Chapter Eighteen: A Foreign Land

The flight landed at Chicago International Airport. Lin Nian and Lin Xian got off the plane and passed through immigration, but before they could collect their luggage, a crowd suddenly blocked their way.

A group of fashionable young people appeared, holding a red banner and LED signs, shouting and cheering along the route. Lin Nian was startled and muttered, “What on earth is going on?”

Lin Xian was only slightly taken aback before pulling Lin Nian aside. Sure enough, these enthusiastic youngsters weren’t after them. Ahead of them, in first class, was a blonde girl now wearing a mask, surrounded by several men in black sunglasses. A muscular man, resembling a fitness coach, was clearing a path for her, fending off anyone trying to get close.

“Oh, they’re here to pick up a celebrity,” Lin Nian sighed in relief.

“Otherwise, would they be here for you? Actually, I’m quite supportive of your debut,” Lin Xian smiled.

Outside the airport hall, many people held signs with names on them—some for “Jackson,” some for “Ayase,” others for “Kim Tae-yan”—but there were none for Lin Nian or Lin Xian.

As they scanned the crowd, Lin Nian noticed the most common signs were those held by star-struck fans of “Carlyle Capet.” That reminded him of a popular American TV series called “The Hunt,” about a group of young Texans kidnapped by a madman and forced to play a deadly survival game on a farm. One striking female supporting character was Carlyle Capet, a blonde with a breathtaking face who had gained fans worldwide.

“Celebrity treatment really is nice. I heard just signing one endorsement can earn a fortune,” Lin Nian said, standing by the luggage carousel, watching the blonde girl who was tightly encircled and barely able to move through the crowd.

“But it’s also quite tough,” Lin Xian replied.

“I have it tough too,” Lin Nian sighed. “Do you think if I squeezed in and snagged an autograph, I could sell it to those crazy fans? Maybe I could afford a better lunch today.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself. I just got paid when I quit my job a few days ago. I’ve got money to treat you to a feast,” Lin Xian said, ruffling Lin Nian’s hair firmly.

“But seriously, fans nowadays are really fanatical. Look at that guy—he just stormed in holding his sign,” Lin Nian said, amused. Among the crowd was a tall man with a beard, desperately pushing forward with a whiteboard that read “Carlyle Capet, love for life.”

The blonde girl’s bodyguards were startled by this bear-like fan, probably intimidated by his physique. Compared to being a fan, this bearded man might have better prospects as a kidnapper.

The blonde girl, unable to resist the man’s enthusiasm, grabbed a marker and signed his white shirt. Only then did the bearded man retreat, wiping his whiteboard clean and writing something new in the corner before raising it again.

Lin Nian couldn’t help but look again at the bearded man, and when he casually glanced at the whiteboard, he couldn’t look away. It now read: “Welcome to Chicago, Lin Nian, Lin Xian.”

Their names were written in Chinese, the handwriting rough but legible.

“No way,” Lin Nian said, scrutinizing the bearded man huddled in the corner. He was nearly 1.9 meters tall, with unwashed, dusty hair and a plaid shirt stained with ketchup on the collar.

To be honest, if this guy squatted at the airport entrance all day, he could probably scrape together enough money for a Burger King meal.

Lin Nian wasn’t sure if the man was a dog in the Chinese zodiac, but after only a few seconds of his gaze, the man noticed and turned to look at Lin Nian and Lin Xian. His eyes lit up, and he waved his sign. The Carlyle Capet autograph displayed on his white T-shirt was especially eye-catching, making the whole scene quite comical.

Waiting by the carousel for their luggage, Lin Nian carried the large bag, Lin Xian the smaller one, and nervously approached the man, calling out, “Senior brother?”

“I’m Fingal von Flins, a student at Kassel Academy. You must be the junior brother that Junior Sister Mandy asked me to pick up. Pleasure to meet you,” the bearded man said, putting down his whiteboard and shaking Lin Nian’s hand, speaking fluent Chinese.

“Just got off the plane? It must have been tough,” he added.

Lin Nian thought, “Not tough at all, no harder than what you’re going through—picking up a celebrity while fan-boying on the side.”

Noticing Lin Nian’s gaze on his T-shirt, Fingal tugged at it and said, “I’m not really a fan. This is a signature I’m carrying for other juniors at school. I’m soft-hearted and just can’t resist the pleading eyes of the junior sisters...”

Lin Nian looked at the white T-shirt, soaked with sweat from this burly man, wondering how the junior brother who got the autograph must have felt—whether like a treasured heirloom or a discarded trifle.

“Thanks, Senior Brother Fingal, for coming all this way to pick us up. I’m Lin Nian’s sister,” Lin Xian said, looking up at the 1.88-meter tall Fingal.

“Pleasure, pleasure. Professor Manstein briefed me on your situation. I’ll take you to the CC1000 Express,” Fingal said slyly, stepping forward to help Lin Xian with her bag before shaking hands again. Hanging the small bag on his long arm, he gave what he thought was a charming smile.

“Thanks for your trouble, Senior Brother Fingal, but I want to ask if there’s anything to watch out for before enrollment?” Lin Nian interjected, stepping between Fingal and Lin Xian.

“No, the orientation will be on the train. It’s mainly to introduce you to the academy’s customs so you can decide whether to enroll,” Fingal said. “I heard you’re only sixteen? Very few start at that age.”

“To be exact, I’m turning seventeen this year, eighteen next year.”

“Have you had lunch?” Fingal rubbed his hands. “Airplane food is usually awful. I know a Burger King nearby that tastes great.”

“No thanks, no need to delay. The first-class meal on the plane was decent,” Lin Nian and Lin Xian said in unison, both sensing Fingal was trying to score a free lunch.

“Oh... never mind,” Fingal said, stunned for a moment before giving up on freeloading from juniors who hadn’t even enrolled yet.

Outside the airport, Fingal expertly led Lin Nian and Lin Xian through a dozen subway stops. After exiting, they walked two blocks to the train station.

Looking up at the grand dome of Chicago’s train station, Lin Nian’s impression of his senior brother improved considerably.

At least Fingal was responsible when it came to guiding them—and he was frugal, preferring the subway over taxis, and walking instead of taking the bus, keeping travel costs under two dollars each.

Feeling their approving glances, Fingal was touched and admitted he’d be even more grateful if the juniors bought him a Coke.

Finally, after Lin Nian generously bought him a Coke and a burger, Fingal even eagerly volunteered to carry several of Lin Nian’s large bags, looking far more like a noble steed than the mule Lin Nian had self-deprecatingly called himself before boarding.

Along the way, they talked a lot, mostly about the academy. Lin Nian had many questions about Kassel Academy and, now meeting a seasoned student, wanted to learn as much as possible before enrollment.

“Which mentor are you under?” Lin Nian asked Fingal.

“Professor Guderian, an interesting old fellow who commands respect but sometimes slips off track,” Fingal said, tapping his temple. “I suspect he hasn’t fully recovered from an old illness. He and Professor Manstein were fellow patients.”

“Patients?”

“They came from the same psychiatric hospital.”

Fingal’s dramatic statement was so shocking that for a moment Lin Nian considered turning around and flying back home.

“Is the academy far from the city?” Lin Nian asked, trying to suppress his growing fear. He worried Kassel Academy might be a famous Chicago mental institution, and that Manstein and Mandy were escapees!

“It’s a bit far. Professor Manstein probably told you it’s in the mountains. Every semester’s start, you have to take the CC1000 Express train; otherwise, only helicopters can get in.”

A mountain mental hospital—now that sounded even more like a horror movie.

“You two have actually missed the start of the semester. This express train was specially dispatched by Professor Manstein to pick you up. Otherwise, with your rank, you’d have to wait for the next train in a few days,” Fingal said, sipping his Coke and pulling a greasy schedule from his pocket.

The schedule bore the emblem of a half-decayed World Tree and clear departure times, looking official. This reassured Lin Nian enough not to run away with Lin Xian, though he noticed a strange word in Fingal’s speech: “Rank?”

Fingal bit his straw and said, “Our school is an aristocratic academy and naturally follows a class system, like the five ranks of British nobility. Higher-ranked students get special privileges—like the kitchen staying open late to deliver midnight snacks. Lower ranks are like serfs; they eat whatever the cafeteria serves, just don’t starve so they can keep working in the fields...”

“What rank are you?” Lin Nian asked.

“I used to be quite distinguished...” Fingal answered.

“I see,” Lin Nian nodded, not asking further.

With that, Fingal led the three into the waiting hall, swiping magnetic tickets. Lin Nian wanted to check the timetable, but Fingal pulled him toward the VIP entrance.

“Professor Manstein must be impatient. Your car should already be here. This way, you board directly.”

“So convenient,” Lin Nian glanced back at the crowded waiting hall. The VIP entrance was nearly empty. He thought how wonderful it would be if the Spring Festival travel rush were this easy.

Fingal led them through the VIP passage where a train attendant in dark green uniform stood at the gate with a card reader, smiling as they approached.

“Mr. Lin Nian, the train has been waiting for some time,” the attendant called out Lin Nian’s name, confirming Fingal’s words that the train was specially arranged for him.

“Is this person also from Kassel Academy?” Lin Nian asked, surprised.

“A 1998 graduate in History,” the attendant smiled.

Lin Nian and Lin Xian exchanged glances. It seemed the academy really did guarantee placements—here was a graduate stationed right at Chicago’s train station.

“And what about me?” Fingal complained, “I finally get to use the VIP channel and can’t even enjoy being respected?”

“Fingal, do you have enough credits to graduate this year? I hear the academy is considering lowering your rank again,” the attendant said as Fingal swiped his ticket, the reader beeping green.

“I’m already at ‘E’ rank. Isn’t that the lowest in the academy? Can I still dig through the floor?” Fingal grimaced.

“The equipment department can pierce the annihilation well; maybe you can pierce the floor. They’re planning to add an ‘F’ rank for those who always bottom out. You should be proud,” the attendant said.

“So serfs aren’t even my bottom line? I can become a mule... Does the academy feed mules?”

“That depends on whether the cafeteria staff serving you is Turkish,” the attendant replied.

“Only a Turkish man named Avanti likes mules! Other Turks just like donkey meat sandwiches!” Fingal grumbled loudly, fully embracing his mule role.

Lin Nian swiped his ticket; the green light lit up, followed by a rhythmic beep.

“‘A’ rank? Manstein’s wait was worth it,” the attendant’s eyes brightened, cutting off his banter with Fingal.

“‘A’ rank? Junior brother’s made it big. I always heard Junior Sister Mandy praise you, but I didn’t expect you to be ‘A’ rank,” Fingal said, surprised.

“Is ‘A’ the highest rank?” Lin Nian asked curiously.

“There’s ‘S’ rank above it, but only the principal is ‘S,’” Fingal explained.

“No, there are more ‘S’ ranks, but fewer than ten,” the attendant corrected, shaking his finger.

“Is that the board of trustees?” Fingal wondered aloud. “Those old guys really abuse their power to boost their ranks?”

Lin Xian swiped her ticket; the green light flashed with a “ding.”

The attendant looked at her in surprise. “A new staff member, huh?”

“Staff?” Fingal was puzzled, assuming they were both new students.

“Professor Manstein specially hired her,” Lin Nian explained.

“The academy rarely hires outside staff these days,” the attendant nodded.

“I remember the last outside hires were those Navy SEALs,” Fingal said.

Navy SEALs? Lin Nian was stunned. What kind of school hired those thugs? Security guards, perhaps? He thought about asking but didn’t, and neither Fingal nor the attendant offered an explanation.

The attendant led the three onto the platform. A sleek, black high-speed train rested on the tracks, its silver-white vine-like patterns extending from the front car backward. Normal trains wouldn’t have such decorations; these designs seemed crafted by Chicago’s street art enthusiasts, but the CC1000 Express’s decorations were by even more masterful artists.

At the only open door on the luxurious front car, a light flashed in Lin Nian’s eyes. Looking closer, he saw Professor Manstein standing in the sunlight, watching him.