Sorry, but we're moving back in the timeline: March 29th.
"Mr. Lerring," Mr. Chang as his nametag suggested, called me formally with a disgustingly feigned smile, "I'm well aware... and! And! Very impressed, with your academic brilliance."
"Get to the point." My father's assistant, Petra shortened Mr. Chang's sweet but empty words. All the while, I kept my own facade of a smile up, but unlike his, you wouldn't be able to tell it's fake, can you?
"I wholeheartedly..." Mr. Chang continued after an awkward chuckle, "... endorse The Y Academy to you, Mr. Lerring."
He showed me a brochure. On it, two students with books in their chest were smiling like clowns in a horror movie, while behind them stood the most boring infrastructure engineers are capable of engineering.
"In this institute, elites from all around the world meet and exchange knowledge. There wouldn't be a single second wasted from your scholarly pursuit and all for the cheap price of—" He flipped open the brochure to reveal the price, which was none of my concerns; Father could buy a country.
"Actually." I cut him off politely with a half-opened palm, "I don't wish to take my... scholarly pursuit as you call it... that seriously."
It was as if he saw a ghost, he flinched back with widened eyes and baffled indications, "Why, what do you—"
"This is my first time ever, going out into the real world and, I want to experience more of the outside than the inside."
"I... I'm afraid I'm unclear on your perspective..."
"I don't want to go to university purely to learn. I'm here to connect myself with society; I want to make friends, join club... enjoy a humble life in this humble world... That one." I pointed at the poster of University X in his office, "That's a public university, right?"
"Ugh... That's right... But—"
"I like that one: even the students posing for the poster had an authentic smile."
"Mr. Lerring, please hear my word of advice." He had dropped the mask, he now showed apparent panic through fidgeting fingers and that clammy forehead. "An elite like yourself can be considered... considered a genius! Geniuses have potential to change the world... and all it takes is the right nurturing. I'm afraid University X does not provide that necessary nurturing, instead it poses distractions."
"That's fine." I said, "I think life in a straight line without any distractions can be considered mundane... pointless."
"But—"
"He's made his choice." Petra saved me breaths again. Mr. Chang couldn't dare retort against the tall, calm, cold, near statue-like Petra White.
He eventually accepted his defeat, as he watched us leave his office with clenched fist and an exaggerated smile.
...
Being a celebrity wasn't easy, I had to dress thick everywhere I go to prevent being recognised, like right now as I try to simply cross the road for my car: I had to wear a cap, a mask, a pair of sunglasses and a trench coat.
I wouldn't have complained back in the United Kingdom, but now that I've moved to Malaysia, the weather here made the disguise unbearable.
Petra and I climbed into a black SUV, its doors already opened by my chauffeur.
As the car moved, Petra started, "The syllabus will be too easy for you; you've already tackled far complex topics than what University X can offer."
"I didn't protest for so many years to get out into the world and continue studying. I came out here to feel normal."
"Unfortunately, you're not normal. I think you should acknowledged that you are in fact, a genius."
"No." I shook my head, my gaze was outside the window on the moving view, unwilling to meet Petra's stare, "I was never meant to be who I am today. Father forged me into this against my will."
"There's bright sides to being who you are, Ivan. You don't seem to grasp how many people exactly admires you, even aspires to be like you. Smart, attractive, wealthy, famous, multi-talented..."
I dropped my head against the windshield, to find a gigantic poster with my own face on a billboard outside. Below it, a little boy seemed to be pointing at me while jerking his mother's arm.
"Well, they don't know what it's like to be me."
It's true, they don't, you don't. Yes, I'm talking to you. Yes, you. Please don't think that I'm talking to anyone else. If it's okay, I'll be calling you Amelda from now on.
...
Before long, I'd return to my new home which I still couldn't yet adapt to. We lived in a bungalow back in London, but now we live in a penthouse, forty floors elevated and lifeless.
Petra and I stepped into the elevator along with a bodyguard, even though we truly didn't need him. Before the elevator doors shut, I heard someone outside.
"Hold the door!" A hoarse voice with a strong Malaysian accent.
I instinctively stuck my hand between the elevator doors, letting the sensors reopen them.
"Oh... T-t-thank you." The old man rushed in, the old Chinese man with wrinkles folding deep into his brownish skin, and short white hair crowning his head.
"No problem."
Petra must've grimaced, she would've preferred that I stay an unmoving cargo.
The doors shut, the elevator began ascending.
The old man started squinting at me.
Feeling uncomfortable, I shrunk back while my fingers awkwardly work to adjust my sunglasses.
"Are you the..."
"I'm gonna ask for you to stay back." Petra got in between us, but he still peeked over her shoulder.
"Yes, I know you! You are from the uh... t-t-the uh..." Based on his hand gestures, it wasn't that he couldn't remember where I was from, it was that he couldn't remember what it's called in English.
The door dinged open to his floor.
"Please leave, sir." Petra urged, and even lightly shoved before the old man got off the elevator.
"Oh my god. It's actually you. 我的天— (my god—)" he exclaimed right before the door shut between us.
That was weird.
...
There was only three colours to this supposed contemporary design of the penthouse that I now lived in: Wooden brown, marbly white and blackishly black.
Most furnitures were still drowned in foam and boxed in cardboard, with Father commanding a group of black-clad workers to assemble and arrange them.
Father, Hansen Lerring, the preeminent fashiom designer that rose above all competitions in less than ten years. Everyone knows him as the celebrity that gives the least shit. He doesn't even dress well himself despite being a designer, and he gave no care to his overgrown hair. Due to workaholism, the darkness of the dark circles around his eyes could probably win a Guinness world record.
"You're home." He greeted me with a warm smile, one that I could never tell is sincere or fake.
"Yes." I said as Petra shut the door behind us.
"How was the visit with the education advisor? Have you settled on a university?"
"I'm still going to University X."
His smile faltered for a brief moment, before he pulled it back, "Well... If it's what you want." He said, then returned his attention to furnishing the penthouse.
You and me, however, let's stop wasting time, and fast forward.