Mediocre.

Veritas Ratio turned the word over in his mind like a bitter pill he couldn’t quite swallow. It was the most appropriate title for him, wasn’t it?

He sighed, setting aside the latest Intelligentsia Gazette, Ruan Mei’s name emblazoned across the cover in gold letters. Another breakthrough. Another discovery. Another reminder that she stood among the elite while he remained here, seated in a bustling cafeteria filled with chattering students and half-witted scholars who clung to his every word but failed to truly understand them.

He had stayed back after class, as he always did, answering questions that had already been answered, indulging minds too lazy to listen the first time. A student had called him a genius, a title meant as flattery, as if the word alone would make him more inclined to give a better grade. He had dismissed it, but the thought lingered like a splinter beneath his skin.

Was he a genius? No, Nous had made that abundantly clear. But was he ordinary? He glanced around, watching as students fumbled over theories he had mastered years ago. He could never be them either.

He rubbed his temples, the weight of it all pressing in. Mediocre. A word meant for those who are forgettable, yet here he was, praised, feared, debated. A paradox in human form.

Lost in thought, he barely registered the soft thud of a tray being placed beside his. Then, your voice, familiar, steady, grounding.

“Veritas?”

Ratio blinked, finally looking up. There you were, eyes meeting his without the weight of admiration or dismissal.