Page 244 of Light Leech

An and dressed like Sanna patrolled the classroom, weaving in and out of the aisles. Looking up, I could see that the and’s glances at the students were a show. A variety of ceiling camera domes looked down on them, likely recording their movements and tapping into their neurosets for monitoring.

“Forgive me,” Naoma whispered, “but I don’t see why I need a classroom like this when I can just neglect–I mean, give my son his own neuroset for learning.”

“No need to keep quiet, the children have auditory blocks to anyone but the teacher. It keeps them focused, preventing unnecessary interactions, and so forth. This is condensed learning. One year here is as good as three elsewhere. If you want to let your child attempt work at home on his own, sure, see how that goes. He can fall behind and join the corporate chain in a sub-blue company or end up with a dead-end job in the Yellow District.”

Naoma scoffed. “You think awfully highly of your school don’t you?”

“Well, it isn’t mine. I am a mere component, allowing me to see its labors without the forced biases of ownership. Yes, I have seen other schools and none of them have impressed me like Water Hills. These classroom facilitating ands offer the feeling of traditional classroom teachers when necessary and keep the students in line while using their neurospace programs. Surveillance in and out of the system. No wages to be paid. No biases to compromise the paths we want our students to follow.”

“And what might those paths be?” I asked.

Her face was less tense as she faced me. “No graduate of Waters Hills should find themselves anywhere lower than the top of the Blue District. Most will end up affluent Indigo residents, though we aim for Violet.”

“But these are just kids,” I said. “How can you guarantee that much now?”

“Water Hills follows children until age seventeen, some until eighteen. Immediately following graduation they are granted a position with one of our partnered corporations, established in an Indigo District though most new employees live in the neighboring blue.”

“So it’s a factory for making corporate employees?” Naoma smiled. “Forgive me for playing devil’s advocate.”

“It’s an institution for success. Most of Zingang’s highest paid Violet influencers, stars, athletes, and anyone of societal import graduated from a Water Hills campus. Our success stories are not limited to this city. Onward with the tour then?”

She left the room before more questions were raised. I didn’t need to ask what happened to those who thought they deserved to be Zingang’s Violet stars but failed. Those failures filled every corporation they each fought to own. They might offer a high Blue guarantee, I knew that their proud graduates aimed for stardom like any other media-crazed child–speaking from personal appearance–while most fed into corporations. Following Sanna down the hall lined with plaques of corporate sponsorships, I realized that we were heading down the wrong path.

The Luxists had directed us here out of hope that Boyband had attended a high-end institution. It was high end for celebrities and the one percent. The monks might have seemed perfect in their knowledge, but they were as lost as we were. Dokkaebi might be the head of education, but this wasn’t education. Sure, it was a school that followed the requisite curriculum, but that just made it another sheep. This institution didn’t aim for scholarship. It relied on gambling parents. A few every few years would succeed, but most would become another piece in their sponsors’ corporate conglomerates.

The more I contemplated, the more I missed Sanna’s tour of the gymnasium. The more I felt the tragedy of these hopeful children and their deceived parents. I didn’t need to go down the track of athletes set up for failure.

Seeing Boyband’s persistent joy, I wondered if he knew. This was not the school to set your child up to inherit a SocStan empire. Did they hope that he might have some chance at success? Finding a life of success without having to hold the burden of a business up? Was this a hope that he might have freedom, yet not resort back to the life of the lower districts? I didn’t know. Maybe there was something at this school that I was missing. I didn’t want to see his parents as another rich and naive couple that thought this school entailed success, but it was hard to see otherwise. Wanting to criticize it from the start had removed the jaded lens hopeful parents would use to view the school. Even if it didn’t promise success for all, every parent thought their child would succeed. Love can distort wisdom. Perhaps that was a good thing. Regardless, I knew that even the wisest were victims to falsehoods.

Zeg, there was so much to unpack.

Who ran this school? Was this board part of some conglomerate that not only fed employees to companies, but selected new celebrities? There had to be plenty of talented kids here and there was an abundance of untalented celebrities in the world.

Who selected them?

“Alyosha?” Naoma squeezed my hand.

Was she selected to be the Neon Idol?

“Mister Ershov?” Sanna asked.

“Yes?” I laughed and shook my head. “Sorry, just remembering my school years. I think Yuze will like it here.”

Sanna raised her eyebrows and turned to Naoma.

Naoma smiled with her eyes and a slight tilt of her head. “I’m still waiting for the message from the board representative.”

Sanna cleared her throat. “Excuse me, but I assure you that is not possible at this time.”

“But you told me you sent them a message?”

“I said I would try. Unfortunately, I received an immediate rejection.”

Naoma bit her bottom lip, staring at Sanna while she let tension build. “I think it is time to consider other options for Yuze.”

“Ma’am, I assure you we can–”

“Oh, you assure me just like you did with the board representative?”