Hope was drenched in sweat, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His hands clenched the bedsheet, the sensation of the dream still lingering—the laughter, the corpses, the voice that was his but wasn't.
He swallowed hard. His throat was dry.
Slowly, he forced himself to sit up.
A quick glance around the room told him that—thankfully—his roommates were still asleep. He didn't need any unnecessary attention.
Leaning against the cold metal headboard, he exhaled shakily, running a hand through his damp hair.
The dream had felt too real this time. Every time he had it, it got worse—more vivid, more suffocating.
And worst of all…
It felt like a warning.
Hope tilted his head back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
"I can't even get a good sleep. What a drag."
He let out a low, bitter chuckle, though there was no humor in it.
He checked the time. 4 AM.
Just great.
His body was exhausted, but his mind wouldn't let him rest. He didn't dare close his eyes, not when he knew what waited for him.
Instead, he sat there, unmoving, letting the minutes crawl by. His limbs felt heavy, his thoughts sluggish, but he didn't care.
At some point, he must have zoned out because the next thing he knew—
The school bell rang.
A loud, grating chime echoed through the dormitories, signaling the start of the day.
Students groaned and stirred, the once-quiet room now filled with the sounds of yawns, muttering, and rustling sheets.
Hope was already moving.
He was the first to rise, slipping out of bed with practiced ease.
The others were still shaking off sleep as he grabbed his towel and uniform, making his way to the bathroom before the rush.
The cold water helped—somewhat.
As the stream ran down his face, washing away the sweat, he let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the lingering unease.
The reflection in the mirror stared back at him, tired and hollow-eyed. His dark hair was still damp, sticking messily to his forehead.
For a moment, he hesitated.
But then, with a practiced motion, he shook it off.
Dressed in his freshly washed combat suit, he took one last glance at himself. The government emblem on his sleeve stood out—a reminder that he wasn't just a street rat anymore.
He had been dragged into this world of power and survival, whether he wanted it or not.
And there was no going back.
The cafeteria was already buzzing with activity by the time he arrived.
Rows of students lined up for food, their voices blending into an indistinct hum. The smell of warm bread, eggs, and protein-rich meals filled the air.
Hope grabbed his tray and moved through the line mechanically, his mind elsewhere.
He sat down at an empty table, barely registering the food in front of him. Normally, he would have eaten fast, finishing at least two plates before others were halfway through theirs.
But today…
He wasn't hungry.
His appetite—usually insatiable—had been replaced by a dull, lingering weight in his stomach.
He poked at his food absentmindedly, chewing slower than usual.
"Hey."
A voice pulled him out of his haze.
Hope glanced up.
One of the cafeteria servers, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, was watching him.
She wasn't supposed to interact with students much, but apparently, she had noticed something.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. "Your eyes are red."
Hope blinked, caught off guard.
For a second, he wasn't sure how to respond.
Then—
He forced his expression into its usual blankness, schooling his features into something unreadable.
"…I'm fine."
But even as he said it, his mind felt clouded.
His body was awake, but his thoughts were sluggish. He couldn't think straight.
Something about that dream had shaken him more than usual.
And whether he liked it or not, it was going to haunt him for the rest of the day.