June had arrived, and the university campus was engulfed in the feverish atmosphere of final exams and thesis defenses. The air in the university libraries smelled more than ever of old pages, and then of the students themselves.

For Lucas, the external hustle and bustle became nothing more than a convenient backdrop behind which he could hide his own inexplicable emptiness. He tried to drown it out with his usual methods, mechanically switching between clubs, beds, and faces. The cheap, cloying perfumes of unfamiliar girls or the rough, hurried touches of random guys in the dim corners of bars brought only a momentary physical oblivion. But as soon as this brief numbness passed, he was immediately overwhelmed by a heavy, nauseating, and cloying wave of dissatisfaction. Other people's bodies now seemed alien and utterly faceless to him.

At night, when his body, soaked in the sweat of others and his own, finally touched the sheets of his own home, a concrete, painfully familiar reality emerged in his imagination with frightening clarity. It was a phantom pain. Lucas closed his eyes and could almost physically smell the woody scent mixed with cheap college coffee emanating from the man whose name he was afraid to utter even in his sleep. He heard that low baritone, vibrating somewhere deep in his chest, monotonously grading the students' papers. Only that voice, that stern yet vivid tone, acted as the only available sedative for Lucas, allowing his mind to shut down and sink into a fitful sleep filled with disturbing dreams.

In all the time that had passed since returning from the Olympics, he hadn't once seen him in the hallways or lecture halls, but he'd run into Noah time and again. Noah was literally beaming with smug confidence; his gait had become brash, and a new watch, far too expensive for a student, had appeared on his wrist. Lucas came to a conclusion that gnawed at him from within: the Professor had truly given up. It was absurd to realize that the man who had lectured twenty-one-year-old Lucas with icy contempt for his immaturity and irresponsibility had himself chosen an insistent, manipulative eighteen-year-old freshman over him.

Lucas used to take genuine pride in his emotional detachment, considering it his main defense against foolish attachments. He easily forgot names, erased individual facial features from his memory, and broke promises, even to partners with whom he'd been sleeping for several months, without the slightest pang of conscience. To him, people had long since become expendable, unworthy of a place in his long-term memory.

But now this character trait, honed over the years, had turned against him with cruel irony. He caught himself realizing that with each passing day, the image of the man in his mind was becoming increasingly blurred, losing its clear contours. Lucas desperately tried to recall the exact shade of his eyes, but instead, only fragmented memories of the evenings they'd spent together surfaced in his mind.

So he wasn't all that special after all, Lucas told himself, grinning wryly into the emptiness of his bedroom.

Mark, Lucas's best friend, followed him everywhere—to all the parties and gatherings. At first, he chalked Lucas's strange behavior up to simple sexual frustration, but when the number of casual flings exceeded all reasonable limits, Mark realized the problem ran much deeper. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to help his friend except make sure he didn't get kicked out of college over the scandal involving his participation in orgies.

Another half-month passed, and the men still hadn't run into each other. On the eve of graduation, Lucas decided to go all out once and for all. He forced himself to be as cheerful as possible, flirted wildly, and kissed indiscriminately with several partners at once right on campus.

The ceremony was scheduled for noon the next day, and Lucas sincerely hoped that by then he would have such a severe hangover that his head would ache unbearably, pushing any thoughts of the man out of his mind.

So, after dragging himself home just before dawn on graduation day, he barely had time to wash off the acrid smell of alcohol and slip into his formal attire, having barely slept a wink.

The graduation ceremony in the university amphitheater looked impressive and solemn. Hundreds of students in black gowns and square academic caps filled the rows, while the bright summer sun beat down mercilessly through the tall stained-glass windows. The university administration and guests of honor sat on the main podium.

At one point, the faculty’s main sponsor was invited to the central microphone on stage, and, naturally, it turned out to be Noah’s father. His confident voice echoed throughout the amphitheater as he spoke of a bright future, invaluable connections, and the great responsibility of the new generation. Lucas, squinting against the bright sunlight, shifted his gaze to the front row. Noah was sitting there with his back impeccably straight, in a classic black suit and slicked-back hair, beaming a smug smile as if he were already trying on the crown of this empire’s heir.
All of this triggered a wave of nauseating irritation in Lucas, which immediately mingled with a throbbing pain in his temples. Noah’s brazen confidence got under his skin like never before. 
Good thing this was the last time he’d see that little bugger.

 I wonder how he hasn’t switched sides to Noah’s dad yet? Wouldn’t it be better to spread his legs right away for the company CEO?I

After muttering this to himself, he found himself, without knowing why, glancing toward the separate, elevated podium for the faculty. His eyes began to feverishly scan the rows of people in their formal suits, searching for a familiar silhouette. He was looking for that impeccably straight posture, the stern profile, and even the way he usually adjusted his glasses with a hint of disdain while listening to boring speeches. But there, among the prim figures, he wasn’t there. The empty space between the two professors seemed unnaturally wide and gaping.

Lucas’s heart skipped a beat, and a wave of anxiety immediately began pounding in his temples, instantly washing away the last traces of his hangover. His breath caught in his throat. He spun around to face his classmate sitting next to him and, trying to suppress the treacherous tremor in his voice, asked hoarsely:

“Listen, where’s Professor Wayne?”

The girl tore her gaze away from the stage and raised an eyebrow in surprise, smoothing out a crease in her black robe.

“Are you serious? Or did you sleep through the whole weekend?” she snorted, turning her gaze back to the stage. “He quit last week. Lol.”