Sylvia paused, her composure momentarily slipping. This was entirely outside the scope of her expectations. While she was acutely aware that her master's profound, centuries-long boredom had reached a critical threshold, and his recent abdication of the CEO position was a troubling development, the concept of a mortal academy had never even crossed her mind as a possibility for a man of his stature.
"If I may, Sir Lucien," Sylvia asked, her voice regaining its steady, calm cadence, "what is it that draws you to a school? Surely there is little for one such as you to gain from a curriculum designed for the young."
"Something has piqued my interest," Hades replied, his gaze drifting toward Ken, who was currently moving with practiced, rhythmic efficiency to serve a nearby table. "Besides, I have never experienced the four walls of an academy from the inside. I believe there may be something new to experience in the pursuit of mortal knowledge."
Sylvia did not argue. She did not object. In truth, a sense of relief washed over her; she was genuinely glad that something or anything had finally captured his attention, hoping it might finally quench the boredom that had plagued him for generations.
"Sir Lucien," she inquired, "at which institution shall you be enrolling?"
"The one he attends, and in his specific department," Hades commanded, his eyes tracking Ken as he retreated toward the kitchen.
Sylvia watched the boy disappear, a flicker of curiosity momentarily overriding her professional detachment. She wondered what interesting quality in that young man could possibly warrant the focus of her master.
"Also," Hades interrupted her thoughts, "whatever preparations you make, ensure it is firmly established that you are my acting mother and that Lance is my father."
"Me... your mother?" Sylvia gasped, her composure brakes for a brief moment. "My Lord, you want me to play the role of your mother?"
"Yes. Would that be a problem?" Hades asked, his expression blank. He possessed the appearance of a man in his early twenties, while Sylvia and Lance naturally carried the mature elegance of those in their mid-thirties. The deception was logically sound, even if he was centuries older than them.
"No, sir," she whispered, recovering her dignity. "It shall be done."
At the service counter, Ken felt a strange, lingering sense of unease. He had expected a different reaction from the enigmatic stranger, a man whose presence had caused such a stir among his colleagues, specifically Laura and her romantic fantasies.
"Hey, are you alright?" Laura asked, noticing Ken was rearranging the shelf with stiff, distracted movements. "You seem completely off."
Ken did not answer. He stared at the glassware, his mind cycling through the man's cold, commanding voice. Laura pressed further, "Ken? Is everything okay?"
Without a word, Ken set the glass down with a soft clink and walked toward the back, leaving Laura to wonder what unspoken transgression she had committed.
He arrived at his apartment well past midnight, his body vibrating with the exhaustion of a triple-shift day. He stumbled toward the bathroom for a shower, but as he crossed the threshold, his eyes locked onto the black coat and the sleek umbrella resting on his chair—the remnants of the previous night's encounter. He approached them, his fingers trailing over the dense, premium fabric.
Did he give me these out of pity? Ken wondered, his heart heavy. Was I trying to impress him by refusing to return them? He is clearly wealthy. Why did I object to keeping them when he insisted? What was I expecting from him?
He shook his head vigorously, trying to remove the thoughts. He couldn't afford to be paralyzed by existential questions; he had a shift by morning and a lecture at 8:00 AM. If he squandered his remaining hours of sleep on irrelevancies, his perfectly planned schedule would collapse. He bathed quickly and collapsed into bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
or so he thought.
The dream came suddenly. He felt a cold, phantom hand sliding up his thigh, the skin beneath his fingertips like ice. Another hand coiled around his neck, steady and possessive. The figure leaned forward, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to his lips. When the hand on his thigh slid beneath the hem of his shorts, Ken jolted, his heart hammering against his ribs as he clawed his way back to consciousness.
"wait.....It was just a dream?," he gasped, his room dark and suffocating. "Who was that? And why am I dreaming of... of him?"
His alarm cut through the silence at 6:30 AM. He groaned, the lack of sleep weighing on him like iron. It was Friday; he had a morning shift and afternoon classes, but at least the weekend promised a reprieve.
He finished his newspaper route early, around 7:05 AM, and decided to head back home, he was certainly going to arrive at campus earlier today with time to spare. However, his path was blocked by a piercing scream. Two streets away, a young woman was struggling with a masked assailant who beld her bag, his blade glinting in the morning light. Ken lunged forward without thinking, seeing ken jumped in,the man let go off the bag and attacked ken but he blocked the attack with his hand. The knife sliced through his left hand, the sting immediate and sharp, before the man panicked and fled.
"Thank you for saving me," the girl sobbed. "Should I call an ambulance?"
"No," Ken stammered, his mind instantly tallying the astronomical cost of an emergency room visit. "I'm fine. I have a first-aid kit at home."
she immediately understood what he meant "well since you got hurt because of me, shall i mend you wounds. I have a first aid kit in my apartment, please let me. I insist," she countered, her eyes filled with frantic gratitude. "I live across the road. Please, let me show my appreciation."
Reluctantly, Ken agreed. After the wound was bandaged, they exchanged numbers, and he raced to hus apartment, the encounter leaving him rattled.
On Saturday morning, after his morning routine, ken returned home early, he finally had the chance for his long overdue rest. While drifting into a restless slumber, the dream returned. This time, the sensation was visceral: the icy fingers, the weight of the shadow, the kiss that felt like a command. He woke up drenched in cold sweat, his breath hitching in his chest. He didn't see a face, but he felt the chilling, unnatural coldness of the hands.
He decided to pay his mother a visit before his afternoon shift. He brought her flowers and fruit, but as he sat by her bedside, the realization hit him: the bills were due, and his bank account was bone-dry. He had paid for his tuition fees about a month ago and his rent was due though he pleased with the manager to grant him an extension till month end.
When he returned to his apartment that night, he stared at the coat and umbrella while he took his bath. They were worth thousands or dollers, enough to clear his debts, pay his rent, and buy his mother's comfort. He sat in the bathtub, his hand reaching toward the fabric, his moral compass warring with his survival instinct. No, he thought, pulling his hand back. It would be a betrayal to sell a gift given in kindness.
Monday morning dawned with the weight of impending failure. Ken walked into the lecture hall, his mind buried in calculations of debt and interest, barely noticing the silence as the lecturer entered.
"We have a new student joining our department today," the professor announced, her smile bright. "Please, extend him the courtesy of a warm welcome."
Ken remained hunched over his desk, his eyes fixed on his empty notebook.
"Please, introduce yourself," the professor prompted.
A man stepped into the room, his presence shifting the very atmosphere of the hall. "Hey and hello," the voice drifted toward him, smooth and terrifyingly familiar. "I am Lucien Luther. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Ken's head snapped up. His blood ran cold. He has heard that voice before. The man standing at the front of the room, was the stranger from the rain and the wealthy man from the restaurant.
"Wait," Ken whispered, his voice trembling. "It can't be."