[Location: Varynfall City – 9:47 p.m.]
Varynfall was a simple city, built between rivers and narrow hills. Its skyline is a mix of old stone buildings and new glass towers. The streets were tight and uneven, lined with streetlights despite the morning and coffee shops that opened before sunrise.
Most people lived quiet and well structured lives. Mornings start early — trains rumble through the main district, vendors set up stalls near the station, and office lights turn on one by one. No one lingers outside for long after dark. The air feels odd then, one could not help but feel tense.
And so a yawn echoed through the small apartment.
Nero Holiday stirred from the couch, his head dipping forward before he caught himself. His eyes blinked open slowly, as though reluctant to join the waking world.
He was, by all accounts, an ordinary young man. Or at least that's what he liked to tell himself every time he saw his reflection or compared his life to someone else's.
His apartment reflected that same self-assured ordinariness — a modest space funded by his father's generosity. A small living area sat at the center: a slightly sunken sofa, a scratched coffee table, and a television that had long given up on showing anything in high definition. The kitchen, surprisingly large for a one-bedroom flat, stood pristine and mostly unused — its utensils resting untouched.
And then there was his room. The less said about that disaster, the better.
Nero Holiday was ordinary.
At least, he wanted to be.
He was smart — top of his class, in fact — but he considered that more of a curse than a distinction. Being smart didn't make you special. It just meant people expected you to know what you were doing all the time.
And Nero rarely did.
He stared at himself in the narrow bathroom mirror, his expression dull and resentful. The small space smelled faintly of soap and steam, the mirror fogged from the shower he hadn't taken yet. His reflection blinked back — a tired, almost delicate face framed by a fall of white hair.
A soft sigh escaped him.
Large, oval eyes with red pupils stared back, shadowed by long lashes that most girls would envy. His lips were full, naturally tinted a faint rose, and his button nose crinkled slightly as if offended by its own symmetry. A tiny beauty mark rested on the corner of his lower lip — the kind of feature artists would call charming.
It was, by all appearances, a girl's face.
A pretty one, at that.
But the problem was obvious — and deeply personal.
This was Nero Holiday.
And Nero was not a girl.
"... God, not a single hair," he muttered, glaring at his reflection. He leaned closer, inspecting the smooth skin along his jawline. "Eighteen years old and still nothing. I look like I'm about to get asked what high school I go to." He ran a hand through his white hair, groaning under his breath. "This shit ain't right," he said to no one in particular, his tone more resigned than angry.
Opening the cabinet, he reached for his toothbrush and toothpaste — the last squeeze left clinging to the bottom of the tube. His fingers, slender and annoyingly delicate, struggled to flatten it enough for one more brushing.
"Figures. That dumb old geezer probably forgot to restock again," he grumbled, referring to his father without naming him. "Man works three jobs but can't remember toothpaste."
He brushed his teeth with lazy movements, spit, rinsed, and splashed cold water on his face. The ritual complete, Nero looked up again at the mirror — same face and same problem. He sighed and shut the light off.
By the time he dressed, the morning had already started to feel heavy. A crisp white button-up shirt — sleeves rolled to his elbows — paired with simple black trousers and scuffed boots. Neat enough to pass as effort.
He moved into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge with an absent expression. A single calendar was magneted to the top — a bright red circle around tomorrow's date.
"Right… orientation day," he murmured. "Novarch University."
He could practically hear his father's voice repeating the sales pitch. 'Cutting edge. A great opportunity for your future, son.'
Nero rolled his eyes. "Sure. Cutting edge, whatever that means. Probably just code for overpriced shit and professors who hate kids."
He reached for the only thing that seemed edible — a chocolate bar — unwrapped it with the reverence of someone who truly didn't care, and took a massive bite.
"Mhm," he said around a mouthful, crumbs threatening to fall.
Just as he started to enjoy the fleeting sweetness, his phone buzzed against his thigh. He groaned, fishing it out with one hand.
Without checking the caller ID, he answered mid-chew. "Who da fugg is dish?" he mumbled through chocolate.
["Dude,"] came the exasperated voice on the other end, ["you seriously can't answer a call like that."]
Nero stopped mid-bite and blinked. "Oh, great. The voice of an idiot. Alexander, why the hell are you calling me this early? You stupid or something?"
["Good morning to you too, sunshine,"] Alexander replied dryly, clearly used to Nero's particular brand of irritation.
"Cut the pleasantries, what do you want?"
["What, I can't just call my best friend for no reason?"]
"No," Nero said flatly, walking toward the window. "You're not that sentimental. What's the catch?"
["Okay, fine, fine,"] Alexander admitted. ["You turned eighteen in August, right?"]
Nero frowned. "Why? You asking if I'm legal? You sick bastard, I don't swing that way."
["W–what? No! Dude, what the hell? That's not what I meant!"] Alexander's voice cracked in panic, his words tumbling out.
Nero snorted. "Relax, I'm fucking with you. You're too easy." He leaned against the counter, the faintest smirk tugging at his rosy lips. "Now seriously, get to the point before I hang up."
Alexander sighed. ["Alright, alright. So, Jason got these invites for that new club on McBeath Street. It's supposed to be high-end — like, actually decent. He's got a few extras."]
"I can already tell I'm not interested."
["Wait, hear me out!"] Alexander rushed on. ["There'll be people. Like… hot people. Jason's bringing some girls he knows, and I kinda…"]
Nero's eyes narrowed. "You kinda what?"
["I… may have told them I have a cute friend who looks like a girl."]
Silence.
Then — "Do you want to fucking die, Alex?" Nero asked calmly.
["I panicked, okay?!"] Alexander's voice hit a pitch of desperation. ["Please, man, just show up! I already promised them!"]
Nero sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No. Absolutely not. Goodbye."
"I'll give you twenty bucks."
"…I'll be there," Nero said.
Alexander exhaled in relief. ["Knew you'd see reason."]
"Reason?" Nero repeated, tone dry. "No. You just bribed me. That's not reason, that's survival."
["Whatever works,"] Alexander said with a laugh. ["See you tonight, pretty boy."]
"Say that again and I'll hang you," Nero muttered before ending the call.
The apartment returned to its silence, save for the hum of the fridge.
He sighed, stuffing the phone back into his pocket and muttering, "Ordinary, huh? Sure. Let's pretend that's still true."