Michael dropped his bag onto the bunk bed, casually laying out his sheets before turning to the unconscious boy on the floor. Without much thought, he picked him up and tossed him onto the bed. "Humans are funny," he muttered. "Quiet now, but soon enough, he'll wake up and make more noise."
His roommates stared, unsure of what to make of this strange, cold figure. Little did they know, this was just the beginning.
Michael glanced at the boy who had questioned him earlier. "Who am I, you ask?" He smiled darkly as he walked toward the boy. "I am you, and you are me. We are all the same—humans, constructed differently but bound by the same weaknesses. If you want a name, call me Michael Ozor. But if you ask what I am on a deeper level…" He paused. "I'd say I don't know. So who are you, boy?"
The boy froze, unsure how to respond. A voice behind him spoke up instead, "His name is Lere."
Michael's expression darkened at the mention of the name. It stirred hatred deep within him—one of the many reasons he despised humans. "Another Lere," he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "Annoying. Wicked. Unworthy of trust. But I suppose you're just another waste of sand with a similar name."
Without waiting for a response, Michael walked back to his bed and took out his phone, the room's attention still lingering on him. He was already tired of the interaction. They hadn't given him any reason to care about them.
His eyes drifted to his phone screen, scrolling through pictures of his beloved. A slow smile crept onto his face, a rare moment of joy breaking through his cold exterior. "She's different," he thought, watching videos and photos of his beloved, one of the only humans who made him want to live. "For someone who's wanted to die for so long, she makes me want to keep going."
His roommates watched in confusion, wondering what could make this seemingly heartless man smile.
Of course, they likely labeled him a "psycho" after less than a day, but what did it matter to him? Only two opinions ever mattered—his father's, and hers. He scrolled a bit more, savoring the memories, then eventually drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace washing over him as thoughts of her filled his mind.
He woke in the early hours of the morning, around 2 a.m., to continue his research. Since he had no special ability like the others, he relied on his intelligence. His "power" was to adapt, accumulate knowledge, and learn enough that it seemed as if he had a talent. Sometimes, he wondered if there was a dormant ability within him, one he hadn't discovered yet.
As he sat at his desk, his previously unconscious roommate was awake, seated at his own.
"Michael, what's your ability?" the boy asked.
Michael looked him dead in the eye. "I don't have one."
The boy's eyes widened in shock, struggling to comprehend how someone without an ability had beaten him so easily.
"Don't overthink it," Michael continued. "Humans are predictable. They rely too much on emotion, which makes them all…stupid." With that, he returned to his research, paying no further attention to the boy or his other roommates.
The morning came quickly.
Michael had just finished his work and was about to check his phone for any messages from his beloved when, suddenly, the scene around him shifted. He was teleported to a sprawling field filled with grass and flowers. Students were everywhere, most still wearing their pajamas. The girls, who had been transported while barely covered, were sent back briefly to change, returning fully dressed. The boys, of course, had gawked at the sight, driven by their usual shallow desires.
Michael sighed. Humans. Always chasing after lust, blinded by it. He was human too, once a slave to that same lust, but it had tired him out. It was a lie, a fleeting satisfaction. If he were to make such a mistake again, it would only be for the right person.
He observed the crowd, uninterested in the chaos, until a voice called out, "Ozor."
He turned without much reaction. "Almada," he greeted. "How are you?"
She smiled, but Michael remained indifferent. This is what makes her different from his beloved, he thought. His beloved would answer the question, not smile awkwardly.
"Almada, you had something to say?" he pressed, growing impatient.
She hesitated. "I'm fine, Ozor. I just wanted to tell you something…something deep."
Michael already knew what it was. She'd been avoiding this conversation for a while. Like most humans, she was afraid of rejection, choosing instead to indulge in delusions. Michael, however, had no patience for such games. "Almada, say it now or I'll leave."
Her face flushed in shock, but she spoke up. "Ozor…would you ever consider dating me?"
Without hesitation, he replied, "No. You're not the one."
He walked away, leaving her in stunned silence.
As he made his way through the crowd, tired of the interaction, he bumped into another girl. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat. His dark expression lifted, his heart raced, and a rare smile formed on his face.
"Elizabeth," he murmured. "My beloved."
The girl smiled back, teasing him with a playful "yeyeyen."
That was all Michael needed to hear. He embraced her tightly, losing himself in the moment. For this was his delusion, his dream—one he would gladly indulge in.
Suddenly, General Bola's voice echoed across the field.
"Welcome to Emox's morning routine!
BE READY!