The cavernous lecture hall buzzed with restless energy as a sea of students packed shoulder to shoulder in tiered rows that stretched like an amphitheater.
Sunlight streamed in through the towering windows, casting long shadows over notebooks scattered across wooden desks many half forgotten beneath a tangle of pens and energy drink cans.
The hum of overlapping conversations swelled into a cacophony phones vibrating against tables, laughter erupting in random bursts, and the occasional sharp call of a frustrated student trying to focus.
At the front, the professor's voice struggled to rise above the din, drowned out by the scrape of chairs as latecomers squeezed in, apologizing under breath.
Some flipped impatiently through textbooks, others tapped furiously on laptops, distracted by social feeds more than the seminar topic.
In one corner, a group whispered conspiratorially, passing notes and stealing glances at the clock.
The air was thick with the restless impatience of minds torn between obligation and distraction, a chaotic ballet of youthful energy that threatened to spill over at any moment.
Knowing that Mrs. celestine wont repeat that which she's teaching, i quietly took down them notes.
Then came the irritating sound of the bell indicating that the lecture was over.
I slowly stumbled out of Preston University's massive lecture hall, still buzzed from the relentless chaos of the midday seminar.
My backpack hung heavy on one shoulder, books sloshing inside, but there was no time to unwind.
A quick glance at my phone showed I had twenty minutes before my side hustle started.
The hustle was low key but grueling two hours inside a panda costume, bouncing around a cramped Chinese noodle joint on the edge of town.
The restaurant's faded red neon sign flickered weakly in the early afternoon haze as I pushed through the door.
The warm smell of soy, garlic, and simmering broth hitting me like a wall.
The narrow space was packed with lunch rush patrons families slurping noodles, couples chatting over steaming bowls, and delivery drivers grabbing quick bites.
The din of clattering chopsticks, sizzling woks, and Chinese pop music from the jukebox blended into a chaotic soundtrack.
Back in the tiny changing room behind the kitchen, I peeled off my worn college hoodie, the fabric damp from stress and sweat.
Digging through a pile of costumes and pulled out the panda suit .
Its once fluffy black and white fur now matted and dusty.
The oversized headpiece heavier than I remembered.
Sliding the thick foam helmet on, I squinted through the mesh eyes, the heat instantly wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.
Every breath felt thick and hot, sweat trickling down my back as I stepped into the restaurant, now the goofy, lumbering panda mascot.
My movements were slow and awkward, the suit's bulk making even the simplest gestures a challenge.
I waved at the kids, forcing an exaggerated bounce that sent a few giggles through the tables.
The job was ridiculous, but it paid and sometimes, that was all that mattered.
Two hours dragged by in a haze of heat, stale fur, and the endless loop of "Kung Fu Panda" theme songs blasted from the speakers.
My legs ached as my vision narrowed behind the mask, but I kept up the act high fiving toddlers, posing for selfies with customers, and handing out discount coupons scrawled on neon sticky notes.
Outside, the fading sun dipped low, but inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed on, relentless.
When the shift finally ended, I collapsed back into the changing room, peeling off the panda headpiece with a grunt.
My face was flushed, sweat drenched hair plastered to my scalp, and for a moment, all I wanted was to vanish into the night or at least find a cold shower.
❧ *** ⋅⋅⋅ ⁂ ♦♦♦ ••• ~~~ ——— ❧ *** ⋅⋅⋅ ⁂ ♦♦♦ ••• ~~~ ——— ❧ *** ⋅⋅⋅ ⁂
Brayden was just peeling off the panda suit when the door creaked open, and Miss Chao shuffled in.
She was a small, spry woman in her late sixties, with silver streaked hair tied back in a neat bun and eyes that sparkled with kindness beneath her wire rimmed glasses.
The faint scent of jasmine followed her like a gentle breeze.
"Ah, Panda boy, you did well today," she said, holding out a wrinkled envelope thick with cash.
"Here's your salary. Two hours, no complaints, not bad for a side hustle."
Brayden accepted the envelope with a tired but grateful smile.
"Thanks, Miss Chao. Really appreciate it."
She gave a knowing nod, then patted his shoulder lightly.
"Keep at it. One day, you'll be where you want to be. Don't lose heart."
He nodded, feeling the weight of her faith.
After a quick exchange of goodbyes, Brayden stepped back out into the street, the cool evening air hitting his sweat damp skin like a relief.
The campus was a dark silhouette against the fading sky by the time he reached the dormitory.
He glanced up at the tall iron gate, now firmly shut, a glaring red light flashing beside the guards' booth.
The night watchmen were notorious for strict curfew enforcement.
Brayden approached casually, hands stuffed deep in his hoodie pockets, a half smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Hey, Mr. Liu," he greeted one guard, a burly man with a shaved head and a no nonsense glare.
"Brayden, you're late. Curfew's been five minutes past," Liu grunted, crossing his arms.
Brayden raised an eyebrow, leaning against the gate. "Yeah, I know. Work ran over. You guys know how it is."
The second guard, a younger guy named Chen, cracked a small smile.
"Always the panda. What, you not tired of that costume yet?"
Brayden chuckled softly. "It pays the bills, man. Plus, the kids love it."
Liu's expression softened just a fraction.
"Alright, alright. But don't let it happen again. Next time, it's detention."
Brayden gave a mock salute.
"Got it, chief."
With a swift swipe, the gate creaked open, and Brayden slipped inside, the warmth and noise of the hostel buzzing faintly beyond the darkened courtyard.
He took a deep breath, the day's exhaustion settling heavy in his bones, and headed up the stairs to his small room back to the grind, but one step closer to whatever he was really fighting for.
Brayden stepped into his cramped dorm room, the door clicking shut behind him with a dull thud.
The place smelled faintly of instant noodles and laundry detergent a mix of survival and struggle.
He dropped his backpack onto the floor with a heavy sigh, peeling off his hoodie and the last remnants of the panda suit's sweat soaked misery.
From the corner of the room, his small black safe sat half hidden beneath a stack of textbooks. He knelt beside it, carefully entering the code with tired fingers 3-8-1-4 then opened the creaking lid.
Inside, tightly folded bills from various shifts sat in neat bundles like building blocks of a future he couldn't quite see yet.
He added today's envelope gently on top, paused for a second, and shut it again.
Locked away.
Secure.
With a quiet groan, he pulled off his shirt and wandered into the narrow bathroom.
The tiles were cold beneath his feet, and the flickering fluorescent bulb overhead cast everything in a sickly hue.
He turned the shower handle, letting icy water rush through the old pipes until steam began to rise, then stepped in.
The water hit his skin like relief wrapped in silence.
For a moment, everything slowed the dull roar of water, the mist curling against the mirror, the burn of exhaustion retreating from his limbs.
He let his head fall back under the stream, eyes closed, lips parted just slightly.
And then it hit.
A blinding red flash not in the room, but inside his head. A searing beacon, sharp and unnatural, bored deep into his skull with a force that felt like someone was driving a spike through his brain.
The pain was instant and overwhelming pure, crimson light erupting behind his eyes.
Brayden gasped, but the sound didn't even leave his throat.
His knees buckled as the pressure built, and his hand slipped against the tile wall, scrabbling for support that wasn't there.
Then darkness.
His body hit the floor with a heavy thud, half curled beneath the still running water.
Steam filled the bathroom like a fog, the hiss of the shower echoing off the walls.
The red light was gone but its imprint remained somewhere deep, pulsing faintly beneath the surface of his unconscious mind.