Leo Carter's alarm clock blared its obnoxious tune, a blend of synthesized horns and a whiny electronic beep that sounded like an angry wasp. He groaned, slapping the snooze button with a practiced motion before rubbing his face. The morning sunlight streamed through the cracked blinds, draping golden slashes across his cluttered desk. On it, among half-empty coffee cups and a pile of scribbled notes, lay the textbook that had been both a source of fascination and frustration for the past week: Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.
The irony wasn't lost on Leo. A 21st-century English major reading about the fall of a man who once ruled the known world, only to become the subject of high school literature classes. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, contemplating his own tragic tale—an entire semester spent wading through the idiosyncrasies of Elizabethan English with the sole reward of eye-rolls from his friends when he quoted Brutus's "Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more."
Leo's apartment was a chaotic mosaic of things he didn't need but couldn't throw away: old concert tickets, faded posters of punk bands, and stacks of unread books that served as decoration. He stretched, the dull ache of sleep leaving him as he shifted to the mundane reality of the day. The college's English Lit class was scheduled for 10 a.m., which meant he had just enough time to microwave a breakfast burrito and spill half of his coffee on the way out.
As he passed the cracked mirror by the door, Leo shot his reflection a crooked smile. "You got this, Caesar," he muttered, channeling the play's tragic hero as he tugged his worn backpack over one shoulder. A chuckle slipped out as he reached for his keys, but it was a nervous one, the kind that came when you had no idea what you were walking into.
The campus was alive with that familiar buzz of chatter and hurried footsteps. Leo navigated through groups of students, each one immersed in their own worlds. He spotted Mara, the girl from his Writing in the Digital Age class, balancing a stack of notebooks while typing out a text with one hand. She was a history major, always with an opinion that could turn a casual conversation into a debate. Leo knew she'd have plenty to say about today's lesson on the Ides of March. His gut told him the discussion might hit a little differently this morning.
With a practiced nod and a distracted "Hey," Leo finally slipped into the classroom, an old, converted lecture hall with tall windows and graffiti carved into the wooden desks—testaments to the many years of students who'd come before him. He picked a seat near the middle, one where he could daydream and occasionally nod in agreement without the professor's beady eyes catching him in the act.
"Alright, settle down," came the voice of Professor Hargrove, a wiry man with a permanent crease between his brows. He was as old as the university itself, a relic of an era when academia was revered, and his passion for Shakespeare was almost contagious. Almost.
"Today, we'll delve into the character of Caesar," Hargrove began, pushing his glasses up and eyeing the class with the authority of someone who'd written a dissertation on the man. Leo shifted in his seat, forcing himself to focus. But the morning was still fresh in his mind, and the echoes of that bleary-eyed smile kept tugging at him. He glanced down at his book, half-open to a section about the political alliances and betrayals that had carved out Caesar's fate.
Unbeknownst to him, Leo's eyes lingered on a page that shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly. It was subtle enough to be dismissed as a trick of the light, but there, nestled between Brutus's scheming words and Caesar's fateful line, "Et tu, Brute?" something began to shift. The words seemed to flicker, like they were on the verge of being revealed.
And then, Leo blinked, shook his head, and looked around the classroom. No one else seemed to notice. The sunlight glared off the windows, reflecting a dull gold that caught his eye one last time before Professor Hargrove's voice cut through the room, urging them forward.
"Let's talk about power and ambition," the professor said, but Leo was already too lost, staring at the book in his hands as the room around him faded.