Two days later, Nathan ran into Quinn again on campus.
This time, it was in an elective course titled Classic Cinema & Cultural Studies—a two-credit class that was considered one of the easiest course to get credits. Course registration day had felt like a Ticketmaster pre-sale for a world tour. Nathan and his entire dorm were smashing refresh at the same time, but in the end, he was the only one lucky enough to get in.
The first lecture convinced him it was a "golden ticket."
The professor was incredibly laid-back. Once attendance was called, the lights went off and the projector flicked on. No lectures, no forced participation. Whether you watched attentively or passed out face-down on the desk, he didn't care.
Nathan had dozed off multiple times—even when he wasn't tired. The dark room and projector hum were practically lullabies.
He and Quinn had registered for the class back when they were still dating, which meant that this semester, they ended up in the same room more often than not.
It wasn't romantic. It was just awkward.
Quinn always sat in the front row, like he was trying to be a good student.
Nathan? Last row. Easy to blend in, easier to dip out. Their seating choices had nothing to do with old memories and everything to do with fundamentally incompatible learning styles. If they hadn't broken up, they probably would've argued every week over where to sit.
Before the movie started, he launched into an excited 30-minute speech on the history of cult films.
It ended with the dramatic declaration:"What we're watching today… is the godfather of all cult cinema."
Nathan's internal alarm bells went off. He was on full ready-to-bail alert.
Ten minutes into the film: flying limbs and insane editing.Pretty sure the director's goal was to make the audience suffer—artistically, of course.
Nathan stuck it out until the thirty-minute mark before deciding his sanity wasn't worth the credits. He slipped out the back door. On his way out, he swore a couple of girls gave him "wimp" eyes. Respect, honestly.
Nathan didn't feel ashamed—he felt proud.
If you still have the sense to run, you're still sane.
...
By the time he got to the cafeteria, he was in a good mood. It was off-peak, so no lines. Today's special? Orange-glazed chicken. The mystery chef behind the experimental fusion menu had a surprisingly high success rate. Nathan took a bite, smiled.
Then his phone buzzed.
Quinn.
"Professor called roll again."
Nathan nearly choked on his chicken. He checked the time—class had just ended.
"Seriously? Two roll calls in one class? That's ridiculous."
Quinn replied:
"Yup."
Nathan started to panic. He messaged around, trying to confirm. Eventually, someone in the class Discord server responded:
"Yeah. Said anyone who didn't stay till the end fails. It was a 'core viewing.'"
Nathan was floored.
This professor wasn't just into movies—he was religious about them.
And if you couldn't worship his cinematic gods, he'd flunk you for heresy.
Two credits, gone.
Two months of lectures, wasted.
Appetite gone too, he packed up and took a second tray for Lucas, then slumped back to the dorm.
...
Lucas, finishing up a math quiz, took the food without looking up.
"Exam's in six weeks. You really planning to go in blind?"
Students could take the basic exam in second semester. Lucas had crushed it last term and was now prepping for the advanced level. Nathan, on the other hand, maintained a comfortable emotional distance from passing scores.
He shrugged. "Everyone else signed up. I didn't want to be the only one who didn't."
Lucas rolled his eyes. "Your score already makes you the odd one out."
Nathan wordlessly slid the tray in front of him. "Eat while it's hot, bro."
Lucas took the food and didn't push further.
If someone doesn't want to study, no amount of advice will help.
...
After dinner, Nathan took a nap. When he woke up, Sunny was back, sitting on his bed, locked in a death stare with his phone.
Nathan took one glance and knew—they were arguing again.
Sunny's girlfriend was a freshman at a liberal arts college four train stops away. Long-distance by campus standards. They'd been together for two months, but between full class schedules and limited weekends, they were already in a cold war.
"You still fighting?" Nathan asked.
Sunny slammed 'Send' and threw the phone down. "Dating is hard. Apologizing is harder."
Nathan offered, "Buy her something. Chocolate. Flowers. Bribery works."
"You paying for it?"
Nathan turned to the window.
Emotional support, yes. Financial sponsorship, no.
Lucas closed his laptop. "Didn't she say she wanted to come to the orientation? Just let her come."
Sunny scoffed. "And you wonder why you two are single.
She said she wants to see the game. What she means is she wants to see me. If I weren't working, it'd be a chill day out. But I am."
He took a deep breath.
"And it's the Tai Chi Fan Performance."
Lucas blinked.
Nathan glanced at the red, steel-ribbed fan by Sunny's bed and sighed.
Every year during the orientation, the Chinese Culture Department performed Tai Chi Fan, while the Math Department did synchronized calisthenics.
Administration called it "heritage"; students called it "humiliation."
This year's fan was upgraded: stainless steel frame, bright red silk, loud as hell.
Every move felt like a public execution.
The room went quiet.
...
"Where's Zeke?" Nathan finally noticed someone was missing.
Sunny shrugged. "Probably giving a 'campus tour' to a freshman."
Tourism majors were infamous for their "educational dating." The formula was simple: offer a guided tour under the name of "field work," charm a freshman, pitch it as a cultural exchange. October was prime time for wide-eyed first-years.
"Wait—what?" Sunny suddenly shouted, jumping off his bed and running to the door.
"What's going on?" Nathan followed him into the hallway.
The corridor stretched far in both directions. They were at the west end. At the east end, a crowd had formed outside one of the rooms.
"Looks like something happened at archaeology dorm 402," Jason from next door popped his head out.
"Check the group chat."
Nathan opened their Discord. He'd muted it weeks ago—too many pointless memes and arguments. Now it was exploding with "WTF," "Bro," "No way," and all-caps panic.
He scrolled and finally found the source:
"Someone from 402's been missing for four days. Admin didn't report it. Today someone found his backpack—and half a leg—out in the grass past the west gate. Cops are in the dorm. His roommates are being questioned."
Nathan's first thought: urban legend.
Every month, the dorms had some viral horror story. Usually, it was just a theft or a lost phone. This one sounded like clickbait.
Then someone posted a photo.
Thumbnail was blurry. Nathan tapped it.
It zoomed.
It was a leg. From the knee down.
Torn flesh. Dried blood.
One spotless white Nike.
Nathan's stomach turned.
He still wasn't sure the pic was real—it could've been pulled from Reddit. But it overlapped too perfectly with the grotesque cult film from earlier that day. It was like the movie had crawled out of the projector and into his timeline.
He turned off his phone.
A cold chill ran down his back.
Something about this semester
wasn't right.