The chilled can of coffee pressed against my palm—condensation crept between my fingers, leaving my skin damp. I sat at the far end of the cafeteria, by the window, the best spot for people-watching without getting caught.
Outside, there was only an empty parking lot and the administration building, boxy like a giant shipping container. But from here, I could map human patterns: who came in, who went out, who pretended to be busy when they were really just waiting on their crush.
On the table, my notebook lay open. My pencil had stopped at the last line:
Alina Hamish's assignment – brochure design – done.
(Plus one backup. In case the committee asks for "younger but still eye-catching" again.)
I smirked, then crossed out "eye-catching" twice. If they came back asking for colors that were "calmer but still screaming," I'd hit them back with a graveyard-grey palette.
My phone buzzed.
Marina: Sorry Lin, class is running late. The professor's going through a breakup, been crying this whole time.
Me: Wait, seriously? What are you even doing?
Marina: Crying along, obviously. It's a drama class.
I let out a short breath that almost turned into a laugh.
That was Marina for you—if the world was falling apart, she'd find the funny angle first. In my head, her drama class had turned into a spontaneous stage production: the lecturer, the tragic lead; Marina, a comedian in the wrong costume.
Me: Alright. I'm heading to the hall without you.
Marina: Sure, just don't make us 'both' late. Sean will lose his mind like a crazy wolf.
Me: Easy fix. Throw him a stick. Let him fetch it.
Marina: You're terrible.
A string of laughing emojis followed.
I closed the chat fast. If I didn't, I'd burst out laughing, and everyone around me would think I'd finally lost it.
The meeting started in fifteen minutes.
We usually walked together. Same time. Same place. A clean, predictable routine.
Now? I was on my own.
The university plaza was packed. Freshmen scattered everywhere like they had no idea where they were going. I took the shortcut—right, then left—slipping through the overlooked corners of campus.
Then a roar erupted from the basketball court.
Instinctively, I turned my head.
The bleachers were full. Clapping, stomping, cheering that made the air hum.
And in the middle of it all, one figure stood out like a magnet: Alan Bernard. Computer Science (CS) major. Junior year. Tall. Light on his feet. He dribbled in an easy, unhurried rhythm. Stamina that didn't seem human under the blazing heat.
He jumped from beyond the three-point line.
One second—as if someone had pulled the sound out of the world.
The ball went in.
The crowd erupted again, but my ears were slow to catch up.
Because his gaze—dark blue, sharp—had already caught mine.
The corner of his mouth tilted up, barely there. Like he knew exactly that I'd been watching.
My heart slammed hard enough to ache against my ribs.
I walked away. Fast. Without looking back.
My fingers were sweating. The phone in my grip almost slipped.
What was that?
I shouldn't have looked. Shouldn't have reacted. Shouldn't have given that kind of thing any opening.
I had a meeting. I had responsibilities.
And I had a life that didn't need the headache of a love story.
The hall door let out a quiet creak as I slipped inside.
The room hit all my senses at once: the smell of markers, stale coffee, the collective sweat of too many people. Voices cut over each other—loud, fast—like a town hall meeting that had already gone off the rails.
At the front, Sean—the Steering Committee head—stood with his arms crossed. Shoulders stiff. Gaze fixed forward.
It was a small reaction, but it worked instantly: the people chatting in the back fell silent. Even the person mid-sip paused, as if they were afraid the sound of swallowing would be held against them.
"Okay," said the Committee Chair, voice slightly unsteady. "Is everyone here? Let's start. Reports from each division."
One by one, the reports came out—and immediately, everything devolved into noise.
The permits team complained.
The student clubs team argued over the budget.
The catering team panicked because their vendor had bailed.
I held the air in my lungs. It felt like watching people fight over a microphone on a reality show, minus the funny background music.
"Enough."
Sean took one step forward.
No shouting. No anger.
But the room froze.
"One at a time," he said flatly. "Catering team: use the campus cafeteria. Done."
The AC hummed overhead. Faint murmuring still lingered, but only behind people's teeth.
The meeting pressed on. The chair called out, "Publications team. Alina."
I lifted my chin—a small reflex to look ready, even though my head was still full of static.
"Brochures are done," I said. "If they're approved today, we can distribute tomorrow."
"Good. Tomorrow you'll handle documentation."
I blinked. That wasn't part of what we'd discussed yesterday.
"Hey, wait—that's supposed to be my job," someone protested from the back.
I didn't turn around. Nothing new there. Every committee had someone who wanted to snatch the tasks that looked easy.
The Committee Chair immediately deflated, his voice going awkward. "Right—Alina's on roaming documentation. Booths, visitors, committee members. Archiving. You stay on stage duty. Understood?"
I nodded.
I was about to breathe again—but the hall door swung open first.
Marina rushed in, breathless. Her hair tie had come loose, her bag nearly fell from her shoulder, and without any signal, everyone turned to look.
Including Sean.
"Ma-ri-na." Her name came out slow.
Cold.
Like an unsharpened blade—blunt enough to not cut, but still enough to make my skin prickle.
"Late. Twelve minutes."
Marina managed to grin anyway—that reflexive, stupid grin only she could pull off. "Sorry, I was—"
"I don't need an explanation," Sean cut her off. He turned to me then—quick and clean, like sliding a file across a desk.
"Alina, send me the brochure file. I'll forward it to the printer."
His gaze slid back to Marina.
"Both of you are handing out and posting brochures tomorrow. Finish by end of day."
"What?" Marina almost choked. "That's impossible! There are hundreds of brochures. The area covers half the city!"
"Posting and distributing only takes four hours," Sean said in the same flat tone. "That's if you don't take too many breaks or stand around chatting."
"We still need to rest. This isn't slave labor."
"Slave labor sounds productive. Tomorrow, finish before ten p.m."
I gave Marina a small, barely-there shake of my head—don't push it.
Marina finally gave in and sat down beside me.
I let it go.
I had class until five. Skipping wasn't an option. For some reason, I feel like I'll need an extra life just to survive tomorrow. Maybe joining this festival was a mistake after all.
Three hours later, the meeting was finally over.
But stepping out of the hall, I didn't feel relieved—more like I'd been pulled in every direction until my joints were loose.
Marina and I hung back a few steps behind the group. Our shoes dragged softly against the floor, trailing the sound of people muttering under their breath.
"We're unlucky to have a chair like that," someone ahead grumbled. "All talk, no real leadership."
"Exactly. He was only ever the treasurer of the debate club. This is a whole different level."
I agreed.
I just didn't need to say it out loud.
What was clear was that the meeting had fallen apart not because of a lack of ideas—but because the chair didn't know who handled what, and kept changing decisions between meetings like he was changing his phone wallpaper.
"The administration office handpicked him," Marina murmured. "He can't be replaced. That's why Sean has to step in."
"He still looked pretty out of his depth."
"Yeah." Marina snorted. "I almost felt bad for Sean. Keyword: almost. That punishment wiped it out."
I glanced at her.
Marina leaned in slightly, as if afraid the walls might absorb our conversation. "He's taken the whole 'firm leader' thing way too far. Now the committee chair's copying his style—and it doesn't suit him at all."
I gave a small nod.
"Anyway, doing all this work alone would be brutal. I think Sean just needs the right partner. I can't even imagine having to put up and distribute all those brochures by myself."
"Sure, but that doesn't justify the deadline. That's just petty."
She was right.
Two or three days would've been reasonable. Why one? Sean was annoyed at Marina—and I ended up catching the fallout.
We reached the intersection. The crowd began to scatter.
"Hey, I'm going to grab a drink," I said, glancing at her.
"Don't take too long. We need to figure out the areas," Marina called after me.
"Yeah. You want anything?"
"No. My stomach's still bloated from too many iced drinks."
Marina waved.
"Okay. Meet you at the bus stop."
I turned toward the vending machine.
The corridor was quiet. The fluorescent light overhead was too bright, but the corners stayed dark—the kind of dark that made your eyes second-guess themselves: is that a shadow, or something hiding there?
I pressed the button for green tea.
The machine hummed.
The bottle dropped with a clang of metal, too loud for the silence.
I picked it up. The cold soaked straight into my palm.
When I turned around—
My feet stopped.
At the far end of the corridor, a figure stood upright.
Too tall.
Too still.
I swallowed. My throat had gone dry.
Not someone waiting for the elevator.
Not janitorial staff.
The AC hummed, but it sounded far away. The smell of damp carpet needled at my nose.
"Hello?" My voice came out thin, barely above a whisper.
No answer.
No movement.
But the air changed.
It felt like… someone behind me was holding their breath. Waiting for me to make one small mistake.
I narrowed my eyes, forcing myself to focus.
The figure was gone.
My chest remembered how to expand.
Brilliant. My brain is glitching before the job even starts.
I walked away quickly.
But the feeling stuck—like eyes that never blinked. Like someone who knew my name… but wasn't ready to show themselves yet.
The next evening. Nine o'clock. My legs had gone numb.
We'd circled half the city—bus stops, campus gates, bookstores, the train station, even alleys that didn't exist on Google Maps. A quarter of the brochures remained. Our energy? Nearly gone.
"Lin... I need a break. I'm running on fumes."
I nodded weakly. We sat on the curb and shared what was left of the water.
Marina opened her phone. "Oh, have you seen it? Alan took a photo with Sakura Harington yesterday."
My heart skipped.
"Who?" I asked, playing it cool.
"Sakura Harington. She's in my department—Literature. You've probably seen her around. Tall, long hair, clear skin—looks like a magazine model."
Marina held out her phone—the one with the green moon phone case—toward me.
The photo was sharp. Alan stood next to Sakura, posture relaxed. Not smiling, but not pulling away either. Like they'd known each other for a long time.
"They look so good together, right?" Marina grinned. "Everyone's saying they're endgame. People are already betting they'll make it official before the festival."
I stared at the empty spot where the photo had been. "Oh. Good for them. At least he's not taking photos with a trash can."
Marina blinked. "Hey… are you okay?"
"Just tired." I stood and climbed back onto my bike. "Come on. Sean's going to turn into an actual wolf if we're late."
My fingers trembled as I twisted the throttle. My tongue tasted bitter—even though I'd only had water.
Alan meant nothing to me. He wasn't a friend. He wasn't anything. Just a former disciplinary case I'd once handled. So why did it feel like… I'd lost something?
I put up the next brochure—upside down.
Great.
"Lin, are you sure you're okay?" Marina asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Do you like Alan?"
"What?" I immediately shot her a look. "There's no way I'd fall for someone like him."
"But he's good-looking, and he's in the same department as you. You could enjoy the view every time he walks by."
"Looks aren't everything. Character does. Falling for a troublemaker like him would wreck my reputation as a former discipline committee member. Think about it."
"Okay, but hypothetically—what if he changed? What if he became a good person? Would you then?"
"Him, a good person? Not a chance. Fighting, doing whatever he wants—that's basically his whole personality. I checked the disciplinary records; he's number one. Almost every month, without fail, he's causing some kind of trouble."
"But what if you were the one who could set him straight?"
"What do you mean?"
"Get close to him. Give him some guidance. Sometimes guys like that just need the right person to ground them."
A long pause. Maybe Marina had a point. Maybe Alan just needed someone who cared enough to stay. From what I could tell, no one on campus had ever genuinely called him out—except the Dean, and even then, he'd bounce right back without a hint of remorse. But that someone wasn't me. It just wasn't. Everything I'd worked for—keeping my nose clean, staying out of trouble—would go up in smoke if I got involved with him.
"Forget it. What's the point of talking about him? I'm dead on my feet. I want a spa massage. Or to sleep in a cemetery. Either one works right now."
She didn't look fully convinced, but she laughed anyway. "Same, honestly. I've been meaning to hit a spa. When we're done with these brochures, let's make Sean pay for it."
"Deal. We're putting it on Sean's tab. And the committee chair's."
"Let's go."
We cut through alleys, got off our bikes, got back on, got off again—until we reached the last intersection. Marina stopped short.
"Road's closed. Construction."
I checked the time. Quarter past nine. Going around through the main road would add another half hour. We still had dozens of brochures left.
"Let's cut through Akatsukicho," Marina suggested, already steering her bike left. "It's faster."
I hesitated. "Isn't that the bar district?"
"Yeah, but we're just passing through. It's still busy."
My stomach clenched. Not from hunger. From instinct.
But I followed. Because there was no other way.
The moment we turned in, the air shifted. Narrower. Darker. Neon lights flickered—red, blue, purple—reflected in puddles on the asphalt. Bass thumped from the bars like a giant heartbeat. People out front stared at us too long. Too hard.
And then—
CRASH.
Glass shattered. A chair flew. A rough shout exploded from inside a bar.
A small crowd had formed on the sidewalk.
In the middle of it, a young man stood, unsteady on his feet—campus uniform torn, face smeared with blood. Three grown men surrounded him, broad-shouldered and rough.
I recognized that face.
Alan.
Marina grabbed my arm. "You've got to be kidding me. Alan really does attract trouble everywhere he goes. This time he's definitely getting expelled. Let's keep moving, okay? Just ignore it."
But my feet wouldn't budge.
His university jacket—dirty, worn, torn—was supposed to be something to be proud of. Not something you wore while being humiliated in public.
"Alina, come on!" Marina's voice shook. "We don't have time to get involved in his mess!"
Marina was right. But all around him, people only watched. Some were recording. Some were laughing. Like this was free entertainment.
I looked at Marina. "I have to step in."
"Are you insane?! Look at them! You could get hurt too!"
"If someone records this, it'll make the university look bad."
"Who cares about the university! This is about you! And we still have a job to finish." Her voice cracked—worried, not angry.
I gave a small smile. "Here's what we do—I'll help him. You keep going. Finish the rest, then report to Sean when you're done."
"What? No. I know you're on the discipline committee, Lin. But this isn't your responsibility."
"I know. But this is a choice. Act now or spend the rest of the night regretting it."
"But—"
"Marina." I looked at her, steady. "I can't just walk away. I can't leave him like this."
She went quiet. For a long moment. Then she exhaled. "Fine… just—please be careful. I mean it."
Marina quickly pulled out her phone, pressed Sean's name, and held it to her ear while stepping back half a pace.
"Tsk…" She clicked her tongue. "No signal. It's not going through."
"That's okay." I nodded and handed her the bag of remaining brochures.
My heart was hammering—screaming at me: Run.
But my feet moved forward.
Toward the crowd.
Toward Alan.
Toward something I had no way of predicting.
One more step.
And my neat, quiet, orderly life—
would shatter into pieces.