Han left his dreadfully long lecture paranoid, eager to pick up his sister from Aunty Henriette and catch her hospital appointment.
He stuffed his notebook in his bag while barging his way through the students congesting the arched hallway.
Damn lecturer keeping us in overtime. No life. No life at all if he's not wanting to go home like the rest of us. Tsk tsk tsk. Miserable old dolt-
And then he bumped into a body that refused to give way like the rest of the students, so Han jerked his head up to give them a piece of his mind.
But colour had never left his face so fast.
'...oh... shit.'
'Han? Is that you? By Heaven, it is a pleasure to see you on such a beautiful day!' Big Simon Son Harricks, the seven-foot, bulky half-giant dullard who always had a lot to say, towered above Han like one of the pillars supporting the grand arches of the colonnade.
Too bloody close.
And he was standing too close; close enough that Han sadly felt his body heat on his face.
Most troubling of all was that big fat Simon Son Harricks had a derisive grin on his face and eyes that beamed with sardonic joy.
Fantastic. This racist fat tail again and...
Han's eyes darted left and right, but there was no escaping it; he was surrounded by the other Son Velier shiteaters.
No way to squirm out of this one.
'Ah, Simon!' Han chuckled nervously. 'Heh... you are right! It is a beautiful day, quite rare these last few months. Sun is out and shining and uh...' There wasn't much to say, so he just cleared his throat and pretended to ponder the murals on the ceiling, then the sky.
'Yes, the sun is out. Sun is out and gentle. And how do you plan to spend this splendid afternoon, good friend?'
A small crowd of students was gathering. A crowd vaguely familiar with what was going on. Students watched attentively, whispering to eachother and giggling with anticipation. Those who knew the context of the confrontation were explaining it to those who didn't.
Han swallowed and craned his head past Simon, praying not to see the leader of their little nasty group, Yves Son Velier, present.
Shit on my luck.
Unfortunately, he was. And Han blanched a little more at the sight of him. He was leaning lethargically against one of the pillars, looking as wearily handsome as always with short, messy bed hair and eyes struggling to stay open.
He caught his eye and raised an eyebrow.
'You're bored with me already?' Simon asserted, blocking his line of sight with one meaty hand. 'And after I asked you such a polite question? How typical of you, Symerians.'
'Oh I could never tire of you, Simon. I could look at you a whole lot and there'll always be more to see.'
A faint laugh rippled amongst the onlookers, but Han instantly grimaced in regret. It was perhaps a good thing to get a crowd laughing at your joke, except when the butt of the joke was a hulking beast who wasn't in the best of moods.
And he wasn't despite his superficial pleasantries.
Simon's smile wilted under the laughter, then quickly came back up when it all died out, except this time it was a little heavier for him to keep.
'And now your body shaming? That's a little low, don't you think?'
Han feigned guilt with a hand raised to his chest.
'Oh? I couldn't possibly... Please accept my apologies, but I seem to be running a little late, so I'll cut this short and pray you have a good day.'
Han smiled but was trembling like a wet cat inside. He gestured a mini farewell and stepped to the side hoping to get passed and through, but...
His premonition came true.
One of their tall, lanky lads stepped out in front of him and barred his path.
'Easy there, bud,' he tutted.
Han winced. He'd have budged his way through and made for a dash, but then, most of everyone around in this University were stuck-up, noble-blooded loudmouths who were Graced above everything else.
And Han wasn't.
So, barging past a Graced noble-blooded loudmouth was as good as barging into a wall. And that'd be one embarrassing spectacle in front of this talk-a-lot audience.
Han turned on his heel to face Simon, who was smiling even wider, then briefly looked at Son Velier and felt grateful that he was sleepier than before.
Where the hell are the faculty? Tsk. So now they have something going on, huh? Shit on my luck, damn it.
'So rude. So bloody rude,' Simon almost spat. He sauntered over to where Han stood, pressuring him against the wall. 'But, you're a Symerian, and unfortunately, that is to be expected of your kind. If you weren't, then I might've resorted to an entirely different approach, but to do so with every one of your genetically compelled outbursts would end up a tedious chore.'
He inched closer and closer, close enough this time that Han could make out his little family sigil's ornamenting his gown.
'Yves has matters to attend to, so let's hurry.' Simon was finally speaking in his honest, deep, flat tone. 'Tonight's the election, and he prays you remember your duty?'
Han didn't respond. Instead, he glowered ahead at Simon's tie, refusing to make eye contact.
'Come now, don't tell me you're suddenly short on words? Well, let me remind you, if the Son Velier Party wins tonight, you will discontinue your studies and join the Son Velier Church, understand?'
Even the onlookers were a little silent now. Perhaps even they understood this ultimatum to be too harsh.
But Han himself wasn't surprised.
The Empire's noble families thrived only because of their exceptional Grace, but even they needed to maintain a quota of Charmed Weapons to support the mundane troops in the war effort down South.
The Charmed Weapons had to be Charmed some way, somehow, and it was unfortunately through those who have little latent Aether in them that isn't enough to warrant Heaven's Grace but is nevertheless regenerative. And it is harvested by draining them at the Churches through forced, endless worship and self-flagellation.
In simple terms, they were conduits that supplied the Empire with Aether through gratifying Heaven while ending up drained of their existence and essence. Human batteries that spent their nights in barracks like cattle and days in despondent murmuring and pain in the Churches.
Han would know.
Hearing no response, Simon grinned.
'If we win, a car will be sent to your building at precisely 8 PM to collect you and your sister. Yves will be there himself, so I suggest you do not keep him waiting long. Now, if you do not comply, then I'm afraid we'll have to resort to a more aggressive approach.'
'I never agreed to this-'
'Oh.' Simon faked being offended by Han's remark and reeled back with a heavy, bushy frown on his face. 'And you're saying this now? After everything? Han, you must understand how you're sounding right now. We hardly tolerate your brutish behaviour as it is, but ungratefulness is a sin far too vile.'
He said the last part out loud. Louder than the rest of his words.
Because the students who knew of this charade would know of Son Velier's deeds toward him and his sister. They'd always been heavy on coercing him to 'join their family for the good of the Empire' since he wasn't ethnically Sirtian.
Han, after all, was a Third Class Citizen, and thus an especially easy yet fruitful target for their Church.
And they also knew of his sister's condition that he concealed from the public. So they went the extra mile to gain leverage over him.
For one, they tampered with his building, causing a contained fire on his floor. Han had to then pour money he barely had into what the landlord refused to pay, leaving him unable to pay his sister's medical bills.
Then, like some benevolent saints, they approached him after one of his lectures and offered very publicly to pay for his sister's medical bills with nothing in return.
Han had been desperate back then with no friends whatsoever. So very desperate, in fact, that despite his past experience, he accepted their superficial generosity in defeat.
And then it snowballed to this.
A heavy murmuring wreathed them. Eyes peered over hands that covered mouths. Fingers indiscreetly pointed and gestured. Students joined from the back and tiptoed for a good sight, while some barged their way to the front.
Han could make out what was being said, or at least the gist of it. A small portion were sympathetic to his case, but the rest submitted to their bigotry and whispered this and that about the stereotypical traits of the Symerian people, whom Han pretended to be a part of.
Of course, if they'd known the truth of his blasphemous origins, things would be a whole world worse for him, so he didn't feel offended much.
There was heavy judgment in the air, dispelling the subtle fragrance of roses that had suffused it mere moments ago.
Han gulped. Scratched his forearm. Nudged his glasses right. They were never bloody right.
There was no wordplay to be cooed. No tricks to be played. Only the assertiveness of wealth and power over the lack of it.
That's what it'd always come down to anyway.
'But I didn't agree-'
'You still insist on that?' Interrupted Simon. 'Might I remind you that you never disagreed either?' He bent down so that his lips almost touched Han's ear. 'Since you are evidently foreign to our customs, let me remind you of a significant one: Silence is consent.'
Cold sweat dewed on Han's brow, and his heart banged aggressively at his chest and throat. Gulping was growing difficult now.
Simon was close.
Too close.
His aggravating face was right there for the punch, but that would be a spectacular failure, plus his hand would probably shatter.
His breath disgustingly warmed Han's face, and his bulbous nose almost touched his glasses.
'Come now,' prodded Simon, growing impatient. 'Give your word-
'By Heaven, could this be what I think it is?!' A voice penetrated the thick stillness of the confrontation and broke the tension like a twig.
All breaths resumed, and all the faces turned, including Simon's and Han's.
'I cannot fathom the heartache!' Continued the voice sarcastically as the students parted to its speaker.
But Han had already figured out who it was, and his body almost flopped with relief.
Reiss.
'A gathering without me being invited! Have I wronged you, people?! Have I?!'
He was a tall man with swaying locks of auburn hair, green, acute eyes and a face chiselled, sharp and harmonious, forming a straight nose, a hard chin, and a captivating, cynical smile.
His narcissistic voice, velvety and crisp in its delivery, melted away the iciness of the scene and the students' hearts.
'I'll see to it you all know my pettiness!' He pointed to a blonde girl standing next to a mildly awake Yves. 'No more of my compliments, Isabel! Your hair will lose its lustre, but that is unfortunate!'
The so-called Isabel, a girl who clearly took a little too much pride in her not-so-special looks, turned away to the courtyard in slight abashment.
Reiss, and while maintaining his air of levity and carelessness, stepped into the little space created by Yves's gang, and eyed the scene as if it were a silly prank.
Then, he pretended to spot Han belatedly.
'Han? Is that you?'
Han looked up at Simon, still standing assertively over him with a new grim look on his face, then back to Reiss and shrugged.
'Eh... last I checked.'
Reiss tilted his head at him. 'You said you had an appointment to get you, no? Or were you ditching me again? What's gotten you looking so spooked anyway?'
The truth was, despite his sarcasm and light-heartedness, Han could tell that Reiss was livid. Perhaps the only other person here who knew this was Yves himself, and his shifting to stand up straight and keep himself awake was a testament to that.
Han looked up at Simon again, then to Yves, then back to Reiss. 'Looks like I'm plenty popular nowadays,' he muttered nervously. 'Everybody wants a piece of the Symerian. We're a rare breed, you see, so you can't just hoard me for yourself, Reiss.'
Reiss smiled, then looked up at Simon expectantly.
Simon let out a nervous chuckle and placed a friendly hand on Han's shoulder.
'Like he said, Wrightworth. Just trying to get along with this little fella.'
Reiss held his amiable smile for a second too long, then nodded in agreement.
'Well, I can't blame you. There's plenty to this little sack of sand other than misery. Hah, believe it or not, if you spend long enough around him, you might even start to hear him complain without cursing.'
Simon let out another awkward titter and nodded while trying to discreetly edge away from Han and back to Yves's side. 'I'll look forward to it.'
Han smiled and nervously nodded along. 'Well, we can get on with that another day,' he said in relief and turned to dart away from this horrible confrontation.
But just then, Yves himself languidly stepped in and barred his path. He did so without even looking at him; he was glaring instead at Reiss with half-dead eyes.
'Don't interfere, Wrightworth.'