The best tactic to employ when searching for an item you’ve accidentally misplaced is to retrace your steps, starting from the moment you last handled the item to when you realized you lost it. That was the strategy I had in mind as I ran around the school, making sure to use the miniature map I produced for the added convenience of looking less suspicious as I ran around the school if I needed to hide it quickly.

  I recalled my actions, trying to remember every moment I handled the room 61 key. It wasn’t difficult remembering the feel of metal, wood, and rope brushing against your hand. Even if I did drop it accidentally, it shouldn’t be too hard to spot a key lying conspicuously on the floor with the number 61 tied to it.

  The problem is how large an area I need to look through.

  I stopped at a random corner to check my pockets. Somehow, amidst my panic, I failed to notice my pockets were still inside-out when I traveled from the dorm to the school. I quickly returned them outside-in.

  First, I checked around the entrance of the library before checking its interior.

  Next, I checked around the large and ominous double doors that were still closed. Good. No sealed ancient evils will be threatening this world today.

  Finally, I checked the square garden area that caught the most of my attention.

  If there’s any place that’d be the most frustrating to lose a small key in, it’d be here. There were plenty of spots for something small enough to fit in my palm would hide in.

  I checked around the perimeter I walked earlier, looking over the edge of the rail to see if the key had somehow fallen around the shrubbery. It didn’t, so I worked backwards, starting from the last classroom I’d have to attend on my first day of school.

  The sounds of countless murmurs resonated with the walls.

  Shit, as if things couldn’t get worse.

  I looked for a corner to hide behind, but the doors opened quicker. Panicked, I simply hugged the walls closest to me to get out of the way of oncoming foot traffic.

  Like before, a few students quickly took notice of me. It was hard not to, with how suspicious my presence is, along with my awkward pose against the wall and the map I had in my hand.

  My presence even alarmed a student enough for them to run back into the classroom and shout some syllables from inside.

  Seconds later, someone older stepped out and immediately took notice of me. I’m guessing it’s the room’s teacher if they responded to this student’s words.

  The first thing that caught my attention was their face, as it matched one of the chibi faces Mr. Blonde drew on the back of my large copy of the map. He was on the step below Ms. Grey, and above the one above where the cooks were.

  He was an old man with greying hair and features that put him above 50, up to his high-60s at most. His skin was sagging and dilapidated with some moles and brown spots, but his eyes gave me a fierce gaze. To top it all, he wore a cloak and a giant pointy hat, a classic old man wizard.

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  My instincts told me to be wary of this man.

  He spoke syllables, which I’m certain were directed at me.

  If I knew what you were asking, I’d give you an adequate answer. How the hell do I communicate the concept of a language barrier or a learning disability?

  The student who tattled about my presence shouted at me. Again, I’m not trying to withhold any secrets. I just don’t know if they can understand me.

  The student then loudly spoke more syllables before reaching for my poster holder. Instinctively, I swatted off any attempt to take the container. He was annoyingly persistent, and I had a growing urge to punch him in the face.

  The old man shouted, and we both stopped. He turned and directed some syllables to the student who tattled on me before directing some toward me and walking off. The tattler and the other students simply stared at his back as he walked off. A few strides later, the old man turned back to me.

  I took that as my cue to follow him, quickly weaving past the gathering crowd, disturbed by all the gazes on me.

  We took a few turns deviating from the route I had committed to memory and found ourselves in a different office. Unlike Mr. Blonde’s office, which had very little to look at, this old man’s office was nearly filled to the brim with stacks of books and papers strewn about. The room even stunk of the smell of old paper.

  The old man had to take a few large steps just to get around the smaller piles of books on the floor, before sitting at his desk, decorated with a few quills, inkwells, and papers scribbled with writing more indecipherable than whatever I already couldn’t read. It was difficult to tell if it was this world’s equivalent to calligraphy or if he just had terrible handwriting in general.

  More syllables he spoke grabbed my attention from the state of the room. I saw him pointing behind himself, behind his shoulder. I realized he was talking about my poster holder, which I promptly removed from myself and opened it on his desk, revealing the large map Mr. Blonde gave me.

  He immediately turned it over to the side with all the chibi caricatures on the 5-step pyramid.

  The old man sighed before he spoke some syllables, carrying a mixture of disappointment, defeat, and fatigue. I guessed it was a comment about Mr. Blonde, but I guessed it wasn’t important at the moment.

  He looked up at me and spoke, his tone different from when we met in the hallway. I could pick out some words he repeated back in front of his classroom, but I still did not know what he was saying.

  It was frustrating, but I had to make due.

  I slowly and steadily walked toward his desk, anticipating a sudden demand to stop. He merely raised an eyebrow in confusion, so I hurried my pace and pointed at Mr. Blonde’s caricature, hoping to convey “he’s why I’m here.”

  His face told me he was scrutinizing Mr. Blonde’s intentions. I, too, wonder what goes on in that man’s mind.

  Suddenly, I had a realization.

  If he’s one of this school’s faculty, then perhaps… he could help me find the key I lost!

  The problem was how to wordlessly portray the idea of a missing item.

  Comics and animated shows portrayed this by presenting it as a blinking silhouette with dotted outlines, usually for comedic effect, but from what I’ve seen, I’m not sure if portraying that idea will make it click with the old man. The school didn’t look technologically developed enough for televisions to exist, so there was no reason to believe it was like this for the rest of the country, maybe even the world.

  Maybe I should make an imitation key and have it dissipate in smoke? Do they even have an “up in smoke” phrase in their lingo?

  I heard the old man clear his throat, looking at me expectantly.

  Screw it.

  I manifested an imitation key with teeth vastly different from the original. I vaguely recalled the shape of the original key’s teeth, as it was mundane enough not to leave a lasting impression.

  The change in the man’s expression told me I caught his attention.

  Onto the next part.

  Immediately after, the key’s form dissipated in a grey smoke. The smoke I imagined was the kind meant to sink to the floor, similar to what you’d see on stage in plays.

  Suddenly, a force sent me through the office’s walls. With how painful it felt, I’m sure I had gotten a few broken bones.