Onyx's POV
It was seven in the evening, and I was sitting alone in my room, staring at my laptop screen where an email from our professor sat open—subject line bold and merciless.
"Capstone System Project Outline for Class 4-1"
I leaned back in my chair and exhaled slowly, the kind of breath you took when your thoughts were spiraling faster than your heart could keep up.
I was evaluating whether continuing this subject was still optimal.
If I did, my graduation would be delayed. No ceremony. No clean transcript. No smooth transition into job applications. Just an ugly gap that employers would definitely ask about—and I refused to let that happen. I wanted my records spotless. No remarks. No complications. Nothing that could come back to bite me later.
So why did it have to be "him"?
Of all people.
Why did we have to cross paths again?
I had thought I escaped him. I had been careful. I hid well. Changed accounts. Changed habits. Disappeared quietly.
But apparently, the universe had a sense of humor.
Or maybe this was what happened when one unresolved variable returned to the system.
"Onyx, son, are you busy?" my father asked from outside my room, knocking gently on the door.
"No, Pa. I'm just reading an email from our professor," I replied.
The door opened softly. He stepped inside with a small smile, the warm, tired kind that never quite left his face even when things are already down.
"Yes, Pa? Do you need something?" I asked, turning my chair toward him.
"I just wanted to check on you," he said calmly. "I worry you might be pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm fine, Pa. There's nothing to worry about."
He nodded, studying me for a moment.
"You're almost done with college," he said. "Soon you'll graduate. I can't wait to see you on stage again."
I sighed and smiled despite myself.
"By the way," I said, "your birthday's coming up in the next few months. What do you want as a gift?"
Aside from paying off all his remaining debt, I needed to give him something more—something that would remind him that life wasn't only about mistakes and survival.
I could see how tired he was, how heavy everything had become. Even so, he kept showing up, kept trying.
He deserved more than just relief. He deserved something that could lift him, even a little.
"All I want is for you to graduate," he said. "That's enough. I'll be happy."
"Anything else?" I pressed. "Something material?"
"No," he said quietly. "We need to save money."
He sighed then—deeper this time, heavier—and his eyes darkened with guilt.
"I'm sorry, Onyx," he added. "For getting addicted to gambling. I won at first, and I got tempted. I thought I could win more. Our life was more than stable back then. Until I lost everything... and couldn't get the money back."
"It's fine, Pa," I said. "That's in the past now. At least you learned from it."
"Promise me you'll never gamble," he said. "Never step foot in a casino."
"I won't," I replied. "I don't plan to. It's not my thing."
"Good," he said. Then hesitated. "Are you angry at your Ma for leaving us?"
"No," I said honestly. "I understand why she left. We can't force someone to stay if they don't want to. I don't hold any grudges. We still message sometimes. She checks up on me." I paused before adding, "She's engaged now. To a rich guy. You know how money makes her happy. Financial comfort was always important to her."
He let out another sigh. "Then I'm happy for her."
"She offered to give me money," I said. "I refused."
"Why?" he asked, confused. "You should've taken it."
"It's not even her money," I said. "It's her fiancé's. I didn't want it. Besides, I have my own savings from my part-time job."
I grinned.
"Your student assistant job?" he asked.
"Yes."
That was what I told him. Student assistant. Not the secret sideline I was doing. He would stop me if he knew. He'd say it was wrong. He wouldn't understand. I'd tell him someday—when everything was already done.
"All right," he said. "I'll leave you to study. I made some congee. It's on the dining table, covered. Heat it up if you get hungry."
"Thanks, Pa."
He smiled, nodded, and left the room.
The moment the door closed, I let out a sharp breath and turned back to my laptop.
"Okay," I muttered to myself. "I just have to push through this. I have to act like I don't know Jace."
What else could go wrong if he didn't know I was the reason he had to retake the unit? That he didn't graduate on time.
As long as I could keep everything hidden until the semester ended, everything would be fine.
After that, I would cut ties with him completely.
"Yes," I whispered. "That's how it should be."
I grabbed my phone and typed.
Me:
Hi Jace! Good evening. It's me, Onyx.
I just received the email from our professor.
Sent: 7:20 p.m.
No reply.
I placed my phone beside my laptop and opened the email instead, scanning the Capstone System Project details carefully.
It wasn't identical to the one I had done for him before, but the underlying structure was familiar. The core ideas remained the same—only this version demanded more components, more layers, more work.
Still, it was manageable.
I had built something like this once already.
Which meant the process wasn't new—just expanded.
And anything familiar could be optimized.
The real problem was the presentation.
I didn't know if I could rely on him. I didn't know if he'd even show up.
But even if he didn't, I'd still put his name on the project.
I owed him that much because of what happened.
My phone buzzed.
Jace:
Okay. You're the leader. Just tell me what you want me to do.
Sent: 7:25 p.m.
I stared at the message.
"As expected," I murmured. "I'll end up doing most of the work."
He said he wanted me to be the leader—but how does that even work when the person you're leading is openly hostile? When every instruction feels like it could be taken the wrong way?
Still, at least he acknowledged it.
Another message came in.
Jace:
We have to take this seriously. I don't want to make the same mistake again—cramming and trusting a stranger to do my requirements. It ended up badly.
Sent: 7:26 p.m.
My throat tightened.
If he knew, the consequences would be immediate and catastrophic.
Then another message.
Jace:
Have you heard about that? There's a student in our department who works anonymously. You can pay him to do assessments, portfolios—everything.
Sent: 7:26 p.m.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary before replying.
Me:
No. I haven't heard of that.
Sent: 7:26 p.m.
The moment I sent it, I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Jace:
You don't have to. Don't trust that piece of shit. I'm still hunting him. He's just really good at hiding.
Sent: 7:27 p.m.
My chest sank.
He hadn't forgotten.
He hadn't moved on.
Me:
I see. But I think we won't need him.
Let's focus on our goal—to finish
this project successfully.
Sent: 7:27 p.m.
Jace:
K.
Sent: 7:27 p.m.
That was it.
I had to steer the conversation away before he dug deeper. Every message from him felt like a hammer striking my ribs—measured, precise, and entirely unnecessary.
I opened the notes app on my laptop and began outlining the Capstone System Project the way I always did—clean, modular, efficient.
If I was going to survive this semester, I needed structure.
And control.
After organizing my thoughts, I picked up my phone and started typing.
Clarity first. Structure next. Panic later—preferably never.
Me:
For the Capstone System Project, I suggest we divide the work based on core modules. I'll handle the database design, normalization, and backend logic since the system will rely heavily on data integrity and relationships. I'll also draft the ERD, schema, and stored procedures.
Sent: 8:02 p.m.
I didn't stop there.
Once I started, my mind refused to proceed incompletely.
Me:
You can focus on the front-end interface, system flow diagrams, and presentation layer. We'll need defined user roles, access control, and basic validation. I can guide you through the logic if needed, but the UI should be something we can explain clearly during the presentation.
Sent: 8:03 p.m.
I paused. Reread everything. Then added one more message—longer than necessary, but precision mattered.
It always did.
Me:
I'll also prepare the documentation—scope, objectives, system limitations, and testing results. We should start early so we're not cramming near the deadline. Once the professor releases the rubric, I'll align everything with it.
Sent: 8:04 p.m.
There.
Clear. Organized. Efficient.
I set my phone down and exhaled, the tension in my shoulders loosening just a fraction.
One second passed.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Not a message.
A call.
"Jace is calling..."
I froze.
"Why is he calling?" I muttered. "Did he get confused from what I said? Was it too much? Probably it did."
My thumb hovered above the screen as my mind began running through failure scenarios—confusion, objections, irritation, anger.
None of them felt promising.
Still, I answered. Ignoring him would be worse.
"Hello?"
"Stop," Jace said immediately.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Just firm.
"...Stop what?" I asked.
"Stop typing essays," he said. "I didn't even bother reading it."
I could hear movement on his end—footsteps, maybe a chair scraping the floor. There was laughter in the background. Glasses clinking. It sounded like he was somewhere loud, social, and fundamentally incompatible with my current state.
"My head's starting to hurt because of you," he added.
I swallowed.
"Sorry. I just wanted to explain everything clearly."
"I get it," he said. "You're organized. You plan. You overthink."
I straightened in my chair.
"I don't overthink," I said automatically.
He let out a quiet huff of laughter.
"Yeah. You do."
There was a brief pause.
Then he spoke again.
"Just talk to me instead," he said. "It's easier for me to understand that way."
I leaned back, gripping the edge of my desk like it might anchor me.
"Okay," I said. "So basically—" then I repeated what I sent to him earlier.
While I was in the middle of explaining...
"Enough." He cut in.
I abruptly stopped.
"Database stuff is yours. Front-end and presentation are mine. You lead. I follow. Simple." He uttered.
Simple.
The word unsettled me.
What surprised me more was that he actually understood. I'd expected to break it down piece by piece, explain every term like I was walking him through a minefield.
"You're... okay with that?" I asked carefully.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he replied. "You clearly know what you're doing."
Something tightened in my chest.
"That doesn't mean you won't have input," I said quickly. "We'll decide major features together, and if you have suggestions—"
"Onyx," he interrupted, his voice lower now. "Relax."
I stopped talking.
And realized I had stopped breathing too.
"I'm not here to screw this up," he said. "I want to graduate this time. I'll show up. I'll do my part. Just tell me what you need."
The way he said it—direct, unpolished—hit harder than I expected.
"...Okay," I said softly.
"Good," he replied. "Send me the timeline once you confirm our parts. And if you need anything done earlier, tell me. I work better when someone's bossy."
I blinked.
"Bossy?"
He laughed—low, amused.
"Yeah," he said. "You look like the type."
I opened my mouth to argue.
But I stopped. It might be a bad idea.
I wanted to say I wasn't bossy. That I just liked things clear. Ordered. Logical.
"...I'll send the timeline tomorrow," I said instead.
"Cool," he replied. "Get some rest. You sound like you haven't slept properly in years."
The call ended before I could respond.
I stared at my phone.
**Call ended at 8:30 p.m.**
Slowly, I set it down and leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling.
Confused.
And—against my will—slightly impressed.
I thought dealing with him would be harder.
Maybe this could work.
As long as he never learned I was the reason he had to retake the unit, the situation remained manageable.
I probably did need rest, like he said.
Well, after I finished drafting the project timeline.
And if anyone was bossy here, it was definitely him.
"He said I was the leader," I muttered, shaking my head, "but he's the one ordering me around."
End of chapter 4