chapter 8

The morning sun bathed the enormous campus of S.K University in a golden glow. Its sprawling grounds stretched wide, the colossal iron gates gleaming like they were built to guard a kingdom. Tall banners rippled in the breeze, announcing upcoming fests and tournaments, while the hum of students arriving filled the air.

Right at the front gates, a lone figure stood. Carat.

They gazed at the towering structure with a flat, unimpressed look.

“So the gates of hell are decorated these days,” Carat muttered dryly. “Honestly, I shouldn’t insult my university like that… hell’s gates probably look better than this.”

With a bored sigh and a lazy stride, Carat shoved their hands into their pockets and walked through the massive gates.

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Inside the sports ground, the atmosphere was completely different. Energy pulsed through the air. Every athlete, whether footballer, sprinter, or martial arts trainee, moved with sharp precision. No one dared to slip up, because a pair of sharp, hawk-like eyes were watching every single move.

Those eyes belonged to none other than J-Hope — the university’s sports coach and Head of the Sports Department. His reputation was carved in stone: perfection was not requested, it was demanded.

Amid the rhythmic thud of footballs and pounding sneakers, one student tried sneaking onto the field, clearly late. Unfortunately for them, J-Hope’s radar never missed.

“You’re late. Again.”

The student froze, guilt written all over a handsome face. It was none other than Vernon, one of the university’s star football players.

With a sheepish grin, Vernon turned to face his coach.

J-Hope folded his arms and gave a dazzlingly fake smile. “So, Vernon. What’s today’s excuse? Let me guess—you saw a cat flying through the sky, so you went to help it? Or maybe the Titanic showed up on the highway, and you had to push it back into the ocean? Or… let me try this one—you saw an old lady turn into Spider-Man, so you escorted her to fight crime?”

Laughter bubbled from a few nearby students, though quickly smothered when J-Hope’s eyes flicked toward them.

Vernon’s grin didn’t fade, but his mind went blank. His lips parted, searching for a fresh excuse, but nothing came out.

The coach’s false smile dropped into a glare. “Thirty rounds around the ground. Without. A. Break.”

The color drained from Vernon’s face. “Coach… actually, I think I have a heart attack… in my legs,” he blurted, desperate.

That only fanned J-Hope’s fury. “VERNON!”

The shout echoed across the ground like thunder. Vernon knew that tone too well. Without a second thought, he spun on his heel and bolted.

“YAH! Come back here!” J-Hope roared, sprinting after him.

What followed was pure chaos—coach and student chasing each other across the field, weaving through stunned athletes like a comedy act.

Meanwhile, away from the madness, in a quieter corner of the university stood a tall statue of God. In front of it, a lone student knelt, eyes closed in prayer. Their calm devotion contrasted starkly with the wild scene playing out just a few yards away.

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