Monotone

When I opened my eyes in the morning, a rare lightness filled me. My mood was sky-high, as if the universe had pressed pause on all my worries for one night. My bed, with its soft blankets and slightly worn sheets, felt like a warm, embracing sanctuary. It'd been ages since I'd slept so peacefully, free from dreams of battling wolves or Alex's cryptic smiles haunting my mind. I stretched slowly, arms reaching out as I sat up, silencing the alarm's shrill cry. My phone screen flashed 7:45 a.m.—right on time.

I rolled out of bed, the familiar softness of the carpet soothing my feet. Heading to my wardrobe, I grabbed my usual school uniform: navy pants, white shirt, and a slightly oversized gray sweatshirt. The uniform was a bland badge of high school life, but the sweatshirt added a touch of me. In the bathroom, I turned on the faucet; the cold water splashing my face washed away the last traces of sleep. Brushing my teeth, I grinned at my reflection—the mole by my lip had popped back to life after last night's moisturizer. I rubbed a bit more into my skin, softening its dry edge. Not bad, Haoyu, I thought, fluffing my hair to keep that rebellious high-school vibe.

I shuffled to the kitchen, greeted by the morning's quiet hum. Yuki's school started 20 minutes earlier, so she'd already bolted—probably hunched over her tablet, waltzing with equations. Her room's dim light and messy desk betrayed her late-night grind. Dad was still nowhere to be seen. We'd called and texted last night, but he hadn't picked up or replied. This wasn't his first disappearing act. Sometimes, like an invisible weight had settled on his shoulders, he'd vanish for days, sometimes weeks. He never failed to send money, though. Everyone needs a break, right? I told myself, but a knot of worry tightened in my chest. 

On the kitchen counter sat a stack of crepes Yuki had left—cold but still smelling divine. I snagged one, stuffing it with a slice of salty white cheese and a juicy red tomato. I rolled it up and took a bite; the cheese's tang, the tomato's freshness, and the crepe's soft texture danced on my tongue. Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, turning stray breadcrumbs on the counter into specks of gold. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, chugged a glass of water, and headed for the door.

Stepping outside, the narrow, tranquil streets welcomed me. The neighborhood, in the early morning hush, felt almost dreamlike. White, gray, and black apartments lined up in harmonious rows, like a minimalist painter's canvas. Rooftop tiles gleamed under the golden glow of the sunrise, as if the sky had slapped an Instagram filter on the world. A cool breeze brushed my face, tousling my hair. A few early risers dotted the streets—neighbors walking dogs or heading to the corner store for bread. In the distance, a cat's meow and the rumble of a garbage truck broke the quiet.

I strode toward the metro, earbuds pumping soft lo-fi beats. The station buzzed with the usual morning crowd: suited businessmen, students dragging backpacks, and a hipster sipping coffee in the corner. I swiped my ticket, descended to the platform, and squeezed onto the next train. But—damn, the metro was a sardine can. People were packed in, pressed against each other like a human Tetris game. An auntie clutched her bag, muttering; a guy was lost in his phone; another accidentally jabbed his elbow into my back. Morning workout, huh? I thought, gripping the handrail to stay upright. The train's sway made my backpack dig into my shoulder, but thoughts of Yuan's new class kept me distracted. Reader of W, huh? Wonder what he'll spill at school.

A few stops later, I got off at the school's station. Climbing the stairs with the crowd, I gulped the crisp morning air. At the school's entrance, a familiar figure caught my eye—Yuan! He was bobbing to the heavy bass leaking from his earbuds, backpack slung over one shoulder, lost in his own world. These run-ins were rare, but catching Yuan always made the day more fun. "Yo, asshole!" I called, grinning as I approached. He turned, raising an eyebrow with a mocking smirk. "Well, look who graced us with his presence!''

I laughed, landing a playful punch on his shoulder. His taunting grin was a cornerstone of our friendship—like we'd been trading the same jabs and curses forever. We passed through the school's gray concrete gate, already deep in Galactic Game Online talk as we hit the stairs. The school was a morning madhouse. Laughter, shouts, and the thud of backpacks echoed through the halls, like a pre-game warmup for an arena. Everyone—from the coolest kids to the quietest nobodies—was hooked on the game. Some bragged about new weapon skins, others groaned over botched boss fights; the only topic on anyone's lips was Galactic Game Online.

Yuan, climbing the stairs, was buzzing about joining a mercenary crew. "Ran with a bunch of psychos, Haoyu. That's how I snagged my mutation class. NPCs, monsters, the works—it was like a war flick in the desert!" He'd blasted through ten missions, rocketing to level 10, every word dripping with triumph. Me? Still scraping the end of level 1. But my sword felt like an extension of my arm now. Master Alex's guidance—his sharp gaze, his "Your sword is your soul, Haoyu"—had made every swing deadlier, every move smoother. Listening to Yuan's epic tales sparked a twinge of jealousy, but his enthusiasm was infectious. "You'll unlock a class soon, don't sweat it," he said, clapping my shoulder. 

Our classroom was on the seventh floor, the school's most cursed corner. There was an elevator, but some idiot broke the mirror last year, so it was off-limits to students. Every morning, climbing these grim, lifeless stairs, I mentally cussed out the architects. Who the hell builds a seven-story high school, for fuck's sake? Yuan and I trudged up, barely talking—those stairs sucked the air out of us, no matter how used to them we were. The gray concrete steps were cold and soulless; faded "Success starts with us!" posters and dusty student projects hung on the walls. Now and then, a teacher's shout or the clatter of a dropped pen cut through the silence. When we finally hit the seventh floor, we were both hunched over, hands on knees, gasping. Yuan muttered, "One day, I'm blowing these stairs to hell." I laughed, "I'm in, but you're finding the dynamite."

The moment we stepped into the classroom, a wave of noise assaulted my ears—like we'd stumbled into a bustling marketplace. Kids were shouting, laughing, hopping on desks. And, of course, it was all about Galactic Game Online. The second they spotted Yuan, a mob swarmed him. "Yuan, what's your new class? Spill!" "Mutation? What's that shit?" "What level are you, you cheating bastard?" Yuan, ever the social butterfly, dove in, grinning and gesturing wildly as he spun his tale. He was a rock star in the spotlight. Me? I stood there like an extra in his movie, as usual. A couple of kids asked, "Haoyu, what're you doing in the game?" but my "Slashing wolves, swinging a sword" didn't hold their attention. Their eyes slid back to Yuan's mercenary saga. Why bother? I thought, shrugging and heading to my desk. The familiar sting of being sidelined wasn't new, but it still pinched.

Passing my desk, I noticed Fang Xiu. She was already there, buried in a test paper, her pen scribbling furiously. She glanced up and chirped, "Morning!"—her voice bright but tinged with exhaustion. Today… damn, she looked stunning. Her makeup highlighted her lips in a cherry-red glow, perfectly complementing her pale skin. Her flawless face was like something from a watercolor painting—no need for makeup, but those subtle touches framed her beauty like a delicate border. Her long, black hair didn't carry its usual coconut scent; she must've switched shampoos, because a faint, floral freshness wafted from her now. Her hair shimmered like silk in the morning light, a few strands spilling over her shoulder. Without thinking, I blurted, "Your makeup looks good." She paused, then said softly, "Thanks," but quickly turned back to her test, her tone signaling the end of the chat. Whatever, I thought. I didn't have the energy to deal with her, especially not this early. Fang's shift—from mocking me in freshman year to this fake friendliness—still bugged me. Maybe she was just being polite, or maybe something else was up. I didn't care enough to dig. I dropped my bag at my desk, pulled out my notebook, and tuned out the class's chaos. Yuan's laughter still filled the room. For a while, I just listened to the class chatter, soaking up bits of game gossip.

Most kids in class were bouncing between levels 5 and 7. The lowest were Fang Xiu and me. Fang hadn't done much fighting in the game; she just wandered, using her painting skills. Her quests involved sketching landscapes for NPCs or painting murals on temple walls. She swore the game was sharpening her art—and she was probably right. Every brushstroke seemed to turn the game's digital world into her canvas. The class star was Nero, though I'd never met him. After Yuan and Bai, he was the highest level. Rumor had it he'd hit a %0.00000000001 chance to start with a class—practically impossible. He was a dual-sword master; sounded basic, but starting classes were insanely rare and stupidly powerful. Even Yuan, tight-lipped about his Reader of W class, hyped Nero's like it was legendary. It created a weird hierarchy in class—the game had flipped friendships upside down in a day. Solid bonds held, but during breaks, everyone whispered about game strategies, guild plans, and leveling tricks.

I didn't care much and grabbed my notebook. Yuan barely swung by my desk all day. Outside school, we were tight, but here, he was the star, and I was his shadow. It didn't seem to bother me, but—let's be real—it did. Still, it wasn't a big deal; Yuan was Yuan, and I liked him for it. Fang and I had a few short chats, all game-related—her temple frescoes, my wolf pelts. Nothing deep, just filler. Classes dragged on, overshadowed by game talk. During free periods, everyone glued themselves to phones, scouring Galactic Game Online forums. The hot topic was "Nice," a player with the Galactic Emperor class, hyped to the moon. One kid claimed he'd taken a royal servant job and saw Nice in the palace. "He wore full-on war armor, but it was badass. Soloed quests and split the EXP with his team." Word was, Nice would dominate when territory wars kicked off. But with global guilds and clans out there, nothing was set in stone.

Most players skipped hunting quests for quick gigs—cleaning, waitering, even sweeping NPC houses. Those racked up EXP fast. My wolf quest? Weak on EXP. Selling pelts would net me cash, but it wasn't enough to level up. Still, swinging my sword earned Passive Stat Points. These boosted skills without spending stat points—like a tank gaining HP mastery by soaking damage. My sword mastery sharpened with every wolf I sliced. Jobs worked the same: the more time you spent, the better you got, unlocking unique perks. Fang's painting shone because of this—each piece unlocked new abilities.

Classes were a whole other beast. Yuan's Reader of W, from what he let slip, powered up by absorbing radiation. It clearly had stages, but he kept the details locked tight, like guarding a secret. Some classes had separate level and category systems. Forums whispered about a U.S. player unlocking one, but that was it—no name, no specifics. The rumor came from a fired game miner who leaked it in a rage; he was probably silenced fast. Nero's dual-sword class had that same mysterious vibe. Starting with a class was near-impossible, but Nero played it up, keeping it cryptic. The game's secrets fueled a mix of competition and ass-kissing in class.

The day slogged by like a shitty loop—class, game chatter, class, forum gossip. When the final bell rang, everyone spilled into the halls, backpacks swinging, laughter echoing. At the exit, Fang's mom was waiting by a gray SUV. Fang said, "Mom can drop you off," her voice flat. I didn't say no—free ride over walking? Hell yeah. I hopped in, Fang up front, me in the back. Her mom, all classic mom energy, started with, "Haoyu, how's it going?" but soon pivoted: "So, got a girlfriend?" Her tone was teasing but nosy. Lady, why do you care? I thought, but mumbled, "Nah, school's busy," keeping it short. Fang rolled her eyes but stayed quiet. Her mom rambled about traffic and weather; I nodded with one-word replies. When we reached my place, I jumped out, said, "Thanks!" and shut the door. Fang's mom's curious stare lingered on my back.