Chương 85: 34.Fully Convinced 34-1

The air conditioning in the Lower House dorm administration office only ever did half its job. The other half was probably reserved for protecting the copy machine. Three seconds after stepping through the door, I regretted coming along. The hallway reeked of old paper, toner, and uniform fabric that had gotten wet and never quite dried. The ancient fluorescent tube overhead was making that half-dead buzzing sound.

The bulletin board by the door was plastered with faded forms, corners peeling up, held down by yellowed tape left behind by some graduating class no one remembered. The whole place looked less like somewhere you processed housing paperwork and more like a low-budget facility specifically designed to grind down human patience. And standing in the middle of this patience-grinding facility today was the person who had absolutely no business being there. Maki Kushima.

She stood perfectly straight, uniform so clean she looked like she'd walked through the wrong door from another dimension. She held two document folders with labeled tabs on the sides—not the performative kind of organization, but the kind where you could tell she'd actually cross-referenced the contents. Putting someone like her in our Lower House mixed-dorm hallway had the same energy as jamming a silver restaurant fork into a military ration tin. Wrong in a way that made your teeth ache.

People in the hallway were already slowing down to stare. I wasn't surprised. An Upper House student voluntarily applying for mixed-dorm housing, specifically to fill a slot in Group 144—the kind of group this school was about to ship off to a live-deployment drill like disposable material—if that news hadn't already grown legs and sprinted across campus, it would mean the school was finally dead.

"You sure you want to do this yourself?" I leaned against the wall, watching her pull out a document folder.

"Still time to back out. I can pretend I didn't see anything, and you get to keep your normal mattress." Maki didn't even turn her head.

"A normal mattress won't get me through three weeks of field survival."

"Wow. That's a deeply respectful assessment of Lower House living conditions."

"Not respect. A conclusion after comparison." My mouth twitched. Damn. I knew it. This kind of person doesn't step on you on purpose—her brain just sorts the answer and delivers it. Jess was leaning against the windowsill beside me, arms crossed, smiling like someone who'd bought front-row tickets to a public execution.

"I'm looking forward to this," she said.

"Not to the paperwork going through. I'm looking forward to Linde's face when he sees her."

"You have nothing better to do?"

"I'm very busy," Jess said with complete sincerity.

"I'm busy witnessing an administrative system get perforated by an Upper House girl armed with forms." From inside the office came the sound of shuffling papers, followed by someone's poorly suppressed intake of breath. The door opened. Linde Hoffmann stood there with his tablet in hand, wearing the expression of someone who'd just found a new column in his life report labeled Imminent Disaster. He saw me first. His throat moved. Then Jess—his eyebrow twitched.

Finally, his gaze reached Maki Kushima and stopped for half a beat. A very sincere half beat. I almost laughed.

"…Cadet Kushima." Linde's voice maintained its official steadiness through sheer effort, though the end came out a little dry.

"You're submitting a temporary mixed-dorm reassignment and team integration application?" Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Maki nodded and handed over the documents.

"Correct. It covers the Group 144 vacancy transfer, mixed-dorm bed reassignment, personal effects move-in clearance, evening roll call record update, shared laundry room scheduling, and facility access authorization for the pre-deployment preparation period. Appendices are at the back, indexed." The way Linde reached out to take the folder looked exactly like accepting a live explosive. I watched him turn to the first page, second page, third page—his face going progressively paler.

Not from shock, but from the total collapse of resistance that comes from encountering someone more prepared than you. Understandable. Administration is never afraid of emotional people. Administration is afraid of people who know the process better than they do.

"In principle, cross-division housing arrangements—""Pre-authorization from Upper House residential management is on page three," Maki said, without inflection. Linde turned to page three. Stopped.

"…In principle, there's also the matter of team member consent—""Signatures from Group 144's current core members are on page five." Linde turned to page five. Stopped again. I glanced at that page. My name was at the top, handwriting visibly emotional. Jess, the little bastard, had drawn something that looked like a grinning face next to hers. Linde's eye twitched when he saw it. Nice. I felt a brief flash of genuine happiness.

"In principle, mixed-dorm bed allocation requires spatial confirmation from Lower House residential management—""Which is why I came in person," Maki said.

"If there's insufficient bed space, I can accept a temporary fold-out cot. I only need a personal locker, one set of wall hooks, access to a bedside outlet, and a clear movement path after lights-out." I turned to look at her. Wait. You factored in the hooks?

"Are you moving in or acquiring a forward operating base?" I couldn't help asking. Maki finally looked at me.

"If you need to survive three weeks, housing isn't just about sleeping." …Fair. Too fair, which made it more annoying. Linde stared at the documents like someone trying to excavate the last shred of his dignity from procedural rubble.

"However, the Lower House mixed-dorm section currently—""Building B, third floor, east wing, last room." I finished it for him.

"Cyrus's old spot just opened up. The bed frame still needs fixing and the drawer sticks, but a person fits." Linde looked at me with an expression that asked why I even knew this. I gave him a look that said because I live there, obviously. Jess followed up helpfully:"Plus, that bed is near the laundry room, so if anyone suffocates from sock fumes in the middle of the night, transport is more convenient."

"Cadet McCallow, please don't treat official housing allocation as—""You say that like your allocation process was ever official." Linde went quiet. Not convinced. Accurate. The other clerk in the office had retreated behind a terminal and was performing non-existence. The printer spat out a form with a sound like it was mourning on Linde's behalf. Linde flipped through a few more pages and finally found something to push back on.

"Personal effects move-in requires a safety check. Upper House–grade private equipment—if there are any communication devices, encryption hardware, or items exceeding Lower House dorm specifications—" Maki set another list on the counter.

"Already documented. No personal communication devices. No prohibited heating elements. No sealed energy storage units. No restricted pharmaceuticals. Medical supplies within standard limits; water purification tablets and insect repellent listed in Appendix Two. You can verify each item." Linde was silent for three seconds. I estimated those three seconds aged him by at least two years.

"…Fine." He finally got it out.

"I'll arrange the temporary bed and update access permissions. Done by end of day." I raised an eyebrow. That fast? Apparently whatever he'd captured at the greenhouse that night still had a long half-life. These days, Linde looked at me the way you look at a walking unexploded device. Hard not to find that satisfying.

"Much appreciated, Senior Cadet Hoffmann." I made sure to land the last two words with precision. Linde looked at me, his voice dropping half a register.

"…It's no trouble. This falls within standard processable procedure." Jess nearly laughed out loud, pressing a hand over her mouth. Maki, apparently receiving none of the ambient weirdness in the air, added her final line with complete calm:"Also, Group 144's temporary request to use Prep Room B at 1500 hours this afternoon—please approve that as well." Linde blinked.

"You've already filed for that?"

"Not yet," Maki said.

"Which is why I'm telling you now." I looked at her. She was paving the road as she walked. Not the type who talks about filling a slot—she was already moving like a functional unit about to be integrated into the team. This kind of person was difficult. Also useful. The two things didn't conflict at all. Linde pressed his fingers to his temple like suppressing a headache.

"…Understood. It'll be cleared before 1500." Maki nodded, took back one of the copies with clean efficiency. Business done. She turned and left without a trace of finally got that sorted relief, looking like she'd just crossed the first item off a to-do list. I watched her back for two seconds, and that urge to throw her and her luggage back to the Upper House dropped, inexplicably, by a small amount. Just a small amount. Don't read into it.