FRIDAY | THIRD WEEK OF HIS LAST YEAR | 12:38 P.M. THE STUDENT CAFETERIA
The cafeteria was loud.
Aman sat at the usual table with his brothers, eating lunch while Rocco loudly complained about a defeat nobody else considered particularly significant.
“Bro, that machine was fucking rigged.”
Cosimo didn’t look up from his food.
“You lost.”
“By twelve points!”
“Exactly.”
“It was rigged!”
Lauro stole a fry from Rocco’s tray.
“Maybe basketball just isn’t your calling.”
“Touch my food again, Grave.”
“Make me.”
Zahir burst out laughing.
Aman shook his head, a faint smile appearing on his face.
“You’re all annoying as fuck,”
Rocco announced.
“And yet,”
Aman replied,
“you keep showing up.”
“Because somebody has to bring personality to this table.”
“You bring noise,”
Cosimo corrected.
The table erupted into laughter.
That was what their afternoons usually looked like.
Boxing practice, lunch, arguments, and whatever ridiculous plans Rocco had decided were absolutely essential to their weekend.
For a while, Friday was no different.
Then every phone at the table vibrated.
Once.
Twice.
He glanced at his screen.
UNIVERSITY ADMINISTRATION
OFFICIAL STUDENT NOTICE
Attention, students.
Please be advised that several new students are scheduled to join the university beginning Monday.
Further information regarding their arrival will be provided as appropriate.
Thank you for your cooperation.
He read it twice.
Then he looked up.
“What the fuck?”
Rocco said.
Cosimo frowned.
“No.”
Zahir leaned forward.
“Wait. New students?”
Lauro checked his own phone.
“Transfers?”
“That’s what the announcement says,”
Yusuf replied.
Mehdi looked genuinely confused.
“That’s impossible.”
Pietro nodded.
“The university doesn’t accept transfers.”
Everybody knew that.
Applications opened during the summer. Students applied, admissions decisions were made, and the academic year began in August.
There were no ordinary midyear transfers.
If you didn’t get accepted, you waited until the next application period.
That was the rule.
It had always been the rule.
So why the hell was administration announcing new students in the third week of the last year?
One of them set his phone down.
“Somebody explain that shit.”
Nobody could.
Aman stared at the announcement for another moment before placing his phone facedown.
“Interesting.”
Rocco turned toward him.
“INTERESTING? That’s all you’ve got?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to acknowledge that the university just contradicted its own admissions policy!”
“I can read, Rocco.”
“Then act concerned!”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Should I start screaming?”
Zahir laughed.
Lauro leaned back in his chair.
“Please do. It’ll be the most interesting thing you’ve done all week.”
“Fuck you,”
Aman replied casually.
“Love you too.”
Despite the confusion, the conversation eventually moved on.
Nobody had names.
Nobody had explanations.
And there was nothing they could do about it until Monday.
Besides, they had other plans.
“Anyway,”
Rocco announced, reclaiming everyone’s attention.
“Saturday. Arcade downtown. Food afterward.”
Somebody nodded immediately.
“I’m in.”
“Obviously,”
Lauro muttered.
Cosimo sighed.
“Fine.”
He took another bite of his lunch.
“Saturday works.”
Rocco pointed at him triumphantly.
“See? The man has taste.”
“I said the day works. I didn’t say you had taste.”
The table erupted into laughter again.
And just like that, Friday continued.
Nobody knew that the following evening would become the beginning of something none of them had anticipated.
Saturday night | 9:17 P.M. DOWNTOWN — ARCADE AND RESTAURANT
The arcade was packed.
Machines flashed beneath colorful lights, music competed with the noise of excited players, and Rocco had spent the last twenty minutes insisting that a basketball machine was personally conspiring against him.
“It was fucking rigged.”
Cosimo took a sip of his drink.
“You lost.”
“You weren’t even watching!”
“I heard you complain.”
Zahir doubled over laughing.
He shook his head.
“You need a hobby.”
“Basketball is my hobby.”
“Basketball doesn’t want you.”
He stood nearby, laughing quietly.
He’d enjoyed the evening.
Boxing practice had gone well, his friends were entertaining themselves, and for once, nobody had done anything particularly irritating.
Eventually, the group decided to head toward the restaurant attached to the arcade.
They were hungry.
Again.
“Bathroom,”
Pietro announced.
Yusuf followed him, with Tullio and Mehdi heading in the same direction.
Somebody glanced at the remaining group.
“We’ll wait here.”
Aman leaned against the wall outside the bathrooms, his back facing the arcade and the main walkway.
Zahir stood beside him.
Lauro leaned against the opposite wall, while Cosimo and Rocco continued arguing about the basketball machine.
“He cheated,”
Rocco insisted.
“Who cheated?”
Zahir asked.
“The machine.”
Lauro stared at him.
“You need professional help.”
“I need a rematch.”
“You need to accept defeat.”
“Keep talking, Grave.”
He laughed under his breath.
For several minutes, the conversation continued.
Insults.
Laughter.
Ridiculous arguments.
Then, suddenly, everything went quiet.
Zahir stopped talking.
Lauro straightened.
Cosimo’s expression changed.
Even Rocco fell silent.
He noticed immediately.
He glanced at them.
“What?”
Nobody answered.
All four men were staring at something behind him.
He frowned.
“What the fuck happened?”
He felt somebody approach from behind.
Before he could properly turn around, a hand caught him and spun him around.
The movement was so sudden that he barely had time to register what was happening.
He came face-to-face with somebody.
And before he could even get a proper look at the person standing in front of him—
Their lips met.
The kiss caught him completely off guard.
For once, Aman Vintaglia had absolutely no idea what the hell was happening.
Behind him, Zahir stood frozen.
Lauro’s eyes widened.
Cosimo looked as though his entire understanding of the evening had just collapsed.
And Rocco?
Rocco’s mouth fell open.
Because the person who had just kissed Aman Vintaglia had accomplished something none of them had ever managed to imagine.
You had made the Hollow King lose his words.
And for the first time in his life, Aman’s carefully established boundaries were about to become a lot more complicated.
He does not move. He does not say a word to any of them.