Did you know that White Clover often grows where no one meant to plant it—between stones, across forgotten paths, in fields left wild by time?
White Clover is the whisper of a moment that almost didn't happen. It spreads softly, silently, across meadows and margins, linking roots beneath the soil—connecting places, weaving unseen patterns. It doesn't bloom in boldness. It appears quietly, where the earth has made space. And in early autumn, when the light grows long and the air begins to cool, you can still find it—holding on.
A quiet little sign that some things arrive not because they were planned… but simply because they were meant to.
❧
The sun had barely risen, and yet Vermillion Crown Academy was already awake—as if the very walls of the ancient halls stirred before the rest of the world, breathing in the magic of another new beginning.
Tucked behind enchanted forests and silver-lit lakes, beyond the reach of any ordinary map, stood the most coveted place of learning known to this world—Vermillion Crown Academy. A name spoken with reverence in every corner of the globe, whispered like a spell by students who dreamed of passing through its gates. It was not only the most elite private university—it was the crown jewel of academia, ranked first across every field that mattered.
For nearly a thousand years, Vermillion had stood unshaken, watching kingdoms rise and fall, outlasting wars, rewriting the very boundaries of science and imagination. And yet, it had never aged. Instead, it had evolved—until its very campus became something alive, a city unto itself. A place where ivy-wrapped clock towers stood beside glass observatories that touched the clouds, where lantern-lit walkways wound through whispering groves, and hidden elevators slid through invisible seams of time-worn stone.
It was a paradox wrapped in wonder—a union of the old and the new, nature and invention. Here, ancient trees whispered in binary code and classrooms bloomed like gardens. Every corner of the academy shimmered with something more than technology, more than tradition. It shimmered with enchantment.
And this morning, that enchantment pulsed brighter than ever.
The day of the Opening Ceremony had come.
In the great courtyard, excitement crackled like static in the air. Crystal drones floated silently overhead, capturing live footage for the millions watching around the world. Reporters scrambled for quotes, lights blinked to life, and the mutter of distinguished guests became a soft, swirling current.
"Vermillion Crown Academy welcomes its most competitive class yet—"
"Among this year's top scholars, all eyes are on Adrian Vale, heir to the Vale Empire—"
The whispers of faculty and distinguished guests wove beneath the constant click-click-click of camera shutters.
At the entrance, Mira Larkspur stood perfectly still, her neatly pressed blazer a second skin. Her fingers curled into the hem. She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. It wasn't just the grandeur of the university that overwhelmed her—it was the weight of expectation.
The main doors swung open.
Students in pristine uniforms stepped inside, their expressions ranging from composed confidence to thinly veiled nerves. Chandeliers glowed overhead, refracting the morning light into shimmering splinters of gold.
And then, a shift.
A ripple of awareness passed through the crowd. The flashes of the cameras doubled. The murmurs sharpened into hushed excitement. Someone important had arrived.
Adrian Vale.
His name dominated every screen, every headline. News anchors recited his accolades, calling him the youngest researcher at Vermillion University, a prodigy, the heir to a biotech empire. Journalists swarmed, their questions cutting through the air.
The world already knew his name. At eighteen, Adrian Vale had achieved what most scholars spent a lifetime chasing. Scientific journals etched his theories into history; his inventions whispered through biotech boardrooms like legend. Honorary degrees, prestigious fellowships, and patents too complex for the public to grasp—all attached to the same name that now appeared, almost too quietly, at the entrance of Vermillion Crown Academy.
And yet, here he stood, walking through the ceremonial arch not as a guest of honor, nor as the keynote speaker many expected him to be—but as one of them. A student. A peer. Or so the uniform tried to suggest.
Officially, he was enrolled in the study of advanced cognitive systems—though many suspected that titles were merely ornaments in his case, like medals pinned to a prince who had long outgrown parades. The invitation to Vermillion Crown Academy had arrived in a way that felt more like a quiet unfolding of fate than any formal process, and whether it had been the Academy's wish or his own remained gently unanswered.
Whatever the reason, it was clear he wore his uniform not as a necessity, but as a choice, and in a place where reason and magic often danced hand in hand, no one pressed too hard for the truth.
No one could say for sure what brought him to Vermillion.
But those who saw him that morning would remember the moment for years:
The prodigy who could've belonged to the world… choosing instead to begin again, right where the story was about to change.
"Adrian! What's your goal in studying at Vermillion?"
"Do you plan to follow in your family's footsteps in the health industry?"
"What's your opinion on the future of biotech?"
He remained composed, his answers polite but distant.
"I don't owe the future an explanation."
Nothing they could twist. Nothing that truly mattered. He knew what they saw—the prodigy, the legacy, his father's shadow. None of them saw the real story.
With effortless grace, he stepped into the hall. The media lenses followed, never once wavering.