Skiide Mandamus
The lecture was boring.
That was Mandamus's final judgment. He'd given the Legal and Academic Writing class a fair chance—a solid fifteen minutes—before deciding his time was better spent elsewhere. Reclining in his seat at the back row of the new lecture hall, the cushion groaned under his weight. He wasn't just tall; he had the kind of solid, sculpted build that made the small university desks look like they belonged in a kindergarten.
His best friend, Benjamin, was slouched next to him, fast asleep. Mandamus grinned, pulled out his phone, snapped an unflattering photo of Benjamin with his mouth open, and posted it to his Instagram story with the caption: "My boy studying hard."
Within seconds, the DMs rolled in—mostly from girls:
Lol you're so mean to him!
Where are you? Let's hang after this.
You're not even in the pic and you still look good.
Mandamus chuckled softly, sending back a few charming, non-committal replies. Life was good. School was easy, as long as you didn't take it too seriously. And people—especially girls—seemed to like him. He didn't know why. He wasn't rich. He wasn't a genius. He was just... Mandamus.
Glancing at the front of the hall, he spotted a certain classmate sitting alone, focused and intense. Mandamus had tried to recruit him for their assignment group but already knew guys like that didn't say yes easily. He was the type to color-code his notes—the exact kind of person Mandamus hoped would handle the boring work.
But academics could wait. His stomach couldn't. The single bowl of Cornflakes he'd eaten that morning felt like a distant memory. He needed protein. A lot of it.
He nudged Benjamin awake. "Benja. Let's dip."
Benjamin jerked upright, blinking. "What? Is it over?"
"Mwaiche (youngster)," Mandamus said, standing up. "Namvela njala (I'm hungry)."
He didn't wait for a reply, already heading for the exit. People naturally stepped aside when he walked by. He moved with a lazy confidence, an effortless swagger born of knowing he was probably the strongest person in any room. He didn't think of it as a power—it was just a fact. Weights in the gym felt strangely light. He could eat enough for three people and still be hungry. He was just built different.
Benjamin went back to sleep.
The campus cafeteria was packed, the air heavy with the smell of fried chips and the buzz of a hundred conversations. Mandamus cut through the line—not rudely, but because people just seemed to let him. He ordered three full chicken portions with a mountain of chips.
"Three?" the woman at the counter asked, eyebrows raised.
"Big man, big appetite, innit?" Mandamus replied with a grin.
She smiled, and he paid, grabbing a table outside where the February sun beat down. He ate quickly, efficiently, like a lion tearing through a fresh kill. This was what mattered—fueling the machine.
His phone buzzed nonstop—Instagram, TikTok, missed calls—but he ignored it all. That was just noise. The real world was here: nervous first-years, cocky seniors, couples holding hands. Campus life was a simple, predictable show.
When he finished his third plate, he leaned back, finally full. A comfortable laziness settled over him. He could head back to his Blackgate boarding house room and nap, shoot some pickup basketball, or check which girl from his DMs was free. The options were endless.
Underneath it all, he felt that hum again—that restless energy, coiled and ready. He knew he could probably run faster, jump higher, and hit harder than anyone here.
But what was the point? Life was easy. Too easy.
He stood, stretched his massive frame, and decided to head back to his room. The group assignment could wait. His stomach was satisfied.
It was just another normal Tuesday in February. Nothing to worry about.
As he walked from the cafeteria toward the main gate leading to the Blackgate road, he navigated the crowded pathways with his usual unhurried stride. One earbud played music; the other was dead, but he wore it anyway—a convenient shield against unnecessary conversation.
Just as he neared the gate, a girl's voice cut through the noise, sharp and urgent.
"Meech! Watson!"
Mandamus half-turned, eyes scanning for the source. He spotted a girl with a determined, slightly tense expression. She was pretty, he noted absently. She swept past him without a glance, hurrying after the guys a few steps ahead—faces Mandamus vaguely recognized from his Legal Process class.
Before he could think on it, two more girls rushed by, trailing the first.
"Anne, exeh, chill for us!" one of them called, breathless.
Mandamus watched them for a moment—a whirlwind of drama that had nothing to do with him. Probably relationship trouble. Campus life was full of that. He shrugged and kept moving.
He reached his room a little later. The place was a disaster—clothes in piles, takeaway containers on the desk, empty codeine bottles scattered around, and some weed on a plain white sheet of paper beside a lighter. A single, unopened textbook held the door open like it had given up its purpose.
Kicking off his shoes, the thud echoed in the small room. The bed—a thin mattress on a plain wooden frame—looked like paradise. He collapsed onto it, the frame creaking. Sleep took him instantly, dragging him into a heavy, dreamless void.
After about an hour, he finally got up. The weed was still on the sheet of paper on the floor, and he picked it up without much thought. From the back of his phone case, he pulled out a rolling paper and rolled a joint with quick, practiced hands.
He lit it and took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl up toward the ceiling. While he smoked, he ordered a bucket of wings from Hungry Lion. With the delivery on its way, he put out the joint and went to take a quick shower.