The classroom was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting long shadows over half-closed textbooks and the glazed eyes of students struggling to stay awake. The professor at the front spoke with unwavering enthusiasm, passionately explaining the foundational horrors of real analysis. Yet, despite his fervor, most students seemed immune to his passion—some nodded along as if in agreement, others nodded off into slumber, and a few scrolled through their phones, likely engaged in a far more pressing debate about a trending K-pop star's latest hairstyle.
At the heart of this battlefield of academic indifference sat a young man, white-skinned, his chin resting on his desk, entirely disconnected from the mathematical rigor that filled the air. Drool pooled beside his arm as he slipped deeper into sleep, escaping to a realm far removed from epsilon-delta proofs.
His peace was shattered by an excited squeal from across the room. A girl, her eyes gleaming, practically shook her best friend in delight. "Did you see? The new album is finally dropping!" she whispered dramatically, loud enough to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of the class.
Before any hushed warnings could be issued, another voice cut through the room—a boy, far too extroverted for the setting, burst in with a breathless announcement. "Guys! My parents just messaged me. There's a secret meeting in Man Industries' basement tomorrow. Everyone affiliated is invited."
A wave of hushed murmurs swept through the class. Phones lit up as messages were exchanged, plans hastily made. Then, as if rehearsed, the girls who had been gushing over the album abandoned their desks and left the room in a synchronized flurry of whispers and urgency.
Their departure was so dramatic that even the semi-conscious students took notice. One such observer, an awkward yet determined boy, attempted to follow their lead—only for his own feet to betray him. He stumbled forward, flailing helplessly before crashing directly onto the our sleeping beauty.
"What the—!" The young man jolted awake, his forehead colliding painfully with the desk. He groggily lifted his head, eyes narrowing in a sleep-deprived glare at the unfortunate boy sprawled over him. The entire classroom had gone silent, all eyes fixed on him.
"Why... why is everyone looking at me like I'm some kind of ghost?" he muttered under his breath.
As if answering his question, a boy by the window—who had previously been deeply engaged in the observation of an ant—suddenly sprang into action. In what could only be described as a feat of physics-defying incompetence, he flung a half-empty water bottle toward the the our boy. The loose cap gave way mid-air, unleashing a small waterfall directly onto his already miserable figure.
The perpetrator gasped. "Crap, crap, crap—wait, here!" He snatched a tissue from a nearby girl, who glared at him. "You dumbbell! Those were my last ones!"
Ignoring the complaint, he rushed forward with an apologetic expression, only for the boy to snatch the tissues first, his reflexes honed by sheer survival instinct. The entire class collectively wondered: Where do these disasters even come from?
Having endured more than enough humiliation for the day, the boy stormed out of the room, muttering under his breath, "Real Analysis? Worst decision ever."
As he strode through the corridor, the absurdity of his surroundings became more apparent. One group was engrossed in an intense discussion about startup investments, another passionately debated the optimal shape of a tree leaf, and—most concerningly—a suspicious individual lurked at the corner, sneaking glances at him.
Further down the hallway, an animated group of girls chattered excitedly about an adult drama series. Instinct screamed at him to avoid them. He picked up his pace, but fate had other plans. A mischievous girl, sensing a prime opportunity, subtly extended her foot.
Splat.
The cold, unforgiving floor welcomed him with open arms.
A gasp. "Oh no! Are you okay?" The culprit feigned innocence, extending a hand with award-worthy acting skills.
Lifting his face from the ground, he met her gaze with the dead-eyed expression of a man who had long since seen through the deceptions of the world. With what little dignity he had left, he declined her offer and walked away, only to turn a corner and break into a full sprint, as though escaping the gravitational pull of public embarrassment.
"Who was that guy?" someone from the startup discussion asked.
"Apparently, he's some genius. Top scores in physics, math, finance, and chemistry."
"Then why does he look like such a fool?"
"Something about a special orphanage program. He even corrected the professor's conceptual errors."
"Oh. So he's that kind of fool."
By the time the protagonist emerged from the bathroom, his clothes mostly dry but his pride permanently soaked, he re-entered class to grab his bag. His fingers traced its worn fabric, recalling the day he received it—from a stunning woman who had visited the orphanage. Despite everything, it remained one of his most treasured possessions.
With academia officially abandoned for the day, he exited campus. The hour hand inched dangerously close to six. He quickened his pace, dashing toward his hostel. Upon arrival, he wasted no time in the shower, scrubbing away the residue of misfortune before donning his café uniform.
As he stepped outside, he was immediately met with chaos—a group of seniors engaged in a heated argument over a K-pop actress's "scandalous" photo. His instinct? Walk faster.
Fate? Disagreed.
Smack.
His face collided with a wall, breaking up the argument in the process.
The seniors blinked, then turned to each other. "Where did this new species come from?"
"Maybe he's some rich heir?"
"No way. We should befriend him."
Before they could reach a consensus, another student spotted a looming shadow. "Guys, PRINCIPAL!"
Like roaches fleeing the light, they vanished, leaving the protagonist alone with the man whose gaze could bend steel.
"Why are you in a café uniform?" the principal questioned, eyes narrowing. Then, recognition dawned. "Ah. Never mind. Just make sure your work papers are signed."
"Y-yes, sir," he stammered before making his escape.
Finally reaching the café, he was greeted by the burly manager, arms crossed. "You. Late again? You think this is your father's business?"
"S-sorry, sir! I—I slipped, and—"
The man raised an eyebrow. "Slipped? Into another disaster? You walk around like a lost goat! Get to work before I have you washing dishes all night!"
With that, he scurried inside, bracing himself for another round of misfortune. As he approached a table of girls, he tried his best to steady his nerves. "W-welcome… w-what w-would you like to order?" he stammered, gripping his notepad like a lifeline.
A giggle. "Why is he shaking? Is this his first time talking to a girl?"
His ears burned. Just as he was about to recover, disaster struck—he turned too quickly, his foot caught on air, and a tray of drinks soared through the air before landing squarely onto a well-dressed customer.
Silence.
The manager facepalmed. "Boy, if I didn't need workers, I'd make you pay for that suit. Now clean it up before you ruin anything else!"
As he scrambled to fix the mess, he thought, Maybe I should just become a monk. At least there are no girls there.