Year 2015, The University of Auckland, New Zealand—
In the Management Branch, a classroom of second-year students buzzed with energy. Yet, even amid the youthful vitality, it was clear that all the students were in a rush.
"Damn it! I haven't finished my records. Mrs. Harrington is going to kill me!" Kurt exclaimed, his face twisted with frustration.
Kurt was a local student. He was born and raised in New Zealand, and his father was a big shot—a politician. Naturally, Kurt had grown up with a sense of arrogance.
"What were you doing the whole semester?" asked an Indian student named Umang.
Umang's family was originally from India, but they had migrated to Auckland twenty-five years ago. Umang himself was born in New Zealand, making him a genuine citizen of the country.
"Well…" Kurt was speechless. What could he say? Mrs. Harrington had announced the completion of the project records three months ago. Three months was more than enough time for anyone to finish, yet Kurt had completed less than half of his project.
Back when the announcement was made and the deadline set, Kurt hadn't cared much. He thought, "Three months—that's plenty of time. I can take a break and start later."
In the blink of an eye, one month had passed. Kurt found excuses not to start his project, convincing himself there was still plenty of time left. When two months remained, he still hadn't begun. Another month passed, and he blamed the heavy workload from his other classes for not making any progress.
Day after day, he found new excuses. It was only three days before the deadline that he finally realized the urgency, and frantically began working on his project. Despite three days of hard work, he hadn't managed to complete even half of it.
Time is a heartless thing. It waits for no one—not even gods. And what was a mere student like Kurt to do?
At the University of Auckland, students were always assigned in teams of two for projects. Team assignments were made on the first day of the first semester, and Kurt had been paired with Umang.
Now, Umang was feeling the pressure. He understood how Kurt's mind worked. The team's evaluation would be based on the performance of both members, and it was each student's responsibility to ensure their partner was keeping up. Failure to submit meant it was their own responsibility, not the university's.
Youth have a tendency to pick up bad habits easily. Though Umang was neither a top student nor failing, he was above average. But after teaming up with Kurt, he had learned firsthand how easy it was to be lazy. Even though he always finished his own records on time, his partner's laziness was now affecting his grades.
Project work often contributed more to a student's final grade than theory-based subjects. It was a trump card to boost one's overall rating. Now, all of Umang's efforts were being ruined by his partner's lack of diligence.
As both Kurt and Umang sat brooding about their predicament, Umang's eyes landed on the adjacent bench. There, a record book lay unattended—the owner had stepped out for a moment before the class started.
It was common for students to leave the room before class began, running last-minute errands or taking a break. Most would be back before the lecture started.
Umang made sure no one was watching him. After confirming he was unobserved, he slowly reached out and took the record book.
Glancing around one more time for safety, he quietly opened the first page, which listed the owner's personal information.
Strangely, there was no name written on the cover or inside—the owner must have forgotten.
Flipping through the pages, Umang's excitement grew: the project had actually been completed. Since everyone was working on the same topic that semester, any team could have used this finished project.
Umang handed the book to Kurt and whispered, "Take this book. Write your name on it before the owner comes back."
"Whose book is this?" Kurt asked, noticing the lack of a name. Still, he didn't hesitate—he was desperate. Who cares about the real owner when his own grade was at stake? After all, he was the son of a politician; rules only mattered when they served him.
"Shirley," Umang replied.
"Fuck!" Kurt cursed. "Don't you have a crush on her? And you're sabotaging her future?"
"Well, true, but she always hangs out with that 'Fool,' and it pisses me off," Umang said. "She needs to learn a lesson."
"How heartless!" Kurt smirked. "But I like it."
"I have a plan," Umang said with a sly grin. "Not only will this solve your problem, it'll also make Shirley hate that 'Fool' forever."
Umang explained the details in a low voice. As Kurt listened, his eyes lit up.
"You bastard. With your cunning, you should've gone into politics! I love this plan."
Just then, someone approached Kurt and whispered in his ear. As Kurt heard the news, a sly smile appeared on his face.
He turned to the front of the room and loudly announced, so that everyone could hear, "Attention, please! The class is about to be blessed by the arrival of His Majesty, 'The Fool'!
Everyone, stand up and pay your respects!"
As soon as the mocking introduction finished, a chubby, fat person walked into the classroom. While not morbidly obese, he must have weighed around 94 kilograms. His skin was a pale brownish-white, and he was sweating so much that he gave off a reeking smell. His hair showed no sign of order, sticking out in all directions.
Anyone with eyes could see—he looked, undeniably, like a Fool.