Mira was walking down the hallway toward her class, the buzz of early chatter around her blending with the soft squeak of sneakers on tile. Just as she passed the bulletin board near the stairwell, Elara fell into step beside her.

  “Wait, wait, what is that on your face?” Elara asked, pointing with mock horror.

  Mira sighed, didn’t even need a mirror to know what she meant. “A goodnight kiss from a mosquito,” she muttered, wrinkling her nose. “And the kind that lasts for several days.”

  Elara squinted. “It looks like it’s trying to evolve.”

  “Thanks,” Mira said dryly. “That’s exactly the encouragement I needed.”

  They walked a bit further, elbow to elbow.

  “So... where’d you vanish to last night?” Elara asked, lowering her voice like it was a secret mission. “You ghosted the group chat.”

  Mira gave a sheepish shrug. “Ran into some locals, absolute legends. They were having a BBQ and kind of roped me in. I didn’t really plan it.”

  “You got adopted by strangers?”

  “They’re in their sixties and treated me like their long-lost granddaughter,” Mira said, grinning. “Fed me, mildly interrogated me, gave me leftovers. Not bad for a random detour.”

  Elara grinned. “Sounds totally worth the bump.”

  A casual wave, a “see you later,” and they were off, another ordinary morning, but just slightly charmed in the way college days sometimes are.

  ?

  After her last class wrapped up with the usual scatter of notebooks and goodbyes, Mira took the long route out of the building, her steps naturally drifting toward the east wing.

  A few law students passed her in a rush, clutching casebooks and talking fast, which jogged her memory. Right, Elias had mentioned the simulation round today.

  She followed the signs down the corridor led her to the seminar room.

  The door was ajar, voices echoing inside, and she slipped in, spotting Naomi and Elara already seated near the front. They waved her over with knowing smiles, and she took her seat just as the session was about to begin.

  Naomi was half-whispering a joke about the room’s resemblance to a courtroom drama set when the moderator’s voice cut through the chatter, announcing the first speaker.

  Then Elias stood.

  Even in his well-fitted black blazer, crisp and clearly chosen with care, Elias looked every bit the part, sharp, composed, and entirely in his element.

  His short, fluffy ginger hair caught the light as he stepped forward, glasses perched neatly on his nose, framing eyes that were focused and unshakably calm.

  Tall and effortlessly handsome, the confidence in his posture alone was enough to settle the room.

  He opened with the relevant clause from the arbitration agreement, gesturing lightly to the projected screen, then launched into a sharp breakdown of the commercial terms under dispute.

  Despite being a first-year, Elias held his ground with a finesse that turned heads. His argument had layers, drawing from contract law, citing precedent from the The United Nations Convention on Contracts for the International Sale of Goods CISG, and tactfully pointing out the opposing team’s flawed interpretation of a force majeure clause.

  One of the third-years on the other side faltered in their rebuttal, eyes flickering down to their notes. The room subtly shifted, attention pooling toward Elias like gravity.

  When questions came from the faculty moderator, Elias handled them with effortless clarity, never rushing, never arrogant, just precise. Mira noticed Elara leaning forward slightly, Naomi too. This wasn’t beginner’s luck. It was obvious Elias belonged here.

  As the debate wrapped up and the panel of judges offered closing comments, one of them, an adjunct from a local arbitration firm, paused and nodded toward Elias. “A promising start to your legal career, Mr. Weber. I look forward to seeing you in future rounds.”

  In that moment, even if Elias hadn’t noticed, too busy gathering his papers and nodding politely to the judges, his brilliance had undeniably stolen the spotlight.

  The seminar room had mostly cleared out, but the three of them stayed near the front rows, still riding the high from Elias’s performance. Mira crossed her legs on the edge of a desk, notebook in hand, and lifted her chin with mock professionalism.

  “Ahem,” she began, voice smooth and formal, “Mira from Campus Insight. A few questions for today’s rising star in international law. What’s it like being a pro lawyer, Mr. Elias, after just half a semester?”

  Elara burst out laughing. “A pro lawyer? Please, don’t inflate his ego, Mira, he’ll start charging us by the minute.”

  Naomi giggled, looking at Elias with a spark of teasing admiration. “But you were really good, though. You actually made the third-years look... underprepared.”

  Elias adjusted his glasses, but a proud grin escaped. “Thank you, thank you. I try to keep things… sharp.”

  Mira scribbled dramatically in her notebook. “Note: modesty, questionable.”

  Elara leaned against the whiteboard, smirking. “So when’s the real competition? That was just a practice round, right?”

  “Yeah,” Elias said, “They’ll probably pick the final team by late November. A couple more internal rounds first.”

  Naomi’s eyes lit up. “Can regular students come watch those too? I might try out next year if I can.”

  Mira turned to her with a bright grin. “You should! You’d be amazing.”

  Elara joined in without hesitation. “Totally. And with Elias as your coach, you'd win every round.”

  Naomi laughed shyly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I doubt that…”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Elias, clearly trying to remain composed, cleared his throat. “Well, it’s rare for a pro like me to agree to coaching…” He let the silence hang for dramatic effect. “Unless, of course, there are certain… culinary incentives.”

  Naomi blinked. “Culinary?”

  He smirked. “Daily homemade meals. From someone with proven cooking skills.”

  Mira's eyes widened in faux surprise. “Such conditions! But wait, Naomi’s the only one here who can actually cook, ”

  Elara grinned. “Exactly! She’s amazing. You’ve just played yourself, Elias.”

  Naomi, now fully flustered, ducked her head with a helpless laugh. “You guys are the worst.”

  But the light in her eyes gave her away, and Elias, still smiling, tapped the desk lightly. “Deal, then?”

  Their laughter echoed in the room, soft and bright.

  ?

  As the trio stepped out of the seminar room, laughter still warm on their lips, they began strolling toward the canteen, sunlit paths winding through campus trees.

  Just before the main courtyard, they passed a tall figure in a dark navy suit, Professor Ikeda, the distinguished academic advisor of the Honors Program. With his usual calm presence and a folder pressed tightly under one arm, he paused and gave a small smile.

  “Mira,” he greeted, with the same respectful tone he always used. “Do you have a moment?”

  She stopped in mild surprise, then turned to her friends. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up,” she said, waving them along.

  Professor Ikeda gave her a brief, apologetic nod. “I’m terribly sorry for the sudden request, but something urgent has come up and I can’t attend my lecture. The replacement is already arranged, but I need someone to deliver these documents to the class, and, just in case, offer minor support to the teaching assistant.”

  He handed her a neatly stacked folder. “No technical knowledge needed. The class isn’t related to your major at all, just keep things running if they need a hand. It’s just for an hour.”

  Mira took the folder without hesitation. “Of course, I can help. Hope everything’s alright?”

  “Thank you,” he said, already glancing at his watch. “Room A307. It begins in ten minutes.”

  With a parting nod, he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Mira exhaled, hugging the folder to her chest, then started down the path. The campus stretched wide, its departments housed in distinct wings, architecture here, science there, communication nestled deep at the back. She moved briskly, past students gathered at benches, up a flight of stone steps, across a breezeway lined with ivy. By the time she reached Room A307, the lecture hall was already filling with students.

  She stepped in, and froze at the threshold.

  There, standing on the stage, adjusting a laptop beside the projector, was someone very familiar. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, eyes locking with hers.

  She blinked, then allowed herself a crooked smile.

  “Well,” she said, lifting a brow. “Good to see you again, professor.”

  A low, breathy sound, almost a laugh, left him. “Didn’t expect my assistant to be you.”

  “Neither did I,” she replied, stepping in fully and letting the door close behind her.

  And just like that, the second coincidence of the day began.

  Adrian stepped down from the platform, his posture relaxed yet precise, as though every movement had already been calculated. Even in a plain button-up rolled at the sleeves and dark slacks, he somehow looked like he belonged at the head of the room.

  The soft glow from the overhead lights caught in his short black hair, neatly tousled in that effortless way that couldn’t be accidental, and made the warm amber of his eyes catch like embers. He looked more like someone giving a guest lecture than a teaching assistant.

  Mira crossed to the front with the folder in hand, catching herself peeking at him again. She had so many questions that felt inappropriate to ask in front of a full classroom.

  “Professor Ikeda said these are for the class,” she said, lifting the folder.

  “Great,” Adrian said with a nod, taking it from her. “We're doing a group simulation today. Shouldn’t be too hard to follow along, unless you’re planning to jump in and solve the problem faster than the students.”

  “I’ll do my best to hold back,” she said, dryly.

  Adrian returned to the front and started distributing the materials while she took a spot to the side. She watched as he addressed the students, his voice clear, pacing sharp, each word delivered with the calm authority of someone far older.

  He was explaining the activity: a simulated cognitive decision-making challenge, where small groups would rotate through stations, making real-time evaluations based on shifting cues. The kind of task designed to pull both intuition and rational processing into tension.

  Mira scanned the handouts and tried to piece together the lesson plan. Intro to Applied Cognitive Strategies, the heading read. That must be the course. An upper-level class, from what she could tell, most students looked older than her.

  Adrian wrapped up the instructions. “You'll have thirty minutes to rotate through the tasks. Don’t rush, this isn’t about speed, but how you process new data under changing conditions. Mira will help facilitate station C, and I’ll float around for any group support.”

  She nodded automatically, catching a few curious glances from students, wondering who she was, no doubt. She didn’t blame them. I don’t even know what I’m doing here, she thought.

  Adrian called for the class’s attention, and within seconds, the noise of small group chatter died down.

  "Before we move to the debrief," he began, stepping casually to the center, "I want to touch on what you were actually doing, beyond the surface of the tasks."

  He didn’t need to raise his voice. He had that kind of gravity, the kind that didn’t ask for attention but was given it anyway.

  "This exercise wasn’t just about how quickly you identified patterns or solved problems. It was a basic form of behavioral observation methodology, a technique used in cognitive and psychological research to assess how people act under structured but dynamic conditions."

  He clicked the projector remote, and the screen behind him came to life. A matrix appeared, columns labeled Stimulus, Observed Behavior, Response Time, Verbal Output, Non-verbal Cues.

  "You were being observed across multiple vectors: how you responded to ambiguity, how you communicated under mild pressure, even how often you made eye contact with your group members."

  Some students shifted in their seats, suddenly self-conscious. Adrian gave a small nod.

  "Don’t worry, this isn’t a personality test. What matters here is understanding what we can measure, and what we should measure, depending on our research objective. For example, "

  He turned toward one group’s data sheet and pointed without needing to check it twice. "Group B had the longest pause before responding at Station C, but their accuracy was the highest. That suggests a reflective decision-making style. If I were coding your behavior, I’d tag that under 'deliberate cognitive processing.'"

  The class was focused, absorbing every word.

  Mira stood at the side of the room, one arm crossed lightly over her chest, the other holding the unused pen she’d been fiddling with earlier. She watched him with growing disbelief. Not just at how much he knew, but how easily he made it all sound… elegant.

  He was not just smart, she thought. He made smart contagious.

  He wasn’t trying to impress them. His voice carried the confidence of someone who saw the architecture behind human behavior, not just the bricks. He broke down advanced methodology like he was offering directions to a café. Clear. Logical. Effortless.

  She caught herself leaning slightly forward, lips parting just a little at how he rephrased the concept of inter-rater reliability, using a cooking analogy. “It’s like two chefs tasting the same soup, if they both say it needs salt, that’s consistency. If one says salt and the other says sugar? You’ve got a reliability problem.”

  The class laughed. Mira did too, a bit too earnestly, then immediately turned away. Seriously? Control yourself.

  But she wasn’t the only one who was impressed. A few students near the back scribbled faster. One girl leaned to whisper something to her neighbor, eyes still fixed on Adrian. The usual post-lunch haze that hung over afternoon seminars was completely gone.

  "And that," Adrian concluded, clicking off the projector, "is the first principle of behavioral observation: watch the human, not just the result. That’s where the story is."

  The room broke into applause, spontaneous, genuine. Adrian gave a quick, modest smile, then looked over to Mira. Their eyes met again.

  She straightened up, trying to look professional. Normal. Not like someone who had just re-evaluated her entire definition of impressive, she smiled back.

  ?