The classroom was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting long shadows over half-closed textbooks and the glazed eyes of students struggling to stay awake. The professor at the front spoke with unwavering enthusiasm, passionately explaining the foundational horrors of real analysis. Yet, despite his fervor, most students seemed immune to his passion—some nodded along as if in agreement, others nodded off into slumber, and a few scrolled through their phones, likely engaged in a far more pressing debate about a trending K-pop star's latest hairstyle.
At the heart of this battlefield of academic indifference sat a young man, white-skinned, his chin resting on his desk, entirely disconnected from the mathematical rigor that filled the air. Drool pooled beside his arm as he slipped deeper into sleep, escaping to a realm far removed from epsilon-delta proofs.
His peace was shattered by an excited squeal from across the room. A girl, her eyes gleaming, practically shook her best friend in delight. "Did you see? The new album is finally dropping!" she whispered dramatically, loud enough to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of the class.
Before any hushed warnings could be issued, another voice cut through the room—a boy, far too extroverted for the setting, burst in with a breathless announcement. "Guys! My parents just messaged me. There's a secret meeting in Man Industries' basement tomorrow. Everyone affiliated is invited."
A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the class. Phones lit up as messages were exchanged, plans hastily made. Then, as if rehearsed, the girls who had been gushing over the album abandoned their desks and left the room in a synchronized flurry of whispers and urgency.
Their departure was so dramatic that even the semi-conscious students took notice. One such observer, an awkward yet determined boy, attempted to follow their lead—only for his own feet to betray him. He stumbled forward, flailing helplessly before crashing directly onto the our sleeping beauty.
"What the—!" The young man jolted awake, his forehead colliding painfully with the desk. He groggily lifted his head, eyes narrowing in a sleep-deprived glare at the unfortunate boy sprawled over him. The entire classroom had gone silent, all eyes fixed on him.
"Why... why is everyone looking at me like I'm some kind of ghost?" he muttered under his breath.
As if answering his question, a boy by the window—who had previously been deeply engaged in the observation of an ant—suddenly sprang into action. In what could only be described as a feat of physics-defying incompetence, he flung a half-empty water bottle toward the the our boy. The loose cap gave way mid-air, unleashing a small waterfall directly onto his already miserable figure.
The perpetrator gasped. "Crap, crap, crap—wait, here!" He snatched a tissue from a nearby girl, who glared at him. "You dumbbell! Those were my last ones!"
Ignoring the complaint, he rushed forward with an apologetic expression, only for the boy to snatch the tissues first, his reflexes honed by sheer survival instinct. The entire class collectively wondered: Where do these disasters even come from?
Having endured more than enough humiliation for the day, the boy stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath, "Real Analysis? Worst decision ever."
As he strode through the corridor, the absurdity of his surroundings became more apparent. One group was engrossed in an intense discussion about startup investments, another passionately debated the optimal shape of a tree leaf, and—most concerningly—a suspicious individual lurked at the corner, sneaking glances at him.
Further down the hallway, an animated group of girls chattered excitedly about an adult drama series. Instinct screamed at him to avoid them. He picked up his pace, but fate had other plans. A mischievous girl, sensing a prime opportunity, subtly extended her foot.
Splat.
The cold, unforgiving floor welcomed him with open arms.
A gasp. "Oh no! Are you okay?" The culprit feigned innocence, extending a hand with award-worthy acting skills.
Lifting his face from the ground, he met her gaze with the dead-eyed expression of a man who had long since seen through the deceptions of the world. With what little dignity he had left, he declined her offer and walked away, only to turn a corner and break into a full sprint, as though escaping the gravitational pull of public embarrassment.
"Who was that guy?" someone from the startup discussion asked.
"Apparently, he's some genius. Top scores in physics, math, finance, and chemistry."
"Then why does he look like such a fool?"
"Something about a special orphanage program. He even corrected the professor's conceptual errors."
"Oh. So he's that kind of fool."
By the time the protagonist emerged from the bathroom, his clothes mostly dry but his pride permanently soaked, he re-entered class to grab his bag. His fingers traced its worn fabric, recalling the day he received it—from a stunning woman who had visited the orphanage. Despite everything, it remained one of his most treasured possessions.
With academia officially abandoned for the day, he exited campus. The hour hand inched dangerously close to six. He quickened his pace, dashing toward his hostel. Upon arrival, he wasted no time in the shower, scrubbing away the residue of misfortune before donning his café uniform.
As he stepped outside, he was immediately met with chaos—a group of seniors engaged in a heated argument over a K-pop actress's "scandalous" photo. His instinct? Walk faster.
Fate? Disagreed.
Smack.
His face collided with a wall, breaking up the argument in the process.
The seniors blinked, then turned to each other. "Where did this new species come from?"
"Maybe he's some rich heir?"
"No way. We should befriend him."
Before they could reach a consensus, another student spotted a looming shadow. "Guys, PRINCIPAL!"
Like roaches fleeing the light, they vanished, leaving the protagonist alone with the man whose gaze could bend steel.
"Why are you in a café uniform?" the principal questioned, eyes narrowing. Then, recognition dawned. "Ah. Never mind. Just make sure your work papers are signed."
"Y-yes, sir," he stammered before making his escape.
Finally reaching the café, he was greeted by the burly manager, arms crossed. "You. Late again? You think this is your father's business?"
"S-sorry, sir! I—I slipped, and—"
The man raised an eyebrow. "Slipped? Into another disaster? You walk around like a lost goat! Get to work before I have you washing dishes all night!"
With that, he scurried inside, bracing himself for another round of misfortune. As he approached a table of girls, he tried his best to steady his nerves. "W-welcome… w-what w-would you like to order?" he stammered, gripping his notepad like a lifeline.
A giggle. "Why is he shaking? Is this his first time talking to a girl?"
His ears burned. Just as he was about to recover, disaster struck—he turned too quickly, his foot caught on air, and a tray of drinks soared through the air before landing squarely onto a well-dressed customer.
Silence.
The manager facepalmed. "Boy, if I didn't need workers, I'd make you pay for that suit. Now clean it up before you ruin anything else!"
As he scrambled to fix the mess, he thought, Maybe I should just become a monk. At least there are no girls there.
After finishing his shift at the café, the young engineer stepped out into the dimly lit streets, exhausted. The scent of rain lingered in the air, the kind that foreshadowed an impending downpour. Instead of heading straight back to his hostel, he found himself walking toward the far end of a grass field, drawn by the silence that the city rarely allowed.
As he stood there, staring at the endless dark horizon, the sky finally gave in. Droplets fell lightly at first, but within moments, the heavens unleashed a relentless shower.
"Again...?" he muttered bitterly, already drenched from head to toe.
Shivering, he sprinted toward the nearest shelter—a lonely bus stop with a rickety wooden bench. He collapsed onto the seat, hugging his arms to preserve what little warmth he had left. His clothes clung to him, the chill seeping into his very bones. Desperate for a distraction, he pulled out his phone and pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, and his bank balance greeted him with its usual cruelty.
"Twenty-three rupees and..." He squinted at the decimals. "Eighty paisa."
Scoffing, he locked the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket. At this rate, he'd be lucky to afford instant noodles for dinner. A deep sigh escaped him as he leaned his head back, eyes drifting shut. The distant rumbling of thunder mingled with the city's muffled noise, but something else lurked at the edge of his mind.
The news.
Earlier that day, he had overheard students murmuring about a bank robbery that had taken a bizarre turn. Not only had the thieves executed the heist flawlessly, but right before making their escape, the entire area had suffered an electrical explosion. Streetlights shattered, power lines fell, and the bank itself plunged into darkness. Some claimed it was a freak accident; others believed it was a deliberate, calculated move.
"How does something like that even happen?" he wondered, his analytical mind stirring despite the fatigue. "A short circuit? A planted device? And if it was intentional, who could time it so perfectly?"
Just as he was slipping deeper into his thoughts, a sensation jolted him awake.
A soft touch.
His heart nearly leaped out of his chest.
Snapping his eyes open, he found himself staring into the face of a woman—mature, well-dressed, and completely dry, as if the rain hadn't dared to touch her. Her brows were slightly furrowed, frustration evident in her sharp gaze as she muttered something about a meeting under her breath.
His blood ran cold.
Before he could process anything further, instinct took over. He pushed himself back so forcefully that he nearly fell off the bench, scrambling to put distance between them. His reaction seemed to amuse her more than anything. She tilted her head slightly, observing him with the same patience one might have for a young boy in his rebellious phase.
His panic only grew.
Without another thought, he turned on his heel and bolted straight into the rain.
The woman watched him go, her lips curving into an unreadable smile. "Strange kid," she mused, shaking her head before returning to her phone conversation, her frustration fading into mild amusement.
Meanwhile, the boy ran without looking back, his heart pounding louder than the raindrops against the pavement. His soaked uniform clung to his skin, the cold now unbearable, but none of that mattered.
All he could think about was how, for the second time that day, life had decided to throw him into a situation he absolutely did not understand.
The cold night air clung to his skin as he sprinted through the rain, his soaked uniform sticking uncomfortably to his body. The strange woman's gaze lingered in his mind—calm, knowing, and oddly patient, as if she had seen many reckless young men like him before. But he had no time to dwell on that. His goal was simple: get home, get dry, and forget the entire night ever happened.
The downpour showed no mercy, hammering against the empty streets as he finally reached his hostel. Shivering, he fumbled with the door handle, his numb fingers struggling to turn it. The moment he stepped inside, his body sagged with exhaustion. He peeled off his drenched clothes, wrapping himself in the nearest blanket, and collapsed onto his bed, determined to pass out.
Morning came too soon.
A sharp knock rattled his door, jolting him awake. Groggy and still half-frozen from the previous night, he hesitated before opening it.
Two men stood in the hallway. They weren't hostel staff, nor were they students. The taller of the two, clad in a dark trench coat, surveyed him with sharp, assessing eyes. The other, shorter and bulkier, had the demeanor of someone who had long since lost his patience.
"Are you Ash?" the taller man asked.
The boy stiffened. "Uh… who's asking?"
The shorter man scoffed. "We don't have time for this. You were near the bus station last night, weren't you?"
His mind raced. He hadn't gone near the station—just the bus stand. But he had been thinking about it. Could they… read minds now?
"I… I was at the bus stop," he admitted hesitantly. "But I didn't do anything."
The trench coat man's gaze didn't waver. "We're not here to arrest you. We're here to recruit you."
Ash blinked. "…What?"
The shorter man sighed, rubbing his temples. "Listen, kid, we need someone with your skills. Physics, math, finance—your records are impressive. We need a mind that can analyze the… irregularities happening lately."
Ash narrowed his eyes. "And if I say no?"
The trench coat man smirked. "We walk away, and you go back to your café job, scraping together coins."
That hit a nerve.
hesitated, rubbing his arms as if trying to ward off the last traces of the cold. He had never trusted authority figures. But then, something clicked in his mind.
"…How much does it pay?"
The shorter man blinked, then barked out a laugh. "Now you're asking the real questions."
Trench coat man reached into his coat, pulling out a folded document. "Enough to make sure you don't have to check your bank balance every time you want to eat."
Ash glanced between them, his mind warring between caution and temptation. He had no interest in whatever they were involved in. But money? That was an argument he couldn't ignore.
With a resigned sigh, he crossed his arms. "Fine. I'll listen. But if this turns out to be some shady government experiment, I'm out."
The trench coat man's smirk deepened. "Welcome aboard."
Meanwhile,
In a dim, shadow-drenched space, a faint silver spark flickers into existence—delicate yet defiant. Suddenly, a sharp rift slices through the darkness, like reality being torn open. From the void, a striking young man steps forward, clad in flowing white garments, his presence radiant and composed. In one fluid motion, he raises a gleaming sword and hurls it skyward.
With a focused expression, he swiftly forms a series of intricate hand signs. A soft, white aura blooms around his palms, pulsing with quiet power. As if obeying a hidden command, the sword plummets to the earth, strikes the ground, and ricochets back into his waiting hand with perfect precision.
Light begins to swell across the landscape, revealing chaos—an entire battlefield. Warriors charge at him from all sides, their fury echoing through the air. But he stands still, untouched. Then, as quickly as it brightened, the scene collapses into pitch-black silence.
From the darkness, a single beam of light darts forward, cutting through the void like a comet. Within that glow, a faint shimmer of blood-red flickers at a distant point, ominous and still.
Without a drop of blood on him, the boy vanishes into the shadows, his voice a low murmur:
"Chief... when will my partner arrive?"