Richard

Richard seems to have been specially created to break the silence of the corridors of Lucky Charms University. Dark-skinned, with short black hair styled as carelessly as if he had just shaken his head after a couple, and with eyes of an almost charcoal hue, a daring spark flashing in them, then flashing something stubborn and impenetrable. He looks as if he knows in advance that someone is going to roll their eyes, someone is going to step aside, and that's all he was waiting for. His image is a deliberate carelessness: a green sweater with white edges and the same pocket on the side, in which something is always ringing or rustling (either keys, or a crumpled check, or a bag of dog treats that he bought "just like that"). The black pants fit loosely, making it easy to slip away from the teacher or jump over the low fence near the campus. White sneakers are no longer perfectly white: on the toes there is a slight grayness from hundreds of steps on the city sidewalks, but he even likes it: it means that he walked a lot, managed to do a lot of places, managed to get a lot of people a little mad. Richard's character is like a sharp corner: you touch it and you immediately feel it. He is rough, harsh, and by the fourth year this sharpness only strengthened. His jokes are rarely kind: more often they are jokes that hit exactly at the weak point, and he frankly enjoys the way the interlocutor's eyelid twitches, how he clenches his fists or hurriedly turns away. Hooliganism became almost an art for him: hiding someone's notes, replacing the schedule on the blackboard, leaving a "surprise" on the desk in the form of a harmless, but terribly annoying trifle. And every time a wave of indignation rises around him, Richard smiles a little – he likes this little power over other people's emotions. It is not surprising that many students fear it or openly hate it. For them, he is a person who does not follow the unspoken rules, breaks the usual order and does it with frightening ease. But behind this demonstrative hostility to others, there is not so much anger as a way to keep everyone at a distance: if no one likes you, no one can hurt you. And only next to Ren, all this armor seems to crack. With him, Richard becomes a little softer - not completely, of course, he still snaps and sarcastic, but in a different, homely way. His barbs towards Ren sound like a familiar game, not an attempt to hurt her. Only with it can he drop his shoulders for a second and admit that he is tired of his own reputation. The relationship with his parents is a separate story, which fuels his rebellion. They are both teachers, accustomed to measuring the world by grades, discipline and "correct behavior". For them, Richard had always been too noisy, too impulsive, too uncomfortable. Their constant attempts to "fix" him only made him even more insistent: if being "good" means being like them, then he consciously chose to be bad. Hence the hooliganism, and deliberate rudeness, and the desire to do everything the opposite. And he also has a quiet, stubborn piece of childhood - a love for dogs, which he was forbidden for years. "Don't touch it, it's dirty", "We won't have a dog, it's irresponsible", "You can't cope" - he remembers these phrases by heart, and therefore now any meeting with a dog is like a small victory for him. He can sneak up by the side of the road to scratch behind the ear of a stray dog, or buy a tiny bone from a stall and feed it to some friendly mongrel. At these moments, all his ostentatious hardness disappears somewhere, and there is just a guy who is sincerely happy when the dog happily wags his tail and pokes his nose into his palm. Richard loves the color green.

Ren is a tall, handsome guy, as if even the space around him is becoming a little more spacious. He has thick red hair: sometimes it falls freely on his forehead, and sometimes he gathers it in a neat little ponytail so as not to interfere. Bright blue eyes look calm and attentive - there is no challenge or fuss in them, but there is a quiet confidence. He dresses simply, but in such a way that he feels his own style: a white T-shirt, a dark gray jacket, brown trousers and green sneakers - as if he chose colors that will not distract from the main thing. And most importantly, his smile. Warm, sincere, without a shadow of mockery. She doesn't appear often, but when she does, even Richard seems to throw off his usual armor and for a second becomes just a guy who is pleased to be seen for real. Ren is the kind of person who seems to be able to smooth out rough edges just by his presence. He's really open and friendly—he's easy to talk to, even for someone who usually stays away—and that's why he finally managed to make friends at university, which he didn't do at school. At the same time, his softness is not a sign of weakness: at a critical moment, it is replaced by calm, firm confidence. If someone close to him is in trouble, Ren does not get lost and does not look for excuses - he just stands next to him and does what is necessary, without unnecessary fuss and pathos. His patience seems almost limitless, especially when it comes to Richard. He calmly ignores his prickly jokes, not because he doesn't notice them, but because he knows all too well how this sarcasm hides uncertainty and a desire to keep everything under control. Their friendship stretches back to childhood - its roots are in the friendship of his parents, and this long, strong bond gives Ren a special right to see Richard differently from how others see him. For him, Richard is not just a caustic guy who always teases everyone, but an old friend with whom he has lived so much. That is why, when in the fourth year, classmates begin to barely noticeably rejoice at Richard's shame - looking at each other, making quiet comments, as if justice has finally triumphed - Ren does not join this wave. He has no desire to condemn or defend Richard at any cost, but there is a clear understanding: rejoicing in someone else's pain is not justice, but cruelty, and he does not want to be part of it. He does not make loud scenes, does not lecture, but his silence at such moments sounds louder than any words. Ren himself sometimes gets tired of Richard's antics, but loyalty to their friendship is not a matter of choice for him - it just eats like breath. He stays around not because he thinks Richard is flawless, but because he knows that friendship is not only about common jokes and lightness, but also about not turning away when the other is struggling, even if he does his best to pretend that he doesn't care. Ren knows all of Richard's weaknesses, not because he was looking, but because he was there when he wasn't hiding. He saw Richard melting next to the dogs, as if all his armor was slipping off at that moment. He knows how hard it is for him to be with his parents, how every word they say hits harder than any mockery. And he's the only one who saw Richard cry — not from pain, but from powerlessness, when it seemed that the whole world was against him. And Ren does not use or give away any of these weaknesses: for him, these are not levers of pressure, but signs of trust, which he keeps as the most important secret.

Lucky Charms University, which translates as "Charms of Good Luck", is a higher education institution located in the island of Hanforth. It is believed that the most capable, intelligent and lucky people get here. The symbol and talisman of the university is a unicorn, in honor of which a golden statue is installed on the territory. The main policy of the university is the freedom of students to realize themselves and respect each other. Students take care of nature and the environment: they sort garbage, save water and other resources. Lucky Charms diplomas are quoted all over the world and are very highly valued. Campus The university territory includes several buildings and zones. The main building is a multi-storey building where most of the lectures and classes take place; It is before him that registration for faculties takes place. There is also a dining room, a third building and a gym. The residences are located away from the university, outside of Hanforth, and are connected to it by bus. The right building is allocated to women, the left to men. Accommodation is paid, payment is monthly. Each block is a five-room apartment: three small double bedrooms, a bathroom, and one shared room that serves as an entrance hall, kitchen, and living room at the same time. Up to six students can live in one block. Between the dormitories there is a park with a basketball court and a golden statue of a unicorn. There is a lounge area with an outdoor pool, a small stage and a bar where only soft drinks are sold - alcohol is prohibited on the territory of the dormitories, although most students are adults. Behind the women's dormitory there is a farm, which is mainly used by students of ecology and nature management - agricultural tasks are carried out there according to the program. There are also workshops - covered hangars where practical classes are held. Faculties The university has six faculties: Ecology and Nature Management – Study of Ecosystems, Restoration of Disturbed Areas, Work with Natural Resources and Field Research. The dean is William Jefferson. Mathematical Economics and Management Theory is a mathematical analysis of economic processes and strategic management in modern business. Painting and Fine Arts – The study of fine arts, artistic techniques, and aesthetics. Sociology and social informatics are the study of social processes and information technologies in society. The Dean is Mrs. Watson. Literary translation from ancient languages is the translation and interpretation of texts in ancient and rare languages. Molecular biology and biotechnology is the study of biological processes at the molecular level and work with biotechnology. Both Ren and Richard study at the same faculty - "Ecology and Nature Management".

As children, Richard and Wren seemed to live on the same wavelength - even if the whole world around them seemed different to them, they understood each other without unnecessary words. They often disappeared behind the neighboring yard, where a pack of stray dogs lived. Richard didn't hide his affection for them behind barbs at the time—he was the first to notice which dogs were shivering from the cold, which were limping, and he was dragging the remains of sandwiches out of the house, while Ren walked silently, putting a couple more pieces in his pocket. Sometimes they would just sit next to the oldest dog, a huge, gray-faced dog, and Richard would whisper some ridiculous stories to it, as if it were the most attentive listener. Ren was smiling then, laughing softly, and there was no mockery or desire to tease in this laughter, only warmth, which helped Richard not to be ashamed of his feelings. There were also times when Richard's parents reprimanded him for "useless business" and "being late for all the time." After such conversations, Richard went out into the courtyard, angry and prickly, as if he wanted to push away anyone who approached. But Ren didn't back down: he didn't try to comfort him with big words, he just held out a crumpled note with a silly drawing—a dog in a hat, then the two of them against the background of an old garage—and said, "Look, I've figured out where we're going tomorrow. No one will scold us there." And Richard, even though he snorted, still looked at the note, the corners of his lips trembling slightly, and the tension gradually slipped from his shoulders. Once, when the stern conversation at home hit him hard, Richard couldn't hold back his tears—they came suddenly, against his will, and he immediately turned away, clenching his fists, as if he were ashamed of this weakness. Ren didn't pretend not to notice, but he didn't stare at him with pity either. He just stepped closer, put his hand on his shoulder, and said quietly, "If you want, we can do nothing at all. Let's just sit here until you're fine." They sat there for almost an hour, silent, side by side, until the evening turned completely dark, and Richard's breathing evened out. Until the ninth grade, Ren was quiet, inconspicuous, the same guy who was always found a reason to hurt: either a backpack was pushed, or a nickname was invented, or a notebook was hidden. But Richard was always there, and he didn't tolerate any ridicule. If someone threw a barb in Ren's direction, Richard immediately responded in such a way that the offender began to justify himself. He could be rude, harsh, could promise such revenge that the bully lost the desire to approach Ren at all. And it wasn't that Richard wanted to seem cool, he just knew that Ren shouldn't feel lonely. It is better to be afraid of him, Richard, than to touch someone who is truly dear to him. And they also carried food for the dogs from dinners together: Richard gave his patty, Ren gave a sandwich. One day, the dog they were feeding twitched sharply and scratched Richard's wrist. Blood came out in thin streaks, but Richard didn't even wince - he just washed the scratch with water from the column and waved his hand: "Nonsense. The main thing is that he was not afraid of us." Ren then silently pulled off his scarf and carefully bandaged his arm, and Richard, although he muttered that "this is unnecessary", did not take it off. That was their friendship: Richard would lunge forward without looking at the risk, and Ren would hold him quietly when it hurt - even if the pain was just a couple of scratches.

Richard's parents are both teachers at the same school where he studied, and therefore his school years were as if under double supervision. My father taught history, strict, collected, with a habit of speaking as if every word had to be carved in stone. He did not tolerate negligence either in knowledge or in behavior: if Richard brought a C, his father did not make shouts, but looked at him in such a way that it became clear that this was not just an assessment, it was an indicator of his attitude to work. At home, he often began phrases with "In my class, this would not be allowed," and there was no threat in these words, but a cold conviction that standards should be the same everywhere - both at school and outside it. His mother was a writer. She was softer, but her exactingness was hidden in her intonations and in the long pauses when she waited for Richard to figure out where he had gone wrong. She liked to repeat: "A word is a responsibility. You either put meaning into it or you make it empty." It was from her that Richard inherited the habit of clinging to formulations, only if she wanted to teach accuracy, he eventually turned it into a weapon - the same sarcasm with which he fought off the whole world. At school, the parents behaved impeccably: polite, collected, not a hint that at home their son could slam the door and leave without listening to the lecture. The students respected them, and some were even afraid: the mother was able to return silence to the classroom with one glance, the father was able to build an explanation in such a way that even the most indifferent began to follow the logic. But for Richard, they were not exemplary teachers, but people for whom his actions always became a reason to talk about the "reputation of the family." If he was late, it sounded like "it is not customary in our family name to be late." If he joked too harshly, how "those who have nothing to say about the case talk like that." Parents' meetings and open days were especially difficult for him. He felt the glances of his classmates on him: "Aha, whose son is this?" It seemed to him that he was expected not just to give good grades, but to fully correspond to the ideal picture that his parents diligently kept in sight. And the more they tried not to single it out, the more noticeable this invisible bar became: not just "be a good student," but "be such that we don't have to blush for you." Ren knew this side of Richard's life not from stories, but from how he changed when it came to home. Sometimes, after a particularly difficult conversation with his parents, Richard would come to Ren silent and prickly, as if every word could again be a cause for reproach. Ren did not try to "calm him down" with general phrases.

Wren's parents lived as if their house was a little quieter and a little brighter by default. His mother taught biology at the same school - calm, attentive, one of those who notice not only raised arms, but also drooping shoulders. She knew how to talk about complex things in such a way that even the most boring paragraph about photosynthesis suddenly became a story about how the world is held together by small, almost imperceptible things. In the class, she was loved not for her gentleness, but for her fairness: she did not turn a blind eye to pranks, but always gave a chance to fix everything, and she did it in such a way that the student did not feel guilty forever. Wren's father was not a teacher – he worked as an engineer, designed city communications, and everyday metaphors about pipes, bridges and loads often slipped into his speech: "If the system cracks, you don't need to shout at the pipes – you need to see where the pressure is." At home, he rarely talked about work, but he knew how to fix everything, from a broken shelf to a cracked mood: he did not arrange long conversations, but simply put a cup of hot tea next to him and sat next to him, as if by this he was showing: "I'm here, we can do it." Because of their mother's work, Wren and Richard's parents crossed paths at teachers' councils, meetings, and methodological days. Wran's mom knew what was expected of Richard, and she could see him shrink as adults began to discuss "parenting and responsibility." She never meddled with advice, but she knew how to gently switch the conversation: "Let's better think about how to help him, and not how to shame him." Sometimes after such meetings, she came home, took off her glasses, rubbed the bridge of her nose and quietly said to Ren: "Richard is having a hard time right now. If he comes, let him sit, let him do nothing, just let him be." And Ren knew that this was not just permission to let a friend into the house, it was a sign that his care was not superfluous, but necessary. At home, Ren didn't have a bar to constantly jump over. They valued not perfect grades, but effort: if Ren brought a C, mom did not frown, but asked: "What was the most difficult? Let's figure it out." My father rarely talked about grades at all, but he noticed something else: "You've been working on a problem longer than usual today. It's cool." For Richard, who was used to the fact that any mistake was a reason for a serious conversation, this approach seemed almost miraculous. He came to Ren and seemed to throw off an invisible backpack from his shoulders: here they did not expect perfect formulations from him, did not ask him to be an example, did not compare him with "how it should be". There were also joint meetings of parents – not official, but after school events, when everyone got a little tired of the roles of "teachers" and "parents" and became just people. Wren's mother knew how to talk even to Richard's strict father: over tea, they discussed not academic performance, but old movies, weather, city news. Richard sat in the corner at such moments, pretending that it did not concern him, but caught the intonations: here he was not looked at as a "problem to discuss".

Karl. A short guy with brown hair, slightly disheveled, as if he had just returned from field practice. The eyes are calm, brown, and in the hands there is almost always some twig, leaf or book about plants. The character is quiet and diligent: he is one of those who memorize not for the sake of evaluation, but to really understand. He is embarrassed to speak first, but when it comes to flora, he lights up and can talk incessantly. He studies at the Faculty of Ecology and Nature Management. Chad. Tall, strong, always on the move: now he jumps, then grabs something, then begins to wave his arms, showing how "this bird is flying". Her hair is dark, cut short, and her eyes are lively and tenacious. The character is noisy and energetic, loves to touch everything and test its strength. At the Faculty of Animal Studies, he is like a fish in water: he drags feathers, cones, strange finds into the room and sincerely rejoices in every little thing. Dylan. Thin, dark, with dark hair styled in a neat parted hairstyle. He often walks in a gray hoodie, almost without taking off his headphones, and looks as if he is calculating every word of the interlocutor. The character is restrained and logical: he speaks only to the point, does not like fuss, and hides emotions behind a dry tone. At the Faculty of Programming, he keeps apart, but if someone is really stuck, he will help without unnecessary questions. Brandon. Broad-shouldered, with a sculpted figure, as if he had spent half his life in the gym. Blond hair, confident gait, a slightly condescending look. His character is narcissistic and assertive: he likes to be the center of attention, give advice and emphasize that "he knows how to do it." I studied at the Faculty of Mathematics and sincerely believed that logic is about force, not numbers. Tyler. Thin facial features, calm gray eyes and a neat posture, as if he was always listening to something important. In the dormitory, he wore a simple black turtleneck and jeans, and his fingers were slightly worn from the strings and keys. His character was serious and collected: he did not like idle chatter, but he could spend hours explaining how a melody works and why one chord changes the whole mood. He studied music - he played the synthesizer and violin. Preston. He was thin, with long brown hair that sometimes fell over his face, then gathered in a careless ponytail. His gaze is absent-minded, as if he is simultaneously here and somewhere in his painting. Usually in a loose T-shirt stained with paint and old jeans. The character is dreamy and self-absorbed: when inspiration overwhelms him, he forgets about food, sleep and even about where he is. In the artistic direction, he dissolves in work — and then the whole world for him narrows down to canvas and brush.

Richard did not enjoy the pain of others as something dark and heavy - rather, he caught the excitement, as if every conversation was a game in which he must win. For him, it was akin to intellectual sparring: he read other people's weaknesses - insecurity, the habit of making excuses, the desire to seem better - and with one precise word knocked the rug out from under his feet. And when the interlocutor got lost, began to hastily choose words or laugh nervously to hide embarrassment, Richard felt that very short flash of superiority: "I'm faster again. I'm stronger again." At the university, this trait of his became more noticeable and tougher. At school, at least sometimes he looked back at his parents, at the reputation of the family, at the fact that "they don't do that." Here, away from their stern gaze, he seemed to release those inner brakes, and his banter became more brazen, more ruthless, as if he were specifically testing how far he could go before someone seriously exploded. He could go through someone else's insecurity, an awkward phrase, someone trying too hard to please everyone, and he did it with such careless precision that even those who realized that they were being hurt did not immediately find how to respond. This is how he got enemies. Not those who openly challenged him—the kind he usually saw through in the first seconds of an argument—but those who clenched their fists and memorized. Someone tried to answer head-on, but Richard immediately turned their anger against them: "Wow, it turns out that you know how to get angry. It was necessary to show character earlier." Someone took revenge on the sly - they hid notes, threw ridiculous notes, tried to make him ridiculous in general chats. But even here Richard knew how to turn the situation in his favor: he was the first to laugh at the joke to himself, as if he did not care, and thereby deprived it of its power. Or, on the contrary, he pretended that he did not notice any attempt at revenge at all, and continued to behave as if the world revolved around him - and this infuriated the offenders even more. Most often, he came out victorious not because he was angrier or more cunning, but because he knew how to keep his face in any situation. Even when the blow was accurate, he did not allow himself to look hurt. His armor turned from sarcasm thicker, and his smile a little sharper. It was as if he was saying with all his appearance: "Try it. I'm going to turn it to my advantage anyway."