Chapter 45: That Can’t Be...![GTG]
Ryan sprawled back in his chair, clutching his fruit drink like a lifeline as he plowed through his third plate of food, completely unbothered by the stares around him. Courtesy? Manners? What were those, anyway? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten with any semblance of restraint. Maybe they’d invented forks and knives for civilized folk, but Ryan was far from interested in that.
"Whoa, easy there, buddy," Luke laughed, barely hiding a wince. "No one’s swiping your food... at least not while you’re watching."
Ignoring Luke’s quip, Ryan picked up a tender drumstick, glancing at it as though it was the only thing keeping him alive. Then, abandoning it, he turned to the bowl of noodles, its steam curling upwards like an invitation. Without a second thought, he tilted the bowl straight toward his face, slurping down the noodles like they held the answers to life’s mysteries.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips as he leaned back, the remnants of the feast littered around him. Finally, he noticed where he was—a sprawling, modern cafeteria, built like a palace of glass and steel. The setting sun drenched everything in hues of amber and crimson, a display of nature’s artistry that somehow felt like freedom itself.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped his lips as he leaned back, the remnants of the feast littered around him. Finally, he noticed where he was—a sprawling, modern cafeteria, built like a palace of glass and steel. The setting sun drenched everything in hues of amber and crimson, a display of nature’s artistry that somehow felt like freedom itself.
"Oh, I see you’ve finally calmed down," Luke remarked, watching him with an amused smile.
"Hey, don’t judge. You have no idea how hungry I was," Ryan shrugged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll believe it by the time you graduate." Luke rolled his eyes, pushing his plate aside.
Ryan’s gaze drifted through the cafeteria, finally settling on a figure who seemed to devour food with a sort of violent abandon. He was massive, his body straining against the confines of a white shirt, with a blazer carelessly draped over the back of his chair. His bald head gleamed under the cafeteria lights, and his arms—tree trunks rather than limbs—moved with calculated efficiency as he devoured his meal. But what truly irked Ryan was the mountain of food in front of him.