I stood there, blinking, waiting for it—the scolding, the dramatic sigh, the "You've only been here a day and already…" kind of disappointment that I've grown way too used to. But instead?
The chairman laughed.
Not just a chuckle. A full-on, hearty, back-thrown, head-tilted kind of laugh. It echoed through the now mostly-drenched, half-empty cafeteria, and honestly, it was kind of terrifying. Not because it was malicious, but because… it was approving?
"Excellent decision, Miss Matilda," he beamed, waving a hand as if nothing about this morning was unusual. "Making the clean-up as of part of their detention? Brilliant. Teaches responsibility and saves us time—our hall will definitely appreciate the help."
Matilda simply bowed her head slightly, but her shoulders were tense. I get the feeling she was bracing herself for a completely different reaction too.
Most of the students caught in the chain-reaction got dismissed pretty quickly. According to Matilda, their own dorm monitors would handle them accordingly—whatever that meant. Some looked relieved. Others looked like they would have rather stayed to mop floors than face whatever was waiting back in their dorms.
Silas and Nyra stuck around a bit longer, picking up stray utensils and piling broken dishes onto trays without a word. Nyra's hair, somehow, still looked immaculate despite being damp—of course it did.
Eventually, Matilda walked over and firmly told them, "Go. The sun will be too high soon."
They didn't argue. Nyra shot me a small, sympathetic smile. Silas gave a little two-finger salute, and they both vanished into the now-drying halls.
So, that leaves me. And Miro. And Matilda. In what feels like the aftermath of a hurricane, except the spiraling pressure area was just… me.
And the morning's not even over.
***
The moment they stepped into the cafeteria, the reactions were exactly what I expected. Kyan's eyes bulged like he just walked into the aftermath of a battle—because, honestly, he kind of did.
"What the… what'd I miss? Is it equinox already?" Kyan blurted, stepping over a puddle and staring at the overturned tables and half-flooded floor. His shoes made that awful squelch sound, which just added insult to injury.
"Is it the East?" Anthon muttered warily, giving one of the still-damp chairs a tap, like it might hiss at him or bite.
"No, not the East," Miro said far too cheerfully as he pointed dramatically—at me.
"It's her. She happened to be here."
I shot him a glare.
"Makes sense," someone scoffed, and I didn't even have to look to know it was Signos. If sarcasm had a spokesperson, it'd be him.
Before I could retort, Matilda clapped her hands with sharp finality, cutting through the air like a cold gust.
"Alright. Enough commentary," she said briskly. Behind her, Kael stood like a soldier preparing for war, arms loaded with sponges, mops, a bucket that definitely had seen better days, and—was that a squeegee?
"The day has just started," she continued, completely ignoring the look of existential despair blooming on each of our faces. "Start by clearing all the leftover food from the tables. The faster you work, the faster you're done."
There was a moment of heavy silence before everyone got moving—with varying degrees of sulking. I grabbed a towel and sighed.
So, we got to work. Or rather, Matilda made sure I got to work like I was being monitored for a parole hearing.
"Don't go there, it's still slippery."
"No, not that way."
"Don't move from there."
"Let the boys drag that, leave it be."
It wasn't even micromanaging at that point—it was like being remotely piloted. I followed each instruction without protest, trying not to add another chapter to today's disaster saga. By some miracle, I managed not to slip, spill, or summon another freak cafeteria event. Matilda might've been silently impressed. Or maybe that was just her blinking.
Eventually, we wrangled the chaos into something close to manageable. The place still reeked of scorched oil and spoiled gravy, but at least the flood had subsided. My head was starting to throb from the smell, but hey—small wins.
We were hauling the last garbage bin full of wasted food when I spotted him—President Percy, in his now spotless Solar uniform, standing out like a ray of polished gold amid a bunch of damp, grimy Lunar students.
"Hey guys," he called out cheerily, as if we hadn't just lived through a food court apocalypse. "Heard you all got detention?"
Everyone paused—half in annoyance, half in confusion. He looked bright and fresh again, completely different from the unnerving version I'd glimpsed this morning.
I glanced at Miro, who was leaning against the wall with a wet mop like it was a walking stick. He caught my look, his grin already forming.
"Told you," he said with a smug shrug. "He's just hungry."
I rolled my eyes so hard I might've seen last week.
Matilda raised her hand like a traffic cop mid-rush hour. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?"
Percy blinked, all innocent charm. "C'mon, I'm just checking on you guys. Plus, it's break time."
I frowned and glanced at the nearest window. Sure enough, the light outside was bright and mellow, filtered through the high trees like late morning or… early afternoon? Just how long were we cleaning up soggy chicken bits and broken plates?
When I looked back, Percy's eyes were already on me.
"Are you helping them too, Reina?" he asked casually, his voice smooth like nothing was strange about that question.
I blinked, unsure what to say. Helping?
He nodded like I'd asked the question aloud. "Must be difficult, dealing with the Lunar boys on your first day."
I followed his gaze to the corner of the room where the so-called Lunar boys were in their own brand of maymen.
"No, it's biodegradable, you can't mix it with the broken plates!" Kyan scolded, waving a compost bag like a weapon.
"It's both trash," Miro muttered, cramming something unidentifiable into a bin.
"I told you—another bag for wet waste!" Kyan shouted, looking personally offended by the misuse of categorization.
Anthon, who had clearly drawn the short straw, stood holding the trash bin open with both arms. "Could you hurry up? I'm holding it, just throw it in!"
"It's just TRASH!" Miro repeated, as dramatic as possible.
They might've actually gone to war right there if not for Matilda, who walked up behind them and thwack-thwack-thwack, smacked each one on the back of the head like she was stamping approval on paperwork. Immediate silence.
Percy chuckled beside me. "See what I mean?"
I didn't know what to say. Technically I was being punished with them, but standing here, watching all this, it almost felt like I was… part of it.
Even if 'it' included biodegradable bickering and mop-slap diplomacy.
My eyes drifted to the one person who wasn't moving at all—Signos. He was slouched in the corner like some brooding trash prince, surrounded by bags of garbage like they were his loyal subjects. He looked like he belonged on a poster for 'Public Safety Don't,' and somehow still made it look deliberate. His arms were crossed, back against the wall, and his legs were stretched out lazily like he had no intention of doing anything unless a fire broke out directly under him.
He noticed me staring, of course. His head tilted slightly, an eyebrow arched above the edge of his mask like he was silently challenging me to say something. The mask made it impossible to read his expression, but something about his posture said yeah, I'm not moving unless the ceiling collapses, and even then I'll take my time.
"Must be difficult for him," Percy said beside me, with an unexpected softness to his voice.
I blinked, not sure if he was joking or not. "What?"
He nodded toward Signos, his smile dimming just slightly. "Sig has a sensitive nose. Must be hell for him here."
Oh. That would explain the mask. Not just some fashion statement or an attempt to look cool—though he still managed to pull that off—it was functional. Necessary, even.
I glanced back at Signos, who had returned to ignoring the world. His arms hadn't moved, and I couldn't help but wonder how bad it must be for someone like him in here, full of spoiled food, detergent, and smoke residue.
Percy frowned at me, tilting his head like he just noticed something off.
"You haven't changed yet?"
I blinked, confused. "What?"
Then I looked down. Oh.
My uniform was still damp from earlier—less soaked now, but uncomfortably clingy and stiff in places where it had dried funny. It smelled faintly like detergent, fried chicken, and regret.
"Well," I started, "we had to clean up right away. Unless we wanted all the wasted food to rot and stink up the whole place."
Percy didn't seem convinced. He sighed and shrugged off his blazer, holding it out.
"Still, should you really help them before changing? You could've helped later. It's their mess."
I hesitated, eyeing the offered blazer. "Thank you but—" Was he… not aware? Of how all this started?
From the look on his face, he wasn't. With everything going on, maybe he didn't even see the first domino fall. Or maybe he chose not to.
Before I could say more, something warm and dry settled over my shoulders.
"Shouldn't you go back to your class by now?"
The voice was cool, clipped.
I turned—eyes widening—to find Signos standing there, his hand still mid-drop as he laid his jacket over mine. He was looking straight at Percy, face unreadable but steady.