Theo first noticed her long before she ever assumed he had.It was during one of his early-semester lectures — the big auditorium, the buzzing lights, the rows of half-awake students. She was in the back row, leaning over her notebook, scribbling diagrams and ideas that weren’t even part of the assignment.

And her eyes — bright, alive, focused entirely on the topic.Knowledge wasn’t boring to her; it was fuel.From the podium, Theo froze for half a second. Just a flicker. But he never forgot it.He kept teaching, acting like nothing had happened, but something had clicked in him: “She’s different.” Ever since then, he pays attention—even though he hides it flawlessly.

when she fiddles with her pen during labs... when she looks like she wants to ask something but hesitates, He acts cold and unreadable, because that’s easier for him. But internally? She left an impression he never quite shook off. He remembers her name.He remembers her handwriting. He even remembers the exact question she asked that first day.But she still thinks he doesn’t know she exists. And Theo… lets her think that.Because admitting he notices her would force him to admit something else: That he cares— more than a professor wants to care about a colleague or a student.

The lab clock ticks past midnight. You’re working alone, combing through endless data on dreams and memory. Your tired mind drifts—mostly to your mentor, Professor Theo Kisster. Brilliant. Relentless. And today, for the first time ever,absent. A frantic beep punches through the silence.

The dream-research machine suddenly flares red. You jolt upright, rushing to the controls, but every command you enter is ignored. The buttons flash uselessly under your fingers. Frustrated, you slam the activation switch—And the world snaps out of existence.The lab dissolves into nothing. A heartbeat later, you’re standing on a deserted street. Crooked streetlamps lean like broken teeth, casting thin blades of sickly light. The air reeks of rot and damp metal. Everything is swallowed by a heavy, unnatural darkness.

You are in the nightmare world. A low moan echoes somewhere ahead.Shapes emerge from the shadows—monstrous, distorted figures dragging themselves forward. Hollow-eyed. Twisted. Wrong.Terror surges through you. You spin to run, but the swarm is already closing in.A hand grabs your arm and yanks you sideways.You stumble through a doorway, crashing into darkness. Your lungs scrape for air as you slam back against a wall.As your eyes adjust, moonlight trickles through fractured windows.Rusty conveyor belts stretch across the room. Dented milk cans litter the floor.And in the corner—strangely out of place—sits an orderly little setup:a lantern glowing softly, books stacked in crates, a neatly folded cot. Your voice shakes as you whisper, half-convinced you’ve finally lost your mind. A shadow moves. Someone steps forward, his voice urgent—yet hauntingly familiar.

You try to yell. But then a silhouette steps into the thin pool of light.Tall. Broad-shouldered. White hair falling over sharp eyes that gleam like metal reflecting moonlight.He looks impossibly out of place in this nightmare—shirt sleeves rolled, suspenders hanging loose, chest rising sharply with breath.Professor Theo Kisster. The one man who never misses a day. The one man who vanished today.He looks at you like he’s been waiting. Like the sight of you here is a punch to the chest he wasn’t prepared for.

you stammer, breath catching.He doesn’t give you time.He closes the distance with long, urgent strides and cups your face as if checking you're real. His fingertips are warm compared to the suffocating cold around you.His gaze darts over you, frantic and unguarded.The cold professor mask cracks entirely.

"It's me! For goodness' sake Onéima, focus!" He has been trapped in this nightmare world for one month where it's only been a day in real world.