Chapter 2 – I'm Titus
Clear Creek Private College didn't look like a school at all—it looked like a medieval fortress. Towering walls of dark stone climbed toward the sky, covered in creeping ivy that twisted around the neo‑Gothic structures like veins. There were no basketball courts, no graffiti, no signs of teenage normalcy. Only stone arches, sharp shadows, and tall windows that seemed to watch… and judge… every person who approached.
Dozens of students wearing the same navy‑blue blazer scattered across the vast gravel courtyards. Unlike the quiet tension of the train car, here everyone seemed loud, bold, overflowing with confidence. And all of them—every single one—looked tall, strong, and self‑assured. It made Titus feel even smaller, like a misplaced background character who had wandered onto the wrong movie set, surrounded by heroes carved from steel.
He pulled out his phone, already feeling the familiar pressure to call his parents—but he reminded himself of their instruction: …as soon as you arrive at the main office.
Following the map projected onto his smart lenses, Titus weaved through the main cloister until he found a heavy oak door with a bronze plaque: Administration.
He stepped inside, feeling the blast of air conditioning hit his face like a cold slap. The interior was modern and silent, a complete contrast to the castle‑like exterior. Behind a polished wooden counter, a middle‑aged secretary with a flawless bun and an expression of efficient boredom looked up.
"You're the new one, right? Titus, correct?" she asked without waiting for confirmation. Her voice was quick, professional, stripped of warmth.
Titus could only nod.
She slid a thick folder, a digital lock, and a laminated map across the counter toward him. "Here. Your schedule, your locker code—it's 41B—and this is your digital access key. Don't lose it."
She paused, pointing at the map with a red pen. "Let me explain the basic layout: the academic wings are here, to the north, with the library right at the center. The cafeteria is this semicircular structure. And to the south, you have the gym and all athletic facilities: tennis courts, the pool, the basketball court, and the football field."
Then, for the first time, she smiled—a small, proud smile, as if she were the guardian of the school's greatest glory.
"And here"—her pen stopped over a vast field of perfect green grass—"is the main pitch. Rugby isn't just the star sport of Clear Creek Private College; it's practically a religion. We've won the national championship several years in a row with unmatched ferocity. The discipline is brutal, and expectations are absolute. That's why, here, the boys on the team are half‑gods. Important figures. They're the school's elite—the embodiment of its power."
Titus absorbed the information. The mention of the boys on the team echoed with the image of the blond giant from the train.
His hand trembled slightly as he tucked the documents away. "Thank you," he murmured, feeling foolish and childish under the secretary's sharp, judging gaze.
"Welcome to Clear Creek, Titus. Now, your first class is Ancient History in the West Wing. And remember: at one o'clock sharp… the call to your parents."
One o'clock. Even the secretary knew about it. The comment struck him with a strangely familiar pain. Had his parents given that instruction as a condition for admission?
A wave of embarrassment washed over him. Will they ever stop with those stupid rules? I'm not a child anymore… How humiliating.
He felt dismissed with the same suffocating control his parents always imposed—another cage, simply built by different hands.
With the map in hand and his heart pounding with nervous urgency, Titus stepped out of the office. He needed to find his locker before facing the maze of hallways… and his first class in the dreaded Clear Creek Private College.
Ancient History and the Twins
Nervous and with a growing sense of dread, Titus walked toward the West Wing. The map projected on his smart glasses overlapped with the Gothic architecture of the hallways, guiding him step by step. Each student who passed looked like either an obstacle… or a predator.
He felt like a mouse wandering through a maze filled with well‑dressed, well‑fed cats.
He reached the door marked "Ancient History – Prof. White." He knocked softly, feeling as though his heart might burst from his chest.
The door swung open, revealing the professor. He looked like he had been assembled from mismatched parts. He was old—gray, wiry curls attempting in vain to cover a shiny, advanced bald spot. His most striking feature was a massive, unkempt grayish mustache that swallowed nearly all of his upper lip, giving him an air of distrust and odd severity. His eyes were a startling blue, bulging and too close together, staring directly at you with an uncomfortable, almost aggressive intensity—as if he lived permanently on the brink of exploding.
His body was thin and gaunt, stretched like someone had pulled him on a rack, which contrasted absurdly with a small, round belly protruding forward. He wore a gray suit far too big for him; it fluttered with every small movement, only worsening his disheveled appearance.
He cleared his throat, and his voice—loud and resonant—asked: "How may I help you, young man?"
"I—I‑I'm the n‑new s‑student," Titus stammered, his shyness turning his voice into a painful, humiliating tremor.
"Oh? And what is your name?" the professor repeated, impatience dripping from his tone.
Titus fought to control his tongue. "T‑T‑T… Tiii… T‑t‑titus, sir."
"Mmm," the professor grunted, analyzing the name with a low, guttural sound. Then he stepped aside. "Come in."
Once Titus entered, the professor addressed the class: "Attention, students! This year you will have a new classmate. His name is Titus Grinen."
Then he turned toward Titus again, leaning in with a whisper that somehow filled the entire room:
"I already knew about you. I was expecting you."
A cold shiver crawled down Titus's back—something that had nothing to do with the school's air conditioning. The tone of the professor's words wasn't a school welcome.
"I knew about you." "I was expecting you."
It sounded like something premeditated. Dark. Planned.
In his frightened mind, Titus wondered if Professor White had been waiting for Titus Grinen the boy, or for something else entirely… something dangerous, predetermined, and far beyond his control.
Every eye in the classroom landed on him. Some stared with obvious contempt, others with total indifference. But two pairs of eyes pierced straight through him—golden eyes staring at him the way a wolf watches its prey just seconds before pouncing.
"Sit by the window. That desk isn't taken," the professor instructed. "I'll give you your books later so you can catch up with the material."
Titus sat down, feeling exposed and humiliated. His classmates immediately began whispering:
"We've got a new toy."
"Fresh meat."
The bullies grinned with malicious delight. Several boys and girls looked at him with wicked smiles.
It's going to be a lovely year, Titus thought with a shiver of resignation.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door again.
The professor rolled his bulging blue eyes toward the ceiling with a face of pure exasperation. "Again?" he grumbled.
He walked to the door and opened it.
Standing there was Cristal, the beautiful blonde girl from the train. Her regal presence was even more evident under the classroom lights. The entire room—even the most cynical bullies—fell silent before her, astonished by her almost princess‑like beauty, her golden hair shining like woven sunlight.
But the silence broke when he stepped in.
Bruno. The giant. Over 2.10 meters tall and nearly two hundred kilos of pure muscle—broad shoulders, sculpted like a defensive lineman carved out of stone. His golden, predatory eyes were the exact same as on the train.
With a trembling voice, the professor asked: "Are you the new exchange students?"
Cristal spoke with a strange yet enchanting accent, one that implied her exotic origins. "Yes. My name is Cristal, and my twin brother is Bruno. We come from the south of Chile—a land of mountains, glaciers, and ancient mystery. We're very happy to join your class," she said, offering a polite, icy smile.
Bruno simply nodded, his stone‑like face unmoved, showing none of the "happiness" his sister claimed.
Regaining a sliver of forced composure, the professor gestured: "You, young lady—sit in front of Titus, the other new student by the window. And you, Bruno—behind Titus."
As they moved toward their desks, something strange happened. A look—a fleeting but unmistakable glance—passed between the twins and Professor White. It wasn't a greeting. Wasn't curiosity. Wasn't politeness. It was a brief exchange of profound, mutual recognition. A silent tension filled with hidden knowledge. A spark of shared, dangerous intelligence that bypassed age and hierarchy—as if all three were part of an old secret… one only they understood.
Titus, lost in his own panic, did not notice this unsettling connection. He shrank into his seat, feeling the cold breath of fear on his neck—and the oppressive heat of the giant's massive body just behind him.
Why? he cried internally, terror gripping him. Why right next to me? Why my side? Damn my luck—how am I supposed to escape now?
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Hook: What came next would be impossible to stop…