Chapter Text
University—one of the first brutally competitive environments a person must face upon turning eighteen, upon stepping into adulthood. Study, strive, push yourself to the limit—but indulgence is inevitable too. Parties, networking, making friends, expanding connections that might prove useful someday. University is like a miniature society, a place where people from different regions converge beneath the same roof to learn side by side. The atmosphere is nothing like middle school or high school. It is sharper. Louder. More calculating.
When he received the invitation to New Zealand to attend this university, Saparata knew exactly what he was walking into—and how he needed to prepare.
Saps—that was the more familiar name—transferred here at the start of his sophomore year. During his entire freshman year, he had stayed in California, his hometown, spending his time observing, adjusting, trying to understand the rhythm of university life there. Only to realize, in the end, that it did not truly suit him.
Saps was intelligent. His strategy upon arriving here was simple.
Be approachable.
Make friends.
Expand social networks.
Extract value from those connections.
Secure his dream job.
He understood something clearly—perhaps more clearly than most. In this world, no relationship survives on feelings alone.
He could not spend time with someone merely because they made him feel happy.
He could not devote himself wholeheartedly to a friendship if all they ever did was make him laugh.
For Saps, that was not enough.
Saps needed profit. He needed returns—benefits that could generate more benefits. And with a radiant smile and a honeyed tongue like his, making friends in university was hardly a challenge.
“Silas Saparata, are you even listening to me?”
The shrill, sharp voice cut through the air. Saps startled out of his thoughts and turned around.
It was Madzvie—the campus party queen—draped, as always, in something dazzlingly pink and flamboyant enough to blind the sun. With her high-pitched, almost theatrical tone, anyone would assume she was some spoiled, self-absorbed rich girl.
They wouldn’t be entirely wrong.
Born with a golden spoon in her mouth, to Madz, going to university was no different from a leisurely shopping trip in her glittering pink convertible. The “party girl” label followed her everywhere. Most people simply called her “Barbie.”
“This weekend we’re having a girls-only party—with only a few boys invited, Saps~” she sang, clinging to his arm. “Don’t you feel honored to be one of them??”
Madzvie latched onto him, melting against his arm like a dramatic little snail refusing to let go. In his other hand, Saps held a glass of orange juice, taking a slow sip as if none of this concerned him.
“And what exactly are we celebrating again…?” he asked absentmindedly.
A playful smack landed against his shoulder.
“My nineteenth birthday, you jerk!!” she snapped, though the pout swelling on her cheeks made it far less threatening. “I’m inviting everyone—especially the girls. But boys? I’m being selective. And those Mykonos idiots? Absolutely not invited!”
She crossed her arms, puffing her cheeks, glaring at him as though he were some chosen favorite blessed by her generosity.
“Right,” Saps replied smoothly, the corner of his lips lifting just enough. “I’ll choose the gift carefully. Don’t worry.”
“What? Anyone else, maybe. But if it’s you, just showing up is enough. Jophiel and Cass are really hoping you’ll be there too!”
From that exchange alone, anyone could probably tell how well-liked Saps was.
Not just liked—adored.
Especially by the girls.
It wasn’t the aggressive, romantic kind of infatuation. Nothing desperate or breathless. The girls at this university simply felt safe around him.
He spoke gently, carefully choosing his words. Though lively by nature, he was attentive—thoughtful in small, almost imperceptible ways. Sometimes he would slip in a dry joke at just the right moment. He was easy to sit beside, easy to confide in.
Among the boys, Saps was noticed too—but known far less.
In their eyes, he was the transfer student who had only been here half a year, yet somehow always landed on the Dean's List. The guy the girls seemed to gravitate toward. In short, if you studied here, you knew who he was.
With striking white hair and amber eyes like molten gold, standing at 5’11—not too lean, not overly broad—Saps drew attention even in the simplest clothes. He didn’t need to try. Eyes found him anyway.
From the outside, people assumed he loved socializing and mingling with everyone.
The truth was different.
He only hoped no one looked closely enough to notice a pattern—that he tended to grow close only to those who were leaders, presidents of major clubs, members of influential councils. That he showed up most often at parties where those names gathered.
Somewhere deep inside, a faint guilt lingered. If one were to put it bluntly, the way he befriended people was not so different from using them.
But hardship had taught him something essential.
What he was doing was practical.
Necessary.
This was how one survived in a world like this.
Saps did not regret it. He felt a quiet sympathy for the people he laughed and talked with—but he believed that if they ever knew the truth, they would understand.
Saps had the talent to make people weak in the knees—so why not use it?
“Alright then, it’s settled—THIS SUNDAY NIGHT! If you don’t show up, I’m posting your face all over my page and publicly shaming you, you jerk!!”
Madzvie slammed her palm against his back before flashing a bright, triumphant grin and skipping away in delight.
“Hm. I’m not foolish enough to miss an opportunity like this,” Saps murmured to himself once she was out of earshot, a small smile curving on his lips.
His objectives for sophomore year had already been mapped out back when he was still attending university in California.
He would familiarize himself with every prominent name on campus—professors included. The ones he intended to secure internships under. The ones he would approach for guidance, for detailed academic discussions, for recommendation letters. He would earn scholarships. He would align himself with presidents of major clubs and influential student councils.
And not only the visible tip of the iceberg—Westhelm, Coalition, Mykonos, and the like—
—but also the quieter, more discreet circles. The closed groups whose activities were far less wholesome. Canadian Cart. Covenant.
Even though he had entered this university as a sophomore—already one step behind those who had started here as freshmen—after just a single fall semester, Saps had nearly reached, spoken to, and formed connections with almost every major leader on campus.
Almost.
There was one face.
A familiar one. A famous one. Whenever Saps walked across the courtyard, his gaze would inevitably collide with that person’s.
And yet, he had never had the chance to speak to them.
Well… even if he wanted to, it wouldn’t have been easy.
“Watch where you’re going.”
The voice was sharp—refined, almost aristocratic. Even the cadence carried itself with elegance, like someone raised under strict etiquette and polished expectations.
Saps scrambled to his feet after accidentally colliding with a figure in the middle of the courtyard. He hadn’t been paying attention—his mind still wandering, debating what gift to buy Madz this weekend and calculating whom he should approach first at the party.
“I’m sorry…” Saps steadied himself quickly, pushing up to stand as the sunlight momentarily blinded him.
When his vision finally settled on a single point, it felt as though he were surrounded by a flock of crows.
A somber blackness enveloped him. The harsh sunlight from moments ago could not seem to pierce through the dark curls of the man standing before him. Cold violet eyes regarded him with quiet appraisal, cutting straight through him as if measuring something unseen.
Saps felt threatened.
He felt… unsettled.
The person in front of him was terrifying.
Fluixon.
The infamous Fluixon was standing right there.
“Hmpf.”
Flux let out a low scoff before turning his face away, stepping past Saps as though nothing had happened—leaving behind nothing but that faint, dismissive sound.
And that was the leader of The Conspiracy.
Fluixon—though most people simply called him Flux.
Saps did not know much about him. But he was certainly one of the most notorious figures on campus.
“Who doesn’t know Fluixon?”
It was practically a catchphrase whispered around the university courtyard.
All Saps knew was that Fluixon was widely disliked for his air of superiority. A private person. Reserved. Introverted.
Honestly, one only had to glance at him to understand that much. He was always dressed in clothes that concealed nearly his entire body, regardless of whether the weather was sweltering hot or bitterly cold.
And perhaps most notably—he was not short on money.
Flux was the youngest son of the renowned Aculon family in the United States. It was easy to see why his manner of speech was so meticulous, why the way he dressed and carried himself felt restrained, dignified—almost severe.
His skin was pale, as though it had never once been touched by sunlight. His black hair was neatly combed, yet naturally curled in places like the dark weave of a crow’s nest—glossy, enigmatic. He had a beautiful face. Beautiful in a way that felt unfair. And those mysterious violet eyes only deepened the impression.
Flux had few friends—of course he did. What kind of person like that would have many? Yet the friends he did have were remarkably tight-lipped and loyal.
The Conspiracy.
A group formed to discuss hypothetical “strategies” for absurd future scenarios that might one day unfold. It sounded secretive. Slightly delusional, even. But its members were the people closest to Flux.
Rumor had it that everyone in The Conspiracy had been his childhood friend.
Sometimes Saps wondered what it was about Flux that made others feel compelled to follow him.
Because, frankly, in Saps’s eyes—
Flux was nothing more than an asshole.
They shared the same major, which meant they occasionally ended up in the same classes. You could technically call them classmates, but they had never once had a proper conversation.
Flux sat at the back of the lecture hall, withdrawn into a corner like some brooding extremist.
Meanwhile, Saps occupied the front row—eagerly answering questions, engaging professors in discussion.
That was Saps’s first impression of Flux.
A man of few words. Few friends. More accurately, no desire for friends at all.
Someone who isolated himself from the world—the complete opposite of Saps.
The second impression was far better.
Saps didn’t know how Flux had performed in his first year here. But ever since sophomore year—since the moment Saps set foot on this campus—whenever major exams ended, midterms or finals, he would always see Flux’s name listed alongside his own on the Dean's List.
Which meant Fluixon—arrogant, wealthy, insufferable as he seemed—was also academically brilliant. Consistently so.
That was the second impression.
And the third—
The first time they truly had contact was during lunch, right after the fall midterms ended.
Saps was in the cafeteria, talking with Schpood. He wasn’t particularly into sports, but he could listen to someone ramble about them, understand just enough, and play along convincingly.
“And then he took the shot—it was insane!! Did you see it last night, Saps? That free kick was freaking beautiful, I swear, absolutely insane!” Schpood exclaimed, animated as if he’d scored the goal himself. He
slung an arm around Saps’s shoulders so forcefully that Saps nearly toppled over.
And then he did.
For a split second, Saps thought Schpood had shoved him on purpose. But when he looked up, he saw only concern on Schpood’s face.
Saps was flat on his back on the floor.
Someone had definitely pushed him.
It hadn’t been a light bump. The force was deliberate—strong.
He stared straight ahead, greeted by Schpood’s anxious grimace and a stream of rapid, “Are you okay? Hey, are you okay?” as a hand reached down to pull him up.
Then Saps tilted his head back.
He saw a figure.
A silhouette almost entirely black, walking away slowly without a single glance behind.
Saps pushed himself upright and looked toward the retreating form.
And then that person stopped.
Turned.
Their eyes met.
They held each other’s gaze in silence.
Flux looked at him with something that resembled disgust. Contempt.
Or perhaps Saps imagined it.
Up until that moment, they had never spoken. Never interacted.
That day, Saps could only stand there amid the concerned chatter of those around him, eyes fixed on Flux’s back as he pivoted and exited the cafeteria.
Deliberate.
It had to be deliberate.