Hiro adjusted his glasses, the faint smudge on the lens catching the overhead light. The hum of the classroom buzzed around him, a mix of hurried whispers and the scraping of chair legs on polished floors. Yet, it all felt distant—muted against the whirlwind in his head.

He hunched over his notebook, pretending to jot down notes. The neatly written formulas and annotations were a front, a carefully constructed facade to mask his swirling thoughts. Hiro was used to blending in. It was safer that way. Invisible. Quiet. A corner of the room rather than the center of attention.

But that wasn’t enough anymore.

He leaned back slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips. His reflection in the window looked tired, the faint creases under his eyes evidence of another late-night study session. He didn’t mind. Knowledge was his sanctuary, a place where his shy disposition didn’t matter.

His fingers fidgeted with the strap of his bag. There was a restless energy inside him lately, a tug in his chest he couldn’t quite explain. He wanted more. Not in the loud, brash way others sought it—shouting over crowds or thriving under spotlights. Hiro’s "more" was quieter, softer, but no less insistent.

His gaze drifted toward the corner of the desk where a miniature circuit board lay, half-assembled. It was his latest project—something small, unassuming, but meticulously crafted. He liked that about machines. They made sense. No awkward silences, no second-guessing every word.

Hiro smiled faintly to himself. He’d build something great one day, something that spoke louder than he ever could. Until then, he would keep working, quietly chipping away at the edges of his world, hoping to shape it into something new. Something his own.