The alarm went off at 6:00 AM.
Rix's arm shot out from under the blanket, smacking the clock before his eyes even cracked open. He lay there for a few seconds, staring blankly at the ceiling.
It was Friday. One more day before the weekend.
If he skipped today, that'd be three days off in a row. He'd already pulled that stunt once-okay, twice this month. Procrastination was his natural state after all. If there were a championship for it, he'd be wearing the gold medal.
But today was different. He actually had an assignment due, which meant there was no getting out of it.
He dragged himself out of bed, showered, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a moment. His hair was a bird's nest, but he was awake.
Back in his room, his eyes landed on the framed photo on his desk. Four people on a beach trip years ago-his parents, his younger sister Siya, and him. A soft smile touched his lips before a knot of guilt tightened in his chest.
Right on cue, his phone buzzed.
He didn't even need to look at the screen. Mom always called around this time.
"Hey, Mom," he answered, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
"So you actually woke up," she said, amusement clear in her voice. "I'm impressed."
"I'm always up early," Rix lied smoothly.
She laughed. "Sure you are. You're going to class today, right? No skipping?"
"Yeah, I'm going. I promise."
"That's what you said last time," she replied, though her tone stayed gentle. "Living alone isn't easy, Rix, but I'm really proud of how you're managing."
The guilt twisted a little tighter. "I know, Mom. I'm doing fine. Really."
A brief silence followed. He could hear the faint exhaustion in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to sound cheerful. "Your dad's still buried in work, leaves early, comes home wiped out. And Siya..." She let out a soft chuckle. "She acts like she owns the apartment now. Won't admit it, but she asks about you constantly."
"Tell her I miss the trouble machine," Rix said, smiling despite the weight in his chest.
"I will," she said. "Just promise me you're eating real food. Not just cup noodles."
"I promise."
"Alright, I won't keep you. Just wanted to hear your voice."
"I'm glad you called," he said, and he meant it.
"Love you."
"Love you too, Mom."
He hung up, set the phone on the desk, and sat there for a quiet moment before standing up to finish getting ready.
He lived alone in a house just a few minutes from campus. With the university so close, staying in a dorm like most students didn't make much sense. It was a modest two-story place-nothing fancy, just enough space to breathe.
Downstairs in the kitchen, he threw together a breakfast he couldn't quite identify, ate it anyway, and headed back upstairs.
In the mirror, he saw what he always saw. Average height. Average face. The kind of guy who blended effortlessly into the drywall: a born background extra. But his eyes were different: sharp and observant. He picked up on details and small inconsistencies that others missed, which usually made up for his laziness.
He pulled on a plain white hoodie, grabbed his backpack, and headed out to what he generously called the garage.
It was really just a small, covered alcove that barely fit his bicycle. A simple pedal-powered two-wheeler he'd owned for years.
The thing was, Rix Alder didn't grow up swimming in cash. His family wasn't poor, just... not rich. His parents had moved to a far-off city for better jobs, taking Siya with them. They'd wanted to stay together, but Rix was already enrolled at Ashford, and the house was close enough to make staying behind the logical choice. Uprooting everything would've been pointless.
They trusted him to handle it. The house was quieter without them, emptier but he'd gotten used to the silence.
He brushed off the bike seat and swung a leg over.
"Fine, let's get this over with," he muttered, pushing off.
The wheels glided smoothly over the pavement as he pedaled out of the narrow lane. A cool morning breeze caught his hair, and for a moment, the world was just the soft click of the chain and the quiet hum of dawn.
Then--BROOOOM--shoooosh!!!!
A sleek, black BMW M4 Competition tore past him, its engine snarling as tinted windows flashed obsidian in the sunlight.
The BMW slowed down near the parking entrance, and the driver's side window rolled down a crack. The guy behind the wheel was young, sharp-jawed, and wearing sunglasses that practically screamed old money. He threw Rix a wide smirk, not a friendly one, but the kind that said, 'your bike shouldn't even be on the same road as me.'
Rix met his gaze for half a second, offered a lazy shrug, and grinned back.
The window rolled up, and the BMW purred away.
He'd seen that look before. More times than he could count.
Rolling through the college gates, Rix's front tire squeaked to a halt. The parking lot was split into three sections. The two-wheeler zone was crammed wall-to-wall with scooters and motorbikes.
Then there was the bicycle stand—completely empty. Well, almost. Aside from his loyal bike, chained to the rail like it was serving a life sentence in solitary for the crime of being affordable.
Rix exhaled slowly. "I should just peel my skin off at this point," he muttered.
He didn't care much. Or at least, that's what he told himself.
His eyes drifted to the four-wheeler section, which was mostly filled with faculty cars—hatchbacks, second-hand sedans, and vehicles built on monthly payments and hope. But a few rides stood out like lions in a herd of sheep.
Right at the edge sat the black BMW M4 that had cut him off, crouched low and gleaming. Next to it was a deep red Mustang GT500 with matte-black racing stripes, followed by a pearl-white Maybach S680 that looked ridiculously long, shimmering like a chandelier on wheels. Beside that was a matte-black G-Wagon, its tint darker than Rix's financial future—less of a car, more of a luxury tank. And finally, a jet-black stretch limousine sat at the far end, thoroughly refusing to fit the vibe of a college campus.
Rix stared.
"I am in the wrong tax bracket," he whispered. He chuckled, patting his bike's handlebars. "Don't worry, buddy. At least you don't guzzle premium fuel. And you've never once made me feel poor."
He paused.
"Well. Poorer."
Deciding not to waste any more time gawking at the automotive flex parade, Rix locked his bike, gave it one last reassuring pat, and headed toward class.
Ashford University sprawled out like its own mini-city. It had everything you'd expect from a top-tier institution: massive academic blocks, a central library that looked like a corporate headquarters, a cafeteria, and even a fully-equipped gym Rix had heard about but never stepped foot in.
The main administration building sat right in the center—a towering glass facade with a giant clock on top that nobody actually looked at. Surrounding it were the departmental buildings: Engineering, Business, Arts, and Sciences, with students moving between them in sleepy, autopilot waves.
And then there were the dorms. Two seven-story towers-one for guys, one for girls, separated by what Rix could only describe as a continental divide. He'd mapped it once on his phone: 800 meters. The architect was either a monk or deeply traumatized by teenage hormones.
"Whoever designed this campus," Rix had muttered to himself once, "either really values personal space... or watched way too many high school dramas."
Still, it was Ashford, the biggest, most prestigious university in the city, drawing people from everywhere.
He stepped into the main academic block. The hallway was wide enough to drive a bus through, currently jammed with students talking, laughing, and huddled in tiny social cliques. Rix navigated the crowd quietly. He wasn't anti-social, just selective. His circle consisted of two friends. One and a half on a bad day.
Reaching his classroom, he slid the door open and slipped inside like a shadow.
The room was nearly deserted, with only three or four students scattered around like lonely houseplants.
Rix exhaled. Empty. Perfect.
He checked his watch: 8:20 AM. Class didn't start until 9:00.
He stared at the dial like it had personally insulted him.
"Why the hell am I here this early?" he muttered. Normally, he rolled in around 9:30 on a disciplined day, or 10:00 like a misunderstood genius.
The room was clean and modern, equipped with a large smart board upfront and pale blue walls featuring a motivational poster ("Strive for Progress, Not Perfection") that was ironically peeling off. Three ceiling fans hummed overhead, and soft morning light filtered through the large side windows over polished floor tiles.
Rix didn't linger. He marched straight to the back row, window side, the indisputable throne of introverts everywhere.
He dropped his bag with a dull thud, lowered his head onto his folded arms, and let the cool surface of the desk press against his forehead. His eyes slipped shut.
Might as well put the forty minutes to good use. Within seconds, he was out.
At exactly 9:00 AM, the bell chimed through the corridor.
The chatter outside faded as students shuffled in, scattering to their seats. A middle-aged man stepped through the door, Professor Harin, complete with neatly combed hair and square-rimmed glasses. He was strict but fair; he didn't mind if you zoned out, so long as you stayed quiet.
The class stood up in unison to greet him.
Well... almost everyone.
At the back, Rix remained peacefully unconscious, face buried in his arms. The pure privilege of the back row.
But something pulled at the edge of his sleep. It wasn't the usual noise of people settling in, it was something... off.
Whispers. Murmurs.
He cracked one eye open, his vision blurry. People were standing. Okay, fine, class was starting.
Except nobody was looking at Professor Harin. They were staring at the girl standing beside him.
Rix blinked, forcing his eyes to focus.
She was dressed casually in a soft, pastel-blue sweater and high-waisted black jeans. Her hair was long-a striking, bluish-white shade that almost looked silver-falling down past her waist. Her pale blue eyes scanned the room with a quiet, distant disinterest, as if everything around her was beneath her notice. She wasn't trying to draw attention, but her presence shifted the entire mood of the room.
Rix blinked again, still groggy, trying to make sense of the scene.
He leaned back in his seat and muttered under his breath, "A transfer student? In college? What is this, an anime?"