She couldn’t tell Crystal that he was, in fact, not an ex-boyfriend but a devout fan of her alternate, subcultural, anime, otaku, weeb account, her VTuber identity under the name Hoshizora Martini.

But none of it mattered. He didn’t look like he recognized her, neither her face that he’d possibly know from her book influencer identity nor her voice that he definitely knew from her VTuber identity. Crisis was averted. Nothing would go wrong or change for her from here on.

Surely, nothing at all.

* * *

Byul bent down and slung her feet into a pair of Anna Sui sandals, deep purple with embroidered silver butterflies. She noticed a spot of dirt on one of them where she had scraped it against asphalt the last time she wore them outside. It bothered her. It bothered her a lot.

But instead of cleaning it off with a paper towel immediately like she normally would have, she crouched down.

‘Man.’

She buried her face between her knees.

‘I don’t want to go.’

She remained as she was, hugging her knees. The early morning air felt colder down there, even in the middle of Spring.

‘Would it really make a difference if I missed first day of class? They’ll just be going over the syllabus anyway.’

Then, she felt a gentle touch on her arms. Veggie had come up to her. He rubbed his face against her. He was soft.

He was still half-asleep, and she could see his little paws losing balance here and there with her peripheral vision. With the smallest, sleepiest whimper, he asked that she lift her head.

She lifted her face ever so slowly and met Veggie’s eyes. Those deep, round, happy eyes she loved so much. This precious, clingy, sleepy puppy she loved so much. She raised both hands and rested them on his cheeks.

“Give me strength, Veggie.”

He yawned and nuzzled his face against her palms.

She burrowed her face in the soft part behind Veggie’s floppy ears. She felt snug, like this is where she belonged. When she lifted her face again, something was different about her.

She took out a handkerchief from her bag and rubbed off the spot of dirt from her sandals. The embroidered butterflies caught the morning light and gave off a sheen. She stood up.

It was game time.

* * *

“Oh my god! Byul!”

The girls’ mouths dropped open. Byul jogged her memory as fast as she could to remember who these girls were. One of them was Lucy. Junior. From New Jersey. In one of Byul’s majors. Was it Creative Writing or Linguistics? One of those two. The other was…Patricia? Patty. Also Junior. Marketing. Was interning at TikTok as of two semesters ago.

“Good morning Lucy. Patty.”

Byul responded with a smile, trying to pass them gently yet quickly.

“So it’s true you’re back!”

Lucy held on to Byul’s elbow, getting all up in her space.

“It sure is.”

“I heard you have a huge scar on your face now.”

Byul could practically feel their eyeballs sticking to her face.

“No, I never got hurt on the face very much.”

“Oh really? Where then?”

Patty said, holding onto Byul’s other elbow.

“Sorry, I have to go this way. Talk later, ladies.”

She pointed to the classroom up ahead. Before Lucy and Patty could hold her for longer, she walked up to the door and ducked in.

“It’s probably all concealer.”

Byul heard Patty say to Lucy as the lacquered door closed to her back.

This was exactly the kind of interaction she wanted to avoid, but knew there was no way to avoid. With a slight sigh, she scoped out the Art of Philosophy classroom, designed with rows of desks surrounding the podium on the ground. It wasn’t even a quarter full.

The seat by the window in the very back was open. Her favorite seat. Guess there was a good thing to come from waking me up as early as she did after all. Or, to be more accurate, from never falling asleep.

Byul climbed the stairs leading up to the back row. She pulled out the chair, embracing the slight grrk the chair legs made against the wooden floor. She sat down and pinned her hair behind her ear, feeling the sun warming up the window-side of her cheek.

She didn't have to look around. She felt everyone’s eyes on her.

Being an influencer had its charms, but getting unwanted attention in class was not one of those. Byul always had to look absolutely perfect, get the absolute perfect grades, and be absolutely nice to everybody. If not, it was a matter of time before her comment section was flooded with lies and people started making hate accounts about her. Or worse, a video essay on why she sucked.

‘Stop staring already.’

She wanted to say out loud, but bit her lips. All she had to do was endure until class began, and there would be something to distract her. Finally, she saw the door closer to the Smart Screen and podium in the front swing open.

But it wasn’t the professor. In walked a swanky, tall guy in a leather jacket she had never seen before.

He had a swagger in his step. His limbs were skinny and long like a model, or a giant spider. Dressed in all black, he stuck out like a sore thumb against the sandalwood desks and white walls of the classroom. Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

“Whoa, are you seeing that?”

“It’s Troy!”

“He came back?”

“I can’t believe he’s taking this class. Yes!!”

“Get out of that seat! I want him to sit next to me!”

Byul’s classmates immediately started whispering about him. She had never seen him before, but they all seemed familiar with this guy.

‘Must be new.’

She thought. A semester was a long time, after all. A lot could have happened in the few months she was away on sick leave, recovering from the car accident that nearly sent her off to the otherworld. This new guy was probably a transfer student or a freshman. Maybe he was an influencer too, or a B-list celebrity.

‘Troy, huh?’

If she had to pick one name that she hated above all others, it would be that. At the very mention of this common first name, she was transported back to the day after her accident. Waking up at the hospital feeling nothing but pain. The doctor in a white coat hovering over her.

You’d be bleeding out on Santa Monica Boulevard if not for Troy.

Byul could practically hear the doctor again.

He brought you over on his own back. White shirt drenched in your blood, that one.

She shuddered, recalling the night of her car accident. The indescribable pain. The abomination that was the man who ordered her to lick his boot if she wanted to live. The name of that man. Troy.

She glanced at the Troy that was walking up towards the back rows of the desks again. She felt a little bad, knowing she was judging him unfairly based on something as arbitrary as having the same name as some insane guy she was unlucky enough to meet.

But neither Byul’s eyes nor her attention lingered long on him. She was glad to be free from the attention of her classmates.

She turned away to look out the window, watching the trees that were planted outside the Philosophy building. They had been barren the last time she remembered seeing them, but new leaves had already covered the tree in a fresh, verdant green. Gentle breeze blew in from the window. It smelled of dandelions and green tea.

Her eyelids felt heavy. She started indulging in the delicious sensation of falling asleep. The all-nighter she had involuntarily pulled was finally getting to her.

“You’re in my seat.”

Damn it. She was so close to falling asleep. Irritated, she turned her face to the voice.

“Excuse me?”

She said, keeping up a smile.

“That’s my seat.”

He said, leaning on her desk. The muscles by her mouth twitched.

“I don’t quite understand.”

She said, feigning ignorance. She just wanted to be left alone.

“Your ass is sitting in my seat. You simple or something?”

His response left her speechless. She sized him up from head to toe: AllSaints leather jacket, Dover Street sneakers, uncomfortably confident eyes. Aha. He was Mr. I-get-what-I-want.

“How silly of me, I should’ve said excuse you.”

Irritated by her lack of sleep and this guy’s attitude, Byul decided not to hide her mood.

“The seat was open when I took it. I would advise you look for another open seat. There seems to be plenty.”

She went on. If Byul ever made an exception to her nice-girl act, it was to guys like this. A guy who looked and sounded like he regularly bullied people into having things his way.

“I’m serious, it is my seat.”

He smirked, hooking his thumbs in his belt loop.

“Do you pay more tuition than the rest of us, sir?”

“Nope, the standard $30,000 a semester.”

“So if you’re just an average Joe being robbed by the university like the rest of us. What gives you the right to claim seats?”

“It has my name on it. See?”

He walked his hand towards the top of Byul’s hand, who had been sitting with both hands on the desk. She instinctively flinched it back.

“What?”

She wrinkled an eyebrow. He tapped his finger against the wooden desk. Surely enough, where her hand was covering the desk was “Ziwiman” carved into the wood.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize they let children into this school.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Hey, made your eyes roll backwards.”

“You sound awfully happy about that.”

“Girls love it.”

He smirked. She thought for a moment, connecting the dots.

“Jokes like those are unappreciated.”

She scowled. Correction, he was Mr. I-get-what-I-want-when-I-want-especially-girls.

“And you’re not getting the seat.”

He shrugged and pulled out the seat next to her and put both his legs up on the desk. She looked at him in disbelief. Any remnant of peace she felt by the window before he showed up and talked to her was gone.

The grrk sound of the chair against the floor was suddenly grating to the ear.

To be continued...