Avin followed Sylas through the long, echoing hallway. Their footsteps clicked in a strangely rhythmic way — the kind of pattern that made you more aware of how quiet a place was. The lamps hanging from the ceiling flickered softly, giving the golden wallpaper a faint warmth that didn't match how cold the marble floor felt under their shoes.

"Where are we going?" Avin asked, jogging a little to catch up to Sylas's calm, steady pace.

"For dinner," Sylas said, glancing back with that unbothered half-smile of his. "Are you not hungry?"

Avin blinked. "Ah, yes," he replied, only now realizing how long it had been since he'd eaten anything at all. His mind had been running nonstop — fights, weird nobles, explosions, random people screaming at him — and somehow food just… didn't exist in that chaos. But the second Sylas said "dinner," his stomach betrayed him with a long, painful growl.

"I am hungry," he admitted, clutching his stomach.

Sylas chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as they kept walking.

But as Avin thought about it, something weird hit him. Since he arrived in this world, hunger didn't feel… the same. On Earth, skipping lunch used to make him dizzy, but here? He'd gone entire days without food and felt fine — maybe a little tired, but never weak. During the survival test, he'd gone twelve hours with nothing but water and had somehow been full of energy.

"Maybe that's one of Gaia's weird perks," he thought. "Or maybe humans here just… evolved differently."He frowned, rubbing his chin. "Guess it makes sense. People here can store literal energy in their hearts. I shouldn't be surprised if their stomachs run on mana or something."

But as his thoughts drifted toward food again, his face twisted in disgust. Every "meal" he'd had so far in this place was bland enough to make water taste flavorful. The thought alone made his tongue twitch like it was trying to escape the memory.

The hall stretched endlessly — clean, quiet, lined with tall doors on each side like dorm rooms at some ridiculously fancy college. Golden light from glass chandeliers reflected faintly on the polished floor. It was so pristine that Avin could see his faint reflection — tired eyes, messy red hair, clothes that somehow still weren't torn despite everything.

"So this is the infamous academy, huh?" he muttered, eyeing the overly clean architecture.

Sylas shook his head. "Not really. We're not in the academy yet. This area is… sort of an in-between."

"In-between?" Avin raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Sylas smirked slightly, always too calm for his own good. "We aren't officially enrolled yet, so we can't enter the main grounds. The south gate is like a spatial portal — a temporary zone built just for new candidates."

Avin blinked. "A… space portal?"

"Yes," Sylas nodded. "It connects this building to another space, far from the main academy, though the windows still show the actual campus."

Avin stared at the nearest window they passed, watching the moonlight gleam over a courtyard beyond. "Wait. So the view is real, but the room isn't?"

"Exactly." Sylas chuckled softly. "This place was made by one of the old families — a space manipulator who could blend two separate places together. The windows are projections from the real academy, but the floor we're standing on? That's somewhere else entirely. A masterpiece of spatial magic."

Avin whistled low, impressed despite himself. "That's… actually kinda crazy."

Sylas looked back at him, smirking. "You've really been cut off from the world, huh, Avin?"

Avin shrugged. "Well, I was kinda dead before this, so yeah, maybe a little."

Sylas stopped walking, blinking twice. "...You're joking, right?"

Avin grinned. "Sure. Let's go with that."

Sylas sighed and resumed walking. "Anyway, the royal family controls space itself. That's one of the reasons they rule. Their bloodline allows them to wield a kind of mana no one else can — not Godfolk, not swordsmen, not mages."

Avin tilted his head. "So they're basically cheat codes with crowns."

"Pretty much," Sylas said, chuckling. "The most powerful family in existence — and the most terrifying if you cross them."

Avin raised an eyebrow, muttering, "Yeah, I already met one of those, I think. Emotional brat with a superiority complex."

Sylas shot him a confused glance, but Avin just waved it off. "Long story."

After a few turns and staircases, the hallway finally opened up into a huge circular chamber filled with light and the comforting noise of chatter. Long round tables filled the room, stacked with plates, utensils, and the kind of warm, steamy smell that made Avin's stomach rumble again.

"This is the cafeteria?" Avin asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Sylas said, picking up a tray. "Grab one. The food's decent enough."

"Decent enough, he says," Avin muttered suspiciously, grabbing a plate of his own and joining the short line. He looked down the counter, eyeing the pots and trays. He braced himself, expecting something tasteless and sad like every other meal he'd had here.

But then the cook turned, scooped something onto Sylas's plate, and Avin's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Wait... is that—?" he whispered, leaning forward as Sylas thanked the cook and walked off.

When his turn came, Avin handed over his plate, still not entirely convinced. The cook — a stout woman with tired eyes — scooped the same meal onto his dish. Avin stared down at the food and his heart practically leaped.

Off-white grains, golden and green from the peas, eggs, and diced vegetables mixed in. A faint aroma of garlic and soy — or whatever the fantasy version of soy was here.

"Fried rice," Avin breathed out, a grin sneaking across his face. "They have fried rice here."

He followed Sylas to a table near the edge of the room, sitting down with a kind of reverence that made it look like he was about to meet a god.

"Finally, some normal food," he muttered, his eyes glimmering as steam rose from the plate. "So these people can cook… they just choose not to feed me right."

He sighed dramatically. "Such a loving family."

He picked up the utensil beside his plate and paused. "Is that… a fork?" he asked out loud.No. It wasn't. It was like a fork that got mugged on the way to being invented. The fourth leg was missing — only three prongs remained.

"A trident," he muttered, lifting it. "They eat with tridents here. Great."

He scooped up a decent mouthful and brought it toward his mouth — but just before it reached him, the entire table jolted hard enough to make his hand shake. The rice flew back onto the plate.

"What the—" Avin started, glancing around. The table vibrated again. Then something thumped onto it — something loud and heavy enough to make the plates clatter.

When Avin looked up, he groaned.

Sitting cross-legged right in the middle of the table, with her usual smug grin and hair like gold silk, was Eira.

"Hello, you," she said cheerfully, leaning toward him like nothing was wrong.

Avin exhaled through his nose, barely holding his irritation. "Yeah… hi."

Sylas's face twisted immediately. "Why are you here, Eira?"

"Oh, don't start," she said, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt. "Don't let jealousy make you bitter."

Sylas blinked, his voice rising. "Jealous? Why in the world would I be jealous?"

Eira smirked, leaning forward with mock seriousness. "Because you have no friends."

Sylas froze, mouth slightly open. "I—what? That's—" he turned to Avin, desperate. "I have a friend, right? Avin, tell her."

They both turned to him.

Avin didn't even look up. He'd finally gotten another forkful of rice and was eating with total concentration.

"Right?" Sylas said again, louder.

Avin swallowed, glanced up briefly, and said, "Mhm." Then went right back to eating.

Sylas leaned back, muttering, "Unbelievable."

Eira chuckled. "See? Even your 'friend' has his priorities straight."

Avin tuned them out entirely. He chewed slowly, eyes unfocused, letting the taste wash over his tongue.

But as he swallowed, the excitement faded.

His face fell flat. His eyes dulled. His soul left his body.

There was no taste.

He sat there, fork hovering midair, as the horror settled in.

He chewed another bite. Still nothing.

"The people…" he whispered under his breath, despair filling his tone like a funeral dirge. "The people have no spices."

Eira blinked. "What?"

Avin dropped the trident-fork onto the plate with a dull clink, slouching back in his chair. "Nothing. Just… grief."

Eira and Sylas looked at each other, completely confused, as Avin stared into his soulless fried rice — a man betrayed by a meal.

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