As the morning sun climbed higher, Inglen began his first day of work, led through the stone paths of the university's front garden by an old gardener with a crooked back and dirt-stained hands.
"You may be new," the gardener rasped, voice like sandpaper, "but Miss Petrovna won't care. She's got rules. Flowers trimmed just "so"—he held up two shaky fingers—"no "dried leaves, no leaves on the ground, and definitely no drooping stems. Or else, boy, you'll find your head spinning faster than the wind changes."
The grave warning still echoed in Inglen's ears when they arrived at the lab garden.
And there she was—Miss Petrovna.
A woman of sharp posture and sharper words, dressed in deep velvet with gloves so pristine they could silence a sneeze. She was around 30, with eyes colder than logic. Inglen, exhausted from the morning walk and internalised panic, thought: Finally. Something fantasy-like. A goth.But before he could smile—
"You there!" she barked at a girl tending the begonias. "Can't you commoners manage even a pinch of etiquette?" Her heels clicked like thunder on the stone path.
Inglen blinked. "Ma'am… I'm a boy."
She barely turned her head. "So? Work."
With that, she disappeared into her lab, the heavy door shutting like a vault.
The garden was vast. Rows upon rows of rare flora—blue blossoms that twitched like moths, vines that shimmered when touched. And as he watered them, droplets lifted themselves from the pail, floating gently into the air like small silver spirits.
"What…?"
Inglen paused. He felt no spell, no tug, yet the droplets danced and watered the plants around him. A mystery—but not the worst part of his day.
After he completed the garden inspection and watered every patch, he collapsed under the shade of a vine-laced trellis. Just then, a girl emerged—cheerful, bubbly, and probably an assistant. She gave a kind wave as she passed, humming softly.
After a tiring 3 hours his work was done; he sat down to take rest with the spirit-like droplets finally disappearing.
But the moment of peace was brief.
Miss Petrovna re-emerged, eyes darting to each row. She stopped suddenly, fixated.
"You! Commoner! Why does the Demiscus in the third row have a black tint?"
Inglen sat up, startled. "I— It's not under my—"
"You're the gardener. No excuses!"SLAP!
A harsh sting echoed across his face, louder in shame than in pain. She turned and left without another word.
Anger bubbled in his chest. He clenched his fists. He was about to burst out because of such humiliation, but His vision blurred—no, not from tears. Something deeper. Something that burnt and twisted.
His breath caught.
And then everything went dark.
Later, the same cheerful assistant returned. She noticed the still form of Inglen on the ground, his body motionless. Alarmed, she rushed over, shaking his shoulder. No response. His chest was faintly rising, but he seemed locked in place, like a statue that still breathed.
With help, she brought him to the nearby infirmary.
After a long drag of dull lectures that left even the brightest minds yawning, Gao Zhi walked out of the classroom with his usual tired, almost robotic expression. His mind was heavy with formulas and dates, but his tall frame stayed upright, coat swinging behind him like the weight of obligation.
Cheol Gae, on the other hand, was in high spirits—grinning wide, bouncing down the stairs two steps at a time, and humming some off-tune melody only he understood.
Cheol gae exclaimed "today it was amazing to learn the working of m
As they passed through the courtyard on their way to the mess hall, two girls from the literature faculty passed by, whispering urgently.
"Did you hear? Miss Petrovna apparently did something awful again..."
"To that cute new gardener girl, I think—he fainted in the garden or something!"
Gao stopped.
Cheol tilted his head. "Wait. Gardener girl?"
They looked at each other in sudden realization.
"Inglen!" they said in unison.
Without another word, the two bolted across the university grounds, ignoring the eyes that followed. Their feet pounded against the stone paths, hearts thumping—not with fear, but urgency.
They burst through the infirmary door.
There he was.
Inglen. Pale. Unmoving. Breathing, but still as a portrait.
Cheol dashed to his side, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "Oy! Inglen! Wake up!"
A sharp voice cut through the tension.
"Excuse me, who are you to touch the cute boy without permission?!"
Cheol blinked. "Huh?"
Gao stepped in smoothly. "Nurse Mei Zhi, how could you tell…?"
She crossed her arms, frowning but with the smugness of someone who'd seen too many things. "I'm a nurse. I know these things."
She looked Cheol up and down disapprovingly. "And what's this misfit of a student doing with someone as bright as you? An old creep clinging to young scholars—"
Gao exhaled and smiled, with vains popping up his head. "He might look like that, but Cheol is a student. And more importantly, my dear friend. So let's not badmouth him, Sister Mei Zhi. you should probably focus on getting that degre-"
Cheol keeping a hand on Gao shoulder in a sadend tone said "let it be.."
The nurse scoffed but backed away.
And just then, Inglen's fingers twitched.
Cheol gasped. "He's moving!"
Inglen blinked groggily, eyes unfocused, breath slowly returning.
Cheol leaned closer, grinning wide. "Oi! Are you a sunfish or something? Passing out in gardens?"
Inglen ignored him.
"Gao," he muttered. "What time is it?"
Gao looked down at his pocket watch. "Lectures are over."
He offered a hand. "Let's go."