Miss Witch Doesn't Want to be a Diva

The medical equipment connected to the ventilator kept inflating the lungs of the middle-aged woman to sustain her life, and the dripping sound echoed clearly in the quiet room.

"I'm back,"

the boy said, his tone as still as dead water. He walked over slowly, looked at the slightly terrifying face of the middle-aged woman and the chest tube rhythmically pumping air, his fingers reaching to touch her cheek but then halting mid-way, slowly retracting.

After quietly observing for a few minutes, he turned his gaze toward the cold white wall, then took out his personal terminal and began to scribble on the wall, writing skewed letters.

[Because the top regional genius died after receiving the acceptance notice, your son has been awarded the vacated spot and can attend university in the Central Star Domain. Be happy and excited for him.]

Having written this, he intended to add a few more words, but the pen hesitated in the air and eventually, he simply put a period to end it.

After taking care of this, he set up the Autonomous Unit in the room and then left, retracing his steps to his own little bedroom, cluttered with miscellaneous items, including leftover boxed meals, abandoned broken toys from his childhood, and dusty, damaged books, among other things.

He opened a mold-smelling wardrobe nearby, fished out a few barely decent clothes, while other yellowed and old clothes were carelessly piled at the bottom of the wardrobe.

After stuffing these clothes into the washing machine, the boy took a shower in the bathroom, then casually wrapped himself in a towel and went out to the dark balcony to look down at the dark streets and alleys below and then he looked up at the distant and ethereal stars in the sky.

He sat quietly like this for half an hour, until the beeping of the washing machine summoned him back to the room to hang up the spun-dry clothes, and then he sat back down on the sofa inside, staying there until 10 p.m. before he went back to his room to sleep.

The next day, the boy carrying his suitcase returned to the station. He boarded the train, entered the empty carriage, and prepared to find a seat, but it was unusual to find two other people in the carriage, a man and a woman.

"Hello, are you 'Shan' by any chance? We are journalists responsible for interviewing you," the woman introduced herself, her assistant standing behind her with video equipment.

The boy remained indifferent and did not reply, merely pulling his suitcase over to take a seat nearby.

"May I ask, Shan, what are your thoughts on receiving the free admission?" the female journalist persisted with her questions.

"Or, how does Shan usually study?"

"I heard that very few fresh graduates have applied to 'Lapis Lazuli' School this time. Shan, you seem to be lucky and talented. Have you thought about what industry you'd like to work in the future?"

The boy did not answer any of the questions, his gaze languid as he stared out the window. Seeing that he refused to cooperate with the interview, the female journalist felt deflated but, comforted by her assistant, they both sat down near the boy.

Time passed slowly, and after an hour of train travel, the female journalist, still persistent, attempted to interview him again, but the boy did not turn his head, just stared blankly out the window like a cold statue.

"Really..." the journalist clenched her teeth, but restrained herself from swearing and slowly returned to her seat, spitefully taking out her personal terminal to vent about the unsuccessful interview with someone she knew.

The train continued on, passing one station after another, until it reached the final destination.

This place was clearly much busier, with the occasional hover car flying through the sky.

"Are you departing for the Central Star Domain today?" Seeing the boy with his luggage heading towards the large landing zone, the journalist couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," the boy finally replied.

"But there's still plenty of time before school starts," she thought. Normally, students wouldn't set off until mid to late August, and it was only mid-July now.

The boy did not respond, so the female journalist couldn't help but catch up and ask again.

"Won't you stay at home a bit longer, like spend more time with your family? You might not come back for many years."

The boy's footsteps finally paused.

"I don't know." After saying this, he continued forward, disappearing into the crowd.

Yes, he didn't know why he should stay, nor did he understand why he was so heartless. Maybe he too was afraid of something, afraid of waking up night after night to the cold ticking sound next door, afraid of his mother who could never be roused.

Countless times, he had felt like he was living in an unreal world. He had this illusion that the world was just this small town he lived in, and everything outside in the TV and news was fabricated, and that he was forever trapped here. No matter how much he wanted to leave, some accident would always interrupt him, preventing his escape, forever confined to this small town.

This idea, logic told him was wrong, impossible, as there was so much history, news, daily necessities, and creations that could not have been all made by a single small town. But thoughts like dark shadows in the darkness, would always creep up on him when he was off guard, confronting him and raising a spine-chilling fear.

He tried to keep his emotions calm, his thoughts as still as cold stones because once they started to turn, those bizarre and fearful ideas could not help but emerge.