The Psychology I classroom was on the second floor of the Social Sciences building, with enormous windows overlooking the central garden, and—Adrián discovered upon entering—it was already full.
Very full.
He stopped at the threshold, Yuki’s sandwich container still poking out of the side pocket of his backpack.
Forty pairs of eyes turned toward him.
Approximately thirty-five of those eyes were female.
Ah. Yes. The brochures weren’t exaggerating.
"Come in, come in," said the professor from the front, a tall, thin man with round glasses and a mustard-yellow vest that screamed "I have a PhD and also a problem with dental bills." "You must be the new student. Vega?"
"Yeah."
"Perfect. There’s an open seat in the back, by the window. Introduce yourself when you get there."
Adrián walked down the aisle between the desks, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, which was physically impossible since everyone was staring at him. He heard murmurs. He heard a giggle. He heard someone say "he’s cute" in a whisper that wasn’t really a whisper.
Great. Stellar debut. Adored by the audience. At least this gives me a chance to get laid before 20.
He reached the seat in the back. Dropped his backpack on the floor. Sat down.
And only then did he notice who was sitting next to him.
A short girl—very short, though it was hard to gauge exactly how much since she was sitting—with wine-red hair tied in two high pigtails with black ribbons. Huge golden eyes. Very pale skin. A gothic school uniform that definitely wasn’t the university dress code: short black skirt, perfectly pressed white blouse, red tie, thigh-high stockings. And a lollipop stuck in her mouth.
She looked him up and down. Without any shame. Pulled the lollipop out with a wet pop.
"Hi," she said. "You’re really tall."
"...thanks, I guess."
"That wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation. I’m going to have to look up at you and my neck’s going to hurt."
"You could... look at me less?"
She tilted her head like that idea was physically impossible to consider.
"No."
She stuck the lollipop back in her mouth. Cherry flavor. The scent reached Adrián from thirty centimeters away.
"Ishtar," she said, without taking the lollipop out this time, talking around it. "Ishtar Blackwood. First year. Like you."
"Adrián. Adrián Vega. And I’m not in elementary school."
"Ha. Ha. I know. It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. The professor said it thirty seconds ago, remember?"
"Ah. Yeah."
"You’re nervous."
"I’m not nervous."
"Your knuckles are white. You’re nervous."
Adrián looked down. Sure enough, his hands were clenched tight on his knees.
He let go.
"Okay," he admitted. "A little."
"Why?" Ishtar turned her whole body toward him, her red tie swinging. "It’s just university. All these people are going to forget you exist in three weeks. Me too. Probably."
"Wow, thanks, that helps a lot."
"You’re welcome."
"That was sarcasm."
"I know." She smiled around the lollipop, and for a moment Adrián caught sight of fangs slightly longer than normal. Probably a trick of the light. "I do sarcasm too. We’re going to get along great."
Before Adrián could decide if that was a threat or a promise, the professor clapped twice at the front.
"Alright! Since it’s the first day, I want everyone to introduce themselves. Name, where you’re from, and one reason—one—why you chose to study Psychology. None of that ’because I like helping people’ stuff, understood? Give me something real. We’ll start up front."
They started with the first row.
Adrián stopped listening around the third student.
He tuned back in when a voice very close to him said:
"Ishtar Blackwood. From the capital. I chose Psychology because I’m interested in manipulation."
Silence in the classroom.
The professor blinked three times.
"M-manipulation?"
"Yeah. How it works. How to resist it. How to detect it. All the interesting people in the world are manipulators or experts at not being one. I want to know the difference."
"...right. Interesting. Original, at least. Next before I call 911."
Ishtar leaned back in her chair, satisfied, and gave her lollipop a long, deliberate lick.
Adrián glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
"Interesting choice of answer."
"I chose to be memorable. What are you going to say?"
"I was thinking something boring. Like ’I’m interested in human behavior.’"
"Boring."
"That’s the point."
"Boring and cowardly."
"It’s an efficient combo."
She laughed quietly, turned back to the front, but not before murmuring to him in an almost affectionate whisper:
"You’re going to be fun, Vega."
Should I be worried about that?, Adrián thought.
His turn came five minutes later.
He stood up. Looked at the classroom. Forty faces. Cleared his throat.
"Adrián Vega. From the coast. I chose Psychology because..." he hesitated for a fraction of a second. "Because I want to understand why people do the things they do. Especially the things that don’t make sense."
"Very good," the professor nodded. "That’s enough. Next."
He sat down. Noticed Ishtar was looking at him again, lollipop in her mouth and a thoughtful expression he didn’t like at all.
"Liar," she said quietly.
"What?"
"Your answer. You lied. Or at least, you didn’t tell the whole truth. There’s something specific. Someone specific. Who are you trying to understand?"
Adrián went very still.
This girl is dangerous, he thought.
"It’s the first day, Blackwood. Pump the brakes."
"I’m just saying what I see. Don’t get mad."
"I’m not mad."
"Your jaw is clenched."
Stop looking at my damn jaw.
Adrián breathed. Counted to three. Smiled with a smile and looked Ishtar up and down.
"Focus on the class, Blackwood."
"Boring."
And she gave the lollipop another long lick.
---
The rest of the class passed without further incident, aside from Ishtar passing him a folded note halfway through the explanation of attachment theories.
Adrián opened it under the desk.
Lunch with me? I need company. Hate eating alone. It’s boring.
Adrián wrote below:
Already have plans.
He passed the note back.
Ishtar read it. Raised her eyebrows. Wrote something. Passed it back.
With who?
Childhood friend.
Girlfriend?
No.
Why not?
Adrián stared at the note. Twirled the pencil several times. Finally wrote:
None of your business.
He passed the note. Ishtar read it, made a small pout, and wrote in large, decisive letters:
Friendzone for sure. But don’t worry, I’m going to find out anyway. I was just being polite.
She pocketed the note before he could respond.
When the bell rang, she gathered her things—a small black bag with silver chains, tiny, impossible for a notebook to fit inside—stood up, and tapped him twice on the shoulder with her lollipop.
"See you tomorrow, Vega. And the day after. And forever. We’re assigned seatmates."
"Assigned by who?"
"By me. I just decided."
And she walked away between the desks, waving at other people with a cheerfulness that sounded genuine but felt calculated, like she was playing the role of "normal popular girl" with too-perfect precision.
Adrián sat in his seat for a few seconds.
This university is going to kill me, he thought.
He didn’t know how right he was.
---
Yuki was waiting for him on the "usual" bench—next to the big tree, exactly where she’d said, as if the mere act of declaring it out loud had made the universe confirm it.
She was sitting with her legs together, her cream-colored knitted sweater still slipping off one shoulder, and an enormous container—different from the breakfast sandwich one—open on her lap.
"Adri!" she waved a hand when she saw him. And then, with sudden horror: "I brought too much! Sorry. I can’t calculate portions. I was running late and just grabbed everything in the fridge. There’s onigiri, katsu, salad, two kinds of rice, a vegetable omelet left over from last night, and..."
"Yuki."
"What?"
"It’s fine. It’s too much. It’s perfect."
She visibly relaxed. Pat the seat next to her.
"Sit down. Quick. Before the katsu gets cold."
Adrián sat.
The tree gave shade. The bench faced directly into a section of the garden where other students were eating in groups, in pairs, some alone. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and Yuki’s hot food.
Adrián grabbed an onigiri. Took a bite.
Closed his eyes.
God. All last year eating microwaved crap and now this. I’m going to gain ten kilos.
"Is it good?" Yuki asked, watching him with the anxiety of an executive chef waiting for a review from a major restaurant critic.
"Yuki. You know it is."
"I’m just asking."
"It’s always good. Stop worrying about me. And even if I didn’t like it, I’d never tell you."
"I won’t stop asking until you stop being so skinny."
Adrián laughed.
Yuki smiled at him, then looked down at the container, then back up with the most falsely casual expression Adrián had ever seen.
"So. How was the first class?"
"Good. Normal."
"Meet anyone?"
"A few people."
"Girls?"
Adrián stopped chewing.
Oh, no. Here we go.
"Yuki."
"What? It’s a legitimate question. There are a lot of people at this university. It’s normal to want to make friends. Girl friends. Friends and girl friends. It’s normal."
"Yeah. I met a girl in class."
Yuki smiled with a lot of teeth. Too many teeth. Like a threat.
"Oh, nice. What’s her name?"
"Ishtar."
"Ishtar." Yuki repeated the name, and it came out with the temperature of an ice cube. "What an... exotic name."
"Yuki—"
"Is she pretty?"
"Yuki, no—"
"I’m just asking in case you’re going to be spending a lot of time with her, so I know if I need to bring more food on Tuesdays, you know? Logistical calculations. Purely logistical."
Adrián looked at her.
Yuki was very focused on stabbing a piece of omelet with her chopsticks, her cheeks red and her shoulders slightly hunched, and her entire being radiating the energy of a very small person trying very hard to seem very calm and failing completely.
"Yuki."
"What?"
"It’s nothing. She just sat next to me in class."
"Ah. Well. That’s fine then."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
Silence.
Yuki put another piece of omelet into the container, then took it out, then put it back in.
"Adri."
"Yeah?"
"I’m bringing a bigger container tomorrow."
"That’s not neces—"
"I’m bringing a bigger container."
"Okay. Okay. Bigger container. Understood."
She nodded with satisfaction and served him another piece of katsu.
Adrián ate in silence, looking at the garden, and thought for the thousandth time in his life that Yuki Amasawa was completely transparent about absolutely everything except herself.
---
The afternoon passed between classes, a brief visit to the library to get his student ID, and a stop by the billiards room to confirm that yes, Beto existed, was a man in his fifties with an impressive mustache and a lazy eye, and had indeed been told by Coach Ramirez to give Adrián a key.
At 8 PM, the day’s classes were over.
At 8:15, Adrián was in his apartment, standing in front of his corkboard, staring at Elena’s photo.
At 8:20, he heard a knock on the door.
Not the front door of the building. The door of his apartment.
Fourth floor. With a doorman who would theoretically have to announce visitors. Or at least buzz the intercom.
Adrián approached slowly.
Two knocks. Calm. Measured. Like someone who knew he was home and was in no hurry.
He opened the door.
Wine-red hair. Golden eyes. A red dress that looked like it cost more than his rent for the rest of the year. And a smile that was all sharp edges.
"Good evening, neighbor," said the woman from the alleyway—the one who had saved his life, or damned it, depending on how you looked at it. "You’re hard to find, you know? I had to pull a lot of strings to get your address. And your card. Although, honestly, if you’re going to be my familiar, we need to talk about your choice of housing."
Adrián opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Who... who are you?"
"Oh!" She put a hand to her chest, feigning offense. "How rude of me. We haven’t properly met, have we?" She extended a hand, palm up, like she was asking for a dance. "My name is Seraphina Blackwood. And you, Adrián Vega, are now my property. But don’t worry—I’m a very generous owner."
She smiled.
It was the same smile from the alleyway. The one that said I’ve just won a bet I’d been losing for a long time.
Adrián looked at his corkboard behind him. At Elena’s photo. At the words "Black wings. Alleyway. Mercier Street."
He looked back at the woman in the doorway.
Property.
Nice.
This is going to be a long semester.
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