By the time Axel arrived home, he was already buzzed from an afternoon of drinking. The alcohol in his veins dulled his thoughts, making the extravagant Valencia estate feel even more lifeless than usual. The mansion was quiet, unnaturally so, the kind of silence that came from too much space and not enough warmth. The grand chandelier cast a golden glow over the marble floors, but the light felt cold, impersonal.

As soon as he stepped inside, a pair of irritated eyes greeted him.

Cecilia Valencia stood at the grand staircase, dressed in an elegant evening gown, diamonds glinting at her ears. Not a hair was out of place, her red lips pursed in restrained fury. She looked like she had just stepped out of a high-society magazine—immaculate, poised, untouchable. But the sharpness in her gaze was anything but refined.

"Are you serious?" she hissed. "You're drunk."

Axel let out a slow exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. "A little."

His mother's nostrils flared. "This is an important night, Axel. We're already late, and you show up looking—" She gestured at his unbuttoned collar, his untamed hair, the general air of disarray that clung to him. "Like that?"

Axel gave her a lazy, indifferent shrug. "I can skip."

Cecilia's expression darkened, her nails digging into the polished railing of the staircase. "You will not," she snapped. "Your father is already at the venue. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would be if you don't show up?"

Axel leaned against the stair railing, smirking as he let his weight rest casually against it. "Do you have any idea how little I care?"

Cecilia's jaw clenched, her composure slipping for just a second. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the anger vanished, replaced by something icier—controlled, ruthless. She took a slow breath, straightened her posture, and when she spoke again, her voice was clipped, refined. "Fix yourself. Now."

For a second, Axel considered pushing further—seeing just how far he could go before she snapped. But he was too tired for another one of their battles. Instead, he sighed and turned toward the stairs. "Fine."

Twenty minutes later, Axel found himself in a lavish hotel ballroom, the kind designed for people who thrived on appearances. The chandeliers sparkled above the sea of finely tailored suits and designer gowns, the polished silverware reflecting the dim candlelight. It was the perfect setting for a night of fake generosity and empty promises.

Axel sat at a table, swirling the drink in his glass, watching the whole charade unfold around him. Laughter that didn't quite reach people's eyes, handshakes that were more like business transactions, subtle glances exchanged like hidden daggers.

Across the room, his father, Anthony Valencia, played his role flawlessly—charming, respected, untouchable. He barely glanced at Axel all night, only acknowledging him when absolutely necessary.

"Smile," Cecilia whispered sharply, gripping his wrist under the table. "People are watching."

Axel gave the fakest smile he could muster, tipping his glass at no one in particular.

As his father made another grand, scripted toast about "giving back," Axel stared at him, watching how effortlessly he played the role of the perfect businessman. The ease with which he lied, how naturally he fit into this world of polished façades and carefully curated words.

If Axel wanted, he could do the same—stand there, smile, pretend.

But the thought of it made his stomach churn.

He downed the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of the alcohol dulling the edges of his thoughts.

He never fit in here. He never would.

He hated this world.

And as the night dragged on, he did what he did best—drank until he didn't have to feel anything at all.

The sun was already blazing by the time Leila arrived at the university's administration building. The line stretched far beyond the entrance, snaking down the sidewalk in a cruel test of patience. Students fanned themselves with folders, wiped beads of sweat from their foreheads, and shuffled forward inch by inch. It was only 8 AM, and the day was already unbearable.

Leila sighed, adjusting the strap of her bag. So much for getting this done early.

She clutched her documents tightly, double-checking the requirements listed on her phone. Payment receipts, printed forms, admission slips. Everything was in order, but after the online system had screwed her over, she didn't trust anything.

"Ugh, this is hell," a girl behind her muttered.

Leila agreed. It was frustrating, but she wasn't about to complain. She couldn't afford delays. If she didn't get this done today, it would mean more expenses, and she had already stretched her budget too thin.

She stared up at the administration building, its glass windows reflecting the relentless sun. Inside, she knew there were air-conditioned offices where staff members shuffled papers at their desks, probably unbothered by the suffering students outside.

The line inched forward. One hour passed. Then another. Her stomach grumbled, but she ignored it.

Finally, she reached the front desk. The woman behind the counter barely looked up as she took Leila's documents.

"You're missing a printed copy of your online clearance," the woman said flatly.

Leila blinked. "I—I submitted it online."

The woman finally looked at her, unimpressed. "You need a physical copy."

Leila clenched her jaw. "Where can I print it?"

The woman pointed lazily down the hall. "Printing services. Next."

Leila stepped aside, frustration crawling up her spine.

She weaved through the crowded hallway toward the printing shop. It was even worse inside. The room was cramped with students arguing over fees, printers jamming, and an overworked staff member handling way too many requests at once.

As she finally got her document printed and hurried back, she bumped into someone—solid, firm, smelling of expensive cologne.

She muttered a quick apology, barely glancing up as she rushed past, too focused on getting her enrollment done.

The person barely reacted, continuing on their way with slow, unbothered strides, radiating the kind of ease and confidence that came from never having to rush for anything.

Axel walked through the campus, utterly uninterested, wearing sunglasses to shield his hangover. Axel pushed his sunglasses higher, shielding his eyes from the brutal morning sun. His head throbbed like hell; remnants of last night's whiskey still heavy in his veins.

He regretted the last few drinks. Not because of the alcohol, but because it meant waking up in this world, dealing with this life, all over again.

The university was massive, boasting modern buildings, open courtyards, and students bustling everywhere. The entire place had an energy he had no interest in. His father had forced him into engineering, and now he was here, playing along.

He had barely made it onto campus when his phone buzzed.

Javi: Bro, where are you?

Diego: Already bored. Let's find something fun to do.

Axel exhaled through his nose, shoving his phone into his pocket. They were all the same—rich kids pretending this was a game. But who was he to judge? He was the same way.

He strolled toward the administration building, hands in his pockets, watching students scramble around like they actually cared. What a joke.

The moment he reached the engineering building, he spotted familiar faces lounging under a tree, completely unbothered by the chaos of first-day enrollment.

"There you are, rich boy."

"Finally," Javi said when Axel reached them. "Thought you got lost."

"Wish I had," Axel replied dryly.

Javi hooked his arm around Alex's neck, pulling his head under his arm in a playful headlock.

Axel sighed. "You have five seconds to let go before I throw you into the fountain."

Javi grinned, releasing him. "You survived the charity event, huh? How many glasses did you down?"

"Enough," Axel muttered.

Diego approached, shaking his head. "I can't believe you actually went."

"Didn't have a choice," Axel said dryly. "Mom was in dictator mode."

Diego smirked. "Ready for four years of suffering?"

Axel snorted. "I'll be surprised if I last a year."

A few others joined them—guys he had known since senior high, all equally rich, equally detached from the reality of most students. While others were sweating through enrollment lines, they had assistants who handled everything weeks ago.

They weren't worried about class schedules or ID pictures. They were just here for the formality of showing up.

"Party this weekend?" one of them asked, checking his phone. "Or are we too 'serious' for that now?"

Axel scoffed. "Serious? Us? You're funny."

Javi grinned. "So, party it is."

As they lounged under the shade, Axel observed the students rushing around, flustered, stressed, trying to find their classrooms. It was amusing.

He had nothing to worry about.

Unlike them, he had nothing to lose.

By the time Leila finally completed the enrollment process, her energy was drained. The long hours of waiting, running from one office to another, and dealing with endless requirements had left her exhausted. She barely had time to breathe before she was ushered into a cramped, stuffy room where ID photos were being taken in rapid succession. There was no mirror, no chance to fix her hair, no moment to even wipe the thin sheen of sweat from her face. Her blouse clung to her back from the heat, and her ponytail had loosened, stray hairs sticking to her temples. Her hair was damp with sweat, her blouse slightly wrinkled from the heat and stress of the morning.

A bored-looking staff member called out, "Next!"

She stepped in front of the dull gray backdrop, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lighting. She tried to smile, but it felt forced, unnatural. The photographer barely glanced at her as he raised the camera, giving her no time to adjust her posture.

The flash went off before she could even fully compose herself, capturing the moment with no second chances.

"That's it," the photographer muttered, already turning to call the next person in line. Leila barely had time to step aside before the next student was pushed forward, looking much more put-together than she felt.

Leila caught a glimpse of her photo on the computer monitor. She barely recognized herself—wide-eyed, slightly frazzled, hair escaping her ponytail like it was trying to escape this entire situation.

The photographer didn't even let her approve it before clicking 'Save.' Well. That was that. She was now officially enrolled... as a tired gremlin.

Leila sighed, rubbing her temples. That was it. No retakes, no fixing the mess that was her hair, no adjusting the expression that probably made her look half-dead. Now, she was stuck with an ID that would haunt her for the rest of the year—a permanent reminder of this chaotic first day.

Meanwhile, some of the other students had clearly prepared—fixing their hair, powdering their faces, even reapplying lip gloss before their turn. They had come ready, while she had just barely survived enrollment. And then, there were those students who had their ID photos taken weeks ago, in comfortable, air-conditioned offices with perfect lighting and multiple retakes. Their pictures looked effortlessly polished, like they belonged on a student handbook cover, while hers would forever scream: 'I barely survived enrollment.'

By the time Leila finally held her student ID in her hands, she felt like she had just survived a battle she never signed up for. The picture stared back at her—a girl who looked like she had been running for her life.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten properly all day. But there was no time for that. Not when she still had to prepare for tomorrow.