Storm Warning

The classroom was wide, designed like a half-circle theater with tiered seating where students sat and took notes as the lecturer spoke.

"…The problem with this law—" The lecturer turned to the massive board to begin writing when Jacques suddenly jolted awake in shock. He had forgotten he was in class and instinctively shouted, "No!"

His voice was emotional, as if his life depends on it. Rang through the room, loud enough that every head turned toward him.

Beside him, Charles slapped his own face. Could this idiot be any dumber?

Moments later, Jacques found himself out on the field, sentenced to punishment—running laps around the football court.

Jacques didn't regret being punished for sleeping in class, but he did regret how tense he had been in that moment. The dream still lingered in his mind—the shadowy figure swinging a sledgehammer at the Mentor's head. The sheer force behind the swing, the hatred in it—it felt too real. But worst of all, he regretted waking up too soon, before he could do anything to stop it.

Was the Mentor still alive?

That question gnawed at him as he fought off the unease creeping into his chest. Whoever the Mentor was, Jacques knew him. He seemed so familiar.

Was he really Charles?

The man didn't look like Charles—he was taller than Jacques, while Charles was shorter. His hair was black, whereas Charles's was blonde. His eyes were green, while Charles's were blue. He was gentle, while Charles was… well, grumpy.

But then why, in the dream, had he been so certain it was Charles?

Dreams were strange like that—people could take on any form, and yet, somehow, we knew who they were. We can sense them.

And yet, now that he was awake, Jacques knew it wasn't Charles.

So why, in the dream, had he insisted it was him?

But oh boy... that man was gorgeous as hell! Jacques still remember how he looked like. His smile, his voice, his gentle touch, and his patience. Whenever he look into The Mentor's eyes, it felt like he was in love, an undeniable desire that he cannot look away from. 

And yet.... it's not something new.

He was someone that he knew, he wasn't a stranger.

But who is he?! 

***

Jacques hums a song with his earbuds in, sketching a design for an airship. Just a simple camper ship—something to cross the galaxy and survive in the void. Against pirates, against the cops—maybe?—as if he already knew he wouldn't graduate from the police academy, and it didn't matter.

He would travel across the stars with Charles!

Why waste time on schoolwork?

"What are you doing?"

Charles's voice interrupts. Jacques removes an earbud and turns to face him, holding up his design. "This will be our home."

He begins explaining each room and section of the ship, detailing how everything would be functional enough to sustain them on their journey across the stars.

Charles isn't impressed. He exhales and looks away. In his mind, he thinks, Why is he doodling something this childish when exams are on the horizon?! I really hate this guy! If it were Maurice, I could understand—he's smart. Even without studying, he still gets good grades. But this guy... he's just... I don't know... an idiot! A fool! And the fact that he's dragging me into this ridiculous dream of his is just… dorky!

"...And look at the bunk beds here. They'll be really comfortable to rest on—"

Before Jacques can finish, Charles walks away.

"Where are you going?"

Charles grabs his books. "Off to the library. Good luck with your design."

He walks out of the dorm room and shuts the door behind him.

Jacques doesn't understand why Charles looks upset. He thinks for a moment and muses, Hmm... Maybe I need to figure out why he didn't like the design. Maybe I should add extra space for a library since he loves books so much…

Jacques scraps the design and starts over from scratch.

***

"Eh? Dream about me?" Sulu's eyes widen as he looks at Jacques, as if questioning the kid's sanity. "Boy, I don't know how that pretty boy in your dream was me. You got your brain screwed."

"Yeah, but… who else is mentoring me now?" Jacques isn't sure if The Mentor in his dream was really Sulu. But now, it's been three days since he last dreamed of The Mentor getting attacked by The Shadow, and the dreams haven't returned. Honestly, it makes Jacques feel uneasy.

Will he ever see The Mentor again?

"Kid, if you see me that way, this better be the last day you ever visit me for flying lessons," Sulu says, sounding offended.

"Okay, you both sound different, to be honest. I'm sorry, Sulu. I'm just trying to figure out what my dream means." Jacques continues cleaning up an old, dusty engine belonging to the trooper pod. Sulu insists he learn how the engine works and what its components do before ever piloting the pod.

The space void isn't a joke. If it's a ship, you can swim. If it's an airplane, you can use a parachute. But in space? You're dead.

After a long silence, Sulu finally speaks. "My sister is a fortune teller. She might be able to interpret your dream. If you're interested and believe in that sort of thing, I can take you to her."

"Oh, really? Where?!" Jacques asks eagerly.

"She lives on another planet—"

Before Sulu can even finish, Jacques lets out an excited scream while clenching his fist to the air.

"Woo—yeah!! Hee-haw!! My first trip to another planet!"

"—But I'll take you there after the exam," Sulu continues. 

"Sure! There are so many questions I want to ask," Jacques says, clenching his fists. He would do anything to uncover the meaning behind his strange dream. It felt so vivid, as if he were living in two realities at once.

And The Mentor was so—attractive. Of course, he wanted to know if he was real. And if he was real, how could he find him?

***

The news comes fast, like mushrooms in the rainy season. It's everywhere. The body of a missing young girl was found at the truck driver's station, dumped like a broken mannequin. Three weeks have passed since her body was discovered, and the police are still unable to find the murderer. The public is quickly going mad, demanding the police to find the culprit as soon as possible and criticizing their capabilities.

And all of a sudden, it happens.

Charles was eating lunch with Jacques in the cafeteria when he saw it on the television. Police officers, looking proud, stood beside a large man handcuffed, shaking his head as the police read the reason for his arrest: he was the murderer.

It was Tyler Baxter.

"I did not kill anyone, Charles. I don't even know the girl. Never met her at all," Tyler said behind the bar, separated from his son by thick glass. The only connection between them was a phone, obviously recording their conversation.

"Then why did they arrested you? They even declared they found the murder weapon in your truck!"

"I have no idea. But I was definitely framed. I never touched those machetes, but my fingerprints are all over the place. I was framed, but nobody is listening to me!" Tyler shook his head, exhausted from telling everyone that he didn't do it, but no one believed him. Now his face was all over the internet, with teenagers making memes out of it, where he keeps screaming that he didn't do it while holding onto the murder weapon.

"Dad, I'll do all I can to get you out. I'll prove to them that you didn't do it!" Charles said, dead serious when making the promise.

But even though he promised his father, he still couldn't find the freedom to roam the crime scene—an area prohibited for a 15-year-old to look for clues to the real murderer. He had exams coming up in a few days, and his schedule was packed. He had to make sacrifices; his future or his father, and it broke his heart without even deciding what he would leave behind.

"It's okay, Charles. The most important thing to me is that you make it in life. You become someone respectable," his father said beyond the glass. He smiled proudly at his son, which reminded him of when he was young, and also of his mother's beauty.

"Don't blame yourself for not being able to save me, no matter what happens to me in the future. What's more important to me is for you not to become like me. You have to be someone respectable—don't be like me, son," his father smiled at him, with no regret.

Charles returned home feeling worthless, unable to do anything to save his father. Even though he wasn't the brightest person on the planet, Tyler was still his father, and Tyler had never abused him. It made Charles sad that he had always seen Tyler's kindness as a weakness.

Okay, he probably had some self-misconceptions, but Tyler had never hurt or harmed him. He always tried his best to be a good father, even though nothing he did ever seemed to make Charles proud.

Because of these events—and probably because his friendship with Jacques had deepened—Charles finally began to change what he valued in someone. It wasn't important whether they were stupid or smart; what mattered was that they were good human beings, always trying their best to be the best person they could be.

Charles became even sadder when he heard the news that Tyler had been killed in a prison riot.

At his father's grave, he made a promise that he would bring change to the system. The law, which was supposed to protect the innocent, had failed those who needed protection the most. His father had been wrongly accused, framed. The police, who were supposed to protect him, had instead caused his death. He would bring justice back to the right path.