The College "Timepass"
The concrete pavement stretched ahead of me, acting as a direct runway toward the main institute gate.
The morning rush was in full swing, a steady stream of students flanking me on either side. It was easy to spot the hierarchy just by looking at their clothes. The freshmen walked with a certain stiffness, neatly dressed in the mandatory college uniform, while the others moved with a relaxed, careless stride in casual shirts and jeans—the unmistakable look of second- and third-year veterans who had already conquered the system.
At the end of the path stood the institute gate, and I had to admit, it was a massive work of art.
The architecture had a grand, slightly eccentric design. The concrete pillars were twisted and ribbed, looking exactly like giant, upright pasta sticks, completely wrapped in a lush blanket of deep green creepers that climbed their way toward the top arch.
Guarding this grand entrance was a lone figure—an old security guard who looked well past his sixties. He stood by the rusted iron gate, leaning heavily against the wall as if he needed security just to stay balanced on his own two legs. He didn't even have the energy to glare at the incoming crowd.
I gave the old man a silent nod as I walked past his post, officially crossing the threshold into the institute grounds, and set my sights on the main college building towering in the distance.
Right in the middle of the asphalt, a dazzling burst of color demanded everyone's attention.
From a distance, it looked exactly like a peacock stranded in the middle of a campus road, its vibrant hues naturally forcing every passing student to slow down and stare.
But as I closed the distance, the illusion shattered.
It wasn't a bird at all.
It was a guy wearing blindingly flashy clothes, his hair dyed in a chaotic explosion of every color imaginable. Given the absolute lack of a uniform and the sheer confidence it took to walk around looking like a walking glow-stick, he was undoubtedly a senior.
"Cool hairstyle!" I said as I drew parallel to him, offering a casual nod.
He stopped, looked me up and down with an elitist sneer, and scoffed.
"Don't need a compliment from a nerd like you."
I didn't even blink.
I just smiled, letting the sarcasm drop into my voice like acid.
"Yeahh, you don't need a compliment from a human anyway... considering your dad probably got drunk, had sex with a peacock, and ended up with you. The colorful hair, the beak-like mouth... and wait, what is that thing above your nose?"
I paused mid-sentence, widening my eyes and leaning in slightly, acting as if I had just spotted some horrific anomaly right on his forehead.
The senior's arrogant posture broke instantly.
He panicked, his hands flying up to his face.
"What?! What?! Is there something on my face?!"
"Ohhh," I let out a sigh of mock disgust, stepping back. "It's just your eyes. Disgusting!!"
His face flushed crimson as the realization hit him.
"You... Bastar—"
"But," I interrupted smoothly, shifting my tone to an overly dramatic, poetic whisper, "I can see something truly beautiful inside them..."
He froze, completely thrown off by the sudden whiplash.
"What now?!"
"A reflection of mine, obviously!"
Before he could even process the insult, I spun on my heel, slipping my hands into my pockets as I seamlessly moved back onto my track.
Behind me, I could hear him sputtering in a mix of rage and utter confusion, but I didn't bother looking back.
The first day of my college life... and I was already going to make it legendary.
"What's going on?!"
A melodious, honey-sweet voice cut through the lingering tension of the hallway.
I spun around on my heel to see a remarkably pretty girl standing just a few paces behind me. She had a youthful, almost delicate face that made her look a few years younger than she actually was, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the scene.
She was undeniably striking, the kind of girl who looked like she had walked straight out of a high-definition romance anime.
Despite being a college student, she possessed an almost ethereal, doll-like youthfulness that easily shaved three or four years off her actual age. Her skin was flawless and pale, contrasting sharply with the cascade of glossy, jet-black hair that fell perfectly past her shoulders, catching the morning sunlight with every slight movement of her head.
She had a small, heart-shaped face dominated by large, expressive almond eyes that sparkled with a calculated, media-trained brightness. Her nose was small and straight, leading down to soft, pink lips that were currently curled into a curious, knowing pout.
There was a meticulous perfection to her look—from the subtle, imperceptible touch of makeup that enhanced her features to the way her casual clothes fit her frame just right.
She carried herself with the effortless poise of someone who spent hours in front of a camera lens, fully aware of exactly which angles made her look the most charming.
She was beautiful, but it was a manufactured, polished kind of beauty—the trademark aesthetic of an influencer who knew exactly how to capture an audience's attention with a single glance.
I recognized her instantly.
To the rest of the world, she was a rising internet personality, but I knew her true identity: Kiara Adani.
Of course, that wasn't her real name—that was a piece of highly sensitive, internal industry information I happened to be privy to.
A while back, she had shot to mainstream fame off the back of a viral song, boldly claiming to the public that she had written and composed the entire track by herself.
Once that initial wave of viral stardom cooled down, she shifted gears.
Now, she maintained her relevance by streaming on YouTube, locked behind Instagram subscriptions, and churning out the typical content creator fare to keep her fanbase hooked.
And right now, this literal internet celebrity was staring directly at me, waiting for an answer.
"Nothing much, just looking at a peacock..." I said casually, tossing a lazy glance back toward the multi-colored senior.
"What?" Kiara blinked, her perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion as her eyes darted between the two of us.
"You bastard!!"
The insult finally broke the senior's trance.
Humiliated in front of a campus celebrity, his face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He lunged forward, his hand flying out to aggressively grab me by the collar of my shirt.
For a split second, the air grew tense.
But as he stood there, desperately trying to look intimidating, the sheer physical reality of the situation caught up to him.
I stood at a towering 189 cm, possessing a broad frame that completely cast a shadow over him.
He, on the other hand, was a mere 164 cm—maybe even shorter if you took away the extra inch his vertical, multi-colored hair gave him.
To maintain his grip on my collar, he literally had to reach upward, his arms straining while I simply looked down at him with an amused, deadpan expression.
The ridiculous height difference was glaring.
Slowly, the anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a sudden, cold realization of his own mortality.
Quietly, his fingers loosened.
He let go of my fabric, took a clumsy step backward, and tried to preserve whatever microscopic shred of dignity he had left by clearing his throat and looking away.
The sudden drop in tension didn't stay quiet for long.
Within seconds, a low buzz of excited whispering rippled through the surrounding crowd. A few first-year girls, eyes wide with sudden realization, immediately broke away from the main path and hurried over to crowd around her, completely ignoring the senior and me.
"Hey, it's really Kiara!!" one of them squealed, clutching her friend's arm.
"Yeahh, right?! I told you it was her!"
"Miss Kiara, what are you doing here? Are you a student here?!"
Kiara didn't skip a beat.
With the practiced fluidity of a seasoned professional, she adjusted her grip on a sleek, motorized gimbal that held a brand-new iPhone. The screen was lit up with scrolling chat messages—she was broadcasting live at this very moment.
"No..." she said, tilting her head slightly toward the camera to give her virtual audience a dazzling, high-definition view.
She then turned her gaze to the real-life crowd around her, offering a warm, playful smile that perfectly maintained her wholesome, sweet-girl public persona.
"I'm actually here for some collaboration work with the institute. And yeah... I'm seriously thinking about enrolling in this institution too!"
"Oh, WOW!!"
The girls instantly erupted into a chorus of excited chirps, their high-pitched reactions blending into a wave of sharp, annoying sounds that echoed off the campus pavement.
It was the ultimate fangirl moment, and Kiara stood right at the center of it, basking in the spotlight she knew exactly how to control.
"Does this institution really need someone like you and him? Now I seriously need to rethink my enrollment here," I said, a dry chuckle escaping my lips.
The piece of information clicked into place the moment she mentioned a collaboration.
I knew exactly who the peacock guy was now.
He had around one million followers online, building his entire brand on delivering cheesy, over-the-top motivational messages in his videos.
It was the ultimate irony.
Kiara's eyes sharpened slightly, sensing a viral moment for her broadcast.
She deliberately pivoted her wrist, pointing the iPhone camera directly at my face.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean this peacock here hasn't even passed his Higher Secondary Certificate exams," I said, gesturing carelessly toward him before locking eyes with her camera lens.
"And you, who rely on Instagram subscriptions and churning out content, are apparently the ones needed to promote an institute where people like me actually want to find a real job—or even dream about a future."
I paused briefly before continuing.
"If that's the standard here, it's not any good. I might as well change colleges for good."
Kiara's sweet smile didn't falter, but her voice carried a challenging edge.
"Oh, really? So you'll actually cancel your admission just because I'm promoting this institution?"
"Your presence alone was enough to make me doubt it," I replied smoothly. "And the cherry on top was the peacock. Goodbye."
"Why are you always picking on me?!" the senior suddenly barked, puffing out his chest to try and look broad, a deeply smug expression returning to his face.
"You're just jealous of me, right? People who don't work hard simply don't have the right to envy the people who do!"
He paused, looking at Kiara's camera with an even wider grin.
"Hey, that's my WhatsApp status today! Hehehehe!"
I stared at him for a deadbeat second.
"Okay then. You work hard, right?"
I looked the peacock up and down.
"Just repeat a few lines after me."
"That's easy. Say the words," he scoffed, crossing his arms with absolute confidence.
I leaned in slightly.
"If practice makes perfect, and perfect needs practice, I'm perfectly practiced and practically perfect."
He blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"I... I mean..."
"The sentence starts with 'if,' not 'I,'" I interrupted, my voice dropping all pretense of humor.
"Just go and study hard this time. Actually work hard on passing your HSC and find a real job instead of doing these kinds of things."
I took a slow step closer.
"Every single video of yours has ten thousand comments insulting you, throwing bad words at you. Even the parents around your own neighborhood use you as a bad example to tell their children not to become someone like you."
My gaze sharpened.
"And yet, you still stand next to me acting proud."
The peacock's face drained of all color, his smug posture entirely collapsing.
Turning my gaze toward the influencer holding the phone, I offered a sharp, polite smile.
"And Kiara, you should really teach him a few things about how to compose songs, just like you did. You learned it all by yourself, right? Without any tuition or outside help. Please, give him some pointers."
The moment those words left my mouth, the sweet, media-trained expression on Kiara's face completely vanished.
A flash of pure panic crossed her eyes.
Without saying a single word to her viewers or the crowd around her, her thumb slammed against the screen, and she instantly cut the live stream to black.
I looked down at her, a slow, devilish smile spreading across my face.
It was a look that told her everything—a silent confirmation that I had long known exactly what she was hiding behind that carefully polished facade.
The concrete pavement stretched ahead of me, acting as a direct runway toward the main institute gate.
The morning rush was in full swing, a steady stream of students flanking me on either side. It was easy to spot the hierarchy just by looking at their clothes. The freshmen walked with a certain stiffness, neatly dressed in the mandatory college uniform, while the others moved with a relaxed, careless stride in casual shirts and jeans—the unmistakable look of second- and third-year veterans who had already conquered the system.
At the end of the path stood the institute gate, and I had to admit, it was a massive work of art.
The architecture had a grand, slightly eccentric design. The concrete pillars were twisted and ribbed, looking exactly like giant, upright pasta sticks, completely wrapped in a lush blanket of deep green creepers that climbed their way toward the top arch.
Guarding this grand entrance was a lone figure—an old security guard who looked well past his sixties. He stood by the rusted iron gate, leaning heavily against the wall as if he needed security just to stay balanced on his own two legs. He didn't even have the energy to glare at the incoming crowd.
I gave the old man a silent nod as I walked past his post, officially crossing the threshold into the institute grounds, and set my sights on the main college building towering in the distance.
Right in the middle of the asphalt, a dazzling burst of color demanded everyone's attention.
From a distance, it looked exactly like a peacock stranded in the middle of a campus road, its vibrant hues naturally forcing every passing student to slow down and stare.
But as I closed the distance, the illusion shattered.
It wasn't a bird at all.
It was a guy wearing blindingly flashy clothes, his hair dyed in a chaotic explosion of every color imaginable. Given the absolute lack of a uniform and the sheer confidence it took to walk around looking like a walking glow-stick, he was undoubtedly a senior.
"Cool hairstyle!" I said as I drew parallel to him, offering a casual nod.
He stopped, looked me up and down with an elitist sneer, and scoffed.
"Don't need a compliment from a nerd like you."
I didn't even blink.
I just smiled, letting the sarcasm drop into my voice like acid.
"Yeahh, you don't need a compliment from a human anyway... considering your dad probably got drunk, had sex with a peacock, and ended up with you. The colorful hair, the beak-like mouth... and wait, what is that thing above your nose?"
I paused mid-sentence, widening my eyes and leaning in slightly, acting as if I had just spotted some horrific anomaly right on his forehead.
The senior's arrogant posture broke instantly.
He panicked, his hands flying up to his face.
"What?! What?! Is there something on my face?!"
"Ohhh," I let out a sigh of mock disgust, stepping back. "It's just your eyes. Disgusting!!"
His face flushed crimson as the realization hit him.
"You... Bastar—"
"But," I interrupted smoothly, shifting my tone to an overly dramatic, poetic whisper, "I can see something truly beautiful inside them..."
He froze, completely thrown off by the sudden whiplash.
"What now?!"
"A reflection of mine, obviously!"
Before he could even process the insult, I spun on my heel, slipping my hands into my pockets as I seamlessly moved back onto my track.
Behind me, I could hear him sputtering in a mix of rage and utter confusion, but I didn't bother looking back.
The first day of my college life... and I was already going to make it legendary.
"What's going on?!"
A melodious, honey-sweet voice cut through the lingering tension of the hallway.
I spun around on my heel to see a remarkably pretty girl standing just a few paces behind me. She had a youthful, almost delicate face that made her look a few years younger than she actually was, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the scene.
She was undeniably striking, the kind of girl who looked like she had walked straight out of a high-definition romance anime.
Despite being a college student, she possessed an almost ethereal, doll-like youthfulness that easily shaved three or four years off her actual age. Her skin was flawless and pale, contrasting sharply with the cascade of glossy, jet-black hair that fell perfectly past her shoulders, catching the morning sunlight with every slight movement of her head.
She had a small, heart-shaped face dominated by large, expressive almond eyes that sparkled with a calculated, media-trained brightness. Her nose was small and straight, leading down to soft, pink lips that were currently curled into a curious, knowing pout.
There was a meticulous perfection to her look—from the subtle, imperceptible touch of makeup that enhanced her features to the way her casual clothes fit her frame just right.
She carried herself with the effortless poise of someone who spent hours in front of a camera lens, fully aware of exactly which angles made her look the most charming.
She was beautiful, but it was a manufactured, polished kind of beauty—the trademark aesthetic of an influencer who knew exactly how to capture an audience's attention with a single glance.
I recognized her instantly.
To the rest of the world, she was a rising internet personality, but I knew her true identity: Kiara Adani.
Of course, that wasn't her real name—that was a piece of highly sensitive, internal industry information I happened to be privy to.
A while back, she had shot to mainstream fame off the back of a viral song, boldly claiming to the public that she had written and composed the entire track by herself.
Once that initial wave of viral stardom cooled down, she shifted gears.
Now, she maintained her relevance by streaming on YouTube, locked behind Instagram subscriptions, and churning out the typical content creator fare to keep her fanbase hooked.
And right now, this literal internet celebrity was staring directly at me, waiting for an answer.
"Nothing much, just looking at a peacock..." I said casually, tossing a lazy glance back toward the multi-colored senior.
"What?" Kiara blinked, her perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion as her eyes darted between the two of us.
"You bastard!!"
The insult finally broke the senior's trance.
Humiliated in front of a campus celebrity, his face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. He lunged forward, his hand flying out to aggressively grab me by the collar of my shirt.
For a split second, the air grew tense.
But as he stood there, desperately trying to look intimidating, the sheer physical reality of the situation caught up to him.
I stood at a towering 189 cm, possessing a broad frame that completely cast a shadow over him.
He, on the other hand, was a mere 164 cm—maybe even shorter if you took away the extra inch his vertical, multi-colored hair gave him.
To maintain his grip on my collar, he literally had to reach upward, his arms straining while I simply looked down at him with an amused, deadpan expression.
The ridiculous height difference was glaring.
Slowly, the anger in his eyes faded, replaced by a sudden, cold realization of his own mortality.
Quietly, his fingers loosened.
He let go of my fabric, took a clumsy step backward, and tried to preserve whatever microscopic shred of dignity he had left by clearing his throat and looking away.
The sudden drop in tension didn't stay quiet for long.
Within seconds, a low buzz of excited whispering rippled through the surrounding crowd. A few first-year girls, eyes wide with sudden realization, immediately broke away from the main path and hurried over to crowd around her, completely ignoring the senior and me.
"Hey, it's really Kiara!!" one of them squealed, clutching her friend's arm.
"Yeahh, right?! I told you it was her!"
"Miss Kiara, what are you doing here? Are you a student here?!"
Kiara didn't skip a beat.
With the practiced fluidity of a seasoned professional, she adjusted her grip on a sleek, motorized gimbal that held a brand-new iPhone. The screen was lit up with scrolling chat messages—she was broadcasting live at this very moment.
"No..." she said, tilting her head slightly toward the camera to give her virtual audience a dazzling, high-definition view.
She then turned her gaze to the real-life crowd around her, offering a warm, playful smile that perfectly maintained her wholesome, sweet-girl public persona.
"I'm actually here for some collaboration work with the institute. And yeah... I'm seriously thinking about enrolling in this institution too!"
"Oh, WOW!!"
The girls instantly erupted into a chorus of excited chirps, their high-pitched reactions blending into a wave of sharp, annoying sounds that echoed off the campus pavement.
It was the ultimate fangirl moment, and Kiara stood right at the center of it, basking in the spotlight she knew exactly how to control.
"Does this institution really need someone like you and him? Now I seriously need to rethink my enrollment here," I said, a dry chuckle escaping my lips.
The piece of information clicked into place the moment she mentioned a collaboration.
I knew exactly who the peacock guy was now.
He had around one million followers online, building his entire brand on delivering cheesy, over-the-top motivational messages in his videos.
It was the ultimate irony.
Kiara's eyes sharpened slightly, sensing a viral moment for her broadcast.
She deliberately pivoted her wrist, pointing the iPhone camera directly at my face.
"What exactly do you mean by that?"
"I mean this peacock here hasn't even passed his Higher Secondary Certificate exams," I said, gesturing carelessly toward him before locking eyes with her camera lens.
"And you, who rely on Instagram subscriptions and churning out content, are apparently the ones needed to promote an institute where people like me actually want to find a real job—or even dream about a future."
I paused briefly before continuing.
"If that's the standard here, it's not any good. I might as well change colleges for good."
Kiara's sweet smile didn't falter, but her voice carried a challenging edge.
"Oh, really? So you'll actually cancel your admission just because I'm promoting this institution?"
"Your presence alone was enough to make me doubt it," I replied smoothly. "And the cherry on top was the peacock. Goodbye."
"Why are you always picking on me?!" the senior suddenly barked, puffing out his chest to try and look broad, a deeply smug expression returning to his face.
"You're just jealous of me, right? People who don't work hard simply don't have the right to envy the people who do!"
He paused, looking at Kiara's camera with an even wider grin.
"Hey, that's my WhatsApp status today! Hehehehe!"
I stared at him for a deadbeat second.
"Okay then. You work hard, right?"
I looked the peacock up and down.
"Just repeat a few lines after me."
"That's easy. Say the words," he scoffed, crossing his arms with absolute confidence.
I leaned in slightly.
"If practice makes perfect, and perfect needs practice, I'm perfectly practiced and practically perfect."
He blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"I... I mean..."
"The sentence starts with 'if,' not 'I,'" I interrupted, my voice dropping all pretense of humor.
"Just go and study hard this time. Actually work hard on passing your HSC and find a real job instead of doing these kinds of things."
I took a slow step closer.
"Every single video of yours has ten thousand comments insulting you, throwing bad words at you. Even the parents around your own neighborhood use you as a bad example to tell their children not to become someone like you."
My gaze sharpened.
"And yet, you still stand next to me acting proud."
The peacock's face drained of all color, his smug posture entirely collapsing.
Turning my gaze toward the influencer holding the phone, I offered a sharp, polite smile.
"And Kiara, you should really teach him a few things about how to compose songs, just like you did. You learned it all by yourself, right? Without any tuition or outside help. Please, give him some pointers."
The moment those words left my mouth, the sweet, media-trained expression on Kiara's face completely vanished.
A flash of pure panic crossed her eyes.
Without saying a single word to her viewers or the crowd around her, her thumb slammed against the screen, and she instantly cut the live stream to black.
I looked down at her, a slow, devilish smile spreading across my face.
It was a look that told her everything—a silent confirmation that I had long known exactly what she was hiding behind that carefully polished facade.
I stopped, just inches from her face. I lowered my voice to a dangerous, low murmur. "'We make choices, Kiara. But eventually, those choices make us.
I let the hint hang heavily in the air between us, watching the subtle tightening around her eyes, before turning on my heel.
I walked away, directing my steps toward the administrative block to "withdraw" my admission.
It was a good thing I hadn't submitted a single official document yet; otherwise, the staff would have dragged me through a mountain of paperwork or demanded a hefty fee to compensate for the "lost seat."
To tell the absolute truth, I had never enrolled in this institute in the first place.
I had already secured my spot at the top university in the city for my actual degree.
Sneaking into new colleges on opening day, blending in with the freshmen, and acting like a clueless student was just my own twisted, special version of timepass.
That was the real reason I had deliberately picked a fight with the peacock, and why I had pushed Kiara's buttons.
To the rest of the world, she looked like an innocent, perfect, kind-hearted woman.
But I knew better.
She was actively keeping tabs on me, tracking my movements, and had even followed me here.
Leo had warned me about how deep her scrutiny went, taking drastic security measures behind the scenes to keep my actual university admission completely hidden from any outsiders.
I knew I wasn't a good kid, nor did I pretend to be.
But in a world full of predators hiding behind glowing screens and fake smiles, I lived by a single, definitive rule.
I choose to consume, rather than be consumed.
It was the only theory that mattered, and the only way I intended to survive.
I let the hint hang heavily in the air between us, watching the subtle tightening around her eyes, before turning on my heel.
I walked away, directing my steps toward the administrative block to "withdraw" my admission.
It was a good thing I hadn't submitted a single official document yet; otherwise, the staff would have dragged me through a mountain of paperwork or demanded a hefty fee to compensate for the "lost seat."
To tell the absolute truth, I had never enrolled in this institute in the first place.
I had already secured my spot at the top university in the city for my actual degree.
Sneaking into new colleges on opening day, blending in with the freshmen, and acting like a clueless student was just my own twisted, special version of timepass.
That was the real reason I had deliberately picked a fight with the peacock, and why I had pushed Kiara's buttons.
To the rest of the world, she looked like an innocent, perfect, kind-hearted woman.
But I knew better.
She was actively keeping tabs on me, tracking my movements, and had even followed me here.
Leo had warned me about how deep her scrutiny went, taking drastic security measures behind the scenes to keep my actual university admission completely hidden from any outsiders.
I knew I wasn't a good kid, nor did I pretend to be.
But in a world full of predators hiding behind glowing screens and fake smiles, I lived by a single, definitive rule.
I choose to consume, rather than be consumed.
It was the only theory that mattered, and the only way I intended to survive.