Simon Riley

You raced down the stairs, trying not to make any noise and avoid being caught by the teachers. Skipping a couple of military training classes to go to the movies seemed like a brilliant idea.

Sliding down the railing, you burst into the main corridor and cleared the turnstile in one leap, amidst the indignant shouts of the guards. Laughing, you dashed toward the gates, confident they wouldn't catch you—the university hadn't changed, and the same old, perpetually disgruntled men were still on duty.

You turned around to stick your tongue out at them in farewell, but at that very moment you bumped into someone, losing your balance. They didn't let you fall. Strong arms firmly caught you and pulled you to your feet. The man's dry, attentive gaze made you cringe. Looking down, you noticed a name tag: "Simon Riley – Military Training Instructor."

"Why are you running like that? Did you do something?" His voice was cold and stern, squeezing your shoulders slightly.

You remained silent, hearing the guards' voices approaching behind you, and mentally bidding farewell to a quiet life. A reprimand, a fine—all of it flashed through your mind at once. The man suddenly turned you to face them.

"Why are you rushing to me?" he said calmly as university staff ran up to you. "I just asked my student to bring me... glasses."

He threw his arm over your shoulder and winked slightly, giving you a chance to breathe.

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