Diego was sitting on the ledge, legs dangling over the side, a cigarette balanced between his fingers. He took a slow drag before exhaling a thin trail of smoke into the air.

Javi grinned, tossing a gum wrapper onto the rooftop floor like he owned the place. "Skipping class on the first day. Iconic."

Diego exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, until my old man finds out. He's been breathing down my neck about taking over the company since I was sixteen. If he knew I wasn't in class right now—" He cut himself off and shook his head. "Never mind. Forget it."

Axel smirked. "You say that, but you're still up here with us."

Diego rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, if I have to pretend to be a future CEO, I'm at least gonna enjoy my last few years of freedom first."

Javi clapped him on the back. "That's the spirit. Now, someone hand me another drink."

Axel walked over to the couch and flopped down beside Javi, stretching his arms over the backrest. From up here, everything looked so... far away. The noise of the campus was muffled, the movements of students below nothing more than scattered figures hurrying to their next class.

It was peaceful, in a way. A place where he could be on campus without actually being part of it.

Diego flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "You know, if you keep this up, your old man's gonna lose his mind."

Axel let out a dry laugh. "Good. Maybe he'll finally realize I don't give a damn."

Javi pulled a pack of gum from his pocket and tossed one toward Axel, who caught it effortlessly. "So, what's the plan? We gonna waste the whole day up here?"

Axel unwrapped the gum and popped it into his mouth, leaning back against the couch with a lazy smirk. "Sounds like the best idea I've heard all morning."

Diego chuckled, taking another slow drag of his cigarette. "Skipping class on the first day? Damn, we're off to a great start."

Javi scoffed. "Like you were ever planning to attend, bro."

Diego smirked. "Hey, I had good intentions, okay? But then I took one look at my schedule and thought... nah."

Axel raised a brow. "Remind me again what you're even taking?"

Diego sighed dramatically. "Business Management. Because apparently, knowing how to waste money isn't enough—I have to learn how to manage it, too."

Axel smirked. "So your dad finally put the leash on you?"

Diego groaned. "More like a choke chain. I swear, the only thing that class taught me so far is that I don't wanna be in it."

Javi laughed, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, at least you're in something remotely useful. Try sitting through a lecture on 'Global Supply Chains' when you know damn well your family business runs itself."

Axel snorted. "You mean your dad runs it."

Javi grinned. "Exactly. And yet, here I am, pretending I'll be the next big CEO."

Diego shook his head. "Man, our parents really think we give a damn, huh?"

Axel leaned back against the couch, letting his sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose. "They don't care if we give a damn. They just want us to do what they say."

Silence stretched between them for a moment, only the distant sounds of the campus below filling the space.

Diego flicked the remains of his cigarette over the ledge. "So, rooftop hideout for the rest of the semester?"

Javi laughed. "Tempting, but we might have to make an appearance once in a while. You know, for the illusion of effort."

Axel smirked. "Let me know how that goes for you."

And just like that, the three of them sat there, above it all, skipping class, killing time, and pretending, just for a little while, that none of it mattered.

"Professors don't even care if we show up," Diego said, leaning back against his own car. "Senior high was different. This? This is freedom, my friend."

Javi smirked. "Freedom until midterms hit and half of us drop out."

Axel took a lazy sip of his iced coffee. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."

A few other rich kids from the business program had joined them, students from private schools who already knew each other. Honestly, Axel don't even know how did they knew this spot. Maybe, all rich kids like them think alike. Even their so-called hideout is as predictable as what others would think of. Some were discussing stocks, others were debating whether to buy a new car or a new watch—problems only they could relate to.

Axel mostly tuned them out.

Axel's phone buzzes with a name he hates seeing—Dad. He ignores it, but the voicemail notification follows immediately. He knows exactly what it'll say. Some thinly veiled threat about "responsibility" or "legacy," like he hasn't heard it a hundred times before. He almost deletes it without listening, but for some reason, his thumb hesitates. Instead, he pockets the phone and stares out at the campus below. For a second, just a second, he wonders what it would feel like to actually care.

"Bro, there's a welcome party this weekend," one of the guys said, scrolling through his phone. "A huge one. Invites are going around. Open bar, DJs, all that."

Javi turned to Axel. "You in?"

Axel smirked. "You even have to ask?"

Axel leaned against the concrete railing, staring at his phone screen. His father's name glared back at him.

Missed Call.

Voicemail Received.

He never listened to voicemails. But this time, he tapped the play button.

His father's voice came through, low and controlled. "You've had one day, Axel. If I hear from anyone that you're screwing around, you'll regret it."

Axel scoffed, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Regret? His father had no idea what regret even meant.

"Bro, you good?" Javi asked, watching him from the couch.

"Yeah. Just reminded why I don't answer his calls."

Javi stretched. "Must be nice, having a father who still gives a damn."

Diego snorted. "A father who only cares if you embarrass him. Not quite the same." Axel exhaled sharply.

"Exactly. And trust me, he cares about his image more than he'll ever care about me." The thought simmered in his head, twisting into something heavier than usual. Maybe skipping class wasn't enough anymore. Maybe next time, he'd give his father something real to regret.

The cafeteria was a battlefield, not just for food but for seating. The sheer number of students made the space feel smaller than it was, with lines stretching from the serving stations to the walls. The scent of fried food, instant coffee, and something vaguely resembling beef stew filled the air.

Leila and Tessa shuffled through the crowded space, trays in hand, dodging students who lingered in the aisles as if they had nowhere to be. The mix of noise—from casual conversations to the clatter of utensils—was overwhelming.

"Tell me you see seats," Tessa muttered, stretching onto her toes to scan the room.

Leila took a quick survey. The campus hierarchy was already forming, though it wasn't as obvious as in high school.

Some tables were occupied by students who had clearly known each other for years—most likely from the senior high division of the university. They were comfortable, relaxed, making easy conversation without the usual awkwardness of first meetings.

Near the windows sat a group of students with their laptops open, already buried in coursework. Engineering books were stacked next to untouched meals, some flipping through PDFs, others scrawling in notebooks. The competitive ones. The ones who had probably studied the syllabus before classes even started.

Another section housed students who had fallen into effortless camaraderie, laughing between bites, exchanging social media handles, and planning outings. The social chameleons—the ones who could walk into any room and walk out with five new friends.

Then, there were the outliers. A group of guys at the far end, leaning back in their seats, exuding the kind of confidence that only came from privilege. They were the ones who didn't need to rush through enrollment, didn't need to worry about their schedules. Rich kids, most likely, the ones who didn't even have to be here if they didn't want to.

"There," Leila pointed, spotting an open space near a table where a few other engineering students sat. It wasn't ideal, but in a room this full, beggars couldn't be choosers.

Tessa exhaled in relief as they slid into their seats. "Finally." She stabbed at her rice, glancing around. "You think everyone's already grouped up? Or do we still have a shot at making friends?"

Leila stirred her spoon into her bowl, considering. "I think it depends."

Tessa raised an eyebrow. "On?"

Leila nodded toward the table next to them, where a group of engineering students were already exchanging notes, discussing professors, coursework, and class expectations.

"Some people are here to win," Leila said. "They're forming their circles early, finding the ones they can rely on."

Tessa followed her gaze. "And the rest?"

Leila's eyes flicked toward the more laid-back groups—those discussing where to go this weekend, those already comfortable in their established friendships.

"Here to enjoy the ride," Leila murmured.

Tessa sighed dramatically. "And what about us?"

Leila smirked, finally taking a bite of her food. "Still figuring it out."

Tessa laughed, shaking her head. "Great. Love that for us."

They ate in relative silence after that, taking in the unspoken dynamics of the university experience—how some students were already sprinting toward the finish line, while others were simply strolling through the journey.

One thing was clear, though: if Leila wanted to keep up, she'd have to start running.

By the time the afternoon sun dipped behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the campus walkways, Leila was already drowning in coursework.

She sat at a table outside the engineering hall, her book opened to the first chapter, but the words blurred together in front of her. The sheer volume of what they were expected to learn was... unreal.

She had expected it to be challenging—engineering wasn't for the faint-hearted—but knowing it and experiencing it were two very different things.

Across from her, Tessa groaned, rubbing her temples. "Tell me we're not the only ones already struggling."

Before Leila could answer, a voice interrupted.

"You two look like you're about to quit on the first day."

They looked up to see a guy from their morning class, arms crossed over his chest, a bemused smile on his lips. He wasn't mocking—more like observing.

Leila shut her book. "Not quitting. Just... processing."

"Processing the impending doom?" he asked, smirking.

Tessa snorted. "Something like that."

The guy slid into a chair. "There's a study group forming in the library. Some people thought it'd be better to tackle the first week together instead of suffering alone. You in?"

Leila hesitated. She had always studied alone—it was easier, more efficient. But this wasn't high school. There were no second chances, no teachers reminding you to submit work, no hand-holding. If she wanted to survive this, she had to adapt.

She glanced at Tessa, who was already nodding enthusiastically.

Leila exhaled, closing her book. "Yeah. Let's go."