Chapter 16: The Campus Echo
Monday morning arrived with a clarity that felt invasive. Rimon stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his clean, ironed shirt. His body felt lighter, his movements more fluid, as if the "Physical Refinement" the System mentioned had tightened every loose bolt in his frame. But his mind was still trying to hide.
He stepped onto the University campus, hoping to slip into the English Department unnoticed. He was wrong.
The moment he crossed the main gate, the atmosphere changed. It wasn't the usual hum of students arguing over notes or tea. It was a rhythmic tapping of fingers on phone screens, followed by heads snapping up as he passed.
"Is that him?"
"The guy from the Rifat video?"
"Look at his feet... he's wearing shoes today."
Rimon lowered his head, his social anxiety spiking as the Sync Rate flickered in his vision.
[Sync Rate: 11.2%]
[Audience Perception: Elevated.]
[Social Pressure: High. Suppressing Cortisol Levels...]
By the time he reached the stairs of the English Department, the ambush was ready. Mehedi was standing at the top of the landing, flanked by a dozen students from Batch 66. They weren't just waiting; they were holding up a phone connected to a portable speaker, playing the audio of Nuhab's commentary at full volume.
"GOOOOAL! MAMU DID IT! BAREFOOT! NO SHOES! NO PROBLEM!"
"The man! The myth! The legend!" Mehedi roared, leaping forward to drape an arm over Rimon's stiff shoulders. "Shoaib, you absolute snake! You've been sitting in the back of the class pretending to be asleep while you're out there nutmegging BPL professionals? Do you know the 'Football Lovers BD' group has ten thousand shares on your clip?"
"Mehedi, please... turn that off," Rimon muttered, his face heating up.
"Turn it off? Bro, even the Dean shared it in the faculty group!" another classmate chimed in, shoving a phone in Rimon's face. "Look at the comments! People are calling you the 'Sourdough Messi' because you look so soft but your play is so crusty!"
Rimon tried to push through the crowd, but the circle only tightened. He felt like a caged animal until a sharp, rhythmic clicking of heels echoed down the hallway.
The crowd parted instantly. Mahima was walking toward them, her leather bag slung over her shoulder, her expression as unreadable as a closed book. She didn't join the cheering. She didn't hold up a phone.
"The lecture starts in three minutes," Mahima said, her voice cutting through the noise like a cold blade. "If you all put half as much effort into your Romantic Poetry assignments as you do into stalking Shoaib's football life, maybe Professor Sabid wouldn't have to fail the midterm curve."
Mehedi grinned, but he stepped back. "Alright, alright. The Queen has spoken. Let's go, King. Your throne in the back row awaits."
As the group moved toward the hall, Mahima fell into step beside Rimon. She didn't look at him, but her hand brushed against his arm for a fleeting secondโa silent signal of support.
"You look different," she whispered, low enough that only he could hear. "The mud is gone, but the intensity... it's still there."
"I just want to sit down," Rimon replied.
They entered the lecture hall, but the silence he expected didn't come. Professor Sabid Alom was already at the podium, his laptop connected to the projector. Instead of a slide about Wordsworth or Keats, the giant screen was frozen on a frame of Rimon, mid-air, barefoot, slapping the ball past Monday Osagie.
The Professor adjusted his glasses and looked directly at Rimon as he took his seat.
"Ah, Mr. Bashar. Good of you to join us," Sabid Alom said, a rare, dry smile touching his lips. "I was just explaining to the class the concept of 'Negative Capability'โthe ability to dwell in mysteries and doubts without irritable reaching after fact. Much like how you dwelled in that mud-pit before delivering a masterpiece."
The class erupted in laughter. Rimon wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
"However," the Professor continued, his tone shifting to something more serious. "The world is no longer in doubt about your facts, Shoaib. There are three gentlemen in suits waiting in my office to speak with you after this lecture. They claim to be from Abahani."
Rimon's heart stopped. The black sedan wasn't the end. It was just the scout. Now, the institution was here.
[Sync Rate: 11.5%]
[Warning: Professional Crossroads Detected.]
[Decision Required: Academic Stealth vs. Athletic Legacy.]
Rimon looked at Mahima. She was staring at the projector screen, her eyes reflecting the image of the Barefoot King. She knew, and he knew: the library was no longer a safe place to hide.
Author Note:
The "Campus Fame" arc is here! ๐ง๐ฉ The contrast between the rowdy classmates like Mehedi and the intellectual teasing of Professor Sabid Alom I love to write it.
Mahima acting as his shield while also being the only one to notice his physical change shows how deep their connection is. She's the only one who sees the person, not just the player.
The Abahani scouts waiting in the Professor's office? That's a power move. They aren't waiting at his house; they're coming to his world.