Beneath the oppressive watch of the yellow sun, towering next to a stream of water and fifteen minutes away from the nearest Metro station, a humbly-sized compound of pale concrete, chain-link iron fences, and well-kept grounds stands bold and squat.

Potaru Saint High is a prestigious academy on the outskirts of a bustling metropolis. With a world-class syllabus and faculty tested through the rigors of academia, the children admitted to its pristine halls were the best of the best, the shiniest from a treasure chest of shining gems.

D. Donovan Delilah was decidedly not very shiny. Curls of black hair framing his oval face and narrow eyes, pale skin, with oddly long arms and oddly long fingers, he was more like a mildly glittering piece of coal than anything.

Much to his eternal dismay, he's been a student here for two years.

Tugging at the red and black striped tie coiled around his neck, he can't help but be reminded of how bad his fortune really is.

Not only does he live insanely far away - god knows how he survives the hour-long train ride every morning, and how he studies with the ungodly hour he has to wake up at to make that train ride - but the fifteen-minute walk in this sweltering summer heat would likely see him to an early grave as a vulture's delicacy.

Vultures weren't native to Nortopolis, but as he shades his eyes with his hands, he feels they'd probably find it quite comfortable here. The alleys were so piled with dead rats at this time of year in the city centre they wouldn't have to scavenge at all, just swoop in with their mouths open. Maybe he could put the idea down in the district suggestion box.

Stifling a yawn with his hand, he shambles his way past the gate just as the bell reverberates through campus. Well-used to being mildly late for class, he continues with no haste.

It's Tuesday morning, April 17th.

Tuesday mornings themselves were normal.

April 17th was an odd date for him.

Five years ago, April 17th had been the day he'd both disappeared from this world - he'd ducked behind the curtains for a game of hide and seek - and also the day he'd re-appeared - as those same curtains fell on him, because he'd yanked at them too hard on re-entry.

At first he'd wondered if he'd just dreamt all his adventures; slaying giants, flying, facing armies, it seemed eerily fantastical from this side of the universe.

That idea dropped out of his head pretty quick when he woke in a frenzy that night, and nearly drop-kicked his parents.

April 17th was surreal; Donovan wanted to say it marked beginnings and endings, great change, or something equally as poetic and cool, but asides from his 'isekai' adventure as an eleven year old nothing else had ever really happened. It was almost as unremarkable as his birthday.

Humming, he walks past the sliding doors into the main building, greeting the air-conditioned rush of air with a sigh. He slips out of his shoes for school sandals, and makes his way up the stairs to class, waving a small greeting to the handful of students he recognizes. There aren't too many of them; it's only his second year here, and it's not like he's incredibly prolific.

Stopping in front of the door to his class - 2C - he pauses a second, makes up his story, and quietly opens the door.

Their English teacher is a tall woman; hair as straight as the edge of a knife glides down her back, and a severe frown cuts across her lips at the sight of him, her eyebrows furrowing into a harsh trench. "Donovan. Pleasure to have you join us," she says, cocking a hand on her hip, "You're late by a whole," her eyes dart to the clock above the door, "fifteen minutes. Care to explain?"

Donovan steps into the sunlit room, shuts the door, and gives his classmates a small wave- there were twenty students in his class, and whether they were rich emeralds or dedicated diamonds, they all had their own particular shine.

"Ms. Lovella," he begins, looking at her, "These are harsh times," He says, with all the bravado he can muster, his voice deader than a doorknob, "The sun glares like a tyrant, and no clouds dare to curtain it," He sighs, making his way to his seat, "Every day, I brave the distance from my comfortable home to this educational beacon, valiantly trying to resist melting into a sopping puddle." He drops down into his seat, letting out a sigh," Are fifteen minutes so many, considering the tribulations I suffer?"

Ms. Lovella, not impressed with his vivid story-telling, scoffs. He hears some groans of annoyance, two sighs of pity, and a single clap for his performance, before a stern gaze from their teacher silences them all like the threat of the guillotine.

"Donovan, buy an umbrella," she says, her eyes shooting bullets, "You're a teenager, so you can handle a bit of heat."

"It's a right tyrant, miss," pipes up a voice from the front, "Every summer, I have to spend a fortune on sunscreen 'cause of it." She sighs, dropping her head into her hand, elbow propped up on the table.

"Then maybe you should spend less time outdoors and more time indoors, studying." Ms. Lovella grins sharply down at the sporty blonde, who shivers and quickly shakes her head

"Like ya' said, us teenagers can handle the heat!" she says, plastering on a hasty smile.

Ms. Lovella sighs, turning around and walking back to the board.

As class resumes, Donovan glances at the essay topic with a frown.

He's five minutes into scribbling, the scratches of his pen complimenting the rest of his classmates', when the person to his left leans in, his vivid green hair drifting into the edges of Donovan's vision.

"Hey, Van," he says, "Interested in the day's new?" He asks, excitement colouring his voice. Donovan glances at him, his dark eyes meeting the boy's sapphires.

"No need, I already know it," he says confidently, nodding his head, "Not a whisper happens here without me hearing it."

The boy - his long-time friend of a single year, Frey - rolls his eyes, "It happened this morning, you weren't here. So?"

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Glancing towards Ms. Lovella - who is decidedly ignoring any and all whispering, reading a book - he bobs his head. Frey wasn't the most houndiest of gossip-hounds in the class, but if he did have something to share, it'd probably be interesting.

Or at least kinda funny, and Donovan doesn't really want to start his morning writing about 'Absolute Power; its corruptive properties versus its potential good'.

"Throw it at me, then," he says, turning in his seat to face him, invested. "If it's tripe, get me chocolate milk."

Frey grins, leaning even further forward, fingers tightening around his chair as it tilts, "Trust me, trust me- this is good," he begins, his breathy voice dropping to a hush, "Okay, so this morning, Violet Gold made an early trip to the kendo club; you've heard she's participating in the city-wide tournament, right?" Donovan nods his head; he'd thought about joining that club before, so he kept up.

"So, Violet slides in, the hour's completely ungodly, even the sun's still sleepy, school's dead as a whisper, and, and" he pauses, inhaling, "guess what she finds,"

Donovan squints, trying to think about all the possibilities that might excite him so bad.

"A rotting carcass?"

"What- no! Less morbid, man."

"Hmm..." Donovan thinks, thinks again a little, and when nothing happens after a couple moments, he throws Frey an expectant look.

"Come on," Frey huffs, "She finds Leo, hacking away against Tomo, the upperclassman. Upperclasswoman. Just- Tomo from 3A!"

"Our Leo?"

"Our Leo."

"Huh," Donovan says, blinking, his eyes inevitably drifting to the boy; a scrawny figure with a mop of rusty-red on his head, Leo was their class' resident madman. He was pretty well-known for getting caught up in some sort of trouble.

He wasn't bad, per say; a little odd, but everyone here was. It was more that...

Leo's ability to talk to girls was trash. The guy broke into stutters and mumbles and then shuffled away.

"Tomo from 3A?" He asks, just to confirm. Tomo was the school's resident kendo goddess, and also the school's resident thug. Donovan kept to the opposite wall if he saw her in the hall; not a week went without a rumour about her beating somebody up, whether it was in school or out.

"Uh-huh," Frey says, eyes glittering in interest as he looks at Leo, "Think those two are," Frey brings up his hands, folds his fingers to the tip of his thumbs and then smacks his hands together crudely, "Yeah? Yeah?"

Donovan thins his lip, and chops down with his own hand at Frey's, destroying his inappropriate puppet play. "Do you really wanna be caught spreading rumours about her?" He asks dryly, watching as Frey rubs his hands with an aggrieved look.

"Well no, but that was art!" he complains - whines.

"They don't allow that kind of art on school property." Donovan says, "Seven out of ten, by the way."

"Huh? I thought the story was pretty good, though- at least an eight."

"It was decent, but not the most interesting. It would have been interesting if there was a follow-up; did Violet break them up?"

Frey snorts and Donovan blushes, the meaning of his words hitting him.

"Go and ask her if you want, 'Van," He says, "but I've got more."

"Then why'd you stop?"

"You interrupted me!"

"A professional storyteller rolls with his audience," Donovan clicks his tongue.

Frey glances at him mutinously, "A professional storyteller also demands payment."

"I'll buy you a coffee if you hit nine."

"I'll hold you to it!" Frey exclaims- loud enough that the person in front of him kicks his desk.

"Alright, so," Frey says, completely ignoring the annoyed look he was being thrown, "get this. Supposedly, Leo, Violet and Tomo got really into it."

Donovan gives the girl an apologetic smile, and she turns away, but not before kicking Frey's desk again, "Like, an argument?"

Frey pauses, "Uh, no, not like that- they started fighting." He says, grinning mischievously, "Brutally, too. They wrecked half the kendo club and were called in to the Principal. No one knows what their punishment is, but supposedly they made a real mess."

Donovan glances at Violet- she was sitting a seat up to his right. She didn't look like she'd just been in a horrible fight, but there was a slight pallor to her expression, and she seemed to be leaning slightly to her left, avoiding her right side. Leo, he noted, looked fine; but Leo had horrific pain tolerance.

"Wrecked it how bad?" He asks, looking back at Frey.

"The windows were shattered."

As regular humans? Donovan wonders what could have gotten them so riled up; Tomo and Leo he understood, but Violet had always seemed level-headed.

"Interesting," Donovan admits, turning back to face his essay, "Guess I owe you a coffee."

Frey smiles, leaning back into his seat, "That you do. Hey, mind if I look at your essay?"

Donovan winces, glancing at what he's written. It was... yeah, no.

"Do it yourself, Frey. Be independent. It's for your own good."

Frey flicks an eraser at him- Donovan intercepts and flicks it back. Frey wacks it out of the air with his palm and it goes sailing. Horrified, they watch it glide across the room as if in slow-motion, a boulder launched from a catapult arcing over the city walls, until it finally hits Ms. Lovella smack on the forehead with a thwack that pierces the room.

"...my name was written on that." Frey exclaims in a horrified whisper, the skin draining from his tan skin.

Donovan puts pen to paper, pushes aside the thought of how three teenagers could break into a room-wrecking brawl, and pretends to not exist.

----------------------------------------

"Damn it," he says, glaring up at the cloudless, morning sky.

The heat of the sun sunk into his skin- even having changed into a more comfortable pair of trousers and shirt for PE, the heat didn't abide at all. The gentle breeze helped a smidge, but Donovan still wished he could curtain the sun.

A hand on his chin, he gazes skeptically as the rest of his class warms up. Perhaps if he pretends to sprain something, he could relax in the nurse's office...

"'Van, don't you dare leave," Frey groans behind him. Donovan turns, inspecting him up and down.

"Huh. You're still in one piece," he comments, surprised.

Frey scowls, reaching out to hit him on the shoulder. Donovan lets him, because he's afraid his friend might fall over without any support- he looks haggard and run-down, like he's just coming back from a marathon.

"She's still a teacher, not a she-beast." He says, using him as support to bend over, breathing hard, "She just made me clean the classroom."

"How clean?"

"If you'd killed someone in there earlier, then you'd probably get away scot-free."

Donovan whistles, patting his friend on the back, "Well, she could have done worse."

"It was right before PE!" He whines, looking at the track in horror, "I'm gonna die."

"I'll leave a flower. Would you like a rose, a peony?" His eyes brighten, "Think I could do a bonsai?"

"Stop contemplating about decorating my grave!" Frey stands back up, reaching his hands above him in a stretch, "But yes, a bonsai would be beautiful and I'm sure you can manage!"

"...Frey," Donovan pats him on his head, "You're yelling again."

Frey stops for a second, frowning, and rubs his throat. He clears it. Coughs. Hums.

"Better?"

"Much." Donovan says, turning away from him- his eyes instinctively fall on Violet and Leo, conversing in low tones to the side.

"Those two seem chummy," he comments, as the coach whistles. Donovan easily falls into place on the track and jogs in the middle of the pack of his class. Frey rushes up beside him.

"Mm, think they're friends now?" He asks, glancing at the two ahead of them.

"Maybe." He says, dismissing it. He figured if it was interesting he'd find out one way or another.

Later that evening, as the clock strikes twelve, Donovan lights a candle and places it in front of his window, the fragile flame flickering against the dark canvas of the sky. Pressing his fists against one another, he bows over them, eyes shut, and after a breath, begins to say names; they're foreign and unfamiliar, the language ringing out exotic in the air, and his lips seem to struggle to form the words, his tongue too big and clumsy for the intricate vowels.

He methodically makes his way through them, each name heavy on his lungs and light in the air. The sun's light glimpses the horizon before he's done.

April 17th, the anniversary of his 'adventure', passes by largely the same as any normal, average day.