QUANTUM ACADEMY
***
With a furious burst of energy, Alen lunged at the curtain like a predator closing in on prey. Fire danced in his eyes.
But his glorious strike ended in a less-than-glorious faceplant.
Thud.
He groaned into the floor, his limbs sprawled like a squashed frog, while the actual culprit leapt out from behind the curtain—agile, quick, smug.
"Momo! Momo!"
The furball bounced through the room with boundless energy, from the table to the bed, then zipped off the windowsill like a rubber ball on caffeine.
Alen scrambled after it, teeth gritted, flailing like a mad dog trying to catch a mosquito.
"Stop! You little—! I knew it was you! I shouldn't have taken you in, you brat! Stay still… RIGHT NOW!"
But it was useless. The creature was an overcharged bolt of lightning, and Alen was a sleep-deprived human with zero stamina. He tripped on the mattress, bounced off the bed frame, and landed chin-first with a painful thump.
His nose throbbed. His chin swelled. And his pride? Thoroughly stomped.
Minutes passed. The chaos finally faded.
Alen now sat cross-legged on the floor, chest heaving, lips pursed in frustration, eyes hollow with defeat. His nose had turned a vivid shade of red, and his chin looked like it had lost a fight with a doorknob.
The creature, in contrast, perched on the bed like royalty, scratching itself lazily with its hind leg.
"Momo."
Thud.
It hopped down and slowly padded over to Alen, voice softer this time—almost hesitant.
"Momo… momo."
It sounded apologetic. A little guilty, even.
Alen sighed, raking his fingers back through his snow-white hair, the exhaustion from his last mission still clinging to him like a wet coat.
"Okay, okay… I get it. You had the urge to destroy everything," he muttered with sarcasm-laced resignation.
He looked around.
His once-cozy, pristine room had been transformed into something straight out of a war documentary. Torn fabrics, claw marks, broken glass… it was an apocalyptic landscape squeezed into four walls.
He leaned back, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, one hand covering his face.
"…I'm going to demand a hefty amount of compensation for you."
The creature tilted its head, blinking innocently, clearly not understanding. Its wide eyes made Alen feel even worse.
"Arrghh… whatever," he groaned, shaking his head.
For the next few hours, Alen tried—tried—to clean up the room. But after all his scrubbing, sorting, and sweeping, the mess still looked like modern art gone rogue.
He gave up.
Defeated, Alen shoved everything into piles, locked the room, and sealed the hyperactive creature inside a sturdy box with air holes.
"Let's go, menace," he grumbled.
He wore the standard white uniform—shirt and pants with slim green lines running along the sides. A small metal badge was pinned to his chest: ALEN HAMPSON, with the TKA crest etched beneath it. His bag was heavy with books on multiverse theory, the same ones he'd read over and over. Texts on how the multiverse had been formed, how it splintered, and how the Time Keeping Agency had saved it—again and again.
The world, of course, knew nothing about it.
Because TKA worked in shadows.
They had operatives more powerful than gods, technologies that bent reality, and a silent oath: never let the public know. Not because of some grand conspiracy—but because Earth's people were too... simple. Too emotionally fragile to handle the truth.
Learning that infinite versions of themselves existed? That the world wasn't unique?
Yeah. Most of them would mentally crack like a dropped egg.
Human beings clung too tightly to their "specialness."
Alen walked briskly down a street buzzing with young people in the same white uniform—each with different colors stitched on the sides to denote their ranks within the Quantum Academy.
Gold for elite students. Then black, red, blue, and finally… green.
Alen's color.
The lowest rank.
In both the Bureau of Time Police and the Academy.
People passed by with their Emos floating beside them or walking loyally at their heels. Girls squealed over the cute clothes their Emos wore. Trains zipped above their heads on magnetized skyrails.
This was his everyday life.
Alen turned and entered a small restaurant tucked between skyscrapers. A tiny bell above the door jingled as he stepped in.
Behind the counter, a kind-looking old woman adjusted her glasses and smiled.
"Oh, so you're back from your mission," she greeted.
Next to her stood an actual mummy—yes, a real, bandaged Egyptian mummy—serving food like it was the most normal job in the world. Its tattered bandages floated around like ribbons as it gracefully delivered trays.
"Good morning, Mrs. Clinton," Alen said, placing the box on the counter and nodding to the mummy. "And you too, Zaka."
The mummy nodded respectfully and continued its ghostly duties.
Alen smiled and turned back to the counter. "Anyway, can I get the—"
Before he could finish, Mrs. Clinton slid a warm burger and a frosty drink across to him.
"I had it ready," she said with a wink. "Don't worry, Zaka reheated it five minutes ago. Perfect for you."
Alen smiled and dug in.
But then—the box wobbled.
From inside the air hole, a nose twitched. Then two eyes peered out.
Mrs. Clinton raised an amused eyebrow. "What's in there?"
Alen jumped, clutching the box under his arms like it held plutonium. "Hahaha! It's, uh… just some rats. I'm taking them to throw out. Nothing dangerous!"
At the word "rat," Zaka froze… then slowly shuffled to hide behind a table.
Both Alen and Mrs. Clinton burst out laughing.
After eating, Alen stepped onto a floating marble disk—called TheStreet—and soared toward the Academy.
Alen stood on the floating disk as it glided through the air, his hands loosely holding the sealed box at his side. The wind tugged gently at his white uniform. Sunlight spilled across the massive city below, where trains crisscrossed overhead like streaks of silver, and people in pristine academy uniforms buzzed like insects in organized chaos.
The Quantum Academy came into view—an ivory behemoth of a building that pierced the clouds, its surface polished to a mirror shine. It looked like someone had dropped a monolith from the heavens, and no one dared to question its existence.
The disk slowed to a smooth halt at the landing platform.
Alen stepped off and joined the flow of students heading toward their classes. Each one walked with pride, the stripes on their uniforms glowing with color. The golden stripes shimmered like starlight—students of the highest rank. Black followed, then red, then blue. And finally… green.
Alen's color.
He adjusted his collar and kept walking.
The difference in status was subtle but ever-present. Conversations quieted slightly as people passed him. Some avoided eye contact. Others gave half-hearted smiles. It wasn't hate—they just didn't know how to regard someone who had remained stagnant for so long.
Three years.
Three years in the same class, at the same rank, while others climbed higher.
Why?
Because he had no Emo.
And in the Academy—and the Time Keeping Agency—an Emo was everything.
It was the first requirement for promotion, the base unit of power, recognition, and compatibility. Without one, you were just a guest in the system, a tourist wandering through timelines with no anchor.
Still clutching the box, Alen stepped into the building. Marble floors greeted him, along with grand halls framed by energy pillars that pulsed gently with knowledge. The walls whispered history—every inch filled with echoes of universal battles, victories, and tragedies.
He walked through the corridors until he reached his classroom. Same room. Same row.
Back seat.
His usual place.
Students were already seated in pairs or small clusters, Emos curled up on desks or floating around lazily, some sleeping, others blinking at the digital boards.
Alen sat alone, resting the box by his feet. He propped his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek into his palm.
The teacher entered—tall, straight-backed, with eyes that looked like they'd seen the birth and death of stars. His voice was calm but commanding, one that demanded attention even when it whispered.
"Let's continue our class," he said, activating the smart board behind him. A shimmering model of the multiverse sprang into view—a vast web of glowing strands, each line pulsing with life, possibility, and danger.
"As you all know, it is the responsibility of the Time Keeping Agency, or TKA, to maintain order across the multiverse. We are the topmost authority across timelines, existing above the bureaucracies of other worlds. We arrest the criminals who threaten reality, contain paradoxes, and safeguard the integrity of all known and unknown dimensions."
He tapped the board. Images shifted. Now it showed a swirling black hole at the center of a fortress.
"We imprison the worst of them in Black Water Prison—a singularity-anchored facility where time cannot flow freely. A place where those who could destroy entire timelines are locked away, unable to act."
Alen stared at the floating images. The lights reflected in his silver eyes, but there was no awe there—just tired familiarity.
The teacher turned to continue. "But our duties extend beyond punishment. We also identify future threats—those destined to bring catastrophe. We monitor them, guide them… and if necessary, eliminate them before their timelines fall into chaos."
The class watched intently. Some nodded in solemn agreement. Others scribbled notes.
Alen shifted his face deeper into his palm and sighed.
"And save the whole multiverse…" he whispered under his breath, eyelids drooping. "How many times am I going to hear that line before I die of boredom?"
Outside the window, the marble rails glimmered as another floating disk passed by, heading into the clouds.
Inside the box beneath his desk, something stirred, placed under the table.