Well.
That solved it. No need to finish the last lap after all.
"Sorry about that, Professor Vaughn," Ethan Moore said, sounding genuinely apologetic.
He hadn't meant to stare.
It just… happened.
To be fair, Clara Vaughn really did look unreal. No wonder she was the female lead in the novel he remembered.
She stood facing him, her hair slightly damp with sweat, a few strands clinging to her forehead. Her breathing hadn't quite steadied yet, her chest rising and falling softly. Morning light caught on her skin, making it look even smoother than usual.
Clara reached up, pulled the towel from around her neck, and wiped her face. "Are you done staring yet?"
Ethan immediately snapped his gaze away. "Cough—sorry."
After a moment, the two of them began walking along the red track, one in front of the other.
Ethan figured that if he stayed behind her, she wouldn't notice him looking.
Besides, he'd read somewhere that looking at attractive people improved your mood.
Based on how he felt right now, the experts were definitely onto something.
Without slowing down, Clara spoke. "Ethan Moore."
"Here."
"Walk up front."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ethan took two quick steps forward, falling into stride beside her.
She glanced at him. "What's going on with you?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused.
"You're not afraid of me anymore?" Clara said coolly. "A few days ago, you looked like you wanted to keep a safe distance from me at all times."
Ethan straightened up. "Professor Vaughn, that's not accurate. When was I ever afraid of you?"
She let out a soft, amused scoff.
"And yet here you are," she continued. "Bold enough to jog beside me."
Ethan grinned. "Confidence grows with exposure."
She didn't respond.
After a beat, Ethan pulled out his phone. "Hey, Professor Vaughn, can we add each other on social—"
"What's your question?" she cut in.
"…Huh?"
"You said you had a question," Clara said, giving him a sideways look. "So ask."
"Oh. Right. That." Ethan scratched his head, then smiled sheepishly. "Actually, it's not a big deal. I was just wondering if we could maybe… delete that video?"
"No."
"…No?"
"Correct."
Ethan stopped walking. "Professor Vaughn, I feel obligated to remind you that this is a violation of my right to privacy."
She glanced at him. "Et?"
"…Wow. Even throwing French at me now."
"Ethan," she said calmly, "don't test me."
He sighed dramatically. "You're really pushing me here."
She raised an eyebrow.
Ethan folded instantly. "You're pushing me to… beg."
Silence.
"Men have dignity," Clara said flatly.
Ethan shook his head. "Hard disagree. Where I'm from, you only kneel for a few things—your parents, your beliefs, and the person you plan to spend your life with."
She stopped walking.
"Oh?" she said slowly, turning to face him. "Interesting."
Ethan's confidence collapsed on the spot. "Haha—just kidding."
He cleared his throat and leaned in slightly. "Professor Vaughn, please. Ever since that video, I haven't slept properly. I swear, it feels like ants crawling all over me at night."
His voice cracked just a little at the end. Very convincing.
An Oscar-worthy performance.
Clara was unmoved. "Keep going. I'm entertained."
He paused. "You're really immune to everything, huh."
She tilted her head. "Were you insulting me just now?"
"Never," Ethan said quickly. "I admire you deeply. Like an endless ocean—"
"Stop," she interrupted. "I've heard that one before."
"…Right."
She checked the time. "Do you actually have an academic question, or are we done here?"
"I do!" Ethan said immediately. "You didn't assign me a piece last class. I don't know what I'm supposed to play next time."
She looked at him. "You were late and left early. And you want homework?"
"I wasn't late for no reason," Ethan defended himself. "I went to get you flowers. And I didn't leave early—I left right on time."
"You left thirty seconds early," she corrected.
"That doesn't—"
"If I say it counts," she said calmly, "then it counts."
"…Yes, ma'am."
She took his phone, scanned his QR code, and sent over several pieces.
Ethan peeked at her. "By the way… the flowers. Did you like them?"
"I threw them away."
"…You WHAT?"
My money. Gone.
She didn't look up. "Also, I deducted five points from your participation grade."
Ethan nearly tripped. "Five points?!"
"You keep this up, it'll be ten."
She started walking toward the faculty apartments.
Ethan hurried after her. "Professor Vaughn, come on. That's my first offense. What if I fail the course? I'll have no choice but to stand dramatically on a rooftop somewhere."
She ignored him.
"Professor Vaughn—"
"Ethan."
"Yes?"
"Be quiet."
"…Okay."
They reached the entrance.
"Fine," Clara sighed. "No deduction."
Ethan lit up instantly. "You're amazing."
"But," she added, "handwrite the sheet music I sent you. Staff notation. I'll check it next class."
"…Handwrite it?"
"Yes."
"It's the Modern age! Printing exists!"
She gave him a look.
Ethan smiled obediently. "Understood. Handwritten. With love."
"Good."
He turned to leave, then hesitated. "So… the video?"
She smiled faintly. "You are thinking too much."
"…Got it."
Ethan waved. "See you in class, Professor Vaughn."
As he walked away, Clara shook her head quietly.
Kids these days were exhausting.
But somehow…
also a little hard to ignore.
—
Another bright and miserable 8 a.m. class.
In the classroom, the front rows were filled with students sitting upright, notebooks open, eyes fixed on the professor. In the back, it was a completely different world. Some were asleep, heads buried in their arms. Others were gaming with their phones angled low beneath the desk.
Everyone understood the unspoken rule.
The front seats were for people who actually wanted to learn.
Compared to high school, college was freedom itself. As long as you didn't interrupt the lecture, professors generally looked the other way. Sleep, games, scrolling, none of it mattered.
Unless, of course, you were someone like Ethan Moore.
Someone who brought a pillow to class, got called out by name, and still tried to walk out with it.
The four of them were seated in the very back row.
The dorm's infamous four, each in a different posture.
Mike Turner peeled a tea egg with one hand while chewing on a small bun. "Not bad, Ethan. You nailed breakfast today. Exactly my taste."
Chris Nolan took a sip of soy milk and gave a silent thumbs-up.
Sam Reed didn't eat right away. He snapped a photo of the food, carefully adjusted the angle, and posted it to his feed before finally putting the phone down.
"All planned," Ethan said, biting down on his straw as he unlocked his phone.
He opened Clara Vaughn's social feed and started scrolling.
Her username was simply her name. Clara Vaughn.
Her profile picture was just a white lily.
Ethan stared at it for a second. It had the exact same energy as the middle-aged women who used floral avatars and motivational nicknames.
If she ever changed her display name to "Blooming Prosperity," it would feel disturbingly appropriate.
He tapped into her posts.
Photos of her figure.
Tasteful, artistic shots.
Travel pictures.
Concert halls, cafés, museum corners.
She clearly loved life.
What stood out most was the captions. Or rather, the lack of them. Every post was marked only by a timestamp.
[September 2, 2024. 21:30]
Two photos followed.
The most recent one was from last night. A selfie taken at a bar. She held a wine glass delicately, posture relaxed, expression calm and elegant.
Ethan lingered on the image longer than he probably should have.
Then he scrolled.
And kept scrolling.
The entire lecture passed while he went through her feed. Clara hadn't limited visibility at all. He reached posts from nine years ago.
He saw everything.
"This confirms it," Ethan murmured under his breath.
"The personalities changed, but the world stayed the same."
Her feed radiated warmth and intention. In the original novel, Clara Vaughn was cold, withdrawn, and never posted anything at all.
One post near the beginning caught his attention.
A missing person notice.
No photos. Just a name.
Leo Moore.
The birthdate listed below made Ethan pause.
October 10, 2005.
The same as his own.
"Hey," Mike said, leaning over. "What are you muttering about? Worldviews? Settings? What are you even looking at?"
"A novel," Ethan replied casually.
"A novel?" Mike craned his neck. "Show me."
Ethan locked the screen.
Thank god for a privacy filter.
If these idiots found out he'd spent an entire lecture scrolling through Professor Vaughn's social feed, they'd never let him hear the end of it.
Mike smirked knowingly. "Let me guess. Something spicy?"
"Are you sick?" Ethan said. "Who reads that stuff in class?"
"I don't buy it," Mike said. "Lift your shirt. Let your dad check."
"You're insane."
—
By noon, classes were finally over.
The four of them went together to the small cafeteria and ordered a big pot of food. Splitting the bill made it cheap enough that nobody complained.
This time, no one talked.
Everyone had learned their lesson.
They went straight for the meat.
Ethan wished he had three heads and six arms. The others were terrifyingly fast, especially Mike, who showed absolutely no mercy.
After lunch, they returned to the dorm. Computers booted up. Games launched.
Suddenly, Mike slapped his desk. "Hold on. Who was the idiot who set that alarm this morning?"
Sam immediately joined in. "Yeah. Own up. Confess now and we'll be gentle."
"Exactly. Who sets an alarm that early and ruins everyone's sleep?"
Ethan nodded fiercely. "Seriously. Absolute villain behavior."
Then, slowly, he turned his head.
All three of them stared at Chris Nolan.
Chris was halfway through a daily quest, completely confused. "What? What alarm? I didn't hear anything this morning."
Mike stood up first, cracking his knuckles. "Chris, I've tolerated you long enough. Every night with that fake-deep phone voice. Today, I'm peeling you like an orange."
Sam followed him up. "He doesn't even know what he did wrong."
Ethan moved last. But he moved fastest.
Two steps, then he was behind Chris, clamping a hand over his mouth. "I vote we act first. I'll handle silencing him."
Sorry, Chris.
Better you than me.
Chris barely had time to react.
One person covered his mouth.
One grabbed his arms.
Another attacked with merciless tickling.
The dorm exploded into laughter.
A few minutes later, Chris lay slumped in his chair, soul visibly shattered.
Mike exhaled. "Let this be a lesson. Make your calls on the balcony at night."
Sam nodded. "And don't ever set early alarms again."
"I didn't!" Chris protested weakly.
Ethan immediately covered his mouth again. "Come on, Chris. Why would you even need an alarm that early?"
Mike and Sam returned to their desks. One launched a game. The other queued a drama series.
Ethan patted Chris on the shoulder sympathetically. "Honestly, it's not really your fault. Apple phones are trash. Probably Siri messing with you. You should switch. I recommend Xiaomi."
Chris Nolan stared into the void, questioning every life decision that led him here.