CHAPTER EIGHT
Michael dropped his bag onto the bunk bed and began arranging his sheets, taking his time as though he hadn't just knocked another student unconscious.
Once he was satisfied, his attention shifted towards the boy lying on the floor.
He stared at him for a moment before casually bending down, grabbing him and tossing him onto the bed.
"Humans are funny," he muttered, dusting his hands. "Quiet now, but soon enough, he'll wake up and start making more noise."
He returned to his belongings without giving the matter another thought.
His roommates, however, hadn't quite recovered from what they had witnessed. Their eyes followed his every movement, each of them seemingly struggling to understand what sort of person they had been assigned to share a room with.
Was he joking? Was he serious? Was there something fundamentally wrong with him?
They had no idea.
Little did they know, this was only the beginning.
Michael glanced towards the boy who had questioned his identity earlier.
"Who am I, you ask?"
A faint smile appeared on his face as he began walking towards him.
"I am you, and you are me. We are all the same. Humans, constructed differently, perhaps, but ultimately bound by the same weaknesses."
He stopped in front of the boy.
"If you want a name, call me Michael Ozor. But if you're asking what I am on a deeper level..."
He paused, looking away briefly.
"I'd say I don't know."
His smile faded.
"So, who are you, boy?"
The student froze, seemingly unsure whether Michael was genuinely asking or simply making fun of him.
Before he could answer, another voice emerged from behind.
"His name is Lere."
Michael's expression changed.
Lere.
The name stirred something unpleasant within him, bringing a familiar wave of resentment to the surface. It was one of the many reasons he despised humanity. Names, faces, personalities... people had a remarkable ability to remind him of things he would rather forget.
"Another Lere," he scoffed, narrowing his eyes.
"Annoying. Wicked. Unworthy of trust. But I suppose you're just another waste of sand with a similar name."
He didn't bother waiting for a response.
Turning away, Michael returned to his bed and retrieved his phone. The attention of his roommates still lingered on him, but he couldn't have cared less.
They hadn't given him a reason to care about them, and he certainly wasn't going to manufacture one.
He unlocked his phone.
There she was.
His eyes softened as he scrolled through the pictures and videos saved on his device. A slow smile crept across his face, gradually replacing the cold expression he had worn throughout the evening.
Elizabeth.
His beloved.
He watched one of her videos, then another. Each image seemed to draw him further away from the unpleasant reality surrounding him.
"She's different," he thought.
Different from everyone else.
For someone who had spent so long wishing for death, she was one of the few people who made him want to continue living.
It was a strange contradiction, really.
He could look at the world and see nothing worth preserving, yet a single person could make him reconsider whether leaving it was such a good idea.
"For someone who's wanted to die for so long..." he murmured, his eyes fixed on her picture. "She makes me want to keep going."
His roommates watched him from a distance.
A few moments ago, this same boy had been throwing people around, threatening them and speaking about humanity as though he considered himself separate from it. Now he was sitting on his bed, smiling at his phone like a lovesick fool.
What on earth was going on inside his head?
They had probably already labelled him a psycho.
Perhaps they weren't entirely wrong.
But what did their opinions matter?
There were only two opinions Michael had ever truly cared about: his father's and hers.
He continued scrolling, occasionally replaying a video or lingering on a particular photograph. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with him.
He placed his phone beside him, settled into bed and closed his eyes.
For once, his mind was quiet.
And as thoughts of Elizabeth filled his dreams, Michael drifted into sleep with a rare sense of peace.
It was approximately two in the morning when Michael awoke.
The room was dark, save for the faint glow of computer screens and the occasional flicker of light from the equipment scattered around them.
His roommates were mostly asleep.
Mostly.
Michael stretched, rubbed his eyes and reached for his laptop.
There was work to be done.
Unlike the others, he had no extraordinary ability to rely on. No flames, no teleportation, no supernatural strength. Whatever advantages his classmates possessed, he would have to find another way to compete.
Intelligence.
That was his weapon.
His ability, if he could even call it that, was to adapt, accumulate knowledge and understand things well enough to imitate what others might accomplish through their talents.
He studied. He researched. He observed.
And whenever he encountered something he didn't understand, he made it his business to learn.
Given enough time, perhaps he could acquire knowledge that would make his lack of an ability seem almost irrelevant.
Sometimes, however, he wondered whether there was something dormant within him. Perhaps he possessed an ability that had yet to awaken. Perhaps there was something about himself he hadn't discovered.
But those were merely possibilities.
For now, he had knowledge.
And that would have to suffice.
As he worked, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye.
The boy he had knocked unconscious was awake, sitting at his own desk.
Apparently, the world hadn't ended after all.
"Michael," the boy called.
Michael continued typing.
"What's your ability?"
His fingers stopped.
Slowly, he turned his head and looked directly at him.
"I don't have one."
The boy's eyes widened.
He stared at Michael, struggling to reconcile the answer with what had happened earlier. How could someone without an ability have beaten him so easily? He could teleport. He possessed an advantage that should have made the confrontation effortless.
Yet he had ended up unconscious on a bed.
"Don't overthink it," Michael said, turning back towards his screen. "Humans are predictable. They rely too much on emotion, which makes them all..."
He paused.
"Stupid."
And with that, he returned to his research.
Conversation over.
He had no interest in explaining himself, nor did he particularly care whether the boy believed him. If his roommates wanted to spend their time wondering about his abilities, they were welcome to do so.
He had better things to occupy his mind.
Morning arrived quicker than expected.
Michael had just finished his work and was preparing to check his phone for any messages from Elizabeth when the environment around him suddenly shifted.
His surroundings dissolved.
In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing in an enormous field.
Grass stretched across the landscape, dotted with flowers that swayed gently in the morning breeze. Students were scattered everywhere, some looking bewildered, others visibly irritated by the sudden transportation.
There was just one particularly noticeable detail.
Most of them were still wearing their pyjamas.
The girls, some of whom had been transported while barely dressed, were briefly sent back to change before being returned to the field fully clothed.
The boys, naturally, had taken an unusual interest in the entire situation.
Some stared. Others whispered. A few seemed almost disappointed when the girls returned dressed.
Michael watched the spectacle with a tired expression.
Humans.
Always chasing after lust, blinded by whatever fleeting pleasure happened to catch their attention.
He wasn't entirely innocent himself. There had been a time when he, too, had been a slave to such desires. But eventually, he had grown tired of them.
It was all a lie.
A momentary satisfaction that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind nothing particularly meaningful.
If he ever made such a mistake again, it would only be for the right person.
And he knew exactly who that person was.
He turned his attention away from the crowd, uninterested in their conversations and childish excitement.
Then a familiar voice called out.
"Ozor."
He turned.
"Almada."
His expression remained relatively unchanged.
"How are you?"
She smiled.
Michael stared at her for a moment.
This was one of the things that made her different from his beloved, he thought. Elizabeth would actually answer the question rather than simply smile awkwardly.
Still, he had no reason to dwell on it.
"Almada, you had something to say?"
His tone carried a hint of impatience.
She hesitated.
"I'm fine, Ozor. I just wanted to tell you something..."
She lowered her voice slightly.
"Something deep."
Michael sighed internally.
He already knew.
She had been avoiding this conversation for some time, and he had a fairly good idea of where it was heading. Like many people, she was afraid of rejection. Rather than confront the possibility directly, she had allowed herself to linger in uncertainty, perhaps hoping that things would somehow turn out differently.
Michael had no patience for such games.
"Almada, say it now or I'll leave."
Her expression changed.
The bluntness of his response clearly caught her off guard. Her cheeks flushed, and she seemed to struggle for a moment to find the right words.
But eventually, she spoke.
"Ozor..."
She took a breath.
"Would you ever consider dating me?"
Michael didn't hesitate.
"No. You're not the one."
That was it.
No lengthy explanation. No attempt to soften the rejection. No false promises.
He simply turned and walked away.
Behind him, Almada remained standing, stunned into silence.
Michael didn't look back.
He had no intention of entertaining a conversation that had already reached its conclusion.
As he made his way through the crowd, he let out a tired sigh.
Another unnecessary interaction.
Another reminder of how complicated humans could make the simplest things.
He continued walking, weaving between the students, his attention elsewhere.
Then he bumped into someone.
His eyes lifted.
And everything changed.
For a brief moment, the surrounding noise seemed to fade. His heart skipped a beat, his previously dark expression softened, and a smile began forming across his face.
Elizabeth.
His Elizabeth.
The person he had spent the night looking at through pictures and videos was suddenly standing right in front of him.
"Elizabeth..." he whispered.
His voice softened.
"My beloved."
She smiled back, her expression playful.
"Yeyeyen."
That was all it took.
Michael stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly. Whatever irritation he had carried throughout the morning disappeared almost instantly.
He held her as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
And perhaps, for him, it had.
This was his delusion.
His dream.
The little world he had constructed around the one person who made existence bearable.
He knew it was a delusion, or at least he was willing to acknowledge that possibility. But what did it matter?
If this was the one illusion he wanted to indulge in, then he would gladly lose himself in it.
For once, he didn't want to think about death, Emox, his roommates or the people surrounding him.
He just wanted to hold her.
Suddenly, a booming voice shattered the moment.
"WELCOME TO EMOX'S MORNING ROUTINE!"
General Bola's voice echoed across the field, demanding everyone's attention.
Michael's embrace loosened slightly.
He glanced towards the source of the voice, his expression gradually returning to its usual indifference.
"BE READY!"