Chapter Text
The alarm on Sethos's phone screamed right as it hit morning.
A groan echoed across the dorm room, followed by the dull thud of his hand smacking the nightstand until the noise stopped. He blinked at the faint morning light leaking through the blinds, strands of dark brown hair falling over his eyes. His roommate was long gone — early lab class probably — leaving the place quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the city sounds trickling in from the open window.
"Ugh. Mondays..." Sethos muttered, his voice hoarse.
He sat up slowly, scratching the back of his neck. His sheets were half-kicked off the bed — like always — and his backpack was on the floor, one strap broken from how carelessly he tossed it down last night after practice. He could already feel the soreness in his legs from practice with the university basketball team the day before.
His alarm rested right beside him on the cabinet — 8:04 AM
Great. He's gonna be late.
He quickly stood up and stretched his arms up high before finally walking to the bathroom to shower.
The mirror in the bathroom greeted him with a familiar reflection: a tall, lean guy with honey-toned skin, dark brown hair with some pale hair strands and that half-lazy grin that somehow made it seem like he'd been up to something — even when he hadn't.
People said Sethos looked confident all the time. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, or the way he talked like everything came easy to him.
Truth was, he worked hard — but he liked people thinking he didn't. It made victories feel sweeter.
Just as quickly as he got out of the shower, he changed into his clothes.
Sethos's outfit looked like it was thrown together at the last minute, but somehow everything just worked. He wore a crisp white button-up shirt, sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, the collar slightly undone to show a bit of his neck. Over it, he'd thrown on an olive-green vest — the buttons mismatched but stylishly so — and a loosely knotted black tie.
To top it off, he paired it all with faded, baggy black jeans, worn and softened from constant use, hanging just right over his black leather shoes — sturdy, comfortable, and loud when he walked across the hallway tiles. Around his neck, a silver chain with a small star charm caught the light whenever he moved, a subtle detail that somehow made the whole outfit feel more personal.
"Two buildings away..." he mumbled to himself as he tugged on his bag. "Why are universities so damn big?"
He grabbed his phone, earbuds, and energy drink before heading out. The campus outside was alive already — clusters of students walking past the fountain plaza, coffee cups in hand, some half-awake, some rushing for early lectures. The autumn breeze smelled faintly of coffee and asphalt.
Sethos popped in his earbuds, music blasting as he walked. He greeted a few people — teammates, classmates, friends from orientation — all of whom waved back. Being sociable came naturally to him. He was easy to talk to, and that made him popular, though he'd never call himself that. It was just... how he was.
He jogged up the stairs to the lecture hall, a little out of breath. He stared at his phone with the map app on. "Shit! I'm so dead!" he whispered-shout, glancing at the time. Three minutes left.
When he finally reached to the lecture, there were already a lot of students out with their books and listening to the professor with a huge screen showing a bunch of ancient civilizations or some shit.
He huffed as he checked his phone.
Five minutes late. Wowzers.
He quickly searched for an empty seat somewhere far behind and found one just a bit close to the door — just the right balance between looking attentive and staying invisible when he didn't feel like answering questions.
As the professor continued to teach with their long ass rotan , the door opened again.
Sethos froze.
The one person he had hoped not to see — walked in.
Hat Guy.
Even after all these years, that name carried a faint sting in his chest. He didn't even know if Hat Guy was his real name, but that's what everyone called him — just like in high school.
His hair was the same shade of dark violet, slightly longer now, framing his sharp features. His outfit was just a bunch of purple with some white and dark blue palettes. He looked just as composed and unimpressed as ever, as if the entire world didn't matter enough to deserve a single glance.
Their eyes met — briefly.
Sethos looked away first.
Of course he'd end up in this class too.
— 🐝 —
Back in high school, he never meant to start a rivalry with him. It just...it just happened.
They were complete opposites. Sethos was loud, outgoing, and naturally athletic — the kind of guy teachers asked to "help around" during school events, always smiling, always in motion. Hat Guy, on the other hand, was quiet, sarcastic, and sharp-tongued. He didn't try to make friends, didn't care to fit in, and had this aura of detachment that made people hesitate to approach him.
And Sethos was no exception.
At first, Sethos hadn't seen him as a rival. He was just curious. Hat Guy was the only student in their class who could answer every question before the teacher even finished asking it, who finished essays with dry, flawless precision, and who somehow managed to make even the top students feel small without saying a word.
Sethos thought he was cool, in a weird, mysterious way.
He remembered the first time he'd tried to talk to him — after class, leaning casually against the desk beside Hat Guy's, flashing that easy grin he was known for.
"Hey, you're pretty good at this stuff," Sethos had said. "You ever, I dunno, help people study?"
Hat Guyhadn't even looked up from his notebook. "I don't do charity work."
Sethos had laughed, thinking it was a joke. It wasn't.
That should've been the end of it, but Sethos was persistent. He kept trying — asking about classes, offering to work together on projects, even sitting next to him during lunch once or twice. Hat Guy never raised his voice or told him to go away; he just ignored him until Sethos eventually got the hint.
By the time midterms rolled around, Sethos had stopped trying to talk to him and started trying to beat him instead.
It began with a simple test score. Sethos had gotten a 94 — his best grade yet. Hat Guy, 97. Close, but not enough. Then came a class debate, where Sethos volunteered to go up against him, thinking his charm and humor would win the crowd. He didn't even make it halfway through before Wanderer dismantled every point he made with calm, cutting precision.
That day, Sethos swore he saw the faintest smirk on Wanderer's face — not smug, not cruel, just quietly amused. It burned into his mind like a challenge.
From then on, everything was a competition.
If it wasn't grades, it was sports. If it wasn't sports, it was class presentations, group activities, anything that might prove he could stand on the same level. Sethos ran faster, studied harder, pushed himself further. Hat Guy, meanwhile, seemed to excel effortlessly — never bragging, never celebrating, as if victory was simply expected.
They became known for it, too. Teachers paired them up on purpose. Classmates joked about their "ongoing feud." But while Sethos met each challenge with a grin, Hat Guy treated it like background noise.
Maybe that's what frustrated Sethos the most — that his rival didn't even see him as one.
Still, he couldn't deny the grudging respect he developed over time. Wanderer was relentless in his focus, and beneath all the sarcasm, Sethos suspected there was a kind of discipline he couldn't help but admire. Even if they never got along, he couldn't hate him.
At least, not completely.
Their last encounter in high school wasn't particularly friendly either. It happened during the graduation ceremony — the end of it all. They stood side by side in their gowns, the afternoon sunlight catching on Hat Guy's tassel as students laughed and took photos around them.
Sethos had nudged him lightly, forcing a grin. "Guess this is it, huh? You can finally stop glaring at me every morning."
"I don't glare at people who don't matter," Hat Guy replied flatly, adjusting his cap.
Sethos chuckled, trying not to let it sting. "You're really gonna miss me."
That was when Hat Guy glanced at him for the first time that day, his expression unreadable, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips — sharp, cold, and yet almost amused.
"You'll never catch up anyway," he said simply, before turning to leave.
Sethos hadn't known what to say to that.
It was meant as a dismissal, maybe even an insult, but it stuck with him — those five words echoing in the back of his mind long after they'd graduated, long after they'd gone separate ways.
He'd promised himself he wouldn't care. That he'd move on, focus on college, meet new people, leave that whole rivalry behind.
And yet here he was, years later, sitting in a lecture hall at Sumeru National University at the Vahumana Darshan — staring at the same back of the same head, that same messy dark hair and posture of quiet arrogance.
Hat Guy hadn't changed at all.
And, judging by the way Sethos's heart skipped a beat — neither had he.
— 🐝 —
The rest of the day dragged on in a haze of lectures and chatter and by the time the fourth lecture ended, Sethos was convinced that whoever designed universities this big should be tried for crimes against humanity.
The corridors were endless — pale sandstone walls, the scent of desert rain trapped in the air, and lecture halls so wide his voice echoed whenever he tried to whisper to someone. His hand ached from writing nonstop. The professors here seemed to have something personal against PowerPoint slides; every lecture was a wall of text projected on a massive screen, and the students were expected to copy it word for word before it disappeared.
By the time recess rolled around, Sethos could practically feel his wrist vibrating.
"Finally," he groaned, stretching his arms as they walked out of the lecture hall. "If I have to write another paragraph about neural dendrites, I'm gonna lose my mind."
Tighnari walked beside him, balancing his notebook neatly under his arm. "You say that every time, yet you still forget to record the lecture."
"I like to suffer traditionally," Sethos said. "It builds character."
Nilou laughed softly from behind them, clutching her tablet to her chest. "You always complain, but you never stop helping others copy notes when they fall behind."
"That's different," Sethos replied with a grin. "I complain for the aesthetic. It's part of the charm."
Cyno, walking ahead with his usual stoic expression, turned slightly. "You mean the charm of procrastination?"
"Exactly," Sethos said proudly.
Tighnari sighed. "You two are impossible."
They pushed open the cafeteria doors, and a wave of warm chatter washed over them. The smell of lentil soup, spiced bread, and coffee lingered in the air — an oddly comforting chaos of scents that defined the midday break.
Students filled every corner — some laughing, some half-asleep, and others furiously typing on laptops. Sethos and his group found their usual table near the window, where sunlight filtered through climbing vines curling along the glass.
"Alright," Sethos said as he grabbed his tray, "let's pray the food isn't as depressing as last week's curry."
Cyno took a seat, expression unchanging. "You just didn't appreciate the artistic use of excessive cumin."
Nilou giggled. "Cyno, not everyone considers over-seasoning an art form."
"It's seasoning humor," Cyno said flatly, stabbing his fork into a piece of grilled chicken.
There was a brief silence.
"Please don't," Tighnari muttered. "Not during lunch."
Cyno's lips twitched, like a predator about to strike. "I once knew a cook who couldn't find his thyme."
"Oh no," Sethos said immediately. "Don't you dare—"
Cyno continued, deadpan, "He said it was a waste of seasoning's time."
Tighnari pinched the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm losing brain cells."
Nilou laughed behind her hand, while Sethos nearly choked on his drink. "Cyno, buddy, that was horrible. You should be banned from speaking until further notice."
"I'm educating you in humor," Cyno replied calmly. "It's character development."
"Character assassination, more like," Sethos said, earning another laugh from Nilou.
They settled into easy chatter after that — Nilou talking about her performance class, Tighnari ranting about an upcoming lab practical, Cyno making his usual dry remarks. It was comfortable. Ordinary. The kind of moment Sethos never really thought about but always enjoyed.
And then, mid-laugh, his eyes drifted across the cafeteria.
There.
At a table two rows away, half-shadowed by the tall windows — Hat Guy.
Sethos's smile faded, replaced by that faint, familiar prickle of irritation he'd never quite figured out.
He was alone, of course. He always was. Laptop open, headphones on, a half-eaten sandwich pushed aside. His expression was unreadable — focused, sharp. Even when surrounded by noise, the guy looked like he existed in his own world.
Sethos watched as Hat Guy typed something quickly, his fingers moving like they had a rhythm of their own. Maybe he was working on an essay, or maybe one of those absurdly long lab reports the engineering department was famous for.
Sethos didn't even realize he'd been staring until Cyno's voice broke through.
"—thos? Sethos."
A hand landed on his shoulder. He blinked, turning back to see Cyno watching him with that unnervingly perceptive stare.
"What?" Sethos said, trying for nonchalance.
Cyno raised an eyebrow. "You've been zoning out for a solid minute."
Nilou tilted her head. "Oh? Were you thinking about something?"
"Yeah," Tighnari added dryly. "You had that face. The 'I'm plotting something but don't know if it's morally sound' face."
Sethos laughed nervously. "You guys are imagining things."
Cyno's gaze flicked past him, toward the direction of Hat Guy's table. "...It's that rival of yours again, isn't it?"
Sethos's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Rival? He's not my rival."
Tighnari hummed skeptically. "You two literally argued in high school about whose thesis presentation deserved the top score."
"Because he started it!" Sethos protested. "He was the one who said my graph looked like a child drew it!"
Nilou arched a brow. "Didn't you also call his report 'as cold and lifeless as his personality'?"
"That was— okay, maybe I did."
Cyno smirked ever so slightly. "So, not a rival. Just someone you constantly compete with academically and emotionally."
Sethos groaned. "You guys make it sound like I have an obsession — I don't!"
He looked back once more. Hat Guy hadn't moved much — still typing, still lost in his own space. The sunlight caught the edge of his hair, giving it a faint blue sheen.
Something about it — the quiet focus, the complete disregard for everyone else — annoyed Sethos more than it should.
Maybe it was because he was the exact opposite. Sethos thrived on energy, laughter, and noise. Wanderer seemed to reject all of that.
And yet, somehow, they always ended up in the same classes. Always compared, always neck-and-neck.
Cyno's voice cut in again, quieter this time. "You're staring again."
Sethos tore his gaze away instantly, cheeks heating just a little. "I'm not staring."
"Sure," Tighnari said with a faint smirk. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Anywayyyy," Sethos said quickly, stabbing another piece of food, "what were we talking about before the interrogation?"
"My performance rehearsal," Nilou said gently. "I was saying that the teacher told me and the other performers that our group's theme two months later will be about self-expression."
Sethos nodded, grateful for the change of topic. But as the conversation moved on, he couldn't help but glance back one last time.
Hat Guy was still there — alone, quiet, untouchable.
And for reasons he didn't understand, Sethos felt an itch in his chest.