The second year had begun, and Leo clung to the illusion of normalcy like it was a life raft. Morning sunlight streamed through the dorm windows, casting soft light over textbooks, tangled blankets, and an overflowing cereal bowl someone forgot to clean.
Nox, already awake since 4 a.m., had finished his rooftop workout, brewed coffee, smoked half a cigarette while watching the street below, then returned for a freezing shower. By 6:30, he was in his usual getup: oversized black T-shirt, modified tactical pants, matte sneakers, cap low, and eyes hidden,mask snug like a second skin.
The smell of something burning dragged him to the kitchen. Leo and Ash, still groggy, had tried to cook . Nox pushed them aside wordlessly, cracked new ones into the pan, and served breakfast for the two.
Ash grinned through a mouthful of toast. "You're like a silent breakfast god."
Nox didn't reply. Just set on his desk.
They spent the rest of the morning working on their canvas assignments. Ash painted an abstract mess he insisted was "emotional turbulence." Leo painted a sunlit shore, peaceful and dreamy. Nox, watching them with his usual stillness, noticed Leo lingering just a little longer on Ash's laugh. A small blush. Quick. Almost imperceptible.
He's slipping deeper, Nox thought. Deeper into this illusion. He thinks he likes Ash. But it's not that. It's the illusion of freedom.
Nox didn't comment. Just painted clean lines over black paper, his canvas already finished before they began.
Later that night, Nox sat on the roof, typing through layers of encryption. Surveillance flagged a name linked to counterfeit IDs near campus. Likely minor, but Leo's name was attached—targeted, not coincidental. One of Leo's guards nearly lost their life during last week's failed ambush. Leo never knew. He never would.
By 10 PM, the dorm room door opened. A stranger stepped in, flanked by a lawyer in polished shoes. Leo and Ash blinked, confused.
The man was tall, with jet-black hair and sharp brown eyes. Too clean. Too smug.
"Nox??" he asked.
Nox turned, expression unreadable. He recognized the man immediately—stepbrother of the original body . From a novel world and body that no longer held the original soul .
"I'm here regarding future inheritance rights. Our father's firm is restructuring. The board would prefer if you signed this waiver—stating you'll never request any shares."
Nox took the pen without hesitation. Signed.
Ash frowned. "You're not even going to argue?"
Nox didn't answer. He walked past them, down the hall, hoodie brushing the doorframe. He had more important things to do.
Location: Underground Weapon Exchange – 11:45 PM
Nox adjusted his black gloves as he entered the familiar warehouse. Quiet. Dim. The smell of oil, metal, and new polymer.
"Welcome back," the vendor said. "Special delivery for our best phantom ."
One by one, Nox checked the gear:
KRISS Vector Gen II CRB – suppressed, custom .45 ACP.
FN SCAR-H 17S – battle rifle, long-range accuracy with an integrated scope.
Glock 19 Gen 5 – standard sidearm with threaded barrel for silencer.
Kel-Tec KSG Shotgun – compact, dual tube for extra rounds.
TDI Arms Zahal SMG – lightweight, optimized for CQB.
Throwing knives – balanced, titanium edge.
Customized collapsible baton – electro-shock edge coating.
He secured each in a modular pack, tagging the false IDs and burner phone that came with the shipment.
Then he made one last stop—his favorite ramen shop. Midnight special. Egg, pork belly, and just the right spice.
Back on the rooftop at 2 a.m., he slurped the noodles under a sky that never judged, lit another cigarette, and let the silence linger.
It's been a long time in this body, she thought. But the coding in me is too deep. Too precise. I can mimic calm. But I wasn't built for peace.
Tomorrow would come with new surveillance, new assignments.
And Leo? Still dreaming.
Still unaware.
End of Chapter 47