The Author's Playground
Chapter 59: Gratitude (1)

Chapter 59: Gratitude (1)

Elijah’s body lay rigid atop the disheveled sheets, his muscles locked in a vise-like grip.

His chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, inhaling a desperate gasp.

Beads of sweat traced erratic paths down his forehead, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. His eyes, though closed, flickered wildly beneath pale lids..

Beside him, Varden observed with a mixture of irritation and concern.

The green-haired lad’s brows knitted together as he watched Elijah’s distress escalate.

He had been roused from his own slumber by the incessant rustling and muted groans emanating from his friend’s bed. For several minutes, he had attempted to wake Elijah from his state, gently nudging his shoulder and calling his name in hushed tones.

But Elijah remained focused in the clutches of his nightmare, unresponsive to Varden’s efforts.

Thus...

"Hey, bum! Wake up!" Varden’s voice echoed as he screamed right beside his ears.

Finally, Elijah jolted awake, his body convulsed with the sudden return to consciousness. Disoriented, he tumbled from the bed, landing on the cold floor with a resounding ’thud’.

"Ack..." he winced as pain radiated up to his side. "You don’t have to scream in my ears..."

His vision swam as he blinked away the remnants of his dream, gradually focusing on the figure looming above him. Varden’s emerald hair framed a face etched with a scowl, arms crossed over his chest.

"I kept nudging your shoulder, but you wouldn’t wake up," Varden retorted. "You should be grateful I even bothered to help you."

"Nhng..." Elijah groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Here."

Varden extended a hand, offering a cold, damp cloth.

"What’s that?"

"Obviously, a cold compress," Varden replied, rolling his eyes. "You look like death warmed over. Put it on your forehead. I don’t want you spreading whatever plague you’ve got to me."

"Wow, you’re so kind, bro," Elijah muttered with sarcasm.

"Gruh... Take a look in the mirror, and you’ll understand," Varden shot back, turning on his shoes. "I’m going to class. Try not to die for godsake."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Elijah alone in the dimly lit room.

The blue haired lad hauled himself to his feet, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness washed over him. With unsteady steps, he made his way to the small washroom adjoining their quarters.

Flicking on the harsh fluorescent light, Elijah squinted against the sudden brightness. He gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles blanching, and forced himself to meet his reflection.

A stranger stared back at him. His skin had taken on a pallid, grayish hue, stretched taut over prominent cheekbones. Dark circles marred the skin beneath his eyes, giving him a hollow, haunted appearance.

"Goddamn... he’s right," Elijah murmured to himself. "I look sick... no, dead..."

"Those dreams are getting more real, It’s as if someone was really choking me..."

He splashed cold water on his face, with the coldness of it grounding him momentarily.

His gaze drifted to the digital display hovering in the periphery of his vision, bringing the message.

[ Special Status: Sleep Paralysis ]

"Hah... Please give me a break..."

******

January 18, Year 1019.

Monday. 7: 00 am.

Professor Sean adjusted his spectacles; the yellow light of the corridors reflected off the lenses as he stood before the door of Class F. His dark brown hair peeked out from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, and he was still wearing that same robe.

With a little sigh, he pushed open the heavy wooden door, its hinges emitting a soft creak that announced his entrance.

The classroom remained almost empty compared to before, yet for some reason, the anxiety still remained the same as how Professor Sean met the class F on the first day.

Everyone stared at his arrival.

( ’It’s okay, I can do this’ )

"Good morning, class," Professor Sean began as he walked down to his desk. "Let’s start the roll call."

He opened a large, leather-bound ledger, the pages yellowed with age, and traced a finger down the list of names.

"Albinus, Varden," he called out, glancing up.

A young man with vibrant green hair raised his hand, "Present."

"Hantaro, Rachel," Professor Sean continued.

Silence followed, the only sound the faint rustling of parchment. He repeated, "Hantaro, Rachel."

Still no response. With a resigned sigh, Professor Sean deftly flicked a piece of chalk toward the back of the room.

It struck the edge of a desk, startling a young woman who had been dozing behind a propped-up book.

"Pre... yawn... Present."

Suppressing a smile, the professor moved on. "Hendez, Shawn."

"Present, here sir!" came the exuberant reply from a red-haired student, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Professor Sean winced slightly at the volume. "There’s no need to shout, Mr. Hendez."

Unfazed, Shawn beamed. "I’m just happy you’re here with us, Professor."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the class, and Professor Sean’s stern demeanor softened.

He adjusted his glasses, a subtle attempt to hide the moisture gathering in his eyes. "I still have trust in my students..." he murmured, barely audible.

"I knew they really cared for me."

It was a sentiment that he meant only for himself—a private acknowledgment of the bonds he had been wishing to form in his classroom.

(For two weeks, I thought my whole class would never care about me...)

Well of course, that expectation was broken when the red-haired lad, Shawn, interjected promptly,

"For our grades, professor. We are willing to want you back!" He seems rather genuinely proud as he said those words.

With his reply cracked whatever fragile hope Professor Sean had harbored about Class F.

In the quiet aftermath, another thought whispered in the professor’s mind

(’You should have at least let me assume.’)

’Cough’

Clearing his throat, Professor Sean resumed,

"Lastly, Shahrazad, Elijah Noe."

A calm "Present" came from a dark blue-haired student sitting beside Varden.

In that instant, as their gazes met, a quiet smile passed between Shahrazad and Elijah Noe.

With the final acknowledgment complete, Professor Sean bowed his head slightly in a gesture of gratitude.

( ’ I’ve received your gift. ’)