After the announcement, the students moved in organized chaos, making their way to the long rows of chairs in the massive dining hall. The place was well-lit, with sleek metal tables arranged in a structured formation. The walls were a dull gray, giving the hall a strict and practical atmosphere rather than a warm or welcoming one.
Hope trailed behind his roommates, keeping his distance but following closely enough to not look completely alone.
It wasn't long before they reached the serving area, where large steaming trays of food were lined up behind a long metal counter. The servers—a group of plainly dressed women—stood behind the trays, waiting for each student to point at their choice.
Hope's eyes scanned the options.
The food was surprisingly decent—better than he had expected. There were trays of grilled meat, bowls of steaming broth, and plates of roasted vegetables and rice.
It wasn't anything luxurious, but compared to the scraps he used to fight for in the outskirts, it was a feast.
Without hesitation, he pointed at the largest portion of meat and rice he could get away with.
The server raised an eyebrow but didn't question it, simply loading his plate before handing it over.
Hope gripped it tightly, making sure not to spill even a single grain of rice.
This much food? He almost couldn't believe it.
His mind flickered back to his past—where every meal was a battle, where people would kill for a portion like this.
Here, they were just giving it away.
I'd be an idiot not to eat as much as I can while it lasts.
With his plate in hand, he followed his roommates to an empty table near the middle of the room.
They sat down, and almost immediately, everyone dug in.
Hope didn't bother with etiquette.
He grabbed a piece of meat with his hands, ripping it apart with his teeth before stuffing a mouthful of rice in.
His jaw moved noisily, his chewing loud and unrestrained.
It wasn't intentional—he was just too focused on the food to care about how he looked or sounded.
For a few moments, there was nothing but silence between them—just the sound of spoons scraping against plates, the occasional sip of broth, and Hope's enthusiastic chewing.
But then—
"Can you reduce the way you chew?"
The voice came from the skinny guy—the one with the sharp, calculative gaze.
Hope paused mid-bite, his mouth still full.
He lifted his head and blinked.
The skinny guy was staring at him with a slightly annoyed expression, while the muscular guy and the silver-haired girl were pointedly ignoring them, pretending they hadn't heard anything.
Hope swallowed his food, then licked his fingers before tilting his head.
"What's the point of eating with etiquette?" he asked, his voice casual but genuinely confused.
Out in the real world, survival was what mattered—not table manners.
No one in the outskirts ever sat down and worried about chewing too loudly.
If you had food, you ate fast, because there was always a chance someone might try to take it from you.
He leaned back slightly, resting his elbow on the table.
"Food is food," he added. "Doesn't matter how I eat it. What matters is that I'm eating."
The skinny guy didn't argue—he just exhaled softly, shaking his head as if he had expected that response.
Hope sighed, realizing this wasn't worth a debate.
"Okay, I've heard," he said, waving a hand dismissively.
Then, without another word, he turned back to his plate and continued eating.
He did chew more quietly, but only slightly—not because he cared about table manners, but simply because he didn't feel like dealing with more complaints.
The table fell into silence again, each of them focused on their meal.
Hope, however, couldn't help but feel a little amused.
"First they tell me to make connections. Now they complain about how I eat."
He smirked slightly, shaking his head.
"This place is weird," he muttered under his breath.