Mikey wandered through the open plaza beneath the towering glass dome, weaving past classmates and family groups clustered in celebration. Sleek silver service bots lined a long buffet station, plating food with mechanical precision as the graduating class feasted like royalty under marble columns and refracted sunlight. He stepped up to one of the bots, eyeing the steaming dishes.
"Just some pot roast and potatoes, please," he said casually.
The bot whirred and clicked, plating his request with a perfect portion. As it handed over the tray, Mikey leaned back in.
"Oh, and some mustard. Like—an actual bottle. Thanks."
Without hesitation, the robot retrieved a full squeeze bottle and placed it on the tray with a mechanical hum of approval. Mikey made his way to the nearest empty table—or so he thought—and sat down without looking up. He didn't seem to notice—or care—that someone else was already seated at the far end. He uncapped the mustard and, with an almost ceremonial flair, doused the pot roast in a generous yellow flood. Just as he picked up his fork, a voice drifted over to him.
"Mustard on pot roast?"
He looked up mid-chew, caught with food in his mouth and a dumbfounded look on his face. The girl who'd smiled at him during the ceremony—blued-eyed, curious—was grinning at him now across the table. Her black hair flowing in the ever-so-soft wind and her triangle shaped earring dangling low.
"That's an odd combo," she said, laughing.
Mikey struggled to reply without choking. "mY mOm PuT mE oN tO iT…"
She squinted, then mimicked him through a giggle. "wHaT dId YoU sAy?"
He quickly swallowed—beating his chest like he was trying to muscle it down, all the while raising a hand apologetically.
"Sorry—my mom introduced me to it. Say what you want, it's actually pretty good."
She made a playful face. "I think... 'ambitious' is a better word."
"For the weak-minded," Mikey shot back with a smirk, cutting into his now-yellow roast.
He popped another bite into his mouth, shrugged.
"Maybe..."
Their laughter blended with the soft echo of chatter under the dome.
"What's your name?" he asked between bites.
She paused, like she had to think about whether she wanted to answer.
"Nadia."
Mikey tilted his head. "Hmm. You don't look like a Nadia. But regardless, nice to meet you. I'm—"
"Michael, right?"
Mikey froze, mid-chew again. "Oh God, no. Call me Mikey. Michael's too... formal. Sounds like someone who files taxes for fun."
Nadia smiled. "Alright then. Mikey."
They looked at each other for a beat. The noise around them faded slightly under the awkward pause.
"So…" Mikey said, stabbing at a potato. "How'd you know my name? I don't think we've met."
She raised an eyebrow and pointed toward the stage. "You were literally the center of attention five minutes ago."
"Oh." Mikey flushed. "Right."
He pushed a potato around with his fork.
"I hate speeches," he admitted. "Listening to them is one thing, but giving them? Nightmare."
"You? Hate speeches?" Nadia teased. "Could've fooled me."
They both chuckled.
"I thought you were having a blast up there"
"Really?"
"Yeah. It was such a... passionate, beautiful speech."
He struck a theatrical pose.
"What can I say? I'm quite the poet."
"Mm-hm." Nadia grinned, resting her elbow on the table. "So, what are you up to later? You going to that after-party everyone's talking about?"
Mikey scoffed between bites. "Nah. Got a packed schedule. Gotta make dinner for my dad, get a letter of rec, maybe start that Council track. Big day."
"Ah, that's a shame," Nadia said lightly, then added with a shrug, "I was hoping I'd see you there. It's gonna be kinda boring by myself."
Mikey froze. Fork mid-air. Eyes locked on hers.
"You're going?"
"Yeah. So what?"
He processed her words like they were in a foreign language. A cute girl wants him to be somewhere... and he already said no.
"Actually…" Mikey started, setting his utensils down, "I could probably go. My dad keeps telling me I should be more social. Meet new people. Try new things."
Nadia gave him a playful side-eye. "What about your appointments?"
"I can reschedule."
"Making dinner?"
"He'll manage."
"Letter of recommendation?"
"I'll get it tomorrow."
She tilted her head, lips twitching. "Aren't those due today?"
Mikey stared at her, his entire internal world screeching to a halt.
"…Okay, that one I do have to do today."
He sat in sudden panic for a second, then perked up.
"Wait, I can actually knock that out right now. Mr. Morrison's here—I just gotta find him."
Nadia leaned in slightly, her interest shifting. "Mr. Morrison?"
"Yeah, Payne Morrison."
Her smile faltered.
"Payne Morrison? The Payne Morrison? He's here?"
Her voice changed. The nerves in it were subtle, but real. Mikey didn't catch it—he was too busy getting excited.
"Yeah, he's the Secretary of Defense! Guy's a hero. Knows the Four Directors personally. Led the last expedition outside, pushed back the Defectors—I mean, come on! If I get a letter from him, I can write my own ticket. I mean, technically he'd be writing it, but still."
Nadia didn't answer. She just stared past him, eyes distant, her jaw tight.
"Hero…" she echoed softly.
"I mean, yeah!" Mikey said, still animated. "He's a badass. Kinda creepy... but a total legend."
She nodded slowly, offering a small, empty smile.
"Yeah…"
Mikey stood, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
"Well, I'm gonna go find him now. See you tonight, Nadia."
She looked up, that smile still frozen on her face.
"Yeah. See you tonight, Mikey."
He walked off without a second glance, disappearing into the crowd. Nadia stayed at the table, staring at the empty space where he'd been sitting. Her smile faded. Her eyes darkened.
Then, silently, she balled her hand into a tight fist under the table.