Amidst a crowd of people at the reception, by some miracle, Aris had found a free seat to wait in. Whispers of gossip could be heard about a veteran teacher from groups of affluent students, dressed in luxury-branded attire. A crowd of little interest to him. He had plenty of that waiting for him back with his parents.

According to the brochure he received as soon as he was accepted, he'd have to wait at the reception to be picked up by the orientation guide, this year, the principal. However, the longer Aris had lingered, the more unease he could sense in the crowd. Several students had been waiting for earlier sessions that apparently never began. Although a part of him considered leaving, instead, he settled deeper into his seat.

Two senior students try to swim through the crowd, giggling as they pass by Aris. "You think they flaked on all these kids?" one of them says.

"Flaking assumes that they're coming," the friend laughs, loud enough for him to hear as they leave the reception.

Aris kept his expression neutral. He had nowhere else he'd rather be.

As if having been summoned by their slander, a towering, one-armed figure appeared. By utilising the siren on the mounted megaphone, her presence was felt. The lobby became void of noise. Aris found himself automatically straightening up along with everyone else.

"Greetings, students," her voice booms through the room, the megaphone unused. "I want to apologise for such a drastic inconvenience to your time."

"Pfft, she better be sorry; that's an hour of my life gone." A fresher scoffs, loud enough for Aris to hear before continuing, "Who am I kidding? I have nothing planned after this."

"Our principal has received an emergency call, and he will join us promptly. Until then, I, the vice principal, will take over the orientation, if you would like, and I'd like to commence it immediately to avoid further delays," she commanded the crowd.

She marches like a rifleman, holding her meter rule in her wool military coat, the French coat of arms stitched onto the shoulders, barely keeping everything in. The students follow her lead toward the courtyard, some more eagerly than others.

"Here, you see the glorious gardens of goodwill," she jumps straight into the tour. "Which can only be found here at this very campus. A symbol of our devotion to our crown and loyalty to our eastern allies in leading Omega research. This sacred space, adorned with gifts from friends around the world, was created out of solidarity and for our viewing pleasure. If anyone is to ruin the tranquillity of this masterpiece, it is treason against our shared land."

Treason for stepping on flowers? Aris bristled at the casual threat.

The garden features a magnificent wisteria, planted shortly after the War of True Allegiances, also known as the Generations War. A bed of luxuriant Irises surrounds the breathtaking tree, symbolising French nobility and loyalty to the nation's reformed monarchy. Beds of Chrysanthemums, white poppies, green, and yellow roses pepper the courtyard, gifts from their Allies.

"Continuing our tour, you will see two pearl-white structures of quartz. These were generously gifted to us from the Mercers Mine over in Thuringia. Our most well-known architectural organisation designed them, Kylian Architecte Cooperative in collaboration with the Kubo Company based in Kyoto, Japan," she proudly stretches her arm out, megaphone in hand, presenting the awe-inspiring towers. "The tall, lanky, contorted building on the left is the House of Arts and Architecture. The campus on the right, the more compact and conventional, would be the House of Commerce and Economics, where all his students will be studying," she said, speaking as if the absent person could hear every word.

The tall, lanky building imposes its contorted self onto its much more commodious sibling, like twins fighting for the world's attention. It left parts of the audience's jaws agape.

The group proceeded forward, drawing closer to the garden. Aris watched as students ahead of him fell into a trance, mesmerised by the Wisteria's presentation and the irresistible Irises adorning its base.

"Right here, the centre of it all, the pride of French scientific innovation," she stood past the tree, facing the building with her hand on her hip, megaphone under arm, and a wide stance. This is where the reinvention of our world began, where Omega particles were first discovered, the House of Omega!" She spoke with pride and passion, filling her every word.

The atmosphere here got livelier, with the back of the crowd getting especially chatty.

"Attention!" the vice-principal commands, the unused megaphone acting as an accessory at this point. Amid the chaos, three professors approach the vice principal, coming to a halt beside her.

"These three people here are the Doctors of each of the houses," her tone suddenly shifts into a more casual one. "Will be giving you a tour of your very own faculties. They will introduce themselves starting from the left."

This meant starting with a tall, slender man with thin grey hair wearing a pale pink shirt splattered with paint.

"Salutations," he says in a strong French accent. "I'm pro- prof—" he pauses, getting a grip on himself, his eyes darting nervously towards his right before remembering his newly assigned role. "Doctor Philip Oliver, I'm the Doctor of the House of Art and Architecture," he pauses as if reading off a mental script. "I will be teaching some of you during your time here."

The veteran teacher from the gossip was standing right next to him. His jet-black hair and stylish all-black suit gave off a menacing aura.

"You think the art professor was intimidated by his monstrous presence?" a student whispers.

"Morning, students," he greets, holding a deep tone in his sensuously smooth voice. "I am Principal Malcolm White, but you all will call me Mister White. I am also the Doctor of the business— I mean, House of Commerce and Economics. I will be teaching most of it, if not all the courses, just in that building," he points towards the stubby quartz building. "I am thrilled to meet you all."

His smile didn't match his face; it unnerved his students, particularly Aris. Mr White's gaze pierced his soul in disgust, and regret sank into Aris. This menace will oversee me for the next three years, four days a week and nine months a year. Aris's brain trembled at that thought.

"Hello, y'all!" a loud and cheery voice shouts, an accent more American than any American can dream up. "Drum roll, please!" Loud drumming erupts from seemingly nowhere: "I am Doctor Alice Gwendolyn Mathers!" Confetti flew out of the ground. "I am the Doctor of this wonderous institution," groaning out the word 'Doctor' like a movie villain, "the same institute responsible for the scientific renaissance. And lastly, the head of the wonderous Omega research department!" Her carefree attitude is unfazed by the spine-chilling aura right next to her.

Her cheery attitude made her and her students the envy of the commerce and economics students.

"Also, did you know each of these slim metal pillars represents the discoveries made here?" she points towards the colonnade making up the entrance of the House of Omega. "And each pillar is engraved with the names of the scientists responsible! We plan on adding several more with your names all over them!" she says as if reciting out a warning in a pharma commercial.

The vice-principal takes back control. "Before we all leave to tour our respective Houses, I would like to introduce myself." A common thought rang through the students' minds, something the vice principal could have done earlier if she hadn't been so focused on watching the professors' dynamics play out. "I am Vice Principal Ashe Banks, and I will be overseeing you all for the duration of your courses," she finished off, leaving with a sinister grin, gleaming at Mr White's direction.

Everyone headed to their respective leaders, but a certain group hesitated to go to their faculty. Comprised mainly of snobs and math wizards, that group was the commerce and economics students.

In his midnight-black attire. His green, venomous glare. His slick black hair. He is dressed to kill. Who could blame them?

"It appears that no one has taken my courses this year; such a shame", Mr. White rhetorically expresses. "I'm rather disappointed. I was told Mr. Strider would join us this year. Perhaps I was misinformed," Aris tensed at that name.

Everyone halts as if they were deer in headlights. Heads started turning around. Discord erupted amongst the groups, but one remained silent. That one person was Aris Darwin Strider.

"I guess I will be heading to my office," Mr. White sarcastically states.

He heads towards the pearly white building, and the once-frightened group starts to follow him frantically.

Throughout the tour, Mr. White spoke matter-of-factly, rarely facing the crowd. When he did, he focused on Aris. In an attempt to counter, Aris tried to shrink himself by hiding at the back of the crowd, but Malcolm was undeterred.

What is his deal with me? Aris's thoughts went unvoiced. I came here to make my own choices, and somehow I'm still dancing to someone else's tune. There isn't a moment when someone isn't grabbing me by the neck. His hostility churns.

The tour was over as soon as it started, and Aris paid no attention to anything that had occurred, latching on to the thought of his dad having planted his clutches months prior, leaving him livid and resentful, his expression warding off his cohort.

Everyone had already left the building, but Aris remained.

"Why the long face?" Mr. White enquired uncaringly.

"What'd I do to you? Why did you call me out?!" Resentment went unhindered in Aris's reply.

"I was simply expressing my disappointment. I expected my nephew to come running to his favourite uncle after all these years apart," Malcolm made no effort to mask his tone. "But you ended up coming, so no hard feelings," he said with a nonchalant smirk.

Aris gave a dumbfounded look.

"My! Have you already forgotten me?" He pauses. "Well, it can't be helped. After all, I last saw you when you could barely talk. Honestly, I am pleased you could talk now, but it does sting that your first words came out barbed." His tone is now familial.

He bore no familial resemblance. Leading Aris to conclude he was adopted.

"You seem rather confused; you continue to break my heart." His sarcasm and nonchalance were starting to get to the nephew. "I apologise, it isn't your fault, your father is to blame. Let me elaborate: Your father and I were very close friends, and he gave me the unbelievable privilege of being your godfather, or uncle if you'd like."

"He didn't mention meeting my uncle in our agreement."

"What agreement?" Confusion marked on Malcolm's face.

"That I would be independent of the Strider name and privileges." Aris straightened slightly, as if the words themselves gave him strength. "I came here to escape being told what my life should be, to choose my path. But everywhere I go, someone else has already decided who I should be." A hint of defeat trails.

"Is this about me mentioning you earlier? I don't see the harm in calling you by your name. Anyways, it's not like you act the part."

Despite his ability to brush off backhanded comments, he couldn't dismiss this one. He pauses, trying to collect himself to get his point across.

"The harm is that there'll be even more people trying to use me to get their hands on my wealth. All normality, GONE!" Frustration fills Aris's throat.

Mr White sighs in disappointment. "Aris, tell me why you took this course". Mr White returns to his professional tone.

"So, I could continue... the family business," he says with bitterness.

Mr White clicks his tongue in annoyance, "There it is. You're your parents' puppet, not your own person. And you don't seem capable of meeting their demands on your own merit." He pinches the bridge between his brows. "At least for now," his tone calming before continuing. "There is no 'normal life'. That was out the window when you were the only one left to inherit it. Why do you think you were born?"

"HUH!!??" his remark discombobulated Aris, leaving him unable to reply. Pushing a button he didn't know he had.

"You're lucky the servants of man don't have property rights, or we may not be having this conversation." Mr White's words were spoken exclusively for Aris. "So, if you aren't cautious already, you'll struggle in this world". Mr White takes on a sombre tone, pitying almost.

No matter what desires he had, upon arriving in the city, reality fell firmly into place in Aris's mind.

"I understand, Sir", the boy mutters, staring at the ground with embarrassment and despair.

"I'm glad we came to an understanding; I'll be glad to start teaching you how to thrive in this world. You'll need to learn to fend for yourself, not just follow inherited expectations. I hope you'll fix your attitude in time for your rehabilitation. Mr Strider," Mr White states remorselessly.

It was an inevitability, Aris concluded. But inevitability and acceptance weren't the same thing.