Chapter 5 - Unwanted Roommate

I expected a sterile bunk bed in a cold, concrete room. Maybe a glorified storage closet. What I got was an apartment.

A real one.

Elren—call-me-Mr. Vayne-or-sir—led me to the upper levels of the Central Branch housing sector, swiping his badge to unlock the door. The place was surprisingly decent: two bedrooms, a minimalistic living space, a tiny kitchen, and—I kid you not—a working coffee machine.

"This isn't a prison cell," I said, stepping inside, already eyeing the coffee machine like it was a sacred relic.

"No."

"I thought I'd get a metal cot and a bucket."

"Do you want one?"

"...I'm good, thanks."

Okay, Ava, focus. Important survival skill: don't make the man with the authority to downgrade your accommodations annoyed.

"So, is this all yours?"

"It was."

"Oh. You're sharing. How generous."

He didn't respond. Of course he didn't.

I wandered through the apartment while Elren ignored me, dropping his coat over a chair and disappearing into his room like the master of boundaries he clearly was.

There was a small balcony overlooking the perimeter walls and distant city ruins. The sky was overcast, but I could see faint transport lines moving across the clouds. Even from here, the world felt both too big and strangely empty.

Okay, Ava. Game plan: survive, avoid stepping on mysterious world-ending buttons, and maybe… maybe figure out why I got dumped into this world in the first place.

I set my things down—well, my borrowed hospital bag—and peeked into the kitchen.

"Elren, do you even cook?" I called out.

Silence.

"Elren? Hello? Earth to Mr. Vayne?"

More silence.

"Oh, come on… Sir, do you even cook? Sir?"

"No."

Finally, a response.

"Oh great, he speaks. Then… do you eat, Sir?"

"Yes."

"Fascinating."

I rummaged through the cabinets. Most were empty, but I found instant food packs and emergency rations that looked like they belonged in a doomsday bunker.

"Do you live on emergency biscuits?"

"They're efficient."

"You know you can't just apply 'efficiency' to everything, right? Humans need flavor."

"You're loud."

"I'm persistent."

"There's a difference."

"Not to me."

I fired up the coffee machine and, to my absolute shock, it worked.

"I'm claiming this. It's mine now."

"Noted. But ignored."

"Do you want coffee?"

"No."

"Great. More for me."

I sipped the bitter, slightly burnt coffee and sighed. It wasn't good, but it was familiar. And right now, familiar was priceless.

I leaned against the counter. "So, what now? Are we going to awkwardly avoid each other until I accidentally set the apartment on fire, or do we start with the lectures?"

"Training starts tomorrow."

"Wow, you didn't even try to sugarcoat it."

"Efficiency."

"You really need a new catchphrase."

The next morning, Elren dragged me to the Central training grounds.

"Why am I here?"

"Assessment."

"Oh no, is this a surprise fitness test? Because I will fail spectacularly."

"I need to see what you can do."

"Spoiler: very little."

"We'll confirm that."

The training grounds were vast, with weapon racks, obstacle courses, and energy resonance fields that looked far too dangerous to touch. Hunters trained in synchronized teams, their movements sharp and lethal.

Great. I'm about to embarrass myself in front of professionals.

Elren tossed me a lightweight staff.

"Defend yourself."

"Against what?"

He materialized a faint energy projection—a simulated Grave, small but fast.

"That."

"Oh, great."

The thing lunged at me.

"AH!"

I scrambled, parried awkwardly, and flailed like a malfunctioning windmill. I barely managed to not die.

"This is unfair! You didn't say it would actually attack me!"

"Surprise is part of the test."

"This is entrapment!"

"Focus."

The Grave came at me again. I tripped, rolled, and accidentally smacked it with the staff—more luck than skill. The projection dissipated.

"Good."

"That was not good! That was survival panic!"

"Still effective."

Is he complimenting me or just lowering the bar?

"You'll train here daily."

"I don't recall signing up for boot camp."

"You did."

"When?"

"When you signed the registration pad."

"That was a trick!"

"Yes."

I groaned dramatically, but a tiny, treacherous part of me was glad. Better to learn how to survive now than freeze later.

"Fine. But I want hazard pay."

"No."

"Then I want extra coffee."

"Deal."

Victory. Again.

Elren handed me a bottle of water. "Again."

"Again?! I just survived a whole thirty seconds of that thing!"

"You need endurance."

"I need a break!"

"You can rest after the next five rounds."

"Five?! That's a whole war!"

"Then you'll be prepared."

I think he genuinely enjoys watching me suffer.

I grumbled but took my stance anyway. "Fine, but if I collapse, I'm haunting you."

"Noted."

The projection reappeared and lunged. I swung wildly, somehow managing to hit it again. The next few rounds were progressively worse. I slipped, tripped, and spun in the most ungraceful ways possible.

By the fifth round, I was panting on the floor.

"Good."

"Define 'good' because I think we have very different standards."

"You're still breathing."

"Oh, thanks. Glad to know that's the bar."

He extended a hand to pull me up. I took it without thinking.

"We'll continue tomorrow."

"You know, most roommates bond over dinner or TV shows, not life-threatening training sessions."

"This is efficient."

"Stop saying that!"

"No."

"Ugh!"

Elren's lips twitched—the tiniest, almost imperceptible hint of amusement.

Oh no. Did I just make him laugh? Did I just win?

"Coffee?" I offered, still panting.

"If you can walk to it."

"Challenge accepted."

New world, terrifying monsters, surprise boot camps, and a brooding babysitter who's just a little too good at this. How hard can this get?

Answer: Very.