A new semester had finally begun at the university. The lively chatter of students broke the heavy silence that had lingered over the campus all summer. After the long holidays, old friends reunited in the hallways, their voices filled with excitement and laughter.
Amid the chaos, freshmen wandered around looking lost, desperately struggling to find their classrooms. In the middle of this bustling crowd stood a new student. Unlike the frantic crowd around him, he seemed remarkably calm, almost too calm.
"Just one step away from my dream,"
He adjusted his bag and headed toward his first lecture. As expected, the professor spent the entire class reading through the attendance list and introducing the course syllabus. He, however, was restless. He fiddled with his pen, tapping it against the desk as he waited impatiently for the clock to tick down.
"That's all for today. See you next week…"
The moment the words left the professor's mouth, he bolted out of the room. He had only one thought racing through his mind: Don't be late.
Students in the hallway watched in surprise as he dashed past them. He didn't notice the stares or the whispers. When he finally reached his destination at the end of the corridor, he abruptly stopped in front of a heavy wooden door. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his clothes, ran a hand through his hair, and prepared to go inside.
A neat sign on the door read: Club Registration.
He pushed the door open and scanned the room. His eyes lit up the moment he spotted the bold banner of the club he had been dreaming about for years. Without a second thought, he rushed toward the registration desk.
"Hello! Want to join our club?" a cheerful club member asked, handing over a sheet of paper. "Please fill out this form."
He sat down, grabbed a pen, and quickly completed the fields. When he handed it back, the club member glanced at the name and smiled.
"Tim, welcome to our club. We'll contact you this evening to discuss the details."
"Thank you! Goodbye," Tim replied, a rare smile breaking across his face. He could hardly contain his happiness. His dream was finally within reach.
Later that evening, Tim arrived home, exhausted but still thrilled. Deciding to wash off the day's fatigue, he stepped into the shower. As the warm water trickled down his dark hair, he leaned against the wall. Though he hadn't trained in a long time, his body was still in peak athletic shape, a testament to years of hard work.
He was drying his hair with a towel when his phone buzzed on the counter. A notification from a newly added group chat popped up: The Marksman Society
Logan: New members, if you have any questions, ask here. Our first meeting is Thursday at 16:00.
Seb: Hi! If you need anything, you can reach out to me or Willy.
Tim stared at the screen, his eyes locking onto the last name. Willy? Why does that name sound so familiar?
His mind raced, searching through sports articles and tournament clips until it finally hit him. He's one of the top ten shooters in the country.
Tim quickly scrolled through the club's pinned info to check the national rankings:
1. William
2. Sebastian
3. Alexander
4. Logan
With shooting rapidly gaining popularity nationwide, the club's elite members had practically become minor celebrities. No wonder the registration room had been packed. Satisfied that he had gotten the information he needed, Tim muted the chat.
All he could think about now was Thursday's meeting. Shooting was the most important thing in his life, nothing else mattered. He would do whatever it took to achieve his goal. Ever since childhood, he had dreamed of being number one, and now, he was in the exact same club as the best shooters in the country. He was just months away from making it a reality.
Only one person stood in his way: Willy.
Tim checked his schedule for the next day: a morning lecture, followed immediately by practice. But just as he was about to lock his phone, another message flashed on the screen. This time, it was from an unknown number.
Unknown Number: Do you remember what I told you?! The sooner you leave, the better for you!
Tim's expression hardened. He calmly deleted the message and tossed the phone onto his bed, pretending nothing had happened. He was used to threats like this. But he wasn't going anywhere, not until he reached the very top.
Still restless, Tim realized he couldn't just sit around his quiet apartment. He didn't know many people in the city yet, except for Ethan, a first-year student he had met by chance. They had become fast friends after realizing they attended the same university.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Ethan's number. "Ethan, are you busy? I'm tired of being alone. Let's go out."
"Not surprised you're bored, Timmie," Ethan's amused voice came through the speaker. "Meet me at the mall in twenty minutes."
"K," Tim replied.
He threw on a comfortable black T-shirt and a pair of jeans, grabbed his phone, and headed out. Just as he was about to lock the front door, he realized he'd left his keys on the kitchen counter and hurriedly rushed back to grab them.
When Tim arrived at the mall, Ethan was already waiting by the entrance, waving his hand. "Timmie! Over here!"
"I saw you from the car," Tim said, walking up to him.
"Hungry?"
"Starving. Let's eat."
Ethan sighed dramatically. "Where? You pick. You're always so picky."
"I'm too lazy to choose today. You decide," Tim countered.
"Seriously? Fine. I want a salad. So, salad bar?"
Tim stopped walking and gave him a thoroughly miserable look. "You know I hate salad."
"That's why I told you to choose!" Ethan laughed.
"Italian, then?"
Ethan nodded in agreement. "Italian it is."
They headed up to their favorite Italian spot on the third floor. As soon as they sat down, a polite waiter approached their table.
"Hello! What would you like today?"
Tim didn't hesitate, seamlessly switching languages. "Ciao, una pasta cacio e pepe, una pizza margherita e del vino rosso. Per il mio amico, una pizza alla diavola e un po' d'acqua."
Ethan chuckled as the waiter wrote down the order and walked away. "I love your Italian accent. But let's be real, you only know how to order food, right?"
"Exactly," Tim grinned. "And I can do it in a few other languages too."
They both laughed. Tim genuinely loved good food, often joking that his entire budget went into eating well. They were thoroughly enjoying their meal when Tim's eyes drifted toward the entrance of the restaurant. His smile faded slightly as he spotted a familiar group.
"Who's that?" Ethan asked, noticing the shift in Tim's expression.
"Members of my club," Tim murmured, looking away.
"Go say hi!"
"No way. I'm not in the mood to talk right now."
"Oh, come on. You'll have to spend time with them anyway," Ethan urged.
Before Tim could protest, a loud voice echoed across the dining room. "Tim! Join us! Bring your friend over!" Logan called out, waving enthusiastically.
Ethan grinned triumphantly, grabbed Tim's hand, and practically dragged him over to their table.
"Tim, meet Seb, Al, and Willy," Logan said, introducing the rest of the group.
"Nice to meet you," Tim said politely. "This is Ethan. He's a student at our university too."
"Nice to meet you all," Ethan chimed in, leaning against the table. "Take good care of Timmie. He doesn't have many friends here, just me."
Tim rolled his eyes playfully. "But you're the most wonderful thing in my life."
Ethan placed a dramatic hand on Tim's shoulder. They always flirted like this to mess with people, and as expected, bystanders often assumed they were a couple. The club members clearly noticed the dynamic too.
"He still has to pass the entrance test before officially joining," Willy interrupted, his tone cold and indifferent.
"Don't spoil the mood, Willy," Logan groaned. "I believe in him."
Al smirked, looking between them. "Want to make a bet on it?"
"I'm not into bets," Tim said flatly.
"I'll bet on him," Ethan interjected confidently, stepping forward. "He'll get the highest score."
Al raised an eyebrow. "Who else agrees?"
Everyone at the table raised their hands in amusement except for Willy. It was exactly what Tim expected. He didn't mind. In fact, he needed a rival like Willy to keep him sharp.
"What's the prize?" Logan asked.
Willy leaned back, his eyes locked on Tim. "Name your price."
"Not fair," Seb chimed in. "You're the richest among us. No money bets."
"Yeah, no cash," Al agreed.
Seb thought for a moment, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "If we lose, we do all your chores and club work for a month. If we win, you have to do whatever we say."
Willy shrugged. "Fine."
The table erupted into laughter as the guys began joking about all the embarrassing things they would make Willy do when they won.
Amid the noise, Tim felt his phone vibrate continuously in his pocket. He pulled it out to check the screen: five missed calls and a string of unread messages from his mother.
Mom: Tim, how was your day?
Mom: If you change your mind, you can always come back. Everyone is waiting for you at the university here.
Mom: Your old friends miss you too.
Mom: Please come back.
Mom: We're so worried about you.
Tim's grip tightened around his phone, his knuckles turning white. Frustration and a bitter warmth boiled inside his chest. Nobody understands why I left, he thought bitterly.
Abruptly, he stood up, knocking his chair back slightly.
"Sorry, guys. I have to go," Tim said, his voice tight. He turned to his friend. "Ethan, I'm sorry to cut our plans short."
Ethan's playful demeanor instantly vanished. "It's okay. Is everything alright?"
The laughter at the table died down, replaced by concerned glances from Logan and Seb.
"Don't worry. I'll leave my car keys with you," Tim told Ethan, trying to soften his tone. "I won't be on campus for a few days, but I'll see you all on Thursday. Thanks for everything."
Willy looked up, his sharp eyes assessing Tim's tense posture. "Need a ride?"
"No," Tim replied without looking back. "You guys have fun."
As Tim walked out of the restaurant, a heavy silence settled over the table. The lively mood had completely shifted, and suddenly, no one felt like hanging out anymore.