Onyx's POV
Database Management Structure class ended at exactly nine-thirty in the morning.
He did not show up.
Not even late.
Not even dramatically, as if he had overslept and decided the world could wait for him.
Just—absent.
I remained seated long after the professor dismissed us, watching students file out with the usual post-class chaos. Chairs scraped. Bags zipped. Someone laughed too loudly.
But my eyes kept drifting to the empty seat where he usually sat.
And today, he did not come at all.
"Did something happen? Did he get home safely?" I asked myself.
I told myself I was only being logical. Responsible. We had a project together. If something had happened to him, it would affect the workload distribution.
That was all.
I took out my personal phone and typed.
Me:
Jace, why didn't you come
to class today? Did something happen?
Sent: 9:31 a.m.
I stared at the message for two seconds.
Then I added another.
Me:
You didn't get into a car accident, did you?
Sent: 9:31 a.m.
I exhaled through my nose after pressing send, as if I had just submitted a confession instead of a simple inquiry.
Silence lingered as my phone stayed still in my hand. When it finally buzzed, the brief spark of expectation faded just as quickly—it wasn't the one I was waiting for. It was my work phone.
Melody:
Hello, Mr. Lifesaver!!! I haven't messaged you in a while. Hihi! Just wondering if you are still doing my unit requirement?
Sent: 9:31 a.m.
Me:
Yes. I am done. I will upload it to
the cloud server and send
you the download link.
Sent: 9:31 a.m.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Melody:
Oh... so you're already done. T.T
Sent: 9:31 a.m.
I did not reply.
There was no reason to.
I opened my laptop and began uploading her files to the cloud server. The classroom Wi-Fi, however, had decided to express its independence.
The progress bar moved like it was contemplating life choices.
Thirty percent.
Thirty-one.
Thirty-one again.
I stared at it the way one stares at a malfunctioning vending machine.
I shut my laptop gently—and walked toward the study corner where the signal strength was stronger and the air quieter.
I sat in my usual seat.
Across from me was an empty spot.
My gaze lingered there longer than necessary.
I remembered him sitting exactly there, leaning forward, focused on his laptop while building that PowerPoint presentation he was absurdly proud of. He had this look when he worked—serious, sharp, almost dangerous.
As if the slides could bleed.
I swallowed and checked my personal phone again.
Nothing.
No reply. No confirmation. No message to counter the quiet spiral in my head.
No "I'm alive."
No "Stop assuming I died."
Nothing.
"Should I call you?" I wondered.
I pressed his contact name before I could overanalyze it.
The line rang once, then twice, before stopping abruptly.
Not declined—just unanswered.
My jaw tightened as the silence settled in.
Had something actually happened?
I didn't like the direction my thoughts were taking, so I forced them aside and typed again.
Me:
Hey. Just let me know if you
got into an accident. If you did,
I'll handle our project for now.
Don't worry. I'll still put your name on it.
Sent: 9:47 a.m.
I stared at the message. It sounded like I was preparing a will.
I frowned and placed my personal phone beside my laptop.
Ding!
The file upload completed.
Finally.
I copied the link and sent it to Melody's email.
Me:
I've sent the link to your email.
Let me know if you received it.
Sent: 9:47 a.m.
Immediately, my work phone rang and it was Melody.
I declined the call and typed.
Me:
I don't do calls. Just message
me if you received it.
Sent: 9:47 a.m.
I slipped the phone into my pocket, only for it to ring again—persistent, insistent. I pulled it out, already preparing to decline—
"It's you!"
My entire spine froze.
That voice.
High. Bright. Recognizable.
I turned slowly.
Melody stood behind me, eyes wide, practically sparkling with triumph.
"So you're Mr. Lifesaver!" she said, beaming as if she had just solved a national mystery.
My heart executed one unnecessary flip.
"What do you mean?" I asked calmly, as if my life were not currently unraveling.
"Oh, don't lie anymore," she said, leaning slightly forward. "Your phone is ringing with my name on it."
She tilted her chin toward the device in my hand.
I flipped it face down so fast it nearly achieved flight.
"You must be mistaken," I said smoothly. "Sorry."
I closed my laptop in one efficient motion and stood up.
Retreat was a viable strategy.
"Hey! Don't leave!" she said quickly, lowering her voice as she stepped closer. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone you're that 'guy' who helps us with our unit requirements."
I slowed to a stop, the movement deliberate rather than startled, and turned back toward her with measured reluctance. My eyes narrowed slightly as I took her in, suspicion settling quietly across my expression. She, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly amused by my reaction; her grin stretched wider, brighter, as though my skepticism was exactly the response she had been hoping for.
She giggled, and as she did, her fringe bounced lightly against her forehead, carefree and dangerously observant.
"You're safe," she said, almost conspiratorially. "Your secret is safe with me."
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
This was bad.
Not catastrophic.
But inconvenient.
And inconvenience is the birthplace of chaos.
"Now I know what you look like in person," she said, her cheeks already tinged pink.
I shook my head slowly.
"Just leave me alone, please," I said.
She pouted, the kind that belonged in dramas rather than in real life.
"I won't tell your secret, Mr. Lifesaver. I promise. I hope we can be friends. I won't think of you as Mr. Lifesaver—just a normal student. My senior," she said, grinning as though she had already secured a lifelong alliance.
"I don't do friends. Sorry," I said.
She giggled.
I blinked at her. "Did I say something funny?" I asked.
"No," she said, laughing softly, "but you are funny, mister senior."
Before I could correct that ridiculous title again, she extended her right hand toward me.
"I would like to introduce myself properly now that I have met you," she said brightly. "I'm Melody Grace Perez, from Class 3-1. And you are?"
I stared at her hand.
Small. Pale. Smooth.
The kind of hand that had probably never scrubbed a sink or wrung out a mop. The kind that existed in soft lighting and stationery stores.
"Don't be too aloof," she said, lowering her voice slightly as if sharing classified information. "You can trust me. I may be loud, bubbly, and bright, but I keep secrets really well." She winked.
It was not that I did not believe her.
I simply did not want connections.
She was talkative. Energetic. The kind of person who filled silence for sport. If I gave her one opening, she would turn it into a door. Then a hallway. Then an entire wing of the building.
"I have to go. I have my next class already," I said, standing and packing my things with deliberate efficiency.
"Well then," she said cheerfully, unfazed, "if you really do not want to introduce yourself, that's okay. At least I saw you already. Don't worry, I will keep this a secret. I'll be the only one who actually knows who you are."
I looked at her.
I gave her nothing.
Just a polite nod.
Then I left.
The moment I stepped into my next class and took my seat, my work phone vibrated against my pocket.
Melody:
It was nice to see you! You are cute, by the way. Do not be too shy and awkward! I received the document and it was perfection!!! Thank you! I will send the remaining balance I owe you to your account.
Sent: 10:06 a.m.
I stared at the screen.
"Cute".
I did not reply.
I hated this.
I had been careless. Too focused on Jace. Too distracted. I had forgotten to observe my surroundings.
Now she knew who I was.
Should I trust her not to reveal it?
I exhaled slowly, irritation and unease tangling together in my chest.
"Good morning, class. Please take your seats," the professor said as he entered.
I slid my phone face down on the desk.
For the next hour, I tried to focus.
* * *
During my two-hour vacant period, I decided to eat at the university cafeteria while working on my Capstone project. The cafeteria was loud in that familiar academic way—trays clattering, chairs dragging, conversations overlapping into white noise.
I always choose a corner table.
Alone.
Safe.
My laptop was open. My food untouched. My mind buried in lines of code and documentation.
Then someone stopped in front of my table.
I looked up.
Melody stood there, smiling and waving as if we were long-lost childhood friends.
I glanced around.
She was alone.
"Hello!" she said brightly.
"Hi," I answered.
"Can I sit with you?" she asked.
There were empty seats everywhere.
Rows of them.
I looked at them.
Then back at her.
"Do you need something?" I asked.
"Actually, yes," she said, leaning slightly forward. "I have some confusion about our Network Security lecture this morning. I was wondering if I could ask for your help." She smiled.
"I told you before, I don't do tutoring," I said.
"I know," she replied quickly, "because you did not want to reveal who you are. But since I already know, maybe there can be an exception. Let's just treat this like I am asking my senior for help."
Her smile did not falter.
Clearly, she was not leaving.
"Okay," I said finally. "Show me."
The faster I ended this, the faster she would go.
"Yay!" she exclaimed, clapping softly. "Can I sit beside you? It will be easier to show it."
I nodded once.
She placed her bag on the chair and sat beside me with unmistakable enthusiasm.
A faint scent reached me.
Melon.
Fresh. Clean. The kind of smell that reminded me of childhood baths and shampoo bottles shaped like fruit.
"This one," she said, scooting closer and opening her notebook between us. "Can you please explain this part to me?"
Her handwriting was immaculate—each line measured, each letter carefully formed. Bullet points marched neatly down the page, headings were clearly defined, and crisp underlines separated thoughts with deliberate precision. Everything about it was structured and intentional, almost clinical in its order. There was no clutter, no frantic scribbling, no chaotic overlap of ideas. It was composed. Precise. Controlled.
"This part," she said, tapping her finger lightly against a paragraph, "the professor said authentication and authorization are different. But they sound the same to me. Why are they two separate things?"
"It's simple," I said.
She blinked at me.
"Simple?"
There was a faint challenge in the word, as if she expected me to drown her in technical jargon just to prove I could.
"Yes," I continued calmly. "Authentication answers the question: 'Who are you?'"
She leaned in slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to signal that she was listening.
"Authorization answers the question: 'What are you allowed to do?'"
She paused.
Then her eyes widened as the pieces began sliding into place.
"So authentication is like logging in," she said slowly, as though testing the logic, "and authorization is what I can access after I log in?"
"Yes."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
She stared at her notes as if they had betrayed her for ever making that distinction look complicated.
"...Why didn't the professor just say it like that?" she muttered. "Can you just be our professor instead?"
I shrugged.
"Because some people prefer sounding complex over being clear, to make them look like they know everything." I said.
Her lips twitched, fighting a smile.
"Okay, wait, another one," she said quickly, flipping a page with renewed urgency. "Then what about multi-factor authentication?"
"Multiple proofs," I replied without hesitation. "A password is one proof. A phone OTP is another. A fingerprint is another. One key isn't enough. You need layers. That's how you prevent your account from being hacked."
She nodded slowly, absorbing it.
"So it's like—"
"—like locking your house and then locking your gate," I said before she could finish. "Even if someone gets past one, they still need the other."
She looked at me.
Not confused.
Not overwhelmed.
Just... understanding.
I gave a subtle nod.
A small, almost imperceptible smile slipped through when I saw the realization settle properly in her eyes.
"That was... very easy," she said.
"It is easy."
She studied me as though I had just pulled a coin from behind her ear.
"You explain things like you're not trying to impress anyone," she said.
"I'm not," I replied. "Impressing people is inefficient."
She laughed softly.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't exaggerated.
It was the kind of laugh that stayed close to the chest.
There was a pause, and so, my attention flickered back to my phone waiting for a notification from someone who's not responding at all.
"Okay, last one," she said, pointing at another line. "Social engineering."
"That's not hacking the system," I said. "That's hacking the person."
"...Oh. The word seems to be good, but it's actually bad."
"Convince someone to give you their password," I continued evenly. "You don't need to break anything. You just ask."
Her eyes widened again, slower this time.
"So manipulation?"
"Yes."
"More on Psychology?"
"Yes."
"That's terrifying."
"It's common," I corrected. "Older people who lack technological awareness are often the victims."
She looked down at her notebook, then back at me.
"Why does it feel like you've thought about these things before?" she asked casually.
"I study them," I said.
She tilted her head slightly.
"No," she said. "I think you analyze."
That made me pause.
Most people assumed I memorized.
Very few noticed I dissected.
The air shifted—just slightly.
Not heavy.
But charged.
She closed her notebook gently.
"That actually makes sense now," she said. "I thought I was just dumb and couldn't catch up to our lecture."
"You're not," I said automatically.
She blinked.
And I realized what I had just said.
"You just needed it explained properly," I added, returning to neutrality as if the first statement had slipped by accident.
She smiled.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just... pleased.
"You know," she said, lowering her voice slightly as though she were sharing a confidential secret, "it's nice talking to someone who doesn't make me feel stupid for asking."
For a moment, I didn't know what to do with that.
Compliments were inefficient. They required responses. Responses required emotional calibration.
So I looked back at my laptop instead.
"You're loud," I said.
She gasped as if I had publicly accused her of a crime. "Excuse me?"
"But," I continued calmly, keeping my tone level, "you listen. And that's good."
Silence.
Actual silence.
For the first time since she had sat down, she didn't bounce in her seat, didn't laugh at her own thoughts.
She just looked at me.
"That's... surprisingly nice of you," she said softly.
"It's an observation," I replied.
Her smile returned, but smaller this time. Quieter. It felt different—less performance, more sincerity.
Then she began packing her notebook away.
"Okay," she said. "I'll leave you alone now."
I frowned slightly.
I had assumed she would stay longer. Most people did once they found someone willing to explain things clearly. They lingered. They added "one last question." They pushed.
"I got what I needed," she said. "And I don't want you to regret helping me."
That made me look at her properly.
She stood up on her own.
Then she hesitated.
"Oh, I forgot," she said, awkward now. "Nothing personal, but I just wanted to ask... do you have a girlfriend already?"
My brows furrowed.
"I mean," she rushed to clarify, "if you do, I just didn't want her to get the wrong idea. I don't want her thinking I'm stealing you or something. I just want to make it clear."
I nodded once.
"No," I said. "I don't have one."
"Yes!" she blurted, raising her arms in a small celebratory gesture like she had just won a competition.
I blinked.
What was that for?
"Okay!" she said quickly, recovering. "I won't disturb you further. I have my next class already. See you around!"
She walked away—no, she bounced away.
Light steps. Almost floating.
I shook my head and turned back to my laptop, trying to focus on the screen, on logic, on code—things that behaved predictably.
Then my work phone buzzed.
I glanced at it.
Melody:
Oh! I forgot to give you something or treat you for helping me. T.T When we meet, I'll bake a cake and hand it to you. What's your fave flavor?
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
I exhaled quietly.
Me:
Thank you, but you don't have to.
I don't like sweets.
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
The reply came almost instantly.
Melody:
Really? Then what do you like? I'm good at cooking and baking!!!
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
Me:
It's all good.
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
She ignored that entirely.
Melody:
Anyway, I'll just give you something next time we meet! Possibly tomorrow.
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
Another message followed immediately.
Melody:
Thanks, Boss!
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
My fingers paused over the screen.
Me:
Please don't call me that.
Sent: 1:20 p.m.
There was a brief delay this time.
Melody:
Oh! Is that a bad thing? T.T Sorry!!!
Sent: 1:21 p.m.
Me:
No. It's just unnecessary. Just call me Onyx.
Sent: 1:21 p.m.
Three dots appeared.
Melody:
Onyx... what a nice name!!! I like it! See you around, Onyx!
Sent: 1:21 p.m.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Then I sighed.
It wasn't that I disliked the nickname.
"Boss."
It wasn't unpleasant.
It wasn't insulting.
It was simply—Not hers.
Someone else had already claimed it.
Someone who said it with a smirk. With deliberate provocation. With challenge laced between syllables. Someone who used it not as flattery, but as a test.
And for reasons I refused to examine too closely—
I didn't want it diluted.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't sentimental.
It was just... specific.
And specificity mattered.
If something meant something—
Even slightly—It shouldn't become common.
So no.
She couldn't use it.
End of Chapter 18