The midterm sat in front of Judas like it had personally wronged him in a past life.
Numbers. Symbols. Questions that were definitely written by a man who enjoyed watching students suffer.
His brain wasn't working. At all.
He hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. His eyes still felt strained from the flashes of system text, and his mind couldn't help but circle back to—
Five days. That's it? How is this an introductory quest? Isn't this difficulty way too high?
He lifted his pencil with a shaking hand.
Sera leaned over, whispering, "You look pretty bad, Jude."
"Don't ever call me that again." He hissed without looking up.
She just smirked and pointed to a question on his paper—completely at random, not even the one he was struggling with. "The answer's probably this one."
"Can it. You're making my life worse by the second."
She grinned like that was a compliment. "Didn't realize it could get worse than it already was."
He stared back at the paper. He answered one question. Wrong. He could feel it. He answered another. Felt worse. Every new problem read like a puzzle designed by a man who would absolutely smile while assigning extra homework on Thanksgiving.
Around him, everyone scribbled confidently, heads down, focused. Meanwhile, he was sweating through his hoodie like this test was a tactical interrogation.
He flipped the page.
Mistake. Massive mistake.
Page two looked like a crime scene.
"Oh my god," he whispered. "I don't recognize a single symbol here. Is this even math? Is this English? Am I concussed?"
Sera leaned over again, chin in her hand like she was watching a nature documentary about a doomed animal. "You look terrible."
"I am terrible," Judas hissed. "I'm failing. I can actually feel the F forming."
"Mm. Your aura does look faint," she said thoughtfully.
Judas didn't bother asking for an elaboration, glaring at her instead.
He tried. He really did. He poured every remaining neuron into each question until his head pounded.
And then—
"Five minutes," the professor called out.
Judas snapped upright.
"FIVE? Did he say FIVE? Sera, did he say FIVE? Tell me he didn't say five—"
"He said five."
Judas stared at his midterm the way a man stares at an incoming train.
He bubbled in three answers at random, flipped the exam closed, and whispered, "My college life... is over."
When time was called, he turned the paper in. Not proudly or even neutrally. He walked it up like a man handing over his last will and testament.
"Alright, that's time," the professor said, gathering papers with the enthusiasm of someone who'd already mentally checked out. He glanced at his watch, then at the remaining students. "Class dismissed. I need coffee and about three years of silence. Get out."
Students shuffled out in clusters, chattering, comparing answers, groaning about question twelve.
Within two minutes, the lecture hall had emptied.
Except for Judas, Sera, and a few stragglers.
He slumped back into his chair.
Sera watched him with genuine fascination.
"You look," she said gently, "about one inch from death."
"That test killed me," Judas whispered. "I'm legally a ghost. I'm haunting this chair."
"You'll recover."
"No... I won't."
Sera patted his back, unhelpfully. "Bright side--academic suffering builds character."
"No, it doesn't. It builds unemployment."
He rubbed his face still trying to piece his spirit back together when—
The classroom door slammed open.
Judas flinched so hard his chair scraped the ground.
A tall figure strode inside. Red varsity jacket. Dark skin. Jaw clenched. Eyes locked forward with the intensity of a man ready to ruin someone's morning.
Tyson.
Amelia was still packing her bag near the front row. She didn't even glance at him.
"Amelia," Tyson said. Not asked.
The man's presence sucked the air out of the room. He wasn't yelling—he didn't have to. His voice alone carried the weight of someone who got his way because no one was stupid enough to challenge him.
She didn't look up. "No, Tyson."
His jaw ticked. "You can't just ignore me."
Sera leaned towards Judas without taking her eyes off the scene. "Oh look. A branch moment."
"Shut up," Judas whispered.
Tyson stepped closer to Amelia's desk.
Amelia stiffened barely, but enough to make Judas' stomach twist.
Sera whispered, "This is where you intervene."
"Intervene with what? He's twice as wide as me," he seethed.
"You're the player. Do something."
He shouldn't.
He really shouldn't.
He was exhausted, humiliated, one exam away from academic collapse—and Tyson Lesly was built like the kind of guy who protein bars without taking off the wrappers.
But something in Judas' chest tugged anyway.
Maybe conscience. Maybe stupidity. Maybe death wish.
Oh god. I'm actually about to do this. I'm about to die. This is it. This is how I go. But... how the hell else am I supposed to get Amelia's attention?
His teeth chattered.
His hands shook.
He stood.
No system force or glowing prompt this time, just raw, unwise courage leaking out of the world's most overwhelmed university student.
Sera blinked, genuinely surprised. "Oh. You're actually doing it."
Judas swallowed, trying to moisten a throat made of sandpaper. His knees knocked together as he stepped into the aisle, moving stiffly.
Tyson finally noticed him.
"…what?"
Judas pointed at him.
His hand hovered awkwardly in the air at an angle that didn't look intentional or anatomically correct.
"H-hey," he croaked. "Back up. You're making her uncomfortable."
Tyson's expression didn't shift to confusion.
It shifted to rage.
Pure, unadulterated rage.
"You talking to me?" His voice dropped an octave. Not louder. More intense.
Judas' voice cracked like a plate shattering. "Y-yeah."
Amelia's head jerked towards him, emerald eyes wide.
Tyson stepped forward. Once. Twice. "You got balls, Crown. But that doesn't make you any less stupid."
Judas opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Tyson leaned in. "You just humiliated me. In front of her."
"I—I didn't—"
"Outside. Now."
"I don't think—"
"Now."
This is how I die. Death by varsity jacket.
The corridor outside the lecture hall was empty. Cold fluorescent lights. Scuffed tiles. The kind of place where bad decisions came to roost.
Judas stood with his back to the wall, hands up like a man trying to reason with a bear.
Tyson cracked his knuckles.
Footsteps echoed behind them. A small crowd had followed them out of maybe fifteen students, phones out, forming a loose semicircle. Someone must've texted their friends.
"Yo, someone call campus security," a guy muttered.
"Nah, let it play out."
"This is gonna be brutal."
"I'm gonna make this quick," Tyson said. "You embarrassed me. I embarrass you. Then we're done."
"Look, man, I didn't mean—"
Tyson swung.
Judas ducked.
Poorly.
Oh shit oh shit oh shit—
The fist sailed over his head by sheer accident, and Judas stumbled sideways, tripping over his own feet and somehow ending up three feet to the left.
What just happened?
The crowd gasped.
"Did he just—"
"He dodged that?"
Tyson blinked. "Did you just—"
Judas held up his hands. "I don't know what I did!"
What the hell? I'm fast. I'm too fast. Why am I too fast? I can't control this!
Tyson swung again.
His body lurched in a direction he didn't choose. Like something else was pulling the strings for half a second. His foot caught on nothing, and he fell flat on his ass.
The punch hit air.
"OHHHHH!" someone yelled from the crowd.
"He's got the worst luck but he' hasn't been hit yet! Dude this might go viral."
Tyson stared at him. "Are you trying to dodge or are you just that uncoordinated?"
"Yes!" Judas wheezed from the floor.
Tyson grabbed him by the hoodie and yanked him upright. Judas flailed, arms windmilling wildly—and his elbow swung back.
Hard.
It caught Tyson square in the ribs.
The impact was solid. Way too solid for someone who'd spent the last four years drinking cheap beer and losing at poker.
Tyson's eyes went wide. He let go, stumbling back, clutching his side. "What the—"
The crowd erupted, their shouts echoing through the building drawing even more eyes.
Judas stared at his own elbow like it had betrayed him. "I—I didn't mean—"
Oh my god. Oh my god, I just hurt Tyson Lesly. I'm dead. I'm so dead.
Tyson's face twisted. Not pain. Fury.
He lunged.
Judas panicked, sidestepped with way too much momentum, and crashed into the water fountain. His hand shot out to catch himself—right onto the button. A jet of water blasted straight into Tyson's face.
Tyson spat, wiping his eyes.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry—" Judas started.
Tyson charged.
Judas stumbled backwards into a rubbish bin, which tipped over with a crash, spilling papers and half-eaten sandwiches across the floor.
Tyson's foot caught on a rolled-up poster, and he went down hard, landing on his side with a grunt that echoed down the hallway.
The hallway exploded.
"No way..."
"I GOT IT! I GOT IT ALL!"
Judas stood there, panting, soaking wet from the fountain spray, surrounded by rubbish, staring at the guy who was supposed to be beating him into next week.
I should not be alive right now.
Neither of them moved.
Tyson pushed himself up slowly, breathing hard. His red jacket was damp. His hair was a mess. His pride was obliterated.
He looked at Judas.
Judas looked back.
"…are we done?" Judas whispered.
Tyson's eye twitched. "Yeah. We're done."
He stood, brushed himself off, and walked away without another word.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea, excited murmurs surrounding Judas. All eyes were on him, but he wanted nothing more than to disappear.
Judas slumped against the wall, legs giving out beneath him.
"What the hell just happened?" He muttered feeling the world mock him. "I would've never done something like that before..."
"You won," Sera said, appearing from around the corner like she'd been there the whole time.
Judas stared at her. "I didn't win. I survived. Barely."
"Looked like winning to me."
"I fell into a bin, Sera. A bin."
She shrugged. "Still standing, aren't you?"
He wanted to argue. He really did. But his brain was too fried, his body too sore, and his dignity too shattered.
"Come on," Sera said, offering him a hand. "Amelia's waiting."
"What?"
"She watched the whole thing from the doorway."
Judas' face went pale. "She what?"
Amelia Hart stood in the lecture hall doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Judas approached like a man walking to the gallows.
"Uh. Hi."
She looked at him. Really looked at him. Her icy composure cracked just a fraction. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"That," she said slowly, "was the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen."
"Yeah. Sorry. I don't know what—"
"And brave."
Judas blinked. "What?"
Amelia stepped closer. Close enough that he could smell her perfume—something floral and expensive. Her voice dropped, just slightly, losing that sharp edge she always wore like armor. "You stood up for me. Even though you were terrified."
"I—uh—"
She tilted her head, studying him like he was a puzzle she hadn't solved yet. Her fingers brushed his arm light, deliberate, lingering just long enough to make his heart almost burst. "I didn't think you had that in you."
Oh god. Oh god, she's touching me. Why is she touching me? Is this real? Did I hit my head?
Judas' brain short-circuited.
"I—uh—I mean—you're—"
Her smile shifted. Not her usual polite smile. Something warmer. Something that made his chest tighten and his thoughts scatter like startled birds. She leaned in, just slightly, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. Her hand slid down his arm, fingertips grazing his wrist before pulling away. "Maybe I misjudged you, Judas Crown."
Then she walked away, hips swaying, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
A soft chime flashed in his vision:
[QUEST UPDATE: INTERVENTION SUCCESSFUL]
[AMELIA HART – AFFECTION: 23%]
Sera appeared beside him, grinning. "Well. That escalated."
Judas stared at the empty hallway.
"I want a refund on this day," he whispered.
Sera patted his shoulder. "No refunds. Only quests."
He wanted to scream.
But he'd already embarrassed himself enough for one morning.