I quietly slipped out of the room.

  The corridor was asleep, if you can say that about a place where the walls periodically sigh. I started pacing the space, back and forth, trying to build at least some semblance of logic in my head.

  Alright, let's start with the basics. I pulled out a thick, heavy sheet of paper and began sketching a diagram. Static objects: right here is our dorm, here is the First Building, over there is the Fifth, leaning on its side. We'll ignore the Sixth, which is "teleport only," for now. Searching for it is just a waste of mana.

  I froze, examining the blueprint. "Wait, hold on..." I rubbed my eyes. "Where is the Second Building?"

  I counted again. First—on the ground. Third and Fourth—in the sky. Fifth—slanted. Sixth—a ghost. But where is the Second? How could I miss an entire massive building? I had wandered around this territory, jumped across islands, but had never once seen a sign for "Building No. 2."

  Apparently, in this world, numbers are also a subjective concept. Oh well, one mystery more, one mystery less. That's not the main problem right now.

  The main problem is the floors. How do I figure out where and when my chunk of concrete flies off to? Study the schedule? Observe for weeks? No, takes too long. Too tedious.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  I walked up to the wall and knocked quietly on it with my knuckles. "Listen," I whispered. "How do you guys plan your movements? Is there some kind of algorithm? Or is it all about the phases of the moon?"

  The wall responded with a quiet vibration, resembling a sleepy grumble: "Depends on our mood..."

  I grimaced. Bad. Very bad. I hope this rock is just messing with me. Alright, we won't try to guess. We'll track them.

  I need a map that shows in real-time where every single brick of this establishment is located. What's the best method? Bind inanimate objects with mana threads? That's tricky—binding to someone else's property is always harder than your own. The house's magic will resist.

  And then an idea popped into my head. Simple and crude.

  I started creating "my own" bricks. Perfect duplicates made of compressed clay and mana. My plan was simple: I would walk through every floor, carefully replace one inconspicuous brick in the masonry with my own, and then bind these "beacons" with invisible threads to my sheet of paper.

  Where the brick is—there is the floor. Genius? No. Tedious and requires a ton of running around.

  Excuse me, dear readers (and the author too), I am not a boy genius who will invent something elegant and instantaneous. I am just a lazy teenager who wants to know where his bed is, and for the sake of that, is willing to engage in illegal construction at three o'clock in the morning.

  Nothing else came to mind. "Let's go," I sighed, creating the first batch of "beacons." "Today, I'm working as a bricklayer."