Chapter 40 - Boys' Night
Our History Professor, Professor Gremus—better known as Doctor G, a nickna he relished as it highlighted his hard-earned doctorate—was standing before us, his square-shouldered fra illuminated by the faint glow of the hologram presentation. He looked every bit the seasoned academic, with a head of neatly combed gray hair and an unmistakable air of authority. A pair of small speaker modules hung from his belt, their soft hum a testant to the devices’ function: amplifying his voice to an authoritative boom perfect for commanding attention in a bustling lecture hall.
Doctor G gestured towards the vibrant hologram, which displayed the shimring contours of a planet bathed in blue and gold: Xyraxis. His voice rang clear, carrying a weight of reverence and history.
“When Xyraxis was created twenty years ago, humanity entrusted Duke Arcaliburn to spearhead the groundbreaking research into the planet’s cyber-mystic properties,” he began, his tone infused with equal parts pride and awe. “With the support of Treenity Innovations Corporation, they forged the Warfare Augnted Intelligent Fra Units—revolutionary chs—and from there, the intricate Weaponry Enhancent Engineering Bios system was born. It wasn’t long before Duke Arcaliburn rose as the Kaiser of Xyraxis.”
The hologram shifted with a fluid motion, zooming in on the spinning globe of Xyraxis until it revealed the intricate, glistening tropolis of Exestia. Animated sequences played, depicting the city’s construction—a breathtaking blend of futuristic skyscrapers and mystic-infused architecture. The presentation concluded with a towering monunt of Duke Arcaliburn, standing proudly in the heart of the capital, his likeness cast in shimring crystal.
Doctor G paused, letting the display hold our attention before continuing. “The capital city, Exestia, lies in the southern hemisphere of Xyraxis. It’s not just the center of trade and developnt for the cyber mystic—it’s the planet’s shield. The mighty Archonlight Tower stands vigilant, its light a barrier against external threats.”
The display morphed again, cycling through the faces of Xyraxis’ past leaders, each one imbued with a distinct presence even in holographic form. Finally, the current leader’s face appeared, accompanied by the radiant glow of the Archonlight behind her.
“Kaisers are the emperors and empresses of Xyraxis,” Doctor G explained, his voice now tinged with a touch of admiration. “Today, we are under the protection of Kaiserin Grace Arcaliburn, wielder of the Archonlight. Thanks to her, the Archonlight Tower stands strong, defending us from the relentless attacks of the Cosmic Beasts.”
A hand shot up from one of our classmates, a girl with a determined expression. “Doctor G,” she began, her voice cutting through the ambient hum of the hologram, “what about the Blackout Siege that happened months ago? Was the Kaiserin attacked during it?”
The room fell silent as everyone turned their attention to Doctor G. For a mont, he seed at a loss, his usual commanding presence faltering slightly. He adjusted his speaker modules, the small click of his fingers against the controls audible in the quiet. “Unfortunately,” he said after a pause, his voice more subdued than usual, “there are still many mysteries surrounding the Blackout Siege. What I can assure you is that the Kaiserin is safe, secure within the capital, and there was no recorded damage to the tower's Archonlight System. The investigation bureau continues to study the incident, but answers remain elusive.”
Another student leaned forward, their curiosity uncontainable. “Could it have been a hack?” they asked, their tone edged with a mix of fear and intrigue.
Doctor G’s response was firm, almost indignant. “No,” he said sharply, shaking his head. “The Archonlight Tower cannot be hacked. The system exists far beyond the realms of conventional quantum physics. What little we understand about it suggests it operates closer to the domains of magic than to any technology humanity has mastered. Even now, the true workings of the Archonlight and its tower remain an enigma.”
As he spoke, I felt a prickle of unease, my thoughts drifting to the events of the siege. Turning my head slightly, I locked eyes with Myrrh, my seatmate. Her expression mirrored my own—an uneasy mixture of apprehension and understanding.
We both knew. Ismail Arondight. That cyber-terrorist was sohow connected to the Blackout Siege, of that we were certain. But the real mystery was how he could manipulate sothing as otherworldly as the Archonlight. It wasn’t just improbable; it was impossible—or at least, it should have been.
The clock struck two in the afternoon, and the sharp, resonating electronic clang of the campus bell from the tenth floor signaled the end of classes. The classroom buzzed with the familiar shuffle of books, bags, and murmured conversations as students prepared to leave. Across the room, I caught sight of Myrrh, hurriedly cramming her belongings into her satchel.
“What’s the rush?” I asked, leaning casually against my desk.
She glanced at with a sheepish grin, her hands fumbling with the zipper of her bag. “Haha,” she chuckled nervously. “Mom’s got a craving for dried mangoes, so I promised to swing by the grocery store before visiting her at the hospital. Want to co along?”
I paused, considering her offer. Three seconds passed—a solid three seconds of debating whether to tag along or head ho. I didn’t have anything urgent to do, and, truth be told, I missed Myrrh’s mom. But just as I was about to reply, an eruption of chaos jolted from my thoughts.
“Zaft! Zaft! Help !” a desperate voice wailed.
Before I could react, Neil, the perpetually frantic guy sitting in front of , had practically launched himself at my desk. His face was a mix of panic and pleading, his hands gripping the edge of my table as if his life depended on it.
“What the—what do you want now?” I shot back, startled.
“I don’t understand anything about Protocol 101!” Neil cried, flailing his arms dramatically.
“That’s because you spend more ti napping than studying!” I snapped, glaring at him. “I just tutored Fei yesterday! Were you even listening?”
Neil winced like a scolded child. “I… might have been dozing off,” he admitted sheepishly. “But co on, Zaft! Please help ! I need to pass the written exam for the tournant!”
Before I could even process his plea, Remuel showed up, barreling toward my desk with theatrical flair. He dropped to his knees, clapping his hands together as if in prayer, his voice thick with mock desperation.
“Zaft, we beg you! Teach us! We’ll never survive the examination round without your help!”
I stared at him, horrified and cringing as if he’d just declared the second coming of a study god. “Remuel, really? You, too?”
Remuel’s eyes glead with guilt, his posture folding in on itself. “It’s because… well… I was kind of busy… uh, grinding for the seasonal event in BattleLords: Infinite Combat,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head.
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “You’re hopeless, both of you. Remuel, Neil, it’s not my fault you two prioritize napping and gaming over actually paying attention.”
Myrrh stood off to the side, stifling a laugh as she watched the scene unfold. Her earlier rush forgotten, she waited for to untangle myself from this cody of academic desperation.
I glanced at Myrrh, her lips curling into a forced smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. With a small wave, she backed toward the door. “Looks like you boys are busy,” she said, her tone light but edged with amusent. “I’ll just send your regards to my mom. Babye!”
“Wait, Myrrh!” I called out, reaching a hand toward her, but it was too late. She was already out the door, her long hair bouncing as she skedaddled away like a woman on a mission.
I groaned, running a hand through my hair, and turned to find the nearest lifeline. My eyes landed on Fei Xian, who was watching the scene unfold with an apologetic smile. Her fingers fidgeted nervously with the edge of her notebook as she spoke.
“I-I’m sorry, Zaft. I tried helping Neil last night, but…” She hesitated, glancing toward Neil, who looked pointedly at the floor. “He said he couldn’t understand anything I explained. Honestly, you’re a better tutor. You make the protocols simple enough for everyone to digest.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “So you’re the one responsible for this ss,” I muttered under my breath.
Before I could fully process my predicant, Neil grabbed my right hand in a dramatic plea. “Please, Zaft!” he begged, his face a mix of panic and desperation.
Remuel, not to be outdone, seized my left hand with equal fervor. “We’ll even treat you to snacks!” he promised, his voice brimming with exaggerated sincerity.
An uncomfortable shiver ran down my spine as I glanced at our awkwardly intertwined hands. It was—how do I put this?—cringe. Definitely not my style, and it stirred unwelco thoughts that I didn’t care to entertain. I yanked my hands away like they’d touched a live wire, wiping them on my pants with exaggerated vigor.
“Fine!” I sighed, throwing up my hands in mock defeat. “Fiiiiine. I’ll help you sorry shits.”
Neil’s face lit up as though I’d just handed him the keys to salvation. He gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “Great! Let’s head to my place!”
I shook my head, already dreading the hours ahead, and followed them out of the classroom, their excitent a sharp contrast to my resigned acceptance.
This was my first ti stepping into Neil’s dormitory room, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer size of the place—it was at least 50% bigger than my cramped room. As I looked around, my envy only grew. Neil’s room was practically a mini-apartnt, outfitted with an electric kettle, a rice cooker, and even an induction stove. A washing machine and dishwasher sat neatly tucked into a corner, making my laundromat visits and hand-washed dishes feel like relics of the past.
“Lucky bastard,” I muttered under my breath, eyeing the appliances like forbidden treasures.
anwhile, Remuel—the self-declared sponsor for the night—arrived with an armful of supplies. He dumped a grocery bag onto the counter, revealing a spread that scread “college survival mode”: white bread, liver spread, a tray of eggs, mie goreng, and a can of corned beef. It wasn’t glamorous, but it felt like ho. For once, our wallets could take a breather from the relentless drain of cafés and restaurants the girls always insisted on.
Since I was the designated tutor for these two nitwits, my only contribution to the evening was my stash of notes and books. I plopped them onto Neil’s study table and flipped open my neatly summarized cheat sheets.
“Alright, let’s get started,” I said, adjusting my seat. “Neil, what part of Protocol 101 is giving you trouble?”
But before Neil could answer, Remuel raised a hand like he was about to make a grand proclamation. “Hold it right there, Zaft!” he interrupted, grinning. “We can’t dive into studying on an empty stomach. Let’s cook first!”
“That’s right! No soldier fights a battle without fuel!” Neil chid in enthusiastically, nodding like this was so universal truth.
I sighed, already regretting my life choices. “I thought this was supposed to be a study session,” I grumbled, pushing myself to my feet. “Fine. Let’s cook so we can get this over with.”
“Nice! Zaft, you handle the mie goreng,” Neil instructed, clapping his hands together like a team captain. “Start by boiling so water, and maybe slice up so condints to fancy it up.”
Resigned, I grabbed the electric kettle and started heating water. As the kettle humd, I prepped the ingredients, chopping onions and scallions to give the instant noodles a touch of culinary flair. Across the room, Remuel was fully engrossed in making scrambled eggs, narrating his every move as if auditioning for a cooking show. “Gordon Ramsay said to add the butter last,” he muttered, his focus intense.
Neil, anwhile, was assembling a Frankenstein-esque creation: sandwiches stuffed with yakisoba, corned beef, and a sar of liver spread. “A masterpiece,” he declared with pride, holding up one of the monstrosities like it belonged in an art gallery.
It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but it had a certain charm—a chaotic, budget-friendly feast cooked up by three college guys who’d rather be eating steak but were too broke to afford it.
After thirty minutes of chaotic culinary experints, we finally finished crafting our questionable feast. The table was piled high with our noodle-corned beef-egg-liver spread sandwiches, but as we admired our handiwork, a sudden realization struck.
“Wait a second,” Remuel said, frowning as he scanned the spread. “We’re missing sothing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What, culinary dignity?”
“Drinks,” he declared with the conviction of a man unveiling the aning of life. “We need soda. Let’s hit the grocery store.”
“How about liquor?” I quipped, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes! That too,” Neil replied, entirely missing the joke.
So, with zero hesitation and even less regard for dormitory rules, we marched off to the convenience store. There, we picked up the essentials: a giant bottle of root beer, so orange soda, and li soda to cover all bases. Neil spotted a cheap brandy on the shelf, and before I could veto the idea, he’d already tossed it into the basket. We grabbed a paper bag to conceal our contraband—because sneaking liquor into the dorms was a ti-honored tradition—and then stumbled upon a tub of rocky road ice cream. Without a word, we all nodded in unison. The ice cream was coming ho with us.
Back at Neil’s room, we dove into the chaos we called dinner. The sandwiches, while monstrous in concept, weren’t half bad when washed down with soda and the occasional swig of brandy. The ice cream was devoured with the unbridled enthusiasm of three college guys who’d just discovered dessert after months of instant noodles.
By the ti we finished, the clock had struck ten. Plates were empty, the tub of ice cream had been scraped clean, and the air was thick with the lazy contentnt of a al well-destroyed. Unfortunately, it was also thick with the undeniable haze of tipsiness.
“We should probably start studying now,” I mumbled, though even I didn’t believe the words.
Neil leaned back in his chair, his eyelids drooping. “Or… hear out… we call it a night.”
Remuel gave a weak cheer, raising his soda bottle like it was a toast. “Best boys' night ever!”
And so, in the end, we didn't study shit.
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