In the heart of Zichen Campus, notorious for its oddities and legends, lay a curious shop run by the enigmatic Professor Lin. Students often whispered about the peculiarities within, tales of clocks that ticked backward and books that told the secrets of the beholder’s soul. But amid these eerie curiosities sat the most peculiar of items—batteries. Batteries that, rumor had it, were decidedly and inexplicably…unpalatable.

“If you asked me,” Ling muttered to her friend Jiang as they wandered past the storefront, “it’s just a chemical taste. Nothing magical at all.”

Jiang, with his perpetual grin that bordered on the whimsical, nudged her shoulder. “Chemical or not, nobody’s brave enough to try them. At least not since last winter.”

Inside the shop, Professor Lin, a man dressed in layers that seemed to borrow colors more from the dream world than reality, greeted them with a nod. His eyes, like two shimmering orbs of polished obsidian, held the flicker of secrets untold. “Rain or shine, my shop feeds the mind. But beware, it’s not all meant to devour.”

Ling raised an eyebrow, challenging the obscure statement. “Feeds the mind, perhaps. But why batteries? Why the rumor of them tasting so… peculiar?”

A shadow of a smile danced across Professor Lin’s thin lips. “Ah, the batteries! They are but a part of testing one’s resolve. Magic, my dear Ling, is in the courage to taste the unseen, to savor what others say is unsavory.”

“I’ve heard enough of bitter tastes and dark prophecies,” Ling said defiantly, eyeing the forbidden shelf, where the batteries gleamed like forbidden fruits. “Maybe it’s time someone ends the mystery.”

Jiang clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I’d like to avoid detention this year, Ling. Remember, our principal isn’t fond of tasting ancient artifacts.”

Professor Lin watched them, a knowing glimmer ere as if he could sense the fabric of reality beginning to bend. “Be warned, young ones. Not everything can be undone once tasted. The consequences might swallow the courage that summoned them.”

His words, cryptic and foreboding, lingered in the air like the swirl of incense in a still room. Yet, something in Ling’s eyes spoke of an undying curiosity, an eagerness to unearth what lay beyond mere tales.

“You’re saying there’s no mystery in taste, but plenty in courage?” Ling challenged, leaning in.

“Exactly. You see, our campus,” Lin gestured broadly, encompassing the small world around them, “is built on stories as much as on stone. Everyone writes their own reality, but few dare to taste it.”

Jiang, tugging at his friend’s sleeve, offered a final counsel. “Some doors, my friend, aren’t meant to be opened. Let’s keep to simpler mysteries, like passing algebra.”

With laughter that softened the edges of the mythical, the duo exited, leaving behind the unventured, untried batteries under the watchful gaze of Professor Lin.

As they disappeared into the bustling life of campus corridors, the finality settled not in revelations but rather in the untried—stories that spark not in the telling but in the untold.

Yet somewhere within the shop, unseen, unread, the magical realism lingered. Was it reserved for courage yet to be summoned, or perhaps for the tasting of an unpalatable battery another day?

The question remained, unresolved yet ever-present—an end awkward and incomplete, much like the tangled weave of life itself.