Chapter 1: Another Ordinary Day?

  The morning sun cast a golden sheen across the sprawling university campus, where laughter and chatter echoed like music through the crisp air. Students bustled about, some in small clusters, others lost in their own thoughts. Girls giggled near the library steps; groups of guys exchanged half-slept jokes and last-minute cramming. Backpacks swung, sneakers shuffled, and the promise of another lecture-filled day loomed over them all.

  The university itself stood like a modern fortress of knowledge—towering glass buildings reflecting the sky, ivy trailing up old stone facades, and digital kiosks blinking with announcements no one bothered to read. It was a place both alive and indifferent, a blend of tradition and technology wrapped in youthful chaos.

  Through the shifting crowd walked a figure that didn’t quite belong.

  His messy blond curls looked like they'd lost a fight with his pillow, and the deep-blue eyes beneath his half-lowered lashes were ringed with fatigue. Shadows darkened the skin beneath them—evidence of sleepless nights, maybe from study, maybe from something else. His posture wasn’t slouched, but tired in a way that felt permanent.

  A worn-out messenger bag hung at his side, and he adjusted it absently as he moved with unhurried steps. He wasn’t late, exactly. But he wasn’t early either.

  He pushed open the door to Lecture Hall C, a stale rush of recycled air greeting him as he stepped inside. A few students glanced up. Most didn't bother. He took one of the seats near the front—an unusual choice for someone who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

  At the podium, Professor Haynes was already in mid-sentence, his voice rising and falling in a rhythm too practiced to be passionate.

  “And so, when examining cognitive interface models, we find that—”

  The door opened again.

  A hush swept through the front rows like wind brushing tall grass.

  He stepped in.

  Hikari.

  Tall, sharp-featured, and annoyingly unruffled. He wore the same uniform as everyone else, yet somehow managed to look like he belonged on a movie poster.

  The whispers began instantly.

  “Oh, there he is.”

  “Late again.”

  “Well, I guess when you're a genius, you get to do what you want.”

  “Look—even the professor doesn't say anything to him.”

  Hikari slid into a front-row seat as if the stares weren’t there. He dropped his bag beside him, exhaled slowly, then swept his piercing blue eyes across the room.

  Unbothered. Detached.

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  Like a king surveying a kingdom he had long since grown bored of.

  He yawned softly—barely covering his mouth—and began pulling out a notebook, a pen, and a small digital slate from his bag with the grace of someone going through motions he no longer cared for.

  The professor’s voice continued to echo throughout the lecture hall, smooth and practiced, as the lesson drifted into the dense territory of applied math.

  “I’ll give you five minutes,” he announced, setting down his marker. “Apply this principle to the operation we just discussed.”

  A quiet rustle filled the room like wind through dry leaves. Pens clicked into motion. Styluses tapped on digital slates. Some students frowned in concentration, others stared at their notes as if hoping they’d rearrange themselves into answers.

  Professor Kusanagi moved from the whiteboard, his hands tucked behind his back, gaze sweeping over the classroom. His silver-gray hair was meticulously combed back, not a strand out of place. It shimmered under the LED lights like brushed steel. His sharp, angular face bore no signs of age save for the wisdom in his expression—and the matching silver-gray eyes that seemed to pierce through paper and skin alike. His suit was custom-tailored, navy with subtle graphite accents, giving him the air of a corporate executive rather than a college professor.

  He walked lightly, like a man used to moving among sleeping beasts.

  His gaze landed on the boy in the front row—Hikari. Still, quiet, motionless.

  Hikari hadn’t looked up once.

  His eyes were fixed on the page before him, the deep ocean blue of his irises unreadable under the shadows of fatigue. He raised his hand. The pen moved. Swift. Clean. Precise.

  In a matter of seconds, the equation was resolved, boxed neatly, the ink barely dry on the paper.

  Before he could even outline the final answer, a voice cut through the soft scratching of pens.

  “Stop making math look so damn easy,” came the low chuckle.

  Hikari blinked. Looked up.

  The professor was standing right in front of him, smiling.

  “Sensei,” Hikari said, voice hoarse with exhaustion.

  Professor Kusanagi leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper only they could hear.

  “So… what did you think of the game?”

  Hikari’s lips curled into a tired grin. “It’s disgusting, honestly. Hah.”

  Kusanagi stifled a laugh—only barely. A few students turned, their gazes sharpened by curiosity and something else. Jealousy, maybe.

  “‘Disgusting’? Come on,” the professor whispered with a dramatic sigh. “My humble little company poured its soul into developing that game. Give me something better than ‘disgusting’. What’s your rating?”

  Hikari shrugged. “Half a star. Out of five.”

  Kusanagi reeled back, a hand on his chest like he'd been struck. “I haven’t felt this rejected since the girl I loved turned down my marriage proposal.”

  Hikari gave a flat stare. “Is it really okay to hear your tragic love life first thing in the morning, Sensei?”

  The professor chuckled. He reached out and tousled Hikari’s curly blond hair gently, ruffling it further.

  “Thank you,” he said, voice lower, softer. “From the bottom of my heart. The sleeplessness in your eyes tells me everything. You finished it, didn’t you?”

  Hikari yawned and nodded. “If you’re really grateful, let me sleep through the rest of the lecture. The day’s only just begun.”

  Kusanagi gave a sly smile. “No can do. In fact, I’m going to make the end-of-month exam even harder. Just for you.”

  Hikari yawned again, unbothered. “That’s fine. But… maybe be a little more considerate. I think your students are about to eat me alive with their eyes.”

  Right on cue, a girl in the middle of the room raised her hand.

  “Sensei,” she called out.

  Professor Kusanagi straightened, placing his hands back in his pockets as he turned to address the class.

  “I’ll check your answer in a second,” he said calmly, then glanced once more at Hikari. “Expect a small package tonight. Along with a handwritten note. I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

  With that, he turned and walked off, his steps light, almost weightless, like a man who knew something the rest of the world hadn’t caught onto yet.

  At his desk, Hikari struggled to keep his head from dropping forward. Sleep tugged at him, heavy and relentless.

  And the day had only just begun.