The request had been simple: the typical radio-jazz where the DJ goes âName that bandâ and the winner gets concert tickets. And yet, four to five hours in on the channel, and still no one could name the band. There were callers carefully sprinkled between songs, and Kuzumi counted at least twenty-three viewers demanding for hints.
"There are no recorded lyrics!" People protested, apparently having attempted to look the songs up online.
"There are no videos!" Others whined, admitting to have looked things up on musicvids.everything.
"Whoâs the band?!" All the callers asked, some more jovial than the majority.
Five hours. From half an hour before Kuzumi got to his morning class at seven, and still going as he got to lunch. Itâll go on for days, he told himself. Someone has to answer the question.
So here he was, now in possession of two concert tickets just because he knew some obscure band called Stay Royal. Here he was, looking around to find someone to pawn the tickets off to; how stupid of him to answer. Kuzumi needed to get rid of these things.
How was Kuzumi supposed to attend the concert as a fan?
There was a familiar face not too far, and the guy seemed alone for the moment. Not too busy, right? Maybe heâd like the tickets?
"Hey!" Kuzumi called out as he raised a hand for the other to see him. They never spoke before, what with being in mostly different classes for different majors, so this might be a good enough reason for Kuzumi to socialize.Â
What was the guyâs name again? Ugh, why did Kuzumi have to be so bad with names?
"Dude by himself! Thomas maybe!" Oh god please be Thomas, or else Kuzumi just made himself sound like one hell of an ass.
Universities could be a pain in the arse with their inefficientlayout. While some universities had built their campuses in a circle, meaningthat one could reach any classroom from a dormitory within ten or fifteenminutes, this particular university had the bright idea of locating all the dormitories in a nearly isolated section of the campus. That meant it usually took around thirty minutes to walk from the dormitories to the classrooms.
Zether happened to have an hourâs worth of break between two classes. As much as he wanted to duck back into his room to avoid the other students, there simply wasnât enough time to walk to his room, then back in time for his next class. All he could do was sit on top of one of the waist-high walls, tapping his foot in time with the beat of the music in his ears.
It was one of these times when he cursed his tendency to turn his music down on low volume- enough for him to hear, but too quiet for those partiers who insisted on cranking their music up so that everyone around could hear the songs blaring out from their earbuds- for he soon became aware of a shouting. For a moment, Zether was about ready to ignore it; after all, Thomas wasnât his name, and wasnât even close to it. But when the other student kept calling this âThomasâ and waving, Zether heaved a sigh of annoyance, glancing up to see what in the world was keeping âThomasâ from noticing this guy.
To his surprise, the redhead seemed to be waving and looking at him.
Just to make sure, Zether double-checked around him, but there was no one else that the student could possibly be talking to. And⌠well, to be fair, Zether was by himselfâŚ
âWait⌠are you calling me âThomasâ?â The Mathematics student pushed his glasses up, frowning in puzzlement at the other male. Now that he thought about it, this student looked familiar⌠Possibly a classmate in one of Zetherâs GE classes? âThat⌠is not my name.â