← # Third Life, This Time I'll Cut Down the Traitor First# The Dormitory
The dormitory building was massive. Arched corridors modeled after medieval fortresses, stone walls, and afternoon sunlight filtering through every window. Cain held up his room assignment.
**Room 201. Lucian Hart.**
His fingers nearly crumpled the paper. He took a breath in. Then let it out.
It was no coincidence. Like most things that happened at this school.
As he climbed the stairs, Cain surveyed his surroundings. The plaques arranged on both sides of the corridor, the positions of the windows, the distance to the emergency stairs. Everything registered. By his third life, the habit had become more refined. Each time death had come—twice now—there had been something he'd missed. This time would be different.
He stood in front of room 201.
Before opening the door, he listened. The sounds from inside—the rhythm of movement. Lucian was organizing something. The sound of objects being moved, light and confident motions.
Cain turned the handle.
"Oh, Cain!"
Lucian turned around. He'd been unpacking on the bed. A bright expression. A genuine smile. Warmth colored his voice.
"We ended up as roommates. What a good coincidence."
Coincidence. The word tasted bitter in Cain's mouth.
"Yeah."
Cain set down his luggage. One large bag. Clothes, notebooks, writing utensils. All minimal. A habit learned from one lifetime. He had to be able to leave quickly.
Lucian approached with long strides. His gait was unguarded. As if he already completely trusted Cain.
"You don't have much luggage. You're a simple person."
"Only what I need."
Cain examined the bed. The room layout was typical. One bed on each side of the window. A desk beneath the window. A wardrobe in the corner of the wall. Lucian had claimed the window-side bed. The one with better light.
*'Sense of ownership.'*
Cain set his bag on the opposite bed.
"I have quite a lot." Lucian laughed. He pointed at his belongings with his fingers. Books, an instrument case, clothing. All arranged with care. "I have many hobbies. I do music, I like books."
Cain didn't respond. He began organizing his clothes. His movements were mechanical.
Lucian sat on the bed. At the same height as Cain.
"I saw you in the hall. They said your aptitude came back as Recorder."
That sentence was like a thrown stone. Observing. Testing for a reaction.
Cain's hands didn't stop.
"Yeah."
"That's interesting. I figured I'd get a combat job from the start." Lucian looked toward the wardrobe. "Recorder... you record the school's history or something like that, right?"
Cain remained silent. He heard what lay beneath Lucian's words. Below the surface.
*'Recorder is a weak job.'*
*'So you're useless.'*
*'Yet you ended up in my room.'*
Lucian lay back. He looked at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his head.
"But isn't it strange? A lot of combat jobs came up in the hall. Unusually so. What do you think?"
Cain turned around. He looked at Lucian.
In his first life, Lucian had done exactly this. At first, he was kind. He showed interest. And slowly, very slowly, he built trust.
"I don't know."
"Then let's find out together. The two of us."
Lucian turned his head to look at Cain. Their eyes met. Blue. Clear, bright blue.
Cain's black eyes reflected nothing.
"What are you doing?"
Lucian let out a laugh.
"What do you mean. I'm saying we should be friends. Roommate friends."
That word—friends.
Cain turned back around. He continued organizing his clothes. While his fingers folded the fabric, his mind calculated something else.
The reason Lucian was here. The probability that the assignment wasn't coincidence. The things Lucian had said in the first life, the things he had done. And Cain's first death.
*'Maintain distance.'*
That resolve surfaced again.
"Friendship requires trust."
Cain said it. His voice was flat.
"Of course."
Lucian replied. He got up from the bed and began organizing his belongings again. Naturally. As if Cain's rejection was nothing at all.
That was more dangerous.
Evening light entered through the window. Golden hour. A beautiful time. In that light, Lucian's shadow stretched long.
Cain continued organizing his clothes. One piece, then another.
*'What did you miss in your first life?'*
That question persisted. And Cain knew the answer.
It was in this room. In this person's expression. Behind this smile.
"Why did you come to the dormitory?" Lucian asked.
"I have no home."
It wasn't a lie.
"Then this will become your home."
Lucian smiled. That smile looked truly, genuinely sincere.
Cain organized the last piece of clothing. He looked at the bed. His territory. And Lucian's bed. The distance between them was exactly two meters.
Night fell.
The lights in the dormitory came on. Beneath the fluorescent lamp, the shadows of the two overlapped, scattered, and overlapped again.
Lucian lay down on his bed.
"Sleep well, Cain."
"Yeah."
Cain lay down too. He looked at the ceiling.
*'Lucian wasn't there in the second life.'*
That was important. In the first life, Lucian had been there, and there had been betrayal.
In the second life, he hadn't been there, and there had been a different form of death.
Now, in the third life, Lucian had returned.
Moonlight from outside flickered across the ceiling.
Cain's eyes didn't close. His black pupils pierced through the darkness of the ceiling.
*'Maintain distance. Neither close nor far.'*
From the adjacent bed, Lucian's breathing changed into a regular rhythm. The onset of sleep.
Cain remained awake.
The night was long.
# First Training
The morning bell had rung, but Cain was already awake.
Lucian was still sleeping. Even breathing, relaxed fingers, softened facial muscles. No threat present. Cain confirmed this and left.
The training grounds were at the eastern end of the academy. Gray concrete walls, high ceilings, a floor designed to absorb impact. Cain stopped at the entrance.
Dominic Crow was there.
"You lot, split into groups of ten."
Crow's voice was metallic. Precise in tone, emotionless as a machine. His eyes swept across each person one by one. When they reached Cain, they paused briefly.
"Recorders are excluded. Cain Red, you go over there."
Crow pointed with his finger. A high observation platform beside the training grounds. Several people were already seated there. Recorders determined by aptitude assessment results. Cain smiled imperceptibly.
'Perfect.'
Cain climbed up to the observation platform.
As he ascended the stairs, the full view of the training grounds revealed itself. Ten people on the opposite side, ten on this side. Lucian was on the opposite side. There was no tension on his face. Rather, something like anticipation floated there.
'Did he have that expression in the first life too?'
Cain sat down at the observation platform. A laptop was already prepared. The recording format was standardized. Name, number, combat technique score, physical ability score, cooperation level, judgment ability.
And a 'Remarks' column.
Crow raised his hand.
"Begin."
Ten people rushed toward ten others.
Noise erupted. The sound of feet striking the ground, breathing, collisions. Cain began recording. His fingers danced across the keyboard. Automatically. The way his body remembered.
How did Lucian fight?
Cain's gaze fixed on Lucian.
He wasn't fast. He wasn't strong either. But he was precise. He read his opponent's movements and moved one step ahead. And his opponent was already falling.
'Combat technique score: 8.5.'
Cain entered it.
What about the other students?
'7, 6, 8, 7.5...'
Time passed. The match ended. Cain filled out the table. Information on all the students was recorded at his fingertips.
Crow raised his hand again.
"Recorders, organize the information and submit it to me. Within an hour."
Movement came from the observation platform. The recorders stood up from their seats. Cain also stood. He picked up the laptop.
"Wait."
Crow's voice rang out again.
Cain stopped.
"Your recording is neat."
That was all. A statement unclear whether it was praise or observation. There was no expression on Crow's face.
"Thank you."
Cain replied.
Crow nodded.
---
The library was at the center of the academy.
Three stories high, bookshelves that seemed to touch the ceiling, and dim lighting. Cain stood at the entrance and read the layout. First floor: general books, second floor: academy archives, third floor: reading room.
He went up to the second floor.
With each step on the stairs, the smell of wood grew stronger. The scent of dust and paper. Cain breathed. He opened his senses.
The second floor was quiet. It was afternoon. Most students were either still in training or doing homework.
Cain walked between the bookshelves.
'Academy History'
'Aptitude Assessment Standards'
'Combat Technique Theory'
'Constellation Lineage Characteristics'
'First Academy Director's Journal'
His fingers traced across the book spines. All necessary information. Cain selected three books. He felt their weight. The weight of books was reality. Something concrete.
He sat at a desk.
He turned the pages.
'The aptitude assessment system was introduced fifty years ago. Its purpose is to investigate students' constellation affinity and provide education suited to it.'
Cain's eyes moved.
'However, starting three years ago, discrepancies began appearing in assessment results. Particularly in recorder determinations. Previously, one to two students per year were determined to be recorders, but recently the number has reached five to ten.'
Cain stopped his hand.
'Discrepancies'
It was unclear whether this was intentional manipulation or an error in the system itself. But it was clear that students determined to be recorders were excluded from training.
Why?
Cain turned to the next page.
'Recorders have the characteristic of finding direct contracts with constellations difficult. Instead, they play a role in promoting the growth of other students through observation and recording. This is...'
Cain's hand stopped.
'Promoting the growth of other students.'
Was that really the reason?
Or was there a deeper reason?
Cain photographed the page. Quietly. With the small camera on his wrist. A technique learned in the first life.
Time passed.
Cain closed the book. The information was sufficient. For now.
As he was about to leave, he bumped into someone.
"Oh, sorry."
A woman's voice. Cain turned his body.
Black hair, bright eyes, thin glasses. Cain recognized that face.
'Iris Fay.'
One of the women he'd seen at the first training grounds. A recorder.
"It's fine."
Cain said.
"Were you looking for aptitude assessment materials?"
Iris's eyes widened.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"Intuition."
It was a lie. Cain had simply read the title of the book in her hands.
'The Limitations and Supplementary Methods of Constellation Affinity Measurement'
"I was looking for the same book."
Iris let out a laugh.
"Are you curious about us recorders?"
Cain quietly received that question.
'Us recorders'
That phrasing was strange. As if they already formed a group.
"Maybe."
Cain answered.
"Good. Then let's talk later. Oh, right. My name is Iris Fay."
She extended her hand.
Cain looked at that hand for a moment. Would it be warm? Cold? In the first life, Lucian's hand was warm. Until just before the betrayal.
Cain took her hand.
"Cain Red."
"I know. Your recording was good."
Iris smiled and let go of his hand.
"See, people like us don't know what to do on the training grounds, so we come to the library. And you're already here."
"Lucky."
"Yeah. What should lucky people like us do?"
Iris's eyes sparkled.
Cain looked at it and calculated.
'A trap? Information?'
It could be both.
"I'll tell you later."
Cain said.
"Promise."
Iris drew a small X with her finger. A childlike gesture. But her eyes were not those of a child.
When Cain left the library, his mind was already calculating what came next.
The path back to the dormitory.
The evening sunlight was red.
Lucian would return after finishing training. He would probably be tired. His technique was good, but his physical ability was average.
8.5 and 6.5.
Cain remembered those numbers.
When he opened the dormitory door, Lucian was just coming out of the shower. Wet hair, a towel, water droplets running down.
"Oh, Cain! How was training?"
There was no fatigue on Lucian's face. Only curiosity.
"As expected."
Cain replied.
"Me too. But something strange—the recorders didn't train, right? Why do you think that is?"
Lucian asked while drying his hair.
Cain looked at Lucian.
'Why do you ask?'
"Don't know."
Cain lay down on the bed.
The shadows on the ceiling began to dance again.