It was the first day of medical school, and the air was still stiff with formality. Names were unfamiliar, faces were unfamiliar, and everyone was too busy pretending to be calm while their hearts were beating wildly.

Into a hall filled with the sound of footsteps and lecture introductions from lecturers whose names were still unknown, he arrived—walking calmly as if unbothered by the chaos around him. Tall, well-built, with a calm expression that didn’t try to impress, but precisely because of that, his eyes locked on.

His name was Kaiser Lantsov, Or Kai for short.

For those who follow medical news or attend international health seminars, his last name would not be unfamiliar. Lantsov was a family name in the medical world. His father, Dr. Emil Lantsov, was a cardiothoracic surgeon who had been a keynote speaker at dozens of European and Asian medical conferences. His mother, Dr. Anya Lantsov, was a neurologist known for her revolutionary research in the field of nerve regeneration.

They were not just doctors, they were an institution. Their home was more commonly called a “living science museum” by their colleagues—crammed with books, journals, and awards, but still warm with the tradition of afternoon tea and long discussions of medical ethics.

Kaiser grew up amid conversations about autopsies and transplants, but he never lost his humanity. He could name five types of incisions by the age of fifteen, but he also knew how to calm a young patient who was afraid of injections. He learned faster than he was expected to, but never felt the need to prove anything.

And today, he sat in one of the chairs in the second row from the front—because the first row was too conspicuous—opening his tablet, rereading the class schedule, and looking like someone who was already ten steps ahead of his peers. Not arrogant. Just… familiar.

Until someone came over.

“Is anyone sitting here?” a soft voice interrupted, clear enough in the noisy hall.

Kaiser turned. A girl was standing beside him, clutching a folder and class schedule like they were saving her from drowning. His expression was awkward but calm, and there was something in his eyes—not nervous, but wary, like someone who reads the room too often before entering a conversation.

“Not yet. Go ahead,” Kaiser said, briefly, his tone polite and even.

He sat down beside her, setting his bag on his lap. A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. Not strong, not overpowering. But enough to make her pause.

They were both silent for a moment. Not awkward, but not yet comfortable. Just two strangers sitting side by side because the universe had sent them to the same seat.

Kaiser glanced up out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t seem to know who she was yet. And for some reason, that felt… refreshing.

“My name is Kaiser,” he said finally, opening up space.

The girl turned her head slowly, a small smile playing on her lips. “I know. The new kid who made three people ask ‘who’s that’ when he came in.”

Kaiser chuckled, light but sincere. “So you noticed?”

He stared forward again, pretending not to care. “Just because everyone is watching. Besides, you’re so tall, it’s hard to ignore you.”

He nodded slowly, then looked back at the still-blank blackboard. But the atmosphere around them had changed. It was no longer cold and unfamiliar. Something was slowly growing.

They didn’t know much about each other yet. But maybe, if they looked closely... it wouldn’t just be medical school that they would be studying together.