Chapter Text
University was annoying. Yes, it definitely was. However, he wasn't particularly angry for the usual reasons: demanding standards, egotistical and authoritarian professors, or a lonely life without friends.
His problem was that he had always been the best without ever having to try. Nothing had ever been difficult for him, and he had lived as though nothing really mattered.
He had been discarded like trash because of his inability to keep himself under control. Perhaps that was why, nowadays, his personality had become extremely calculating and, to some extent, logical and indifferent, in a futile attempt to be accepted.
He wasn't.
He didn't care.
At least, not anymore.
—That idiot again.
The words slipped from his mouth as he stared at the exam results.
He felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He remained completely still, barely caring about the presence behind him. His vision blurred around a name ranked above his.
—He beat you again.
The words reached his ear like a provocation. In fact, he knew they were. Perhaps Albedo was conducting another one of his little mental experiments.
—I'm satisfied as long as I keep crushing you.
Scaramouche crossed his arms and stopped looking at the scoreboard.
Albedo stood beside him with an expression of complete indifference. Then, naturally, a small smile appeared on his lips.
—If lying to yourself makes you feel better, then I will gladly accept your statement.
He spoke with a somewhat existential tone.
—I'm not lying. At least, not entirely.
Scaramouche turned his attention back toward the scoreboard and sighed, lowering his shoulders as if dismissing the matter.
Perhaps he should put a little more effort into reading next time.
—So Kaedehara Kazuha turned out to be quite the formidable opponent, huh?
Durin was the one who spoke, appearing unexpectedly behind Albedo, who still wore the same faint smile.
—What do you think, Hat guy?
That ridiculous nickname.
Scaramouche clicked his tongue.
—He simply got lucky. He's probably some nerd who spends all day reading books. I waste my time on things that are actually entertaining.
Despite what he said, he felt a thorn brush against his chest and had to suppress the scoff that threatened to escape him.
—Just as I expected from you, Hat guy.
Durin maintained a small, innocent smile.
The boy with the fairy-tale features possessed an innate ability to learn. A talented student who could become a genuine rival in the near future if he continued putting in the effort.
Albedo had recognized his potential and pulled him away from the hell that would have surrounded him had he continued hanging around Aether, whose friends were probably the least responsible students in the school: Venti and Xiao, or something like that.
—You know perfectly well he's not a nerd.
Albedo's comment shattered the illusion Scaramouche had built only moments ago. He was already walking toward the exit.
Durin looked back and forth between Scaramouche and Albedo. One remained standing with his arms crossed while the other headed straight for the door without waiting for him.
—We should go... It's getting late.
Durin glanced discreetly at his phone before extending a hand toward Scaramouche.
Scaramouche rejected it by smacking it away with the back of his own hand.
He started walking, leaving the youngest of the three slightly stunned. As soon as Durin realized Scaramouche wasn't beside him, he startled and had to jog to catch up with the other two.
—Why do you always do that?!
For once, he had a point.
—Do what?
They answered in unison.
Durin realized there was probably no need to explain the obvious. If one of them left, the other simply followed.
Simple.
He nodded, filing it away as a new piece of knowledge in his mental notes.
—He's the most popular guy in the other class. He's attractive, too.
There was a certain logic behind Albedo's statement. It sounded more like an analysis than an opinion.
—He has a gift for things. A different kind of perception. He's just like you, Hat guy.
—That's genetically impossible.
Albedo offered no explanation, and Albedo's expression seemed to turn into another smile while Durin looked somewhat confused by the exchange.
—I'm not going to explain it. It's simply impossible for someone with a greater memorization capacity than mine to exist.
—Maybe his strength is interpretation.
Durin spoke from behind them. Scaramouche's sharp glare made him nervously scratch the back of his head.
—Interesting. And what are you going to do?
The blond sounded genuinely curious.
—Noth—
—Nothing? Just like you said last time?
He had predicted it and gotten it right. The pattern was obvious: taking everything lightly and resorting to sarcasm whenever confronted with a threat. That was how Hat guy operated.
—You don't have to say it. Just think about it. That's what matters.
His tone suggested he was only trying to help.
—It's not like I care whether I have your help or not.
Scaramouche crossed his arms. He took his keys out of his backpack and pressed a button.
A sound came from somewhere several meters away.
He walked toward his motorcycle and unlocked the chain.
—Goodbye, Hat guy.
Durin approached, clearly wanting to shake hands or do whatever gesture his previous group had taught him.
Always so clingy.
—Goodbye.
Scaramouche didn't even look at him.
He removed the chain and placed it in the compartment beneath the seat. Then he started the motorcycle, letting the engine warm up.
—What is it?
His usual irritated tone returned.
Durin sighed, forming a small pout.
Scaramouche wasn't surprised that Durin was popular with younger girls than himself.
Well, there weren't actually that many.
The idiot had accidentally told everyone he was seventeen when he was actually eighteen. How could he possibly avoid gaining a reputation for being childish and innocent, the kind of person every girl wanted to protect?
He put on his helmet.
Before leaving, he noticed Durin shaking his head. He merely waved, despite being less than two meters away.
Scaramouche nodded, climbed onto his motorcycle, gently twisted the throttle, and headed toward his apartment.
---
—As stated in the contract you signed upon entering the university, once you have completed four months of classes, you will be required, without exception, to live on the Akademiya campus.
The professor spoke while casually glancing over a document resting on her desk.
A wave of conversation erupted throughout the classroom. It was a large lecture hall, filled with a considerable number of students who would gradually become fewer as the months passed.
Arlecchino was one of the few professors Scaramouche actually respected.
She was elegant from every angle, and her presence alone was enough to make almost anyone tremble.
—Unfortunately for you, you will not be allowed to choose your roommate.
A series of groans rose from the students.
Scaramouche had forgotten he would be assigned a random roommate.
He sighed at the thought of having to share a room with some idiot who never showered, or perhaps a responsible student who went to bed early and wouldn't let him stay up playing on his phone.
—Is there really no way to choose?
Venti was the one asking.
The class drunk.
Probably the most feminine-looking boy Scaramouche had ever seen. On his first day, he'd even mistaken him for a girl.
Arlecchino seemed to hesitate. Then a smile formed on her lips as her cold, dark eyes narrowed.
She sighed and spent several seconds reading through the document in front of her.
—There is.
Several students celebrated prematurely.
Clearly, there was a catch.
—However, it is only available to the three students with the highest overall averages. Which, as of this moment, are Kaedehara Kazuha, Scaramouche...
She seemed to pause, as she always did whenever people noticed that "Scaramouche" had no surname and didn't even sound like a normal name.
—and Albedo Rhinedottir. Only they have the right to choose a roommate.
Silence lingered for a few seconds.
Then the complaints began again.
From his isolated seat, Scaramouche watched as Albedo approached Durin. The younger boy smiled and nodded.
Scaramouche sighed, somewhat defeated. Apparently, he wasn't going to use his right to choose.
There was no point.
He would feel equally uncomfortable with anyone in that room.
—It should also be clarified that using this right is not mandatory. Whether you choose to use it is entirely up to you.
Arlecchino cleared her throat. Apparently, there was still more on the document.
—As we have always done, students with higher grades will be paired with students with lower grades. The objective is not to equalize their level, but to raise it. If the lower-performing student's grades drop even further and the higher-performing student's grades are negatively affected as well, the pair will immediately be changed. If you are satisfied with your roommate, then work hard.
He was screwed.
It was obvious who they would pair him with: one of the failures from Durin's former friend group.
Who would it be?
The tattooed guy who looked like he barely knew how to read or write?
The blond whose only talent was flirting with every woman in the classroom, and even some of the men?
The drunk who liked poetry but probably didn't understand a single thing about it?
He could have spent hours describing his classmates that way, detailing every single one of his worst thoughts about them.
—You should decide today, since tomorrow we will announce who you will be staying with, at least initially.
With that, Arlecchino dismissed the class.
The students began walking—almost running—in their desperation to leave the lecture hall.
The university was one of the best in the country.
Only students with scholarships could get in. Not even paying all the money in the world would get you through the doors if your academic performance at school or another university wasn't good enough.
Scaramouche remained lying back in his seat, staring at the ceiling for a minute.
Apparently, everyone had left during that time, including Durin and Albedo, who would probably be waiting for him outside.
He began putting his things into his backpack.
When he slung it over his shoulder and prepared to leave, he noticed a distracted presence watching him with mild curiosity.
—Scara, right?
He was perplexed.
Kaedehara Kazuha was speaking directly to him.
Scaramouche frowned and looked at him over his shoulder. Something about this didn't sit right with him.
—What?
It wasn't really a question.
It was more of a warning, implicitly telling him not to bother him.
Kazuha, however, either didn't notice or simply ignored it.
—As you've heard, we'll be paired with students who have lower grades.
He raised an eyebrow. His frown gradually disappeared, replaced by a tired sigh.
—And?
Every answer he gave was shorter and drier than the last.
Was his tone even indirect anymore?
—I just wanted to know if you'd like to share a room with me.
Well.
He certainly hadn't expected that.
He quickly went over what had just happened.
He could have predicted it when Kazuha mentioned that they would be paired with lower-performing students in that curious tone, as though he wanted to know Scaramouche's opinion.
If Scaramouche had said he didn't want anything to do with it, Kazuha would have made the exact same offer.
If he'd said he wanted to help someone, perhaps Kazuha wouldn't have asked at all.
There was no point overthinking it.
Back to the important question.
What should he answer?
—You're even more capable than I am. I've thought about it, and I think it's the most convenient option. That way we won't have any problems, and our grades won't drop, since neither of us would interfere with the other.
Did he have any idea how irritating he was?
"You're even more capable than I am." That was obvious. It was fucking logical.
And yet hearing it from him sounded like mockery. Like a consolation.
Scaramouche clenched his fists and tensed the muscles in his arms as though he wanted to punch him.
He swallowed and took a deep breath, looking away.
He needed to clear his head.
There was a positive side to it, but his pride would take a hit. It would practically be an admission of defeat.
He considered a few possibilities.
A) If Kazuha turned out to be a "good" person, he could try helping the failing roommate he would otherwise be assigned, which would inevitably affect his own grades.
B) If Kazuha was like him, everything would remain the same.
C) If he accepted the proposal, he might even waste Kazuha's time and manage to come out on top.
He thought about it for several moments.
Option C was practically an attack on his own ego.
An internal confession that he couldn't surpass that guy without playing dirty.
—What would you do if I didn't accept?
Kazuha looked surprised for a moment, apparently not expecting the question.
Then he placed a finger against his lips.
Scaramouche looked away.
Albedo's information had been correct.
Definitely.
—I would ask the fourth-highest student instead.
Kazuha said it naturally.
Scaramouche laughed and exhaled the air he'd been holding in his lungs.
He had to accept.
Otherwise, defeat was practically guaranteed. If him asked the fifth-highest student, he would probably be rejected without even having room to complain.
But Kazuha?
He would be accepted without question.
—Fine.
That was all that came out of his mouth.
He picked up his backpack and left the lecture hall without saying goodbye.
---
The roommate assignments were announced on the school's main board.
There were people everywhere, searching for their own names and snooping through everyone else's.
It was fairly straightforward: X x X — Room X.
Scaramouche clicked his tongue when he saw the first name on the list.
Kaedehara Kazuha x Scaramouche — Room 100.
It felt like a direct attack on his reclusive personality.
How had they paired them if he hadn't even signed the consent form?
He frowned.
His strategy had been flawless.
When he had verbally accepted Kazuha's proposal, there had been no actual proof of his consent. If either of them contradicted the other, it would simply be one person's word against the other's.
Therefore, once Kazuha realized he had never formally consented to sharing a room, he wouldn't have enough time to ask the other top students.
He would end up paired with a lower-performing student.
That would have affected Scaramouche as well, of course.
But he was confident he could surpass whoever it was if he put in a little effort.
He was about to go straight to Arlecchino and complain when he noticed Albedo and Durin staring at him, somewhat surprised.
—It's rather suspicious that, instead of using an "and," they use an "x," don't you think?
Albedo asked.
Durin placed a finger against his lips before beginning to speak.
—According to some girls, the law of... "fan...fics"? They said that the name that comes second is the one who—
Scaramouche grabbed him by the hair without mercy.
He was about to punch him in the stomach as well.
Just hearing the word "fanfic" sent a shiver down his spine.
And coming from a girl who was probably Durin's age?
Who knew what horrifying revelation she'd told him.
He didn't want to know.
He released Durin's hair.
The younger boy pouted, pretending a tiny tear was falling from his eye.
—It's to keep our grades from being affected by a lazy roommate.
Scaramouche discarded the idea of complaining to Arlecchino entirely, simply because both of them had already seen who his roommate was.
—Were you the one who suggested it?
Albedo placed one hand beneath his chin, thoughtful.
Scaramouche knew the question was a trap. Whatever answer he gave, Albedo would probably draw his own conclusions from it.
He had no interest in giving him something he could entertain himself with.
So he simply shrugged.
—Who knows?
Durin recovered and crossed his arms, pretending to be angry.
—We should go get our luggage.
Albedo ignored Scaramouche's answer.
Durin nodded and followed the blond with a reproachful look.
Scaramouche's suitcase was already at his feet.
He looked at the room number again and sighed angrily.
He would ask Kazuha how he'd managed to arrange the pairing despite his nonexistent formal consent.
---
—What the fuck?
His reaction was genuine.
The room was much larger than he had expected.
He'd imagined some gloomy, boring studio apartment.
He had been wrong.
There were two double beds.
A somewhat cramped dining area, a kitchen of their own, and a bathroom that had everything necessary to avoid being disgusting.
There was even enough space for a television.
—It's nice, isn't it?
The reason behind his insults over the past few weeks appeared behind him and walked inside, leaving a small suitcase filled with casual clothes and a few outfits worthy of a fashion magazine.
Scaramouche didn't answer.
He simply placed his suitcase on the bed he'd claimed as his.
Thankfully, they had separate bedrooms.
He'd already resigned himself to the possibility of sleeping in bunk beds or something equally ridiculous.
He pulled out his clothes and arranged them as quickly as possible in a nearby wardrobe.
There was a small section for hanging clothes, so he took advantage of it and placed his best outfits there, making sure he wouldn't have to wear them wrinkled when he needed them.
He returned to the living room.
Kazuha was resting on the couch, which also served as the dining area.
His eyes were closed, although he was clearly awake.
There was a small, incredibly subtle smile on his lips.
Scaramouche had to focus his eyes to distinguish it.
At that exact moment, Kazuha opened his eyes and discovered Scaramouche staring at him.
His smile widened, although only slightly.
—How did you do it?
Scaramouche asked.
He sat down in a wooden chair that was more comfortable than it looked, never taking his eyes off him.
Kazuha seemed genuinely confused.
That irritated him even more.
—What do you mean?
—Someone who beats me in grades should know, shouldn't you? Are you an idiot?
His muscles tensed.
—If I were, what would that mean?
Was he challenging him?
No.
Definitely not.
That had been a jab.
That would mean Scaramouche was even more of an idiot than he was.
He stood from the chair.
A small, almost sadistic smile spread across his face as his eyes widened.
Kazuha narrowed his own eyes, maintaining his calm smile.
—I simply knew what you were trying to do.
He said it plainly, realizing that Scaramouche was genuinely going to hit him if he didn't explain himself.
—"Simply"? There's nothing simple about figuring me out when there wasn't a single clue.
He placed one hand against the table beside him.
His expression didn't soften.
Kazuha had read him.
He admitted it.
That didn't mean he'd been entitled to do whatever he wanted.
The school had rules.
—I'm friends with Aether.
There it was.
Scaramouche finally connected the loose thread.
—Aether is friends with Durin. Is it really that difficult?
Scaramouche bit his tongue as the pieces fell into place.
Kazuha had asked Aether what Scaramouche was like because Aether was friends with Durin, who presumably talked about his personality.
Had that information given Kazuha some idea of what might happen?
Or had it simply been intuition?
The vein in his neck stood out as he suppressed the urge to jump him and beat his face in, clenching his fists as tightly as possible.
The worst part was that Kazuha didn't seem to have done it with any malicious intent.
It seemed like pure innocence.
In other words—
Pure evil.
Scaramouche clicked his tongue and headed toward his room.
He'd lost the will to argue.
He had been defeated outright.
Kazuha had probably recorded their short conversation when Scaramouche verbally accepted the invitation, leaving no room for doubt as far as the university was concerned.
Classes would begin in a few hours. And he was already completely irritated.
---
—The room system is simple. The higher your average, the "better" your room will be. In other words, if you want a better room, you inevitably have to improve your grades.
There was a great deal of negative murmuring regarding the policy.
They had signed a contract, although it stated that the university's internal evaluation and welfare policies were subject exclusively to their academic performance.
There was some truth to that. But there was also something deeply unfair about it. Of course, one could argue that life itself was unfair. Ridiculous.
That also meant Scaramouche had the best room on campus. No. It meant he would have the best room on campus for the entire year.
He couldn't deny that it was a small joy within his otherwise terrible reality.
—We understand that this may seem unfair to students who work hard to improve and end up paired with someone who doesn't. But... simply improve even further, and you will be able to raise your average.
It was logical.
Completely rational.
And yet it sounded so coldly unfair that it made his blood run cold.
—Obviously, as the year progresses, a reward system will be implemented under the same principle: the average of each pair.
Neuvillette spoke as though he didn't care about anyone. It was strange. He looked like a judge, yet he was preaching something profoundly unfair.
—However, there is something called bonus points. These will be awarded exclusively according to your individual average. They will provide benefits that you will discover as the year progresses.
Another tedious explanation. Long-winded, incomplete, and deliberately ambiguous. It didn't matter. He was going to finish the year ranked first overall, if only out of pride.
Although second place was still a possibility if he couldn't figure out how Kazuha managed to surpass him. Kazuha didn't beat him on every exam. He simply beat him on enough of them to make his overall average a few hundredths higher than Scaramouche's.
That was precisely the problem. It didn't matter if the difference was hundredths. Even thousandths. There was no genetic reason for him to be surpassed.
Scaramouche placed one hand over his face.
Once again, his thoughts had drifted back to his past.
—In Fontaine, there is a wide variety of flowers, such as the ones we saw in our last class. However, recently there has been an increase in a particular species called "Wolfhooks," an invasive plant species brought here by an adventurer from Mondstadt...
Class had begun.
It was easy enough to memorize the important points.
Wolfhook — invasive species — Mondstadt.
He didn't need to take notes during class.
Instead, he turned his attention toward Kaedehara Kazuha.
Kazuha was listening attentively and writing down a few words in his notebook.
He wore aesthetically pleasing glasses, while his outfit was simple and loose-fitting.
Scaramouche narrowed his eyes.
He managed to make out the words in Kazuha's notebook:
Wolfhook — invasive species — Mondstadt.
Scaramouche looked back toward the professor. A smile appeared on his lips.
A laugh threatened to escape him, and he had to sigh to suppress it.
Apparently, his opponent was going to be much harder than he'd expected.