Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: (the red moon and P.E.W)

Chapter 1: (the red moon and P.E.W)

The sky had turned red as the three moons passed overhead. I sank to my knees, coughing blood that tasted metallic on my tongue. Spears from shadowed figures pierced my body—one through my leg, two through my feet, another in my abdomen, and six more driven deep into my back, passing through my chest and sides. Warm blood flowed freely from every wound, soaking the ground beneath me. The figures' wide, twisted smiles stretched across their faces, as if my pain were their amusement.

The shadowy figures erupted into laughter. "Hee-hee-hee… hah… hah… hah…"

"What am I…? How can I escape?" The question echoed through my mind, numb and desperate, even as another spear tore into me. I had already died fifty-six times trying to escape from this place, and in countless ways. yet here I was again, each death as painful and real as the first. Every pain, every suffering, replayed itself as if mocking me.

"How… can I escape… in this place… in this... novel?" I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. My body trembled, and the world around me started to swayed and darken.

Tick-tack, tick-tack… the sound of the old clock echoed in my head again, signaling that I was about to be pulled back into the novel, forced to start everything from the very beginning once more.

As the light and laughter faded, I no longer felt the pain. Instead, I found myself once again in a familiar, old-looking house. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and dust, settling into every corner. The walls were cracked and worn, its the house that belongs to one of the Vixxon, where the last descendant of the **Heartless children of endless warfare** live. Right now, I'm inside the body of that last descendant and the first fated enemy of Levis Godswork—the main character of the novel **The Peak of Endless Warfare,** or simply P.E.W.

"I was alive once again, yet still trapped. The world I had known from the main character's perspective was gone, replaced by a story not of my choosing. I realized, with a sinking sense of inevitability, that every story holds mysteries far deeper and far darker than the main character could ever perceive, secrets that cannot be contained by their perspective—or even by the eyes of the reader."

Let's rewind to six months ago back on earth.

My name is John Niagobert, 22 years old. I'm a fourth-year agriculture student. I have a small build and stand only about five foot four. I live alone in a small apartment near the university where I study.

Right now, I'm standing in front of the refrigerator, staring into the cold, empty shelves.

"I don't have any food left," I muttered. "I used all my money on tuition."

My stomach growled. "I'm hungry… but I'm broke," I said, staring at the empty table. "I want potato fries—but I'm broke. I want fried eggs with tomatoes—but I'm broke…" I sighed and looked at the rice cooker. "Maybe rice with salt and water is enough for dinner… and sugar water for dessert."

I scooped the remaining rice from the rice cooker and placed it into my blue bowl, adding a pinch of salt and a splash of water. I sprinkled a tiny amount of sugar into my cup of water, then picked up my spoon and started eating. Between bites, I muttered jokingly, "There's no better feeling than having a full meal," even though I knew it was a bit of a lie—I had just lost my allowance after contributing to the school projects. The thought made me sigh, but at least the simple comfort of warm rice and sweet water made the loss feel slightly less bitter.

After eating, I slumped back on my chair and opened my phone. I was reading a novel called P.E.W, written by an author named unknownauthor010. I had been a fan since I was eighteen, and now I am twenty-two. and somehow, it even got a game adaptation.

"A new chapter again chapter 2123, this guy really is Creative and hard working," I whispered, smiling faintly as I scrolled to the next chapter.

In that novel, eight kingdoms, each the size of a supercontinent, constantly battled, spilling blood without end.

**The Noviq** – demi-humans, barbaric creatures.

**The Hell** – demons and sin incarnate, purgatory.

**The Heaven**– angels of justice. Kingdom of the holiest.

**The Parrenia** – kingdom that shrouded in mystery and unknown.

**The Ixa** – the wasteland, a dumping ground for the unwanted.

**The Arwan** – a kingdom of martial arts.

**The Liphas** – the kingdom of dreams and hope.

**The Sea** – the kingdom that holding secrets beneath its waves.

The story begins in Parrenia, where the main character, Levis, is studying at the royal academy. With the other royalties In this kingdom, there are over five great royal families in Parrenia.

**Vixxon** – the heartless children of endless warfare of the west. The hunters.

**Laplace** – twisted magicians of the South, master sorcerer of dark and forbidden magic.

**Midas** – cunning merchant puppeteers of the Central lands, controlling wealth and influence.

**Lionheart** – the lawless pride of the East.

**Torres** – defenders of the North, champions of injustice.

Each family moves through the kingdom like pieces on a chessboard—scheming, fighting, killing and waiting for the chance to dominate. And in the midst of this chaos, Levis walks the halls of the royal academy, where the string of fate are already have been decided.

I found myself oddly captivated by the novel and its characters. But there's one in particular who keeps me questioning—one of the villains, or perhaps just an NPC—named William Vixxon. He's a descendant of one of the great families and currently a second-year student at the Royal Academy, while Lewis and the others are still in their first year. Although UnknownAuthor010 is usually very detailed in both his writing and game planning design, there was something peculiar here. Instead of the usual phrasing like "DEFEAT IT!" that appears with other enemies like the enemy boss in each arc, even the strongest ones, the first released game—or the novel—only ever said of William: "KILL HIM!!!"..."DONT LET HIM GET AWAY!!!"

The writer—created the leveling system of the novel, where white stars (☆) and black stars (★) are used. There are twelve white stars and twelve black stars, ranked from Omega to Alpha. The darker the star, the more dangerous it is. William Vixxon was assigned only one white star (☆), the lowest difficulty.

But what keep me bothering *WHY,* he wasn't that strong. His design resembled a man in his teens, with dark charcoal hair. The distinct trait of his bloodline was their eyes, its pitch black, and said to grow even darker with age, until they reflected nothing but void. His face looked like he hadn't slept in years, the skin beneath his eyes buried under layers of dark circles. In the game, he seemed to have no limits to pain tolerance, but in reality, there was nothing more to him.

His background was shrouded in mystery. Most details were absent. It wasn't until chapter 191 of the novel that the MC discovered that: The western lands, where the Vixxon clan once resided, appeared to have been destroyed fifteen years ago, when William have died in his hand just 1 year ago. In the game, this piece of history didn't exist, simply because UnknownAuthor010 had no raw material or information to include to the game or the novel arc—it had never been explored, as the MC never ventured into the West EVER again.

But the fans never take it seriously, because to the P.E.W. game, vixxon family is nothing and William is more like a joke as the npc villain for almost all the players killing him. Throwing anything like chairs, tables, toilet because he is the easiest enemy and don't get any knock back or get stunned he just fall If he died, there is no pattern in his attack because he just swing it no defense, or parry. Just offensive.

Alright… this is taking too long. Let's rewind three months. Back on Earth, back home, to where it all started before entering in that bastard William body.

In the big old house/mansion, the sound of that old antique mantel clock still echoing loudly through the halls, tik... tak... tik... tak..., the sound never faded, no matter how far I walked. Its wooden casing was dark and worn, the glass face cloudy with age, and the brass hands moved with a slow deliberate motion.

Grandma eliza had kept it in her house for as long as I could remember. Yet every time I heard it. It always gives me goosebumps, because deep down, I knew that clock was a curse antique.

Right now, I'm here to visit Grandma. She has always been cold, picky, and strict—especially when it comes to manners. But even with all that, she was the one who stayed by my side whenever I was alone. No matter how many times I stumbled, she was the only person I could always return to.

Before she died, she called me to her side one last time.

My uncle, José, stepped out of her room and wiped the tears from his eyes. "John… your here. Your grandma is calling for you," he said, his voice shaking.

I walked inside. The air smelled of medicine mixed with her favorite orange air freshener. Thin tubes hung around the room, and a single large oxygen tank stood beside her bed. The oxygen mask that should've been on her face now rested on the pillow, completely disconnected.

"Grandma…" I whispered.

She lay there quietly, her breathing shallow. Her skin was pale and wrinkled, dark circles beneath her eyes, and her lips looked dry and colorless. Her voice was weak, almost fading—but her eyes were still sharp, watching me with the last bit of strength she had left, as if telling me she knew the end had already come.

"You're here," she said softly. Then she added, "Come, sit beside my bed. How have you been?"

"I'm… alright, Grandma," I replied. I walked to her bedside, gently picked up her hand, and gave it a small squeeze.

"Don't be sad," she whispered. "Every living being dies. We can be rich, strong, healthy, or smart while we're alive, but we still can't escape death. That's the fate none of us can outrun. If it's my time, then it's my time. There's no sense wasting money on an old body that will soon fade too."

She took a slow breath. "I have a gift for you."

"What is it, Grandma?" I asked.

"Its my favorite clock, put that clock in your room," she said, pointing toward it. "It's a lucky item. Do you know why our family is rich? It's because we kept it. Except your Papa. He didn't listen. He threw the clock away, even though I told him to keep it."

Her voice wavered, but she forced herself to go on. "If you throw that clock, or sell it, or even keep it away from your room... you'll end up poor, just like your father. And if you don't listen, if you ignore me... I won't tell your uncles later to write your name down for any inheritance before I die. not until you graduate. Worse than that... you'll be cursed."

They were words that might make an adult laugh, dismissing them as nothing more than superstition. But to a child raised in a household full of beliefs, they were terrifying. Her tone, paired with her tired yet serious eyes, said only one thing—Grandma was truly serious.

"I understand… I'll keep the clo..." I stopped mid-sentence, confusion hitting me. "Hold on—Father was cursed? Didn't he die from a heart attack?"

Grandma shook her head slowly. "No… that's what they said. But the truth is different."

Her voice lowered, almost as if she was ashamed to say it out loud. "He died when he was texting me, asking for money and inheritance. But I knew him. I knew he would only waste it on drinking and partying with his friends. He always made excuses, saying it was for your allowance or for school. Lies."

"That day, he slipped. He stepped on dog feces and fell into a deep sewer canal. He drowned there. He was too fat to swim, and he never learned how to swim."

I imagined it, the foolishness of it, the pathetic way it ended. She let out a tired breath before continuing."The family was in tears when they heard it, not from grief, but from trying to hold back their laughter. Especially at the funeral. They said it was a heart attack, not drowning in a sewer. Because for us, that kind of death would bring embarrassment to the family."

The thought crossed my mind "Will I end up dying like that too...?"

Four hours later, she passed away. While my uncles and aunt cried inside the room, I stood quietly outside the door, staring at the clock as it ticked on and on.

"Grandma..."

Seven days passed, and she was laid to rest in the family's ancestral private cemetery.

after the funeral ends, I brought the clock just as she told me to. And placed it on top of my shelf, but every time I try to sleep, that damn ticking starts. Tik… tak… tik… tak… that are Impossible to ignore. Especially in this tiny, suffocating apartment, with only a sliding window that barely lets in any air. The clock is old, its casing is slightly scarred, chipped, and misshapen. Its ticking is uneven, and unbearably loud. Each tick makes my chest jump, stabbing me with a miniature heart attack, like my body is screaming at me, "Wake up, wake up, wake up." "Yeah, that dumb clock is at it again."

And of course, it always happens at night. Just when the surrounding is dark, just when my eyelids finally feels heavy and I'm starting to sleep, that goddamn clock gets louder and decides it's time to remind me that sleeping normally is impossible.

On my first night after accepting it, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my ears twitching at every tick. Tik… tak… tik… tak…

"Goddamn it…" I whispered through clenched teeth, my fists balled into the thin sheet. "How the hell is this even Grandma's favorite?! And why on earth did she decide to give this to me in the first place!?"

I rolled over, hoping to bury my face in the pillow, but the sound followed mockingly. "Give me a break, please… I can't… just let me sleep for once, damn it!"

Morning came in gray, cold light, and I woke with a face that looked like I hadn't slept in a week. Hair sticking out in every direction, eyes bloodshot and hollow, shoulders tight from tension. My breakfast sat untouched in front of me.

I stared at the breakfast infront of me, feeling too exhausted to touch it. A warm glass of milk sat on the table, tiny wisps of steam curling lazily from the rim. On a white plate, two fried eggs glistened in the morning light, their yolks a deep, molten yellow, edges curled and browned to a delicate crisp. Four strips of bacon lay beside them, curled and sizzling, its smoky oil glinting on the surface, carrying a rich, greasy scent.

Next to them was a mound of fried rice, each grain golden and separate, speckled with tiny cubes of carrot and slivers of green onion. Steam spiraled up from it, carrying the oily, salty aroma of soy sauce mixed with the faint sweetness of caramelized bits stuck to the pan. A single hotdog rested at the side, its skin is shiny and blistered, the food aroma is enough to make my mouth water and it looked good, but I didn't care. I was too tired, my chest still tight from the ticking, my mind too exhausted to enjoy anything.

"It looks good but I'm not hungry… maybe later, after I get back from school," I muttered, my voice rough from exhaustion. I carefully covered the plate with plastic wrap, pressing it down so nothing would spill. The steam from the fried rice had cooled enough, and I shoved the plate gently into the fridge. I took a slow sip of the warm milk, letting it slide down my throat.

On my third day, it suddenly stopped. For a moment, the silence felt almost peaceful, until I was about to fall sleep. Then, without warning, it jolted back, snapping me awake like my chest had just been punched, my heart hammering as if I'd had a heart attack.

Tick!!! tack!!! Tick!!! tack!!! Tick!!! tack!!!

"What the fuck!!! Ha… ha… ha…" I gasped, clutching my chest, my breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. "Did someone just fired a goddamn gun!?"

I kicked my blanket half off, spun around like a maniac, eyes wide, scanning the room. "Oh, it's just you, you ticking bastard… you're lucky I didn't throw you out the window!!!"

4 weeks it played this cruel game it stop, then start, then stop again. I didn't always wake because of the ticking anymore, most nights the nightmares dragged me out of sleep first, twisting my chest into knots until the clock's sound was just background noise.

In my nightmare I kept dreaming of my own death—every single night. In each dream, it always the same way.

(DROWNING)

A strange voice whispering behind my ears, "let's get deeper… don't fight back "

Before I could turn, something icy fingers wrapped around my ankles and yanked me hard.

I gasped—

Then the river swallowed me whole.

I fell into the freezing water, sinking fast. My arms thrashed, my legs kicked, but the hands pulling me only tightened, dragging me deeper and deeper into the deep water below.

"Don't breathe," the voice gurgled from beneath me.

My chest burned. My throat tightened. I clawed upward, but the surface only drifted farther away.

The pressure crushed my ribs. I opened my mouth— Water rushed in, choking every breath out of me. I died.

And then the dream started again. Over and over.

Dragging me down. Drowning me each time.

"Argggh! son of a Bitch!! Let me sleep!!" I screamed into the dark, My hands punching the mattress beneath me, breath coming in hot and ragged, but the anger fizzled as quick as it came.

I didn't have the urge to smash it. I couldn't. It was Grandma's old clock, her last gift, passed to me on her sickbed with that ridiculous, awful promise take it down or break it and I will be curse. She said it with a serious expression, like curses were household chores. So even when every fiber of me wanted to hurl it through the wall or set it on fire, I kept my hands off. I wouldn't sell it. I wouldn't toss it out. It only sat on the shelf.

Well... sometimes I pictured myself picking it up, smashing it into a dozen useless pieces, watching the brass fragments spill across the floor. That fantasy felt delicious and terribly wrong at the same time. I told myself I was being silly. I told myself that it was my grandma last gift before dying and i know curses were for children. But the thought never stopped coming back, like the clock itself: stop, start, stop. "I will break it!" "No its a gift from grandma and if I do that I will be cursed."

Then another problem came, and it was much worse than the clock.

One night, after I had finished showering, I walked toward my bed, exhausted and ready to sleep. The air in the room was warm. I reached out and pressed the "1" button on the electric fan. Nothing happened.

I pressed it again. Still nothing.

I looked closer and noticed the plug hanging loosely from the socket. With a sigh, I bent down, pushed it in, and tried again. The fan gave no response. No movement, no sound.

I pressed every button, turned the knob, and even shook it a little, but it stayed completely dead. "No!!!!"

"...It's broken," I muttered, staring at it as if I lost a million bucks. My chest tightened in frustration. "After only 4 months seens I bought it, its already broken."

There was nothing I could do.

I lay down on my bed, the bottom bunk, while the top bunk stayed filled with my things. The room was cramped and quiet except for the sharp ticking of the clock on the wall. Its sound as annoying as ever, refusing to let me relax.

The air grew hotter the longer I stayed still. Sweat covered my whole body, soaking into the sheets. I tried to turn on my side, then my back, but it was useless. The heat grew hotter, making it hard to breathe. The ticking grew louder without a pause. I turned again and again, but I cant sleep.

Hours passed in this way.

When morning finally came, I opened my eyes, my body drenched in sweat. My shirt stuck to my skin, my pillow damp beneath my head. I sat up slowly, and whisper. "Is this what hell feels like...?"

I looked toward the fan, as the clock continued to tick.

I had no choice but to use all of my allowance to buy a replacement "I need a fan." The next day, I went to the market, heading straight to the electric appliance store. but In the end, I settled for a ceiling fan made of plastic, plain white in color. It was cheaper, only six dollars, "this is a bargain~" compared to a pedestal fan that cost twenty. I couldn't afford the more expensive one, not when I still had to save what little I had left for transportation and food.

I got home and bent a curved metal wire and hooked the cheap plastic ceiling fan to it, so the blades hang just inches above my head when I lie on the lower part of my double bed. The wire is a makeshift bracket twisted, notched into the fan's mount and looped over the ceiling hook, the whole thing wobbles a little when it spins. At night the fan makes a steady, thin whir that never stops, a constant mechanical hiss.

When the power cuts out and then snaps back on while I'm asleep, the fan kicks into motion with a sudden, loud grind. The motor starts hard, the blades lurch, and the sound rings to my ears. It jerks me awake every time, my chest tightens, my breathing jumps, and for a few seconds I sit up dizzy, sweat cooling on my skin. The noise is worse than the ticking clock because it comes without warning. "Ha...!! ha...! ha... I almost died!"

I want to break it, but there's no money for a new one. I spent my allowance on this plastic ceiling fan and I still have to cover food and transport. So I leave it where it is, sleep under its weak breeze, and put up with the waking, the shake, and the damp sheets, because even that small moving air is better than collapsing in heat.

1st and 2nd month passed.

As time passed, my urge to destroy the clock and the fan slowly faded away. It happened around the time I started reading that novel and play again after a whole 2 month without Wi-Fi. Yeah The novel was called The Peak of Endless War, or simply P.E.W. Once the Wi-Fi was finally fixed, I could finally play and read again, just like before.

"Finally! Time to read and play~" I said cheerfully, grinning as I unlocked my phone. After a whole month of surviving without Wi-Fi, seeing that little signal icon light up, it felt like winning the lottery.

Alright, keep up with me for more details.

Levi's Godswork the main character in that story was nothing special, average, or to be more precise, bland. Like in so many other stories, he was written as handsome, overpowered, and quick to learn anything. I found myself actually enjoying the moments when he was tortured in different scenarios, because who would even like a main character that dense?

The truth was, readers didn't follow that story because of him. They liked it for the other things, the depth of the story, the plot twists, the mysteries hidden behind each arc, the creativity and design of the monsters, plants and creatures are top tier with full descriptions, the rich backstories, the female characters, the storytelling itself, and of course, the villains who carried carried the story more than the so-called hero/main character.

The first villain introduced his name is *William Vixxon* he was a noble from a wealthy clan from the west. His nature was cruel and arrogant. When he entered the academy, both students and teachers avoided his gaze, lowering their heads.

His role as the first true antagonist began in the academy's tournament. Against a first-year, he displayed no mercy. He struck without hesitation, and before the entire crowd, he severed the boy's head, ending the match instantly. As he carry the head he stab it again, there the others can't do anything because he is still one of the great royal families but then fated to die on the first arc/act (tournament).

before his death, he muttered.

"Pain is nothing but an illusion. If pain alone can make a man retreat, then he was never a warrior to begin with. A true warrior does not close his eyes nor turn his back to those stronger than him, for he knows that his only purpose is to fight. To cower in fear is not the mark of a warrior, but the brand of a coward."

When the game first launched, and the servers opened with thousands watching the livestream, he appeared with a skill *Painless*.

As long as it was active, he couldn't stop. No flinching. No stunning. No knockback. For 2 full minutes he became a walking juggernaut. He could run through fireballs, charge headfirst into swords, and keep swinging like some a madman.

The moment the match began, he rushed in, laughing like a maniac. Spells rained down. Swords clashed. Someone even panicked and threw a chair at him. His HP bar dropped, but he didn't care. With zero defense and pitiful attack damage, he just kept charging forward, like a bull. And then it happened.

From the back of the players, some random beginner, probably level 2, shot a poison arrow. It didn't strike his head. It didn't strike his chest. It landed right in his backside.

Right in the *BUTT*.

He didn't even notice. Pain Tolerance was still active. He kept running, laughing, swinging, the arrow wobbling behind him with every step like some kind of a tail.

"You think that can stop m—"

The poison effect triggered. Slowly, his HP began to drain. Nobody said anything at first. Then the chat started noticing.

"Yo... is that arrow in his ass?"

"LMAOOO 💀💀💀"

"WHO AIMED FOR THE BUTT???"

Still, the villain charged forward, His timer ticked down. Exactly ten minutes later, it happened all at once, every damage he ignored slammed into him in a single instant draining his hp bar.

His laughter stopped. His face was ugly. His whole body trembled. And then.

"Ahhh~~~"

He collapsed face-first into the dirt, the arrow still sticking out of his rear. Dead.

The livestream chat exploded instantly.

- "what did i just witness?"

- "yooow!!!! Chill!!!!"

- "saging o pagpag?"

- "nah he got violated on stream"

- "this isn't a game anymore, it's onlyfans online"

- "touch some grass you butt tank"

- "lucky bastard!"

- "certified gay moment"

- "lmaoo chair did 0 dmg but booty arrow got him"

- "delete this character. he's broken in the wrong way"

- "bro lost to buttock damage"

- "he really said 'Ahhh~~' like he enjoyed it"

- "Son got pegged live"

- "NO way this is canon story, Right???"

- "Imagine explaining to hades you died… from being violated in the ass"

The developers released a short official comment on the forums: "Uhmm… that's an error."

"DEVS: that's an error'"

"Error? Bro that's a FEATURE"

With that single scene, the first meme of the game was born. Screenshots spread across threads. Clips were edited and remixed.

He was designed to be the novel and game terrifying first villain of the academy. Instead, he became a joke, a meme more than a villain.

3rd month have already passed by.

That happiness ended in an instant when the author released the remaining chapters. The main character did not choose any of the female leads, the story became dull, the author forced the main character to grow stronger than every enemy in every scene, and each appearance led to an unsatisfying ending. The side characters carried the story. Even the NPCs were more interesting than him.

In the end, the main character married a random NPC. He did it without even finishing the enemy he had been hunting. He had only killed six Parrenia enemies, with thirty more left.

The comment section under the last chapter was a battlefield. Insults piled up faster than the author could refresh the page.

- "Are you high or something, UnknownAuthor010!?"

- "Hey what the fuck is happening lately???"

- "SON of a bitch!!!."

- "After YEARS of reading, you end it like THIS?? Half-ass ending???"

- "Bro I skipped my EXAM for this and THIS is what I get??"

- "My grandma could write a better ending and she's DEAD."

- "Female lead characters got NTR'd by an NPC… I'm uninstalling my life."

- "Delete this. Retry. Patchnotes when???"

- "I swear this author speedran ruining his own story."

- "Refund my tears you fraud"

"What the hell is that ending!" I shouted, hurling my mug of hot coffee across the room. The impact rang out in the room. I didn't realize until too late, it struck my grandmother's old clock, the one she had given me, sitting on top of my drawer.

"Yesss!. No!!! My heart attack clock! I mean, Grandma's clock!"

I froze, staring at the wreckage. The mug lay in fragments, coffee spilling across the floor, dripping into the Thousands of tiny shards littered the ground, glittering. The worn wooden casing split apart, its worn surface cracked and splintered.

The glass face shattered completely, sharp fragments lodged between the gears. The metal rings clattered loose, bouncing against the floor before rolling under the drawer. The two brass arrow-shaped hands were bent and torn away, one sticking out from the pile of shards, the other lying crooked in a pool of spilled coffee. Inside, the clock's gears had fallen, small bronze teeth and springs scattered everywhere

"What have I done!"

As I bent down to clean the mess I had made, I gathered the broken fragments one by one. Shards of glass cut faintly against my fingertips, "ouch!" the jagged edges glinting. Splinters of wood from the clock's casing mixed with the porcelain pieces of the cup, sticky with spilled coffee. The smell of bitter coffee lingers in the room.

Then it hit me, today was the university winter break. December 7, 2024.

I froze, my hands still gripping the shards, before I let them fall into the trash. My pulse quickened. Without a second thought, I rushed into the bathroom. My shirt was stripped off first, then my pants, both landing in a heap on the floor.

The cold water hit me, "its cold!!!" sliding down my back and soaking my hair in seconds. I scrubbed quickly, the urgency clawing at me, then stepped out with droplets still clinging to my skin.

I pulled on my uniform. The fabric was stiff and wrinkled, because I'm too lazy to iron it, but I didn't care. From the corner of the drawer, I snatched the small brown perfume bottle, almost empty. Tilting it upward, I pressed the sprayer. Only a faint mist escaped.

I pressed the button again, before placing it on the cabinet, but in my rush, it slipped and fell to the floor. I glanced at it for a moment, then ignored it and reached for my room key. I grabbed my bag and began packing, three plain shirts in brown, gray, and green, three pairs of long shorts that could be worn both indoors and outdoors, and four pairs of identical boxers, all the same color and design. For some reason, I threw in an extra pair, something in me just knew I'd need it. I added three pairs of plain black socks and two mismatched pairs of underwear.

Lastly, I folded and stuffed a deflated salbabida inside. I could already imagine the weird looks I'd get, but still, it's better to be safe than drown, especially when I don't know how to swim like my father.

"This university really has terrible scheduling and planning," I muttered under my breath. "A trip to a river, in the middle of —December— when it's freezing!"

I reached for my old foldable fishing rod, one I had bought online but never used it because im in the city.