"Ah, I wonder what's for dinner tonight at the cafeteria~" Lip Piercings mused, her voice lilting with exaggerated curiosity.
She stretched in her seat, joints cracking in a rapid‑fire succession of pops that drew a few amused looks from her peers.
"Beats me." Two Buns shrugged from behind, her voice almost mechanical. She held up a black, goth‑themed pocket mirror, tilting her head meticulously from side to side to inspect her severe eyeliner. "I heard there's a meal roster or something. We should totally ask for one."
"I second that," Bubble Gum Nails chimed from her seat beside her, absently twirling a strand of fuchsia hair around one finger. "We need the menu in advance. That way we'll know if the cafeteria's even worth our time—or if we should just splurge at LuridBistro instead. Daddy stuffed my allowance this term, so I'm more than covered."
Lip Piercings smirked, smoothing her skirt where it had bunched from the stretch. She shot her friend a sidelong glance. "Wow, okay. Relax, princess. This morning's breakfast was an absolute banger, as expected. Dinner will be just as good, so don't waste daddy's cash, yeah?"
Bubble Gum Nails, brimming with the misplaced confidence of a financial genius, tossed her fuchsia hair defiantly over one shoulder. "Please. Why save when you can flex? Money makes the world go round, hon."
Two Buns zipped up her bag, leather-bound notebooks already secured. "I'm not picky. Anything is fine, just no garlic. I'm allergic, and honestly? That shit is just gross."
The girls kept up their speculation over what delicacy—or allergenic disaster—might await them, their voices swallowed by the high-pitched uproar rising from their hyperactive classmates.
What exactly was making the students so hyperactive?
ESC 106 was finally over, which meant Class C had survived their first day at FCA. Current casualty count: 0 (well, mostly.)
They couldn't hold back their palpable glee. This big, bad, scary academy wasn't so bad after all. #Lol.
Their prattle blended with the metallic clinks of lockers opening and shutting. Students clustered along the wall, arranging fresh notebooks and cramming required reading into their assigned slots.
A boy shaking with nervous energy yanked open his locker—and out spilled a brightly colored magazine, which slapped open across the floor.
The cover featured a statuesque, redheaded Lustdream weaver in a skimpy maid uniform, with impossibly voluptuous proportions, gripping a spiked leather leash. Across the top, in bold scarlet letters, blazed the title: "Chains of Desire: Be a good boy and get over here~♡"
The nearest boys instantly erupted in a chorus of whistles and jeers.
"Idiot! You brought that here?" one student roared, pointing and collapsing into laughter.
The culprit's face flushed the exact shade of the redhead's hair as he scrambled to shove the magazine back into his bag, adamantly denying ownership.
"It's not mine I swear! It's… It's my cousin's!" he stammered, slamming his locker shut before bolting down the aisle, his unzipped bag flapping behind him like a distress flag as he zoomed out of the classroom.
A cluster of girls by the lockers rolled their eyes and snickered.
"Seriously? What a pervy loser."
"Imagine getting caught with that on day one."
"Pathetic."
Their mocking voices mingled with the boys' laughter, the class dissolving into chaos as the poor culprit vanished from sight.
He whizzed past an unperturbed Aluminum Bergō, who had once again stationed himself at the front of the classroom.
Aluminum stood ramrod-straight behind the wooden lectern, a picture of stark, unyielding formality. His gaze swept the room, heavy with contempt for the classmates he was about to address. Entitled or not, he had scholarly notes to deliver.
With a calculated, echoing Ahem! he cleared his throat. The sound was sharp enough to shatter the noise and command reluctant attention.
"What is it this time, our most esteemed class representative?" someone jeered, the mocking tone barely concealed by a thin veneer of civility.
Aluminum's eyes locked onto the speaker and held the stare. He offered no reply, letting the punishing silence serve as reprimand enough, before dismissing the interruption entirely and continuing with his prepared remarks.
He began by cutting straight to the schedule, addressing the potential confusion over why their lectures had already ended.
"For those who are either confused or willfully uninformed," Aluminum started, "our full academic load will not begin until next week. This first week is solely for introductory and foundational lectures. Typically, we have four to five lecture periods per day, but until Week Two, we are operating on an abridged schedule."
He reached down, withdrew a pristine, bound volume from the lectern, and held it aloft for all to see: the FCA Student Handbook.
"All of you would already know this, of course, had you bothered to read the Student Handbook when you received it. The information is clearly laid out on page eleven."
A few students muttered in protest, grumbling that they already knew and didn't need this giganerd stating the obvious.
Aluminum forged ahead as if he hadn't heard their petty jabber. "Speaking of the obvious, we have the MEM 101 Assignment Zero, issued by Professor Thalassa."
He adjusted the handbook on the lectern and spoke with precision:
"Your objective: Select one case study from the Echo Index in the FCA Library. Your task: Map the Memory Hook Tree—Harvest, Embed, Fracture. One page diagram. One page notes. There is no specified deadline, but you'd be smart not to procrastinate and get caught unaware."
"You were also instructed to review Trick Exit Mapping before the next ESC lecture. If any of you are unclear about a concept, swallow your pride and ask a classmate who understands to explain it."
His gaze flicked briefly to the front of the room, finding Rin. The green-haired boy leaned back, arms crossed, returning the stare with casual regality.
Aluminum turned away abruptly, his voice dropping slightly as he added: "Pride is worthless when you are an absolute idiot."
The words landed hard. Some classmates shifted awkwardly, their forced composure cracking. But Aluminum, once again, shrugged off their trivial offense and pressed the final point.
"The most crucial reminder: the simulation test on Friday—the Doomweaver's Nightmare." His voice intensified. "I don't know how many of you are active Imprint users, but if you are, I advise you to get more in sync with your abilities before Friday. Dormants should treat this test as an opportunity to awaken that potential, rather than remaining complacent without talent."
A few of the quieter students, those often shunned by active Imprint-users, shot him daggers. Aluminum could not care less.
"Regardless of your Imprint status, everyone must be mentally prepared. We all have something we fear, but to be true nightmare artists, you must be utterly fearless—or at least capable of acting like you are—on Friday. That is all."
A heavy silence choked the room for a beat. Then, like a dam breaking, the class exploded in a rush of mutters.
Some students hissed under their breath that he'd upgraded from giganerd to ultranerd, while others simply snubbed him with tired indifference.
The screech of chairs and the clatter of bags filled the room as they scrambled to pack up, desperate to escape the weight of his delusional authority. Those already finished streamed out in pairs or noise-filled clusters, their voices spilling into the crowded hallway.
Aluminum's eyes instinctively followed Rin. He watched the tall boy clear his desk, meticulously arranging his items in his bag.
His movements were refined and efficient, not a single motion wasted. Most uniforms were already rumpled after barely two lectures, but the Paragon heir still looked like a picture of untouched grandeur.
Aluminum wasn't surprised to see a few students also watching Rin, clearly warring with the impulse to approach him. But before any of them could muster the courage—or invent the perfect excuse—Rin adjusted his antique-framed glasses, stood, and slung his bag on.
True to form, he tucked his chair neatly back under the desk before leaving. His long legs ate up the distance to the door, and he departed without a single backward glance.
'Even after I created the opportunity, he didn't bother to interact with anyone. He's so… infuriating,' Aluminum thought, forcing his gaze from the door and back to the classroom.
He remained at the lectern as the room rapidly emptied. A handful of students shot him derisive glares as they passed, which he met with an icy, querying eyebrow.
To his genuine surprise, though, a few acknowledged him with curt nods. Some—even more baffling—offered faint, shy smiles.
One girl, her cheeks dusted pink, gave a timid wave. "See you tomorrow, Aluminum."
The silver-head blinked. He hadn't expected anyone to acknowledge him in a friendly capacity, especially after he'd insulted their intelligence mere seconds ago. But he recovered instantly, inclining his head with formal precision.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening."
The girl, ecstatic at receiving a response from the imposing Yvülu heir, nodded again with flushed cheeks and hurried away, practically bouncing.
Aluminum's perplexed gaze still clung to her retreating figure when a sudden, bone-jarring weight slammed down on his shoulder. A sharp intake of breath hissed out as he keeled sideways, scrambling to steady himself before losing balance. His head snapped to the side.
A massive, burly hand filled his vision, which he traced upward to a pair of dark, intense eyes half-shrouded beneath unruly bangs. The figure before him was terrifyingly huge, built like a wall of muscle and stupidly tall.
Aluminum noted the immense height difference, his mind momentarily invaded by vivid images of his skull exploding like an overripe melon if this boy ever decided to strike. And judging by the menacing intensity of the stare, he was probably about to become melon paste.
He opened his mouth, ready to suggest they settle things with words, not violence—when the boy suddenly cracked a wide, blinding, predatory grin. And damn, even his teeth looked like they could land Aluminum in a permanent coma.
The giant clapped his shoulder with bone-crushing gentleness. "Kuma thinks Bergō lad is reliable. Kuma forgot assignments. Kuma wants more announcements. Kuma likes when Bergō lad talks loud."
Aluminum's mind spun. First off—why was he speaking in the third person? He knew a large percentage of his classmates were slow, but was this one… intellectually compromised? And was that supposed to be a compliment? Was he genuinely praising him right now?
All Aluminum could manage, while rubbing his sore, throbbing shoulder, was a confused, drawn-out: "Thank you…?"
His mind was still reeling from the interaction when a concealed snort of laughter reached his ears. He turned to find another tall boy.
Not quite as gargantuan as "Kuma," but still towering enough to force Aluminum to crane his head slightly. Unlike Kuma's boulder-like build, this one was lithe and distinctly charming.
His skin was a rich, deep tan, and his molten-gold eyes with cat-like pupils were edged by natural dark lines that resembled perfect eyeliner. They sat beneath thick eyebrows.
His spiky, wildly patterned hair—a chaotic mix of reddish-orange, black, and stark white—flowed down his back. Atop the wild crown, a pair of feline ears twitched, and behind him, a tail matching his mane swayed lazily.
'A Zujïnn with a tiger totem,' Aluminum thought decisively.
He had encountered his fair share of Zujïnn individuals, especially after his family relocated to the Star. But most were bonded to low-tier species: ungulates, marsupials, various aves. Never had he seen one tied to a high-tier apex predator. One of the big cats. This was a rare, powerful bloodline indeed.
Bhupesh could read the palpable intrigue in Aluminum's expression. He hadn't expected the unpopular boy to react with such an analytical, slightly stigmatized look after Kuma's blunt remarks.
That tickled Bhupesh.
Most people either laughed nervously, freaked out, or avoided Kuma altogether, but Aluminum's reaction carried the sharp edge of someone who refused to be cowed.
The realization amused him so much his tail couldn't stop swishing. Aluminum might not even realize it, but in Bhupesh's eyes, he'd just revealed himself as a worthy opponent.
Bhupesh lifted two fingers in a lazy salute, his grin sharp and teasing. "See you tomorrow, class rep~"
Aluminum blinked once, then answered with measured composure. "Ah, yes. Enjoy the rest of your evening."
Already strolling away, hands casually laced behind his head, Bhupesh called back to Kuma with easy confidence. "Come on, old friend. Our after-school workout session awaits us!"
The pair were headed to run a dozen laps around the track field before returning to the dormitories. Just for the heck of it, and just in time to beat curfew.
Kuma lumbered after him, cracking his knuckles with a grin.
"Kuma crush Bhupesh today. Track field no mercy. Bhupesh run, but Kuma faster. Kuma win."
Bhupesh laughed, the sound echoing down the hall.
"Would love to see you try~"
Once they disappeared from sight, the classroom finally dwindled to three bodies, Aluminum included.
His gaze shifted to the two remaining boys seated a few desks away. It was them. The ones who had slipped in mere moments before Professor Dimitri's arrival. The same ones who'd gotten tangled in that nasty incident on their very first day here.
Even now, they seemed oblivious to everything else, caught in their own private orbit. Aluminum wouldn't have been surprised if they hadn't heard a single word of his announcement.
He collected the items he'd left on the lectern and started walking toward them.
— ✚ —
Zev jolted awake with a sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong.
His chest felt like a cage collapsing inward. He dragged in a shaky breath, frantically patting over his heart as if physical force could steady its uneven beat. The familiar grip of a panic attack was already tightening around his throat.
He was awake. At least, he thought he was. But when exactly had he stopped being awake? Was that a memory he'd just seen? Why? How? His kind wasn't supposed to have 'dreams.'
His heart still hammered like a trapped hummingbird as his gaze darted around.
He was back in the classroom. The ESC instructor was gone. The lights blazed overhead, and the room buzzed with the careless energy of students packing their bags.
It was real.
The phantom memory had vanished, replaced by the harsh immediacy of the present. Yet the residue of it—the greyscale fading, Kai's muted eyes, the violent jolt that had ripped him awake—clung to him like an infestation. He was damp with cold sweat, the fabric of his uniform clinging unpleasantly to his skin.
"Zev. Hey, look at me."
Zach's voice finally cut through the sharp ringing in Zev's ears.
Zev flinched. His hands dropped from his chest as he twisted his head. Zach was crouched over him, the intensity in his eyes doing nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves. He became painfully aware of how close they were—of Zach's hands pressed firmly to his shoulders. There was no warmth in that contact, only a strange, cold pressure.
His stomach plummeted.
"Let go!"
The words tore out of him as he shoved weakly, adrenaline scraping together just enough strength to buy space.
Zach's eyes widened, surprise flickering across his features. He hadn't expected rejection that sharp. Not from Zev, who was usually compliant.
But the surprise vanished as quickly as it came, his expression flattening into something dangerously unreadable. He stared in silence, watching Zev's shoulders tense, watching his gaze skitter away from his own.
That look—wide-eyed, horrified, tinged with repulsion—was the same one Zach had seen in the hallway during the fight. The same one that had branded itself into his memory.
'Figures,' he thought. 'He's still scared of me. After what he saw, how could he not be?'
Without another word, Zach straightened and retreated, dropping into his seat. The distance between them felt vast—colder than before, saturated with Zev's lingering terror.
A tense silence stretched, undisturbed by the prattle of their classmates.
To those guys, the classroom was alive with post‑class relief; to Zach and Zev, it was a void. The atmosphere around them was charged and isolated, a small, dark island adrift in the noise.
When Zach finally spoke, his voice was flat, detached.
"You passed out."
It was an ominous fact they both knew, yet neither had the words to handle.
Zev winced, pressing his lips thin, but said nothing. His mind was a blank space; his emotions a raw, tangled mess of shame and panic.
He was truly finished now. He hadn't meant to do it. He thought he had control, that the nightmare wouldn't drag him into another forced shutdown. It had been years since the last time. Yet it happened again. And this time, in front of the boy whose thoughts he couldn't begin to read.
When he heard Zach's next words, spoken with that same detached curiosity, Zev wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
"You passed out from a nightmare."
It wasn't a question.
And just like that, his most debilitating weakness was laid bare on the very first day.
He could already see it unraveling: more students like Seth turning his life into a living hell, mocking him as a defect masquerading as a promising heir. He shouldn't be here. He didn't belong.
What if they tormented him every day? What if the stories of relentless bullying became his reality?
The thought made him shudder violently, his mind dragging him back to the vivid memory of Seth slamming him against the wall. His spine had seared, his ribs had screamed, his skull had felt like it was splitting under the pressure. The pain had been so sharp, so consuming, he'd thought he was going to die.
"I—I… I…" Zev choked, forcing himself to drag in deeper breaths, the humid air thick and stale against his tongue.
He wanted to lie, to defend his status, to scream that he wasn't weak. But the words wouldn't come; they dissolved into frantic, useless stuttering.
He tried his usual coping mechanism—the numbers, the letters, the colors—but nothing was working. His internal anchor had slipped away.
Across from him, Zach watched. The longer he observed, the more a gnawing thought pressed at the back of his mind.
He knew why he intended to keep Zev close. His lumen was a glaring tell. At first, he'd assumed Zev's naive nature would simply make his intent easier. He hadn't bothered to question why someone so pitiful was even at FCA.
But now? Seeing him recoil entirely from nightmares? That was something else.
Zev's looks, those unique eyes, screamed high-tier. Elite, even. Yet what kind of nightmare heir collapses from a bland, introductory stream? The contradiction shredded his logic, warring against everything Zach thought he understood.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" Zach muttered, his voice low, as if trying to solve the paradox Zev embodied.
Zev's throat seized. His heart hammered a frantic, dizzying rhythm against his ribs.
"I… I d–didn't want it either… I…"
But before he could force out a single coherent sentence, two hardcover books—the kind heavy enough to anchor a ship—CRASHED down on his desk with a jarring thud. The sound made him jolt upright.
Wide-eyed, Zev stared at the top cover: MEM 101 course module.
A looming shadow stretched across him. Slowly, hesitantly, Zev raised his head.
It was the last person he expected: the smug, self-absorbed Aluminum Bergō. Only then did he realize the classroom was empty, save for the three of them.
Aluminum's silvery gaze swept over Zev's frazzled state—his crumpled posture, those red-rimmed eyes, and flushed cheeks—expression cold. Yet a tight muscle jumped in his jaw, betraying the tension.
"You," Aluminum said, his voice brimming with unconcealed distaste. "Is this person bullying you? Don't cover for him. Just tell me."
Zev's eyes snapped wider when he saw Aluminum's glare turn full force on Zach, who now sported a mask of utter, dismissive boredom.
"W–What? No. You got it all wrong—he wasn't bullying me. We were just talking." Zev frantically shook his head.
"Are you certain about that?" Aluminum pressed, his judging gaze never leaving Zach. "Guys like him—those who choose violence over propriety and protocol—can't be trusted to restrain their tendencies. You'd do yourself a huge service to speak up now that you've freshly become his target."
Zach couldn't help it. A short, dry snort escaped him, vibrating faintly in his chest before dying there. Target, huh? That was one way to put it.
But when his smile fell and those unsteady eyes fixed on Aluminum, the shift was immediate. A sudden, inexplicable chill passed down his spine. The air itself felt thinner.
That stare. It was the kind that looked straight through you, past skin and bone, yet at the same time, it felt like being meticulously dissected under a microscope, every flaw laid bare.
'I was right to trust my instincts,' Aluminum thought, mentally recording the dangerous shift in Zach's demeanor. 'From the moment I first bumped into him, I knew he was bad news. He stole the spotlight, alright, but it's the kind I scorn. The wrong kind.'
Zev, sensing the shift in the room's energy, scrambled to gather his scattered notes, trying to escape the collision this conversation was bound to produce.
"I told you. I'm f–fine. He didn't do anything," he insisted, trying to sound firm. "It was a stressful day. I'm just exhausted." He shoved a book into his backpack, movements jerky, desperate to appear less frayed than he felt. "I'm sorry, b–but we have to go. We actually have a meeting with the Ethics instructor right now…"
The reminder of their imminent detention wasn't just a diversion, it was the next disaster waiting to unfold.
Zach blinked slowly, as if the words had only just registered. "Oh, I forgot we had that."
He shot up, gathering his things with unhurried ease, his attention already elsewhere. Aluminum, once looming and accusatory, had instantly become irrelevant—discarded from Zach's focus as if he were nothing more than background static.
Aluminum, reaching the brink of his restraint, chose to withdraw. Zev wasn't speaking up and he was wise enough not to insert himself into a situation where he wasn't wanted.
He straightened, his silver earring catching the fluorescent light with a sharp glint. When he turned, Zev caught the subtle disappointment etched in his gaze.
"Well then. If what you claim is true, I won't pry any further," Aluminum said, his voice clipped. He gestured curtly toward the two modules stacked on Zev's desk. "These are for you both. They were distributed in your absence, so I held on to them. I have no reason to anymore."
"Thanks," Zev muttered, forcing a shaky smile.
He picked up the top module, distractedly noting how heavy it felt, and passed it to Zach, who accepted it without a glance. Zev slid his own into his bag and zipped it shut with a sharp sound.
Aluminum only offered a curt nod. He gave Zach one final glance, before spinning on his heel and walking off, resolved to keep a close watch on his red-eyed classmate from now on.
What even was he, anyway?
Zach watched Aluminum's retreating back, his gaze utterly devoid of interest, before flicking his attention back to Zev.
"Let's go," Zach said, slinging his bag over his shoulder with casual ease. Then he leaned in close, his voice dropping low, meant only for Zev.
"But this isn't over. You know that, right?"
The glint in his eyes wasn't theatrical; it was quietly urging. A reminder that whatever had just happened between them wasn't finished, only suspended.
Zev pushed himself up, movements stiff, his fingers digging into the straps of his bag.
He shuffled a step back, deliberately putting space between them, his lips pressed thin. His mind was still a jumble, humiliation searing fresh in his chest. He swallowed hard, forcing the words past the knot in his throat.
"…Yeah."