Chương 162: 61.Even a Monkey Could Get This License 1

I'd assumed the most dangerous part of day one at 22 Platinum Bridge Street was already behind us—specifically, the part where dinner didn't kill anyone. I was naive. Real communal living never starts at dinner. It starts with who showers first after dinner, how the refrigerator gets divided, and who's allowed to touch the basement. Any one of those three issues, in isolation, is enough to give a normal household three days of silent treatment. We weren't a normal household. We were Group 144.

Which meant we didn't need the silent treatment. We went straight to open warfare. I. The Third-Floor Shower Sequence War The problem emerged completely naturally. Seven women. Two full bathrooms. Theoretically more than adequate. In Group 144, "theoretically" exists to be proven wrong. Dinner wasn't even fully cleared when Jess draped a towel over her shoulder and started up the stairs with the cheerful stride of someone operating on a first-come-first-served philosophy.

"Calling it now. I'm showering first." Maki didn't look up. Still wiping plates.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you barely broke a sweat stealing fried chicken." Jess stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned around, genuinely offended.

"What kind of standard is that? Shower order is determined by dinner contribution now?"

"No," Maki said, with perfect calm.

"By actual need and credibility."

"What does credibility have to do with it?"

"I don't trust you to come out in under forty minutes."

"Excuse me, I'm very efficient in the shower." Akari was sitting at the long table. She didn't move. She just said, without any particular investment: "Last time in the dorms, you spent twenty-eight minutes singing and twelve minutes evaluating conditioner."

"That's called quality of life."

"That's called monopolizing shared resources," Lan said. I stood at the counter still holding a half-dried bowl, and realized I didn't need to be involved in this at all. The third floor had already developed a complete food chain without any input from me, and Jess reliably occupied the position of most disruptive, not necessarily winning. Evelyn walked past with her terminal, calm as ever.

"I don't care who goes first, but don't let the pressure drop. I'm washing my hair." Aida was more direct.

"I can be done in fifteen minutes. I'll go anywhere in the queue. Just don't run over time."

"Do all of you Upper House people talk about showering like it's a tactical window?" I couldn't help asking. Aida glanced at me.

"Because life is fundamentally a resource allocation problem."

"That sentence is deeply annoying."

"Also useful." Unfortunately, she was right. In the end, Maki flipped the move-in checklist over and started writing a schedule on the back.

"First rotation: Aida and Evelyn. They're fast. Second: Akari and Lan. Third: me and Shimo. Jess goes last." Jess immediately objected.

"Why am I last?" Maki finally looked up. Completely calm.

"Because you're the most likely to turn a shower into a solo concert."

"That's slander!"

"That's historical record," Akari said. I'd been about to ask why I was in the same rotation as Maki, but before I could get the words out, she added, without inflection: "Your hair is short. You're quick."

"... Oh." Completely reasonable. So reasonable that arguing would have made me look like I had something to hide. Jess caught that immediately and grinned with maximum smugness.

"Wow, Shimo. That 'oh' was very well-behaved."

"Shut up."

"Maki puts you in a slot and you just go. That level of compliance is concerning." Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"I just don't want to be showering at midnight."

"Neither do I."

"The midnight you're picturing is a different kind," Akari said. The whole table lost it. Jess laughed and pointed at her.

"I'm starting to think that dead-fish expression is completely fake. You're actually deadly." Akari shrugged.

"Power-saving mode." By the end of the night, the third floor had produced Group 144's first official shower rotation draft. I looked at it stuck to the side of the refrigerator and felt the full absurdity of my life. We hadn't boarded the Snowwind yet. Hadn't reached the front line. Hadn't been chased by anyone trying to kill us. And the first institution we'd built wasn't a combat protocol. It was a women's shower schedule. Very forward-thinking, for a military academy. II.

The Refrigerator Territorial War If the shower war was a third-floor civil conflict, the refrigerator was a full-building joint operation. Because a large refrigerator is never just a large refrigerator. It's hierarchy. It's sovereignty. It's resource allocation. It's the crime scene for whoever's raiding it at 0200. And in Group 144, that description fit more than one person.

The opening shot: Jess put two cups of milk tea and a box of pudding on the second shelf, then announced with complete conviction: "This shelf is for desserts." Roy materialized from behind her.

"No. Second shelf is high-traffic shared space. Breakfast items and ready-to-eat food."

"Why?"

"Because everyone uses it most."

"Which means desserts belong there."

"No," Lan said, arriving with her notebook.

"Desserts aren't shared staples."

"Who told you they're not shared?" Jess was genuinely shocked.

"I'm very generous."

"Your generosity usually operates on the assumption that you've already had first pick," I said.

"That's quality control." On the other side of the refrigerator, Harvey had already wedged three high-caffeine energy drinks into the vegetable drawer. Evelyn saw it and frowned immediately.

"That's not a drinks section."

"It's cold, isn't it?" Harvey said.

"That's not the point." Evelyn pushed her glasses up.

"The humidity in the vegetable drawer is higher. Condensation builds on the packaging. If you take one out and bring it near equipment, there's a risk." Harvey paused.

"... You're managing the refrigerator from an electronics safety perspective?"

"Yes."

"This house is genuinely right for us. Even the refrigerator becomes a technical briefing." D came through with a large bag of meat, tone level.

"Bottom drawer is for raw ingredients. No mixing."

"Agreed," Roy said.

"I don't agree to desserts getting pushed to the top," Jess said.

"Your desserts don't have the standing to sit alongside meat," I said.

"Shimo, that sentence is a crime against civilization."

"No, it's respect for protein." Aida had been watching from the side. She let it run its course, then delivered her verdict like she was signing off on administrative paperwork.

"Top shelf: personal items and medication. Second shelf: shared breakfast and ready-to-eat. Third shelf: drinks. Bottom drawer: raw ingredients. Desserts get their own section—first come, first served, no encroachment on the breakfast zone." Jess raised her hand immediately.

"I object to 'first come, first served.' That incentivizes pre-dawn raids." I looked at her.

"Why are you the first one to think of that?" She blinked.

"Because I'd do it." Honest to the point of being nauseating. By the end of the night, the side of the refrigerator had acquired a second document alongside the shower schedule: 22 Platinum Bridge Street Refrigerator Armistice (Provisional) The terms were few but clear: Desserts do not constitute a sovereign territory. Raw ingredients shall not cohabitate with energy drinks. Anyone consuming shared breakfast items after midnight must restock the following day. Unlabeled food has no guarantee of a tomorrow.

Looking at those four clauses, I thought: if we stayed here long enough, we'd probably produce an entire Fundamental Law of Communal Living. III. The Basement Access War This was the most dangerous engagement of the night. The bathroom and refrigerator were surface-level friction—the ordinary abrasion of human civilization. The basement was different. The basement was power. Information. Equipment.

The place that Group 144 would, in all likelihood, eventually convert into a psychologically questionable but operationally excellent command center. The first person to attempt that conversion was, of course, Harvey. Before 2200, he'd already dragged down three toolboxes, two cable runs, and a projector unit of indeterminate model that I could tell at a glance no ordinary student was supposed to own. I'd expected D to stop him.

Instead D stood at the basement door for three seconds, then asked: "How late are you planning to go tonight?"

"Depends on progress," Harvey said, which was a very bad answer.

"So, very late."

"I have limits." One full second of silence. Even Akari looked up. I couldn't help myself.

"Harvey, there is no moment where you are less convincing than when you claim to have limits."

"Shimo, that's bias."

"That's a statistical finding," Roy said. Ash came down the stairs, looked at the basement, and said, evenly: "If that space is eventually going to be a simulation room, usage rights need to be established first. Otherwise someone will treat it as a private workshop." Harvey turned immediately.

"That's directed at me."

"That's a description of the future." Aida finally spoke.

"No installing the main system tonight." Harvey looked genuinely stricken.

"Why not?"

"Because it's the first night." She crossed her arms.

"And nobody wants to watch you trip a breaker at 0200 because you connected the wrong line."

"I won't connect the wrong line."

"You'd better not," D said. Evelyn delivered the technical finishing blow from the side.

"Shielding hasn't been fully tested. Basic organization only tonight. Main unit stays off." Harvey stood at the basement door with the expression of a large dog being told it couldn't open its presents early.

"You people have no romance in your souls."

"What does romance have to do with a basement?" I asked.

"Everything. Any technical person who sees a basement with thick walls, independent space, stable power, and a freight elevator to the back—their heart should be racing."

"That sentence sounds legally very dangerous," I said. Maki came downstairs with a freshly organized folder, took one look at the situation, and delivered the final ruling without breaking stride.

"Basement is closed tonight." Harvey looked at her.

"You too?"

"Yes."

"Reason?"

"Because if you go down there and start working, you won't sleep." She paused.

"And you have a second equipment run tomorrow."

"..."

"Also," she added, without particular emphasis, "Shimo has studying to do tomorrow. Nobody is turning this building into a server room tonight." I stopped for half a second. And then, very unfortunately, registered that my first reaction to that sentence wasn't why is she speaking for me—it was: right, studying tomorrow. That was it. I was done. I'd genuinely started letting her manage me.

The basement war ended in a provisional ceasefire: organization permitted tonight, no power, formal usage rights to be negotiated tomorrow. Harvey looked mournful, but faced with D, Evelyn, Aida, and Maki converging from four directions, he was sensible enough to put the lid back on the main unit. I stood at the basement door and watched the light go out, and felt a very clear premonition settle over me. That place was going to be a crime scene eventually. More than once.