a heartbeat. That alone would've been disturbing enough, but the way it sniffed when I approached?
Absolutely not.
I held out the scroll with my room assignment like it was a holy ward, shielding me from whatever cursed architecture this academy had assigned me to.
"Dorm 23," I muttered, reading the ominous label carved into an overhead stone plaque. "Sounds normal. Totally normal. Definitely not a magical trap waiting to eat me."
It creaked open with the reluctance of a cursed vault revealing its final boss.
Inside, I expected darkness. Cobwebs. Maybe a haunted bunk bed.
Instead, I got:
Fire.
A glowing summoning circle buzzing with arcane static.
And a shirtless guy in pink slippers shouting at batter in a pan.
"Back! Back, ye cursed carbs!" the guy yelled, waving a spatula at a sizzling stove. Mana licked the air, fizzing like soda on steroids.
Something exploded softly.
"…I don't even know what part of that sentence to worry about first," I muttered.
The man spun around, wild-eyed and flour-dusted like a culinary warlock. He looked about my age. Probably. Hard to tell through the arcane energy haze, and the fact he wore a bathrobe embroidered with shifting runes and motivational phrases like 'Manifest Your Mayhem'.
"YO!" he shouted. "You're the Special Admission kid!"
"I—What?"
"Jihoon, right?" He pointed at me with his spatula like it was a divine instrument. "The guy who didn't combust at the ceremony!"
I frowned. "Was that… expected?"
He grinned, flour stuck to his cheek like war paint. "I had money on spontaneous combustion. You messed up my odds, bro."
"…Sorry?"
"Don't be. I like survivors." He flicked a pancake into the air. It sparked. "Name's Ren! Aethergaze Clan. Chaos Major. Arcane Chef. Collector of forbidden socks and sketchy hobbies."
He said all that in one breath.
Behind him, a levitating book flipped its pages aggressively, like it was judging me.
Ren gestured wildly. "Welcome to Dorm 23! Home of mana, mild trauma, and the finest enchanted cookware this side of the Void Kitchens!"
I stared.
"I just got here," I said slowly. "I was hoping for a quiet room. Maybe one roommate. Possibly a mattress that doesn't talk."
Ren tossed a half-burned pancake onto a plate that hissed and shivered.
"You still might get one of those things."
A teacup clinked behind him.
I turned.
Sitting at the table, perfectly still, was a second guy. Pale, silver hair. Sharpened cheekbones. Black boots polished like he stared at his reflection in them daily.
He sipped tea like the world wasn't on fire. Which, to be fair, it partially was.
He gave me a single nod.
"Evan Caelthorn," he said. "Swordsman. Don't scream at night."
That… wasn't comforting.
"Right," I said, voice tight. "Hi. I'm Jihoon. Transfer student. Accidental mage. Possibly cursed."
Ren grinned. "Perfect fit!"
A pancake flew past my head. I ducked.
"Why is it flying?!"
"Because it knows fear."
I blinked. "I thought I was going to be the weird one."
"You still might be," Ren said cheerfully. "But now you're weird with friends."
I looked around the room: floating utensils, spark-crackling stove, furniture that subtly shifted when you weren't looking.
The couch grumbled when Ren kicked it. "Don't insult it," he warned. "It rearranges your spine when upset."
A glowing orb hovered in the corner, streaming what looked like a battle-dance variety show hosted by amphibian folk.
"Are you watching… Realm Riddle Royale?"
Ren pointed proudly. "Aether Sync! I can stream otherworld culture through calibrated soul-frequencies. Want ancient dramas? Wild competitions? Animated disaster-fiction? I got all of it."
"You're a chaos wizard with magical cable."
"I prefer interdimensional archivist with great taste."
He clicked his fingers. The orb shifted channels. Now it showed an anime about sentient swords with abandonment issues.
Behind me, Evan stood.
He walked past the floating utensils, picked up the sparking pancake, and dropped it into a warded trash bin.
It screamed once before disappearing.
"Breakfast is canceled," he said flatly.
"I didn't even get dinner," I muttered.
Ren brightened. "Perfect! You're just in time for the Unofficial, Ren-Certified, Mostly-Accurate Dorm Tour.™"
"That sounds… dangerous."
"Everything is, technically."
He threw a spare mana-cloak at me. It smelled like burnt lavender and regret.
"Come on, Jihoon. Let's show you around your new cage."
\[SYSTEM LOG]:
You have entered Dorm 23.
Ambient Chaos Level: 86%.
Cursed Object Density: 4.3 per square meter.
Recommended action: Panic quietly.
The Hallway of Mild Doom stretched ahead—glowing faintly, lined with portraits that blinked.
"This hall?" Ren whispered like a mischievous goblin. "Don't walk down it during lunar eclipses. Or if you're holding soup."
Evan, behind us, added: "Or on Tuesdays."
"What happens if you do?"
Ren leaned closer. "The walls start judging your life choices. Out loud. In rhyme."
First Stop: The Eternal Bathroom
The door shimmered. Ren shoved it open with reverence.
"Reset enchanted. Personalized mana field. I once walked in and it smelled like nostalgia and herbal tea."
I peeked in. Warm lavender light glowed from enchanted sconces. Steam rose gently from a pre-drawn bath. A calming melody drifted from nowhere.
"This is… amazing."
"Right?" Ren beamed. "It called me handsome once. I cried."
Evan cleared his throat. "You cried because the shampoo got in your eyes."
"Still counts."
Next : Laundry Pool of Fate
A wide chamber shimmered with magical steam. Garments swirled gently in floating bubbles, accompanied by ominous humming.
"You toss your clothes in," Ren said, "and they come out clean, folded, and sometimes with opinions about your fashion sense."
"…Worst thing it's done?"
"I once got a sweater that kept asking me to define the nature of love."
Evan: "It was clingy."
Ren: "It's a sweater, Evan. That's literally its job."
The Mirror of Emotional Damage
We passed a cracked mirror nestled in an alcove, flickering with eerie light.
Ren stopped and gave it a suspicious side-eye. "Be careful around this one."
"Why?"
"It reads your aura and shows you the fictional archetype you most spiritually match."
"That sounds kind of fun."
"It's not," Ren said. "I got 'The Comic Relief Who Dies Tragically in Act Two.' Twice."
The Vending Machine of Secrets
A rune-etched, humming machine glared at me with arcane menace.
"It doesn't take coins," Ren explained. "It takes secrets."
"You have to confess something?"
Ren nodded. "I once confessed my love to a girl. She told me, 'If I had a gold coin for every time I wasn't interested in you, I could buy the continent.'"
"What did you get?"
He pulled out a mana bar from his cloak pocket. "'Better luck next time, champ,' it said. Encouraging. Also, peanut butter flavor."
Back at the Room
I collapsed onto the bed.
It purred.
I did not ask questions.
Evan sat cross-legged, blade across his knees.
Ren tossed me a glittery badge made of enchanted buttons. "Welcome to the End of Your Sanity."
I smiled despite myself. "It's soft chaos."
"It grows on you."
I looked at both of them—one a walking calamity in slippers, the other a blade-bound ghost of a boy.
I wasn't chosen. I wasn't special.
But maybe… I was in the right place anyway.
\[SYSTEM NOTICE]:
Social Bond Progress: +8%
Dorm Synergy: Level 1 Achieved
Trait Unlocked: Chaotic Compatibility
Effect: +1 Sanity Resistance
Note: Pancakes may still be hostile.
Dinner was a bad idea.
Specifically, letting Ren cook dinner was a terrible idea. I knew that the moment he uttered the words:
"Let's try my new arcane recipe: Lightning Lasagna."
"Ren," Evan said without even looking up from sharpening his sword, "the last time you said 'lightning,' we had to bribe the laundry room to stop singing sea shanties."
"I've improved it!" Ren said proudly, sleeves rolled up, bunny slippers replaced with boots of 'culinary consequence'—his words, not mine.
"By adding more lightning?" I asked, cautiously stepping back from the kitchen.
"By adding unpredictability," he corrected, already pouring raw mana into the stove.
The kitchen groaned. Like, audibly.
A plate scuttled into the corner and flipped over to play dead.
"Ren."
"What?"
"That stove is growling."
"That's anticipation, Jihoon. It's excited!"
Evan stood up.
Too late.
The oven burst open. Purple steam flooded the room.
A giant square of bubbling pasta rose from the pan like a demonic soufflé. Glowing runes danced across its surface.
Then it spoke.
"Vivat lasagna! Dominus pasta!"
"…Did it just cast Latin at me?" I squeaked.
"Technically High Cuisine Cant," Ren said, consulting his spellbook. "That means it's intelligent."
"Is that good?"
"No."
The lasagna flared. Thunder cracked. The room dimmed. I could feel it probing my mind with eldritch noodle tendrils.
"Jihoon," Evan said calmly, drawing his blade, "stay behind me."
"Gladly."
In one motion, he sliced.
The lasagna screeched as it collapsed mid-air, vaporizing into cheesy mist.
Ren pouted. "You didn't even let it finish its thesis."
Evan resheathed his sword with a whisper of steel. "I don't negotiate with cursed carbohydrates."
\[QUEST COMPLETED]:
Survive Dorm Dinner – Lv. 1
+50 EXP
Sanity Resistance +1
Emotional Scarring: Mild
I flopped back onto the couch—which slithered slightly to the left—and groaned.
"That was the most violent dinner I've ever almost eaten."
Ren handed me a glowing mug of mana cocoa. "You get used to it."
I sipped.
It tasted like nostalgia and marshmallows.
"Why does it feel like this dorm is… alive?"
"Because it probably is," Ren said brightly. "Some say Dorm 23 was originally a piece of the Spire Heart that grew bored and turned into a living space."
"Others say Ren made that up," Evan muttered, now calmly polishing a throwing knife.
"I prefer my version."
I looked around—at the floating utensils gently drifting back into their drawers, the orb shifting through magical shows, the soft pulse of ambient mana warming the walls.
It was chaos. Controlled, unpredictable, ridiculous chaos.
But also… safe?
"How long have you two been roommates?" I asked.
Ren flopped beside me, stretching like a cat. "Since last semester. They tried to separate us once. The floor rebelled."
Evan nodded. "The walls bled maple syrup."
I wasn't sure if they were joking. I didn't ask.
"And now I'm part of this?"
"Yep!" Ren threw an arm around my shoulder like we were already lifelong allies. "You've been judged by the door and survived the lasagna trial. That makes you one of us."
One of us.
Those three words should've terrified me.
Instead, they settled somewhere warm in my chest.
Later, I explored a bit on my own. My room was small, but cozy—lit by hovering rune-lamps that glowed with gentle blue light. The bed still purred when I sat on it. There was a desk, a wardrobe, and a small enchanted mirror that waved when I looked into it.
On the wall above the bed, I spotted a poster.
Not one I'd hung.
It showed a hand-drawn character—cloaked, masked, holding a glowing feather quill and winking. Below it, bold script read:
"The Archivist: Chaos is a Kind of Order."
I smiled.
This wasn't what I'd expected. Not even close.
But maybe expectations were overrated.
The night deepened. Outside, the dorm's outer walls glowed faintly, like bioluminescent coral in a sea of stars. The entire city shimmered with floating crystals, drifting lamplights, and distant dragons flying patrols over the spires.
Inside, the chaos had calmed.
Ren was at his desk, sketching something into a spellbook that looked suspiciously like a comic. His glasses glinted, and lo-fi mana beats played softly from a floating speaker titled "To Study and Not Die To – Vol. 3".
Evan sat cross-legged near the window, sword resting in front of him, eyes closed in meditation. The moonlight turned his silver hair almost white.
I lay back on my now-snoring pillow and stared at the ceiling, which gently rippled with enchantments.
It was all so absurd.
Just yesterday, I was watching magical documentaries on a dusty screen back on Earth. Now I was here. In a dorm that judged my sanity. With a chaos mage who thought cooking was a combat sport and a swordsman who could kill pasta with dignity.
And yet, somehow, I wasn't afraid.
My eyes drifted shut.
In the stillness, I heard Ren quietly humming a made-up theme song for our dorm. Something about "sanity being optional" and "never trust magical plumbing."
Evan said nothing. But I saw him glance over.
He didn't smile.
But he didn't scowl either.
And that, I decided, was his version of approval.
\[SYSTEM UPDATE]:
Dorm Integration: Complete
Dorm Synergy: +10%
New Trait Unlocked: Chaotic Compatibility
Effect: You are now 33% less likely to die from roommate-related magical incidents.
Passive Bonus: +1 to Sanity Resistance
Note: You may now understand 72% of Ren's jokes. Proceed with caution.
📝 Author's Note – The Chaos Was Mutual
This chapter introduced the core trio of our magical disaster squad:
Jihoon: accidental mage, sarcasm tank.
Ren: chaos major, culinary terrorist, internet archive on legs.
Evan: sword saint of silence, tolerates both with alarming patience.
Let me know:
What part of Dorm 23 would drive you insane first?
A) Whispering furniture
B) The vending machine that wants your secrets
C) Flying lasagna
D) Ren's fashion choices
E) All of the above. Obviously.
Stay weird, stay wonderful—and don't insult the couch. It remembers.
—Your moderately hexed narrator 💀