Dorian's reflection stared back at him.
Softer jaw. Less definition. He looked like a fading photograph of someone he used to be.
Level 3, he thought. I'm already back to Level 3.
He did the math in his head. Twenty-five percent debt. That meant one quarter of his gains gone. At this rate, in three days, he'd be Level 0. The old Dorian. The one no one looked at.
He slammed his fist on the sink.
The ring pulsed cold. No response. No quest. No instructions. Just the silent, hungry waiting.
He thought about texting the unknown texter. What's happening to me? But he didn't. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction.
He thought about finding Eli. But where? The library? Eli had found him last time. He had no way to find Eli.
And even if I found him, Dorian thought, what would I say? "Help me, I'm turning back into myself"? Pathetic.
He turned on the shower. The water was scalding. He stood under it until his skin was red, hoping the heat would burn away the panic.
It didn't.
---
He dressed in the darkest clothes he owned. Hoodie up. Head down. But that wasn't enough. His jaw was still visible beneath the hood.
He stopped at the campus convenience store. Bought a black face mask—the kind people wore during flu season. Pulled it up over his nose and mouth.
Now no one can see the regression, he thought. Now I'm just another guy hiding his face.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
---
The dining hall was crowded. He grabbed a tray, moved through the line without looking at anyone. Every whisper felt like a knife. Every glance felt like an accusation.
They're all watching, he thought. They all saw the video.
He found a corner table. Sat down. Pulled his mask down to his chin so he could eat.
Two tables over, a group of girls were huddled over a phone. One of them laughed.
"Did you see her face when she got slapped back?"
"The one in burgundy gave her two for one. It was brutal."
"I would've done worse."
Dorian's stomach turned. He stared at his tray.
My pain is entertainment, he thought. Cancel culture is just cannibalism with hashtags.
He forced himself to eat. A few bites. Enough to stop his stomach from growling. Then he pulled the mask back up.
His phone buzzed. Tyler.
Tyler: Dude, the picnic photo is almost at 1.2 million. Fuck it, I might actually shave my head.
Dorian read it. Didn't reply. Put the phone away.
Then he saw her.
Priya.
She was sitting two tables over, across from a guy Dorian didn't recognize. Dark hair. Easy smile. He was leaning in, saying something.
She smiled—but it didn't reach her eyes.
The guy reached across the table and touched her hand. She pulled away. Casually. Not angry. Just… distant.
She's trying to move on, Dorian thought. But she's not there yet.
His chest tightened. He had no right to feel anything. He was the one who lied. He was the one who used her.
He looked around the dining hall. No Sarah. No Marcus.
He left the tray on the table and walked out.
---
Maya's cart was ahead, tucked between the library and the science building. Dorian had pulled his mask down to his chin to breathe more freely in the cold air.
She saw him coming. Stepped out from behind the counter, blocking his path.
"You," she said.
"Maya—"
"Sarah hasn't left her dorm since the art show." Maya's voice was low, sharp. "She's been lying in bed, staring at her phone, crying. Won't eat. Won't talk to anyone. Jenna's been bringing her food, but she just lets it get cold."
Dorian touched his jaw through the mask. Still soft.
"What's with the mask?" Maya's eyes narrowed. "Trying to hide your face? Ashamed of what everyone saw?"
He didn't answer.
"She's not looking at your pictures, if that's what you're thinking. She's looking at your old texts. Waiting for you to explain. Waiting for you to say something that makes it all make sense."
His throat tightened.
"I warned her, you know." Maya's eyes were hard. "The day you slapped my ass and blamed it on an imaginary spider. I told her you were bad news. She didn't listen."
"I'll talk to her," Dorian said.
"No." Maya stepped closer. "You won't. Stay away from her. Don't text her. Don't call her. Don't go near her dorm. You've done enough."
She walked back behind the cart. Didn't look at him again.
Dorian stood there for a moment. The pedestrian crowd flowed around him like water around a stone. No one stopped. No one stared. He was already old news.
That's the worst part, he thought. Cancel culture moves fast. One day you're a pariah. The next, you're just… irrelevant.
He pulled his mask up and walked toward the philosophy building.
---
Professor Chen's class was in a large lecture hall.
Dorian slid into his usual seat in the back row, mask securely in place. Students around him glanced, whispered, then looked away. The guy in front of him was scrolling through his phone.
A video was playing. Muffled voices. Dorian recognized the audio—his own, Sarah's, Priya's.
The guy laughed. "Two girls fighting over one dude. Must be nice." He shook his head, grinning. "Wish I had that problem."
He didn't glance back. Didn't recognize Dorian. The mask was working.
Chen was at the podium, shuffling papers. But standing next to him was someone Dorian hadn't seen before.
A woman. Late thirties. Dark hair pulled back. Sharp cheekbones. A fitted blazer over a simple blouse. She was holding a tablet, scrolling through notes with the quiet authority of someone who had never needed to raise her voice.
"Before we begin," Chen said, "I'd like to introduce Dr. Helen Vance. She'll be guest lecturing on feminist epistemology for the next two weeks."
Dr. Vance looked up. Smiled. "Thank you, Professor."
She was attractive. Not in a flashy way – in a quiet, confident, I've already won every argument before you opened your mouth way.
Dorian tried to focus. He really did.
But his mind kept drifting. To Priya. To Sarah. To the debt climbing in his chest.
He pulled up the system interface.
DEBT: 32%
FIRST PAYMENT: ACCELERATING
NEXT PAYMENT: 2 DAYS, 21 HOURS
Thirty-two percent, he thought. Almost a third of my gains gone. At this rate, I'll be Level 2 by tomorrow.
He tugged the fabric of his mask over his jaw. No one would see the regression.
He closed the interface.
Dr. Vance began her lecture. "Feminist epistemology asks a simple question: who gets to count as a knower? Whose perspective is validated, and whose is dismissed?"
She moved to the whiteboard. Wrote: Situated Knowledge.
"The traditional view says knowledge is universal, objective, detached from the knower's identity. But feminist philosophers argue that all knowledge is situated. Where you stand shapes what you see."
She turned back to the class. "For example, think about the recent viral video on campus. The one involving a public confrontation between two women and a man."
Dorian's blood went cold.
"Depending on who you ask, the story changes. The man might say he was confused. The women might say they were betrayed. Who gets to define what really happened?"
Dr. Vance's eyes swept the room. Paused for a fraction of a second on Dorian.
Did I imagine that? he thought. Was she looking at me?
"That's the politics of knowledge," she said. "The powerful control the narrative."
She turned back to the whiteboard, began writing.
Dorian's heart was pounding.
The system interface flickered.
PENALTY QUEST TRIGGERED.
OBJECTIVE: [REDACTED]
TIME LIMIT: [REDACTED]
FAILURE: DEBT ACCELERATION x2
The text glitched. Blurred. Then cleared.
OBJECTIVE: Loudly compliment the female professor's physique in a way that derails the class.
TIME LIMIT: 10 SECONDS.
FAILURE: DEBT ACCELERATION DOUBLED.
Dorian stared at the screen.
Physique. Not blazer. Not eyes. The professor's physique.
The timer appeared in the corner of his vision. Red. Blinking.
00:09
His mouth went dry. His hands started shaking. I can't. This is insane. She'll destroy me.
00:08
Dr. Vance's back was still turned. The class was silent except for the squeak of the dry-erase marker.
00:07
If I fail, debt accelerates. If I do it, I'm a creep. Either way, I lose.
00:06
His heart slammed against his ribs. Sweat beaded on his forehead beneath the mask.
00:05
Say something. Anything. Don't let the timer run out.
00:04
He gripped the edge of his desk. His knuckles went white.
00:03
Dorian's mouth opened.
---
[END OF CHAPTER 32]
---