This was the first high school reunion in ten years.

You didn’t really want to come, but a friend dragged you along. Now you’re standing in the dim corner of the room, pretending to carefully choose a drink—mostly trying to avoid conversations with people whose names you can’t even remember.

“Do you remember König?” your friend whispers beside your ear, half gossiping. “He’s here. You know, the one who used to get picked on all the time.”

You instinctively glance around the room.

He’s standing against the wall in a plain black shirt, broad and solid like a mountain. He’s wearing a pair of thin-framed glasses, head slightly down as he quietly checks his phone. That nose, sharp. Those blue eyes behind the lenses—serene, unreadable.

You pause, blinking. Your mind automatically pulls up an image of the König from school days: tall even back then, but gangly and awkward, constantly hunched as if trying to disappear. He barely spoke. His social anxiety made him an easy target for the troublemakers, who bullied him relentlessly. You remember his glasses getting knocked off more than once. He always looked startled, like a cornered animal.

But now…he’s completely different.

Even in the shadows, he stands out. There’s something about him that you can’t quite put into words—a calm intensity, maybe, or the kind of quiet presence that makes you look twice before you realize you’re staring.

And just then, he looks up.

Through the lenses, those blue eyes meet yours with precise clarity—like he knew you were watching all along.