It was midnight.

  Julius dragged himself back from the library. He had spent the entire day reading a single chapter of Frankenstein—the one where the monster describes his rejection by the family he had grown attached to from a distance. It wasn’t a long chapter, but Julius was a slow reader. His focus often drifted to his poetry book, where he had been practicing iambic pentameter. His efforts were prompted by his struggle with the meter in his Dramatic Action class. He wasn’t sure if the difficulty came from the archaic language or the rhythm itself, but he stumbled over every line, as if his eyes were racing ahead of his voice.

  He tapped his key fob against the dorm door and pushed it open.

  Inside his single dorm room, The Phoenix lay sprawled on the unmade bed. Julius blinked at the sight, but exhaustion had dulled his capacity for surprise.

  “How’s my godson doing?” Mark asked in a low, casual tone, his cane resting across his lap.

  Julius dropped his bag on the floor without looking at him.

  “You’re not my godfather,” he said flatly.

  “Yeah, well… I should be.”

  Julius closed the door behind him and kicked off his shoes. “Why are you here?”

  “To pick you up,” Mark said, sitting up slightly. “Semester starts in a week.”

  “I replied to your emails. I’m not going to Kyoto. I already made my decision.”

  Mark gestured to the room with a sweep of his hand.

  The dorm was an unremarkable disaster. Empty energy drink cans were scattered across the desk and floor. A laundry pile slumped in one corner, topped with stray socks. The desk itself was barren except for his laptop, a stack of film textbooks, and empty cans. There were no posters, photos, or anything that suggested the room belonged to anyone in particular.

  “Seriously, look at this depression nest.” Mark pushed himself off the bed and tapped his cane against the floor. With one deliberate motion, he swept a dozen cans off the desk. They clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop.

  “This doesn’t look like the living conditions of a happy person,” Mark said, pointing his cane at Julius.

  Julius sighed and sat heavily in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “You’re in school for film,” Mark continued. “There’s no way your course load is so intense that it brings you to... this.” He gestured again to the mess. “Plus, Ooshiba told me you were a neat kid. I know Maria’s strict, but come on. There’s no way she was the only one keeping you from all of this.”

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  “Okay, maybe it’s a little more than school…” Julius admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But going to Kyoto won’t fix that. Only time will.”

  Mark laughed, the sound dry and cutting. “Sure, bud.”

  Julius frowned. “What?”

  “You’re never going to heal from this. The idea that time heals all wounds is bullshit. You’re messed up. Your hurt comes from love, and that kind of pain doesn’t go away. It stays with you forever. The only thing you can do is learn to live with it.”

  Julius crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

  “There are three ways people deal with it,” Mark continued, leaning forward, resting both hands on his cane. “They either become stoics, wallowers, or fighters.

  "As a stoic, you accept the pain for what it is and move on, keeping the hurt as a part of you. You might even marry someone knowing they’ll never be ‘the one,’ but you live with it. As a wallower… well, that’s what you are right now. You let the pain define you, maybe even turn it into great art, but you’ll only become a worse version of yourself in the process. Or you can be a fighter. You turn that hurt into anger and rage against the world. You avenge what you lost, take revenge for what was stolen from you, or chase after what you’ve always wanted, no matter how impossible it seems.”

  Mark’s expression softened slightly.

  “As a personal student of Marcus Aurelius, I’d say being stoic is the healthiest choice. Ooshiba, though—he’s a fighter. And he wants you to be one, too. But nobody should be a wallower. That’s the worst option, and that’s where you’re stuck right now.”

  Julius didn’t respond. He stared down at his shirt, his fingers brushing the graphic that read, Real Men Listen to Laufey. The silence stretched between them.

  Mark broke it. “Do you have any friends here, kid?”

  Julius hesitated. “Not really. Turns out when you’ve had the same friends your whole life, you don’t really develop the skills to make new ones.”

  “I figured as much,” Mark said, shaking his head. “But from what I’ve heard, you didn’t seem to have much trouble making friends with Ciaran and Dao. Ciaran said you guys had a great day talking about literature. And Dao? She said you were sweet, even before the drinks started flowing.”

  Julius let out a faint laugh. “Yeah, well, they felt… easy to be around. They kind of forced me to talk.”

  “And that’s exactly what you need right now. You’re not in a place to make your own decisions. You shouldn’t be picking your path right now. You need structure—someone to make those choices for you while you rebuild yourself.” Mark leaned back, his voice firm but not unkind. “Come to Kyoto. Train under Ooshiba and me. Hang out with the other students. You know you want to, and you know you need to. You just don’t have the sense to take the first step.”

  There was a pause. Julius’s eyes stayed on the floor, his thoughts visibly churning. “What will my mom think?” he asked quietly.

  “She won’t be happy,” Mark admitted. “But your dad will handle it.”

  Another pause followed. Julius looked up, his posture straightening just slightly. “Okay,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll go.”

  Mark’s face lit up. “Excellent!” he said, gripping his cane, and headed for the door. “A cab will be here at noon tomorrow. Be packed and ready to go.”

  Just before stepping out, Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black pocket knife. He tossed it to Julius, who caught it.

  “Keep it. Welcome to the program, Juju.”