Ethan Moore: Professor Vaughn
Clara Vaughn: Speak.
Ethan Moore: About that video—
Clara Vaughn: Not deleting it.
Ethan Moore: It's been two days. Professor, please. You have no idea what these past two nights have been like for me. I haven't slept at all. Completely sleepless.
Two days.
For two straight days, Ethan had made it a ritual.
Every morning, every night, without fail, he would greet Professor Vaughn politely… and then immediately ask her to delete the video.
Her response never changed.
Not deleting it.
Just two words. Calm. Clean. Absolutely ruthless.
To be fair, Ethan really hadn't slept much these past two days.
Not because of the video though.
He'd been gaming until sunrise.
College life without staying up late felt like a waste.
Clara Vaughn: Who are you calling "big sister"? Watch your tone.
Clara Vaughn: And I'll say this one last time. If your final score hits ninety, I'll delete it.
Ethan nearly dropped his phone.
Ninety!?
Ethan Moore: Wait—wasn't it eighty before?!
She raised it. Just like that.
Did she seriously expect him to score ninety?
Clara Vaughn: You've been pretty free these past few days. Haven't practiced either.
Ethan Moore: Professor! That's not true! I've been living in the practice rooms lately!
Clara Vaughn: Are you sure?
Ethan paused.
Then, stubborn as ever, typed back:
Ethan Moore: Sure.
A photo appeared instantly.
Practice room access logs.
Zero entries.
Not once since the semester started.
Ethan Moore: …Professor, hear me out. I've been practicing off campus.
Clara Vaughn: Are you sure?
That again.
Through the screen, Ethan could practically see her expression. Cool. Sharp. Completely unimpressed.
He shrank back instinctively.
Ethan Moore: …Actually, not really.
Clara Vaughn: How's the handwritten sheet music coming along?
Clara Vaughn: Think carefully before answering.
Ethan Moore: …I was planning to do it over the weekend.
Clara Vaughn: Fine. Don't forget.
Ethan finally exhaled and leaned back, staring out the window.
September was still unbearably hot.
The pillowcase and sofa cover he'd washed a couple of days ago were just about dry.
Ethan Moore: Professor, are you free? I can return your pillow and cushion.
Clara Vaughn: No time.
Ethan Moore: What are you doing?
No reply.
She'd vanished again.
At this point, Ethan was used to it.
People like her lived in a different world.
He glanced at his balance.
$110.
That was all he had left.
And the semester had barely started.
At this rate, early month meant steak and takeout.
End of the month meant instant noodles and regret.
He honestly couldn't figure out where his money went.
He'd started with about $210.
A bouquet of lilies for Professor Vaughn.
Meals. Snacks. Fruit.
A couple of game passes.
Nothing crazy.
He even used coupons whenever he could.
Yet somehow… the money disappeared.
"…I need to start making cash."
Ethan sat up.
He had memories from another life.
He was a piano major.
And this world was close enough to Earth to matter.
Which meant one thing.
The hit songs from his old world?
Didn't exist here.
He smiled.
"Guess I'll start copying songs."
Just then—
"Ethan! Holy crap!"
Mike Turner's voice boomed through the room.
Sam Reed groaned. "Mike, can you ever talk quietly?"
"You're one to talk," Mike shot back. "Your gaming voice is worse than mine."
Mike shoved his phone in Ethan's face. "Look. Confession wall. Someone posted that Professor Vaughn is performing at tonight's freshman welcome gala."
"Oh," Ethan replied flatly.
Mike stared. "That's it? That's your reaction? That's Professor Vaughn. Piano goddess. Your teacher!"
He practically vibrated with excitement. "I can already see it. Evening gown. Stage lights. Her at the piano—"
Ethan unlocked his phone and opened an old photo from her feed.
White gown. Grand piano. Calm elegance.
"…Yeah," he admitted. "She looks good."
—
That afternoon, they took a detour past the field.
The stage was already up.
Towering speakers. Tangled lights.
A white grand piano waited at the side.
Ethan could already picture her there.
Night fell quickly.
Everyone showed up looking their best.
Unfortunately, freshmen fresh out of training camp couldn't compete with upperclassmen.
Tans aside, second- and third-years simply knew how to dress.
Back in the dorm—
A crisis.
They were out of toilet paper.
In a men's dorm, paper was sacred.
You could leave cash lying around and no one would touch it.
But leave a roll of toilet paper?
Gone in seconds.
"WHO TOOK MY PAPER?!" Sam yelled, clutching his stomach.
Mike, Ethan, and Chris Nolan exchanged looks.
Then, in perfect sync—
"No idea."
Sam glared.
Next time, he was locking his paper in a suitcase.
Emergency solution: ripped notebook pages.
He sprinted to the bathroom.
After the chaos settled, the guys started getting ready again.
Mike stared at his own sun-darkened skin, then at Ethan's pale one.
"…What skincare do you use?"
"SK-II," Ethan said casually.
That bottle cost over $150.
Of course, he'd never bought it himself.
His sister had shoved it at him.
Mike searched it up.
"…You're rich?!"
"No, no," Ethan waved him off modestly. "Just lucky."
"Let me try it."
Chris snorted. "With that acne? Don't bother. Just use basic lotion and call it a day."
Ethan smiled to himself.
Tonight was going to be interesting.
And if all went well—
He might just make his first real money soon.
—
Night fell over Starfall Conservatory, and the field transformed.
Massive speakers blasted energetic music across the open air. Multicolored spotlights crisscrossed above the stage, weaving light into motion. A giant LED screen pulsed with vivid visuals, flooding the crowd with sound and color.
Program after program rolled on.
A dance performance by a group of confident upperclassmen.
A heartfelt love song that earned scattered cheers.
A piano solo.
A comedy skit.
Even a magic trick or two.
Excitement buzzed everywhere. Faces glowed with anticipation.
Ethan Moore watched every performance seriously, not missing a single one.
The same could not be said for the person beside him.
Mike Turner only lifted his head when a pretty girl appeared on stage. The moment she left, his eyes dropped back to his phone, thumbs flying with suspicious accuracy.
Absolute menace, Ethan thought.
Time slipped by quietly.
"Wait," Mike muttered, finally looking up in confusion. "Where's Professor Vaughn? Didn't the confession wall say she was performing tonight? This thing's almost over."
"She's probably the finale," Ethan said calmly.
With Clara Vaughn's presence and skill, anything less would have been strange.
"True." Mike nodded in agreement.
Almost everyone believed the rumor. The crowd waited, expectant.
Meanwhile, Clara Vaughn sat in the faculty section, head lowered, scrolling through her phone.
The welcome gala never changed much. Singing, dancing, comedy. She'd watched versions of this event for three straight years when she was still a student here.
At this point, she was completely immune.
"Hey, Clara," Lynn Harper leaned over curiously. "Didn't the confession wall say you were performing tonight? It's almost over. When are you going up?"
"Who said that?" Clara asked without looking up.
"People around campus."
"It's fake."
The words had barely left her mouth when the host's voice rang out from the stage.
"Next is our final program of the night. Different from tradition, we'll be randomly selecting an audience member to perform!"
The spotlights burst into motion, sweeping across the field in wide arcs.
Then they stopped.
All lights converged on the second row of the faculty section.
On Clara Vaughn.
She wore her usual style. Clean. Minimal.
A black blouse, paired with a dark blue skirt.
"…Wow," Lynn murmured. "So that's what they meant."
Clara frowned. This was clearly intentional.
She hated being set up like this.
"Let's see who our lucky guest is," the host announced brightly. "It's Professor Clara Vaughn! Let's welcome her with a round of applause!"
The field exploded.
Cheers. Clapping. Whistles.
"Oh damn, finally!" Mike shot up.
Unfortunately, all he saw was darkness.
Sam Reed was standing directly in front of him.
"Sam, sit down!" Mike barked.
"You're too slow," Ethan said lazily. "The moment the host finished talking, everyone in our section stood up."
For some reason, the entire freshman class had been shoved to the back. If you wanted to see anything, standing was mandatory.
Ethan watched Clara walk calmly onto the stage.
Then, to everyone's shock, she spoke only a few words.
"I'm not feeling well today."
And walked right back off.
Her steps were quick. Her complexion flawless. She looked perfectly fine.
The entire venue froze.
For a split second, no one reacted.
The host recovered first, professionalism kicking in immediately. "Alright! Since Professor Vaughn isn't feeling well, we'll move on to our next lucky participant!"
The spotlights started moving again.
Sweeping.
Circling.
Half a minute passed.
Then Ethan felt it.
The crowd in front of him suddenly sat down.
His view cleared instantly.
The spotlight was on him.
Ethan reacted fast and tried to sit.
Unfortunately, someone reacted faster.
Mike Turner yanked him upright and dropped into his seat in one smooth motion.
Ethan nearly laughed despite himself.
No wonder Mike spent his nights playing Eternal. Those reflexes were disgusting.
"Mike Turner, you—"
Ethan stopped mid-curse.
His face appeared on the giant screen.
"…You're dead," he whispered.
"Please welcome our lucky student to the stage!" the host announced.
Without hesitation, Ethan stepped forward.
Hands in his pockets. Shoulders relaxed.
Under thousands of eyes, he walked from the back of the field straight toward the stage, utterly unbothered.
"Could you introduce yourself?" the host asked.
"Freshman. Piano department. Ethan Moore."
"Wow, handsome junior," the host laughed.
"Thanks."
"And how do you feel about joining Starfall Conservatory?"
"It's good."
"What will you be performing tonight?"
"Singing."
"You're a piano major. Why singing?"
"No reason."
"Very cool."
"Sure."
His expression never changed.
The crowd burst into laughter.
The contrast was oddly entertaining. His gorgeous sharp features and calm demeanor made more than a few upperclassmen suddenly sit up straighter.
"Ethan! Lena, look! Your brother's on stage!"
"I see him," Lena Moore said, chin in her hands, smiling proudly.
"Wow… he really is good-looking."
"Lena, about that favor I asked you—"
"Oh, my brother just started college. He's not interested in dating. He wants to focus on studying."
A disappointed sigh followed.
Back in the crowd—
"Since when did Ethan get this cool?" Mike whispered.
"Yeah, but can he actually sing?" Sam frowned.
"Piano majors singing is usually a disaster," Chris Nolan added calmly.
"You two should start recording," Chris continued. "I have a feeling he's about to embarrass himself on a historic level."
"Good call."
"Agreed."
Nearby, Lynn Harper laughed softly. "Clara, don't you think the way he talks sounds a lot like you?"
"…Does it?"
"Totally. Same vibe."
"Oh."
Clara watched the stage.
She had the strangest feeling that he was copying her.
The host smiled patiently. "What song will you be singing? Do you need a backing track? Or would you like to accompany yourself?"
Ethan turned smoothly toward the white grand piano.
He gave the host a casual wave.
"Piano and vocals."