[ Alina's perspective ]
The soft hum of the automatic blinds signaled the start of another day. Sunlight gently spilled into the room, filtered through sheer white curtains, casting golden streaks across the polished marble floors. Alina stirred beneath the silk sheets, taking her time as the light warmed her skin.
Her room was spacious and serene, an elegant blend of modern luxury and quiet comfort. A crystal chandelier hung above, refracting the morning light into soft rainbows across the white ceiling. Her shelves were lined with designer books, most unread but carefully color-coded. At the far end, a balcony opened to a view of the pristine college gardens—manicured hedges, fountains, and winding stone paths.
A walk-in closet stood to one side, filled with perfectly arranged outfits—casual designer wear, handbags from limited collections, shoes lined in velvet compartments. Her vanity sparkled with neat rows of luxury skincare and perfumes, their bottles catching the light like gems. She lived in one of the upper dorm wings reserved for elite scholarship holders—private rooms, personal bathrooms, high-tech amenities, and daily room service. It was more hotel suite than dormitory.
Her phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.
1 new message — Joey.
"Rise and shine, princess. Coffee's on me today. I want gossip, and I want it now."
Alina smiled.
"Be there in 20," she texted back, tossing the blanket off.
She slipped into the en-suite bathroom, where warm water cascaded from a rainfall showerhead set into the ceiling. Her skincare routine was automatic, muscle memory from years of habit. Hair tied into a neat ponytail, makeup kept light—just enough to keep the polished look.
Dressed in a cream cropped sweater, high-waisted jeans, and clean white sneakers, she grabbed her tote bag and AirPods before heading out. Her ID card beeped her past the private dorm entrance into the elevator, which played soft instrumental music on the way down.
The campus was already lively when she stepped outside. Groups of students gathered beneath trees, on benches, sipping coffee, sharing notes. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and birds chirped from the rooftop gardens nearby.
At the campus café, Joey was already waiting—tall iced coffee in hand, dramatic sunglasses pushed up into his curls, tapping impatiently on the tabletop.
"Took you long enough," he said, grinning.
"I'm not rushing beauty sleep for you," Alina replied, sliding into the seat across from him. "So, what's the drama?"
They chatted easily, laughter slipping between sips of coffee and flaky croissants. She didn't notice anything out of place. Just another normal day. Assignments to do, club meetings later, maybe a movie night back in the common lounge. The same calm, privileged routine.
I walked across the sunlit campus, latte in hand, Joey trailing behind me as we strolled down the familiar pathways toward the main academic building. The air was crisp, a perfect early autumn morning, and the leaves crunched underfoot as we moved. I could already feel the day's momentum picking up, the hum of campus life surrounding us.
The glass-paneled structure of the main academic building loomed ahead, its sleek, modern design standing proud in the center of the campus. Four floors of classrooms, open lounges, and state-of-the-art smartboards embedded into every wall. The building was a symbol of everything the university stood for—progress, knowledge, excellence.
Inside, the corridors were alive with energy: conversations, footsteps, the rustling of pages, and laughter echoing off the polished floors. It was a Monday, which meant a full day of lectures and project work. Not that I minded. I thrived on routine. The structure of the day gave me a sense of purpose, a sense of control. I liked how everything flowed smoothly, the sense of pride in always being prepared. Professors knew me by name, and I knew exactly how to handle any situation that came my way. I carried myself with confidence—among the top ranks of the university, where I belonged.
Our first lecture was "International Business Strategy." Some might call it a yawner, but I saw it as a game. A global chess match. And I was good at it. I was always good at reading the board, understanding the pieces, and positioning myself to win.
I walked into the classroom, where it was already half full. It was an amphitheater-style room, the curved rows of seats creating a space that felt open and focused at the same time. There were sleek desks, each equipped with charging ports, and a giant smartboard at the front. A few students were chatting, scrolling through their tablets, or sipping on caffeine. The professor hadn't arrived yet, which meant I had a moment to settle in.
I slid into my usual seat in the second row near the windows—just far enough to not seem over-eager, but close enough to participate if needed. Joey dropped into the seat beside me, dramatically sighing as he unzipped his bag.
And then I noticed him.
A guy walked in. Tall, lean, broad-shouldered. Dark, tousled hair. He was wearing a plain black tee under a dark gray hoodie, jeans, and white sneakers. Nothing flashy, nothing that screamed for attention. Just... normal.
I glanced at him for a moment, just long enough to see him pause at the door. He looked around the room briefly, like he was taking it all in, before he made his way to the back and took a seat near the far right wall. His movements were quiet, controlled, almost calculated.
Joey leaned in toward me, his voice a whisper. "New guy," he said, following my gaze. "Kinda hot, right?"
I gave him a half-smile, not really looking at the guy anymore. "Not really my type," I replied, my tone casual.
Joey raised an eyebrow. "Tall, mysterious, hoodie-wearing loner? That's not your type?"
I laughed softly. "Maybe in a drama series. But here? He's probably just transferring in late. International program, maybe. They bring in students mid-semester all the time."
Joey wasn't convinced, but I didn't care to entertain the idea. The guy wasn't worth my attention. I wasn't interested in him—especially not when there were far more important things on my plate.
It wasn't like I didn't know him already, though. I had crossed paths with him before
He was a nice enough guy, but there was no connection, no reason to keep talking. Just another face in the crowd. I didn't have time for small talk, especially with someone I barely knew.
The new guy didn't make a scene. He wasn't drawing attention to himself. He just sat there in the back, pulling out a simple black notebook and pen, not even bothering with a laptop. No flashy tech. No obvious desire to be noticed. Just a quiet presence.
As the professor entered, signaling the start of class, I refocused. Dr. Myles was sharp and charismatic—exactly the kind of professor I enjoyed. He was engaging and expected participation. I made sure to answer a couple of questions, providing concise, well-thought-out responses. I even caught him mentioning one of my reports as a model example, which felt satisfying in its own way.
Throughout the class, the new guy remained silent. He didn't raise his hand, didn't ask questions, didn't speak. He just sat, scribbling something down in his notebook, his expression unreadable. The entire lecture passed in a blur of case studies and market analysis.
To be honest, I didn't give him much thought after that. The new student was just another face in a sea of students who would eventually come and go. I didn't feel anything unusual about him. He was just like everyone else—quiet, reserved, maybe a little out of place, but nothing that needed further consideration.
Class ended with the usual rustle of bags and lazy chatter. I stood, smoothing down my blazer, and turned to Joey, ready to head to the library like we planned.
But then—
The air changed.
I heard the door to the lecture hall creak open again. Not the usual shuffling of students or the bored murmurs of someone who had forgotten their notebook. This was… different. Too deliberate. Too quiet.
Two figures stepped inside—dressed entirely in black, faces partially obscured by hoods and tinted visors. Their movements were sharp, purposeful. A few students laughed, thinking it was some kind of prank or performance.
I didn't.
They didn't walk toward the professor. They didn't even look at the others. Their focus was entirely on me.
My pulse spiked.
"Joey," I whispered.
He froze mid-step. "What the hell—"
And then they moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Before I could even process it, both figures leapt forward—blades drawn, gleaming with a silver sheen. I didn't scream. I didn't have time. Everything slowed into a terrifying blur as I instinctively stepped back, eyes wide, heart pounding against my ribs.
But then—
A shadow moved.
A streak of motion blurred between me and the attackers. A hand—pale, lithe, wrapped in dark energy—snapped up and caught both knives mid-air with impossible ease.
He stood there.
White hair, unkempt and wild like frost in the wind. Cold, unreadable eyes. A faint, black aura curled around him like smoke—like something not meant to exist in sunlight. The air around him felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. As if the world itself had paused to let him move.