The alarm rang, jolting me awake. My chest rose and fell in quick, uneven breaths, remnants of last night's catastrophe still blurry. But as my vision adjusted, I realized I was in my hostel, safe.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the lingering haze. My surroundings slowly came into focus; my bed, my desk, my belongings untouched. It felt surreal, considering where I had been last night.
Across the room, Pink sat on a stool, her focus locked on the large mirror as she applied her makeup. Her strokes were precise, practiced. When she caught my reflection staring behind her, she paused, turning slightly.
With a forced smile played across her lips, she greeted me, "Happy Sunday, roomie."
Then, just as quickly, she turned back to the mirror, continuing her routine as if nothing had happened.
I pushed myself upright, my head still foggy. "Wh-what happened last night?" My voice was still, my memory a blurred mess.
"A lot," she replied flatly. She stood, slinging a mini pink handbag over her shoulder. "I'm off to church. You coming?"
I shook my head. "No. I don't go to church."
She raised an eyebrow, curious, but before she could ask, I added, "It's complicated."
Pink held my gaze for a moment before shrugging. "Well then, see you later." And with that, she left.
As soon as the door shut behind her, I dragged myself to the mirror. My fingers traced my neck, searching for the imprint of last night, of Nemus. But there was nothing. No bruises. No lingering pain. It was as if his iron grip had never touched me.
A chill ran down my spine. How was this possible?
The memories of last night swirled in my mind like a haunting melody. Nemus. The chaos. The darkness creeping into my consciousness before I blacked out. What happened after that? And more importantly, who was that man?
The questions gnawed at me, but I knew I wouldn't find answers standing there. Pushing my thoughts aside, I grabbed a towel and headed for the bathroom.
After freshening up, I sat at my desk, flipping open my laptop. If the school had any record of last night's incident, it would be in the news section or, at the very least, the gossip groups.
I scrolled through headlines. Nothing.
Not a single mention of a monstrous intruder or the sheer destruction that had unfolded at the basketball court. Not even a whisper in the student forum.
I frowned. That wasn't normal. At a school like this, even a minor fight became the talk of the week. But this? This was abnormal.
"Something fishy is going on," I muttered under my breath, staring at the blank screen.
And then, there was that nagging thought again.
Who was that man?
...
The next day at school, life moved on as if nothing had happened. Classes went on as usual. Students gossiped about trivial things. No one mentioned Saturday night.
It felt… wrong.
At recess, I grabbed two lunch packs from the cafeteria, one for me and one for Jesse. The least I could do was thank him. He had saved me. And despite our history, despite the fact that he clearly couldn't stand me, he had chosen to stand up for me.
That meant something.
As I stepped into the basketball court, my heart stopped.
It was spotless. No blood. No broken equipment. No sign that a battle had taken place there. The hoop stood perfectly intact. The bleachers unscathed.
I swallowed hard. Whoever covered this up had done a damn good job.
Shaking off the eerie feeling, I pushed open the heavy door to the players' locker room. The air inside was thick with the scent of sweat, liniment, and worn leather. Only a few players were present, one sat on the bench lacing up his sneakers, another leaned against a locker, rotating his shoulder in slow, deliberate circles. A third jogged in place near the far wall, earbuds in, eyes focused ahead like he was tuning out the world. The usual chatter was absent, replaced by the quiet thump of footsteps on rubber flooring and the occasional creak of metal lockers.
In the far corner, Jesse sat alone, hunched over on the edge of a bench with his elbows resting on his knees. His hands hung loosely, and his gaze was locked on the floor, unblinking, vacant, as if lost in a place far beyond the walls of the locker room
"Hey," I called softly coming over with the lunch packs in my hands.
He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "What can I do for ya?"
There was a coldness in his voice, but I pressed on.
"I just wanted to thank you for Saturday night," I said, holding out one of the lunch pack. "Here, I got you lunch."
His gaze flicked as he looked at me with those striking blue eyes "I'm full," he said flatly, turning away.
I exhaled sharply. "I know you don't like me, but can you at least accept this as a token of gratitude? You don't have to be rude about it."
At that, he stood from the wacky bench he'd been sitting on for a while, staring coldly into my deep brown eyes as he walked toward me with a slow, deliberate pace.
"I said I'm full, bitch," he muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then, shoulder-checking me as he walked past.
Heat crept up my neck, not from anger, but from embarrassment.
Silently, I placed the lunch pack on the bench where he had been sitting, his name boldly written on the lid. Then, without another word, I turned and left.
As I neared the court exit, I almost collided with someone rounding the corner. I stumbled back, heart leaping only to find myself face-to-face with Zack.
"Terra!" he burst out, eyes wide with disbelief. "You're in school?"
His voice carried a mix of relief and alarm, like he wasn't sure whether to hug me or scold me.
I blinked, taking a step back, confused by his tone. "Yeah. Why?"
His expression shifted instantly. The warmth in his eyes faded, replaced by a tight, guarded look. His brows furrowed, lips pressing into a hard line.
"You're supposed to be taking treatments," he said, voice low and edged with concern.
Before I could answer, he leaned in, narrowing the space between us. His fingers hovered near my collarbone, hesitating before brushing my hair aside to inspect my neck. His eyes searched the skin there like he was expecting to find something, marks, bruises.
"Zack," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "I'm fine."
But his tense jaw and the storm in his eyes said he didn't believe that. Not entirely.
"You sure?" He still looked unconvinced. "After everything that happened, you should be resting."
I offered a small, tired smile. "Maybe. But a break isn't what I need right now."
He studied me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Just… take care, okay?"
I gave him a reassuring nod before heading off.
After school, I stopped by the clinic, hoping to look for a valid explanation as to why there wasn't a single mark on my neck.
As I opened the wooden door, I was greeted by the sharp scent of antiseptic and syrup. I stepped inside and gently closed the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the stillness.
It was my first time in the clinic, and I took a moment to let my eyes roam across the unfamiliar space, sterile white walls, a row of neatly arranged medicine bottles, the hum of an old ceiling fan overhead. Everything smelled too clean, too quiet.
Then a coarse voice cut through the silence already beginning to settle.
"You must be Terra Tunes, right?"
I froze.
Turning slowly, my eyes locked onto the speaker, a young man in a short white lab coat, latex gloves snapped tightly around his hands.
When I saw his face, my breath caught.
I knew that face.
His sharp brown eyes, fair skin, and the neatly arranged dark brown hair, he looked exactly like the man who had intervened at the basketball court.
My pulse quickened. Who was he?
"You okay?" a voice giggled from behind him. That's when I noticed her, a girl sitting casually on one of the sickbeds, a bandage wrapped snugly around her waist. She had fair skin and a slim, average build, but it was her face that caught my attention: delicate features, eyes deep blue, and a beauty that felt both effortless and sharp. Her reddish-brown hair was tied back into a high ponytail, a few loose strands curling around her cheekbones.
"Stop staring at the old man like that," she teased. "He's not gonna eat you up."
The nurse let out a soft chuckle, glancing over her shoulder. "It's fine, Joy. I'm used to it," he said with a warm smile, as if this wasn't the first time she had interrupted a serious moment with casual banter.
"Hi," the girl said with a wave, her fingers wiggling lazily in the air. "Name's Rejoice, but everyone calls me Joy."
I barely heard her. My mind was still spinning as I blurted, "How are you alive? I watched Regina kill you."
Joy chuckled tilting her head slightly, her eyes flickering with curiosity as they scanned me up and down. "I'm a vampire, Terra. I can't die. Unless you cut off my head or drive a stake through my heart."
I stiffened, my gaze shifting back to the nurse.
"And you," I accused. "You were the one who stopped the brawl that night. What are you?"
He offered an innocent smile. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."
My frustration boiled over. "I swear it was you! You were holding a long stick, you controlled the atmosphere!"
At that, he sighed, deep and reluctant, like the truth weighed more than he wanted to carry. He exchanged a brief glance with Joy, who gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod.
"Fine," he said at last. "It was me. I'm Doctor Raymond. I'm a magician."
I stared at him, blinking in disbelief. "A magician? Seriously?"
Joy smirked from the bed, clearly amused by my reaction. "So… you heading to practice?"
I frowned, still trying to process what I'd just heard. "Why?"
"Basketball practice," she said, hopping off the bed with a small wince. "Saturday's the competition. They're training every day after school now."
I shook my head slowly. "I don't think I'll be able to make it."
"You should rest," Raymond said gently, handing me a small stack of papers, my test results from before. "You look stressed."
He wasn't wrong.
My hands tightened around the papers as I stepped out of the clinic, the air outside suddenly feeling colder, heavier.
This wasn't over.
In fact, I had a terrible feeling that this was just the beginning.