"Hi there! Are you interested in signing up for the Wushu class?"
A friendly, energetic voice called out from behind the registration counter. Max slowed his pace and looked at the student manning the booth. The young man wore a name badge that read ’Eric.’ He was the kind of person who didn’t naturally stand out in a crowd, average height, with black hair cut into a simple, practical bowl shape. He didn’t possess the bulging muscles of a weightlifter or the lean, wiry frame of a long-distance runner. In fact, he didn’t look particularly athletic at all.
"Yeah," Max replied, stepping closer. "Is there a form I need to fill out?"
"Oh, you’re eager! I didn’t even have to give you the sales pitch I spent all morning preparing," Eric said with a laugh. He reached under the counter and produced a crisp registration sheet.
As Max took the pen, he scanned the document. It was more detailed than he had expected, asking for specifics regarding his physical capabilities, his history with competitive sports, and any prior experience in martial arts or Wushu. Max hesitated for a moment, his pen hovering over the paper. He had to be careful about how much he revealed, but he also didn’t want to seem like a complete novice.
’Should I say I’m experienced in these things?’ Max wondered. ’I suppose, compared to the average student, I am quite athletic.’ He filled out the form with a blend of truth and tactical omission before handing it back across the counter.
Eric skimmed the paper, his eyebrows shooting up. "Oh, very interesting. Well, Max, I have your details now, so I’ll be in touch regarding the schedule. Based on what you’ve written here, I’m really looking forward to teaching you."
"Wait, you’re the teacher?" Max blurted out. He realized a second too late how rude the surprise in his voice must have sounded.
"Haha! Don’t let the look of me fool you," Eric answered, not taking offense. "Martial arts isn’t always about raw physical bulk. It’s more so designed to teach a person how to make the best use of what they have within their own body. It’s meant to bridge the gap between a smaller fighter and a larger opponent."
The explanation struck a chord with Max. It reminded him of the various conversations he’d had with Wolf back at the Fortis building. Wolf often told him that just because a person was ranked lower or looked weaker on paper didn’t mean they would lose; the "bridge" was often skill, technique, and the refined application of power.
Since Max had already committed to the Wushu club, he realized he wouldn’t have the time to join any other societies if he wanted to maintain his primary mission: gathering intelligence on Donto Stern. With his registration finished, he decided to handle the unfinished business from his morning walk, returning the ID card to the girl he had bumped into.
He remembered the general direction she had been heading, and since he still had a significant amount of time before his first actual lecture, he set off across the campus. He spotted her not too far ahead, her distinctive short hair making her easy to pick out in the crowd. She was currently entering one of the main lecture halls.
Following her inside, Max saw that the girl, Talia, had met up with a friend. This other woman was a stark contrast to Talia’s "mushroom" look; she was dressed in all black from head to toe, sporting several piercings and a visible tattoo on her leg. She reminded Max of the rebellious students he used to run into back in his original school days.
"Talia!" Max called out. "Hey, Talia!"
He shouted her name to catch her attention quickly. The last thing he wanted was to be caught silently following two young women down a hallway and be branded as some kind of campus creep. As the two women turned around, they looked at the red-headed student approaching them with varying degrees of suspicion.
"Do you know him?" the woman in black, Yovan, asked.
"I... I don’t think so?" Talia replied, looking flustered. During their earlier collision, she had been so focused on her own hurry that she hadn’t really registered the face of the person she had crashed into.
"Then how does that creep know your name?" Yovan said, stepping slightly in front of Talia in a protective stance.
"It’s you, right? Talia?" Max asked as he reached them, ignoring the icy glare from her friend.
"Right... and how do you know us, exactly?" Yovan snapped, immediately on the defensive.
Just as Max was about to explain and reach into his pocket for the ID card, something caught his eye further down the hallway. He froze.
"What the...?"
Standing near a janitor’s cart was a man in blue coveralls and thick glasses. The "janitor" was meticulously propping the glasses up on his face. With a quick, practiced swivel of his head, the man made eye contact and gave Max a subtle, professional nod.
’That’s Aron... he’s... he’s actually come to the university as a janitor?’ Max thought, his mind reeling. ’Just when I thought there was no way he could follow me into a secure campus. That guy really is a...’
"Stalker," Max said, the last word slipping out loud.
"I told you I had a weird feeling about this guy!" Yovan shouted, pointing at Max. "Who the heck even dyes their hair that shade of red anymore? And now he just comes up and admits to our faces that he’s a stalker! People these days really have a screw missing."
Max looked at the two girls and realized the massive misunderstanding he had just created, but he honestly couldn’t be bothered to clear it up. His head was already spinning from seeing his personal guard undercover as a maintenance worker. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the ID card, and held it out to Talia.
"This is yours. You dropped it," Max said shortly.
As soon as she took the card, Max turned on his heel and walked off. He needed to get out of the university for the day to get away from his "stalker" and process the absurdity of the situation.
Talia and Yovan were left standing in the hallway, completely bewildered.
"Why did he have your ID card?" Yovan asked, her defensive posture slumping into confusion.
"Ah... I think he might have been the one I crashed into earlier," Talia whispered, looking at the card. "Did I drop it then?"
"And you let me just shout at him and call him a stalker?" Yovan groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Now you’ve made me look like a crazy person in front of a guy who was just trying to be helpful!"
"Well, I don’t think the ’crazy’ part is entirely wrong," Talia giggled, tucking the card safely away.
By the time Max reached the university gates, he was starting to develop a genuine headache. He couldn’t decide if having so many members of the Billion Bloodline group, and his own private security, embedded in the university was a blessing or a curse.
But as he walked down the main street away from campus, a dark car pulled up right alongside him. The passenger window rolled down with a smooth hum.
"It’s been a long time, Max," the man in the car said with a knowing smile.
Max stopped and looked at the driver. He recognized that face instantly.
"Dud..."