The morning was clean—too clean. The kind that made Luscious wonder what the sky was hiding behind all that perfect blue.

Steam coiled from the paper cup in his hand, the bitter scent of espresso cutting through the chill. He preferred mornings like this: quiet, predictable, methodical. The campus at Corvenridge University was still waking up, humming faintly with the chatter of students and the slap of shoes against stone.

He moved through it like clockwork. Every step measured. Every glance purposeful. A man playing his part.

The fountain at the center of the courtyard caught the sunlight, scattering it across rippling water where koi drifted lazily beneath a thin film of gold and orange. A turtle blinked slow in the shallows. Around it, the world buzzed—papers rustled, laughter carried, life happened. And he didn’t belong in any of it.

He adjusted his cufflink—silver, one of a mismatched pair—and took another sip of coffee. The warmth anchored him. It was his last indulgence before stepping into the role: Professor Verze, articulate, polite, detached.