Unholy Player

The shuttle arrived before Adyr had to wait long, and he took the first empty seat he could find.

The faces inside were all the same as always—tired, hollow, and worn thin by the silent scream of uncertainty about their futures.

Adyr knew each one carried a noisy story beneath that quiet mask.

He watched—always watched. A nervous tap of a finger, a smudge on a collar, the way someone's gaze lingered a second too long—every detail spoke. Within a year, he'd stitched together their inner lives from the smallest of tells. Breakfast routines. Favorite colors. Secret fears they'd never voiced aloud.

To others, they were classmates. To him, they were case files—open, bleeding, waiting to be read. Watching them wasn't just a habit. It was instinct. An itch in his brain he never tried to scratch.

And among them, there was one person Adyr had given a special place in his quiet routine. Like a treasured book he returned to with a cup of coffee on a rainy day.

His name was Eren. Towering at 2.05 meters with the build of a seasoned bodybuilder, he was the tallest among them. One glance was enough to sense his raw strength. It was hard not to wonder if he carried mutant genes; just how much more powerful could he become?

His head was nearly shaved, black hair cropped so close it looked like a shadow clinging to his scalp. His dark green eyes were sharp and cold, perfectly aligned with the hard, unforgiving lines of his face.

He was the kind of man people avoided on instinct, someone you'd cross the street to escape from. Even the wealthy mutant students, known for their arrogance, often thought twice before provoking him.

But only Adyr knew what lived beneath that monstrous exterior. The quiet grief. The unbearable solitude. And the tragedy that had carved him into what he'd become.

As he quietly enjoyed the morning, the shuttle gradually slowed and came to a stop at the final station—the campus terminal.