Who The Hell Is Main Character?

Lab’s cafeteria wasn’t one designed for comfort and lounging. A few metal tables were bolted to the floor.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, gray afternoon filtered through reinforced windows.

Lunch had arrived twenty minutes ago, yet half the trays remained untouched as conversations drifted between reactor diagnostics, schedules, and failures.

Zavian sat among them like he always used to. There were no reserved tables, or private offices, no military escort despite the stars decorating the uniforms that occasionally tagged along with him.

Just another scientist with a lunch tray,

"The rice is getting worse every week."

"Was worse yesterday."

"What?"

"..."

A few tired laughs answered, someone stole a piece of fried chicken from another tray, and an argument immediately followed.

Zavian scoffed dryly.

Across the table, sat Dr. Elena.

She was young, around late twenties, one of the youngest physicians aside Zavian.

Her lunch hadn’t moved, she simply stared at it.

"..."

"...Elena?" Zavian voiced calmly.

There was no answer. She was spaced out.

A tear landed silently onto the cold rice, her eyes shivered as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"...I..." Her voice cracked.

"I just..." she covered her mouth. "I want to go home."

Silence settled over the table.

Now, nobody laughed, or knew what to say.

One looked away, other lowered his spoon, others understood what those words truly meant, and how that feeling consumed them from the insides.

It simply wasn’t a place any of them were allowed to return.

Home...home was freedom.

"...My fiancé keeps sending letters," she forced a smile. "He still thinks I’ll be back before autumn."

"I keep writing that I’m busy..." her shoulders trembled.

Nobody interrupted.

Zavian quietly closed the notebook resting beside his tray.

He stood up, and slowly paced around the table.

Then, without saying a word, he removed his lab coat, and gently rested it across her shoulders.

"..."

She looked up at him with reddened eyes.

"...I’m sorry."

"You don’t need to apologize," he replied. His voice was calm.

"I’m...scared," another tear escaped her.

"I know," Zavian said.

"I don’t think I can do this anymore..."

"I know."

"..."

"..."

"H-help us...Zavian. Help me..." she pleaded. "We’re all...we’re trapped."

Zavian closed his eyes, and leaned beside her on the table.

"I will..." he opened his eyes slowly, and looked at all the people who had lost all hope.

"I will help you all..."

He already was.

He was the youngest among everyone, yet no one at the table doubted him.

Zavian wished he could just die...but he didn’t want anyone else to suffer his fate, or suffer in his stead.

"...I’ll find a way."

.

.

.

"Young Master?" Maeve’s voice shifted his attention back to reality.

Marcellus closed his eyes and took in a deep sigh before looking back at her.

"I space out a lot huh?" he mumbled.

They were passing in front of the corridors of academy’s cafeteria, and headed to their royal wing’s dining.

Students entered in groups and left in larger ones, no attendants opened the metal doors with glass in the center.

Drifting voiced, clashing of metal trays, and dozens of reverberating laughter with the aroma of food reminded him of a specific memory.

"Is something wrong?" Maeve watched him carefully.

Instead of answering, Marcellus simply lifted his hand towards her, with palm up, and fingers slightly open.

A casual gesture offering her to hold his hand.

"Walk with me properly," he said. "I nearly walked into a wall, what kind of assistant are you?"

’This motherfuc---Calm...Stay Calm,’ she thought looking at his grin.

She hesitated, and placed her fingers lightly on his. He started walking again with her, heading towards the royal wing’s dining without another word.

’Dimensions...huh,’ Marcellus began contemplating on words of Luca.

From the information he gathered from Luca, currently there were not more than five dimensions connected to theirs. Each was a type-I gate, that means that the people of this world, can enter those dimensions, but people from those dimensions couldn’t enter here.

Out of these five active gates, only two had shown existence of Civilizations.

’That would mean that gates deconstruct and reconstruct the existence on atomic level rather than it being just a simple walk-thr...’

*Bang-Crash*

A young man was hurled through the debris and crashed hard onto the floor in front of Marcellus and Maeve.

Dust and broken concrete filled the air. Students poured out of the cafeteria doors to watch.

The fallen cadet wore the same uniform as them, though his black shirt had been torn open by the impact. Black hair, black eyes, slightly tanned skin, and distinct Asian features.

He pushed himself up on one arm, breathing hard.

Through the ragged hole in the wall stepped a much larger figure; muscular, nearly twice the other boy’s size.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and no coat. He rolled his neck with a smirk, eyes fixed on the smaller cadet.

"Fucking low-born beggars..." the brute groaned under his breath.

He ignored everyone else, seized the younger boy by the collar, and slammed him through another section of the corridor wall, dragging the fight farther away.

*Bang-Crash*

Marcellus and Maeve simply watched as the young man was sent flying through a second wall.

"..."

"..."

"Uh..." Marcellus had no words for what he just witnessed. He stared at the fresh hole for a moment.

Maeve however, shook her head like it was common for her, and continued walking.

Marcellus glanced at her, then back at the chaos.

"?"

’Shouldn’t we...help?’ Marcellus thought.

As they passed, he caught a brief glimpse of the larger boy hammering punches into the smaller one’s face with the force of a mechanical drill.

’Maybe not...’ he decided.

"Is public brawling this common in the academy?" he asked.

"Among certain ranks, ofcourse." She answered. "But they’ll face severe penalty for using force without a formal request of duel, it’s best if we don’t intervene."

Marcellus hummed thoughtfully.

*Bang*

Behing them, another heavy impact echoed down the corridor.

’That’s kind of chaotic,’ he thought.

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