The next day, I wake up to a chilly Tuesday; I turn off my alarm, sprint out of bed, quickly get ready, and make a dash for the bus. It’s quite hazy and cold outside, which makes me glad that I’m wearing the gray sweater I have had for ages. The bus stays there for a minute, before leaving the unfortunate ones that were simply not fast enough behind, making them wait for twenty minutes before the next bus shows up. Barely able to catch up with the bus after running for five minutes, I sit on an empty seat next to a window, breathing heavily.

Bit by bit, the unbearable heat of summer, gives its place to the partly-cloudy sky, and this slight, chilly wind. As a way to counter the early attacks of autumn, everyone has changed into a coat or other warm clothing. A scarf is rarely seen here and there, like the one I’m wearing; not many people can put up with them all the time.

The bus might as well be empty, since many people prefer not to commute by bus, now that the weather has undergone such a sudden shift; a shift that was bound to happen; a specific turning point, followed by a point of return.

Everything seemed fine ten days ago, at the funeral.

The days seemed warmer; more comfortable.

But I’ve always liked this cold, windy, dreary-looking climate; not because I’m following the edgy boy stereotypes, but mostly because I can’t bear the heat of summer; thus, I’m usually more comfortable and less sweaty in these seasons.

The bus driver pulls the brakes, and it comes to a halt once it reaches the next stop. As I step outside, a cold wave of wind shatters my thoughts to bits and pieces. This autumn has been one of the colder ones. As I stroll towards the campus, the picture of the second note springs back into my mind.

I push it away with everything that I’ve got.

Worrying about something I’m going to get more information on today is not the shrewdest idea for now. It’s actually the furthest thing from it. Thinking about something you don’t have an inkling of is overthinking; and not the good kind. Knowing when to think about what is an art a person should perfect; at least, that’s what I learned from a detective novel I read a while back. It seems like I particularly suck in that art. Today, so many things will hopefully make sense. This meeting can make many things clear. The handwriting might reveal what’s going on. If the notes actually belong to Oscar, we’ll know that they were just some dramatic thing he did so we would remember him, or make him give us a dumb smirk from the afterlife and say “Hey, I’m here to haunt you all with guilt.” If the handwriting doesn’t match, at least we’ll know what to look for, and we might just find someone with a slight connection to him; Oscar’s so-called friend.

Today, Sonny will also collect some scattered information from here and there; so I also have that to look forward to. She hangs out with a group she calls “A Useful Circle Of People”. If only those people knew what kind of a devil they are dealing with.

“Hey there; still mad about yesterday?” Speak of the devil –literally-, and she shows up –literally-.

“Not really.”

“So would you let me visit again?”

“Not really.”

“Why not? Is it because I said something bad?”

“Not really.”

“Then what is it? Are you really not gonna tell me?”

“Not really.”

“You’re the worst.” She grumbles, her face covered with the mist that formed in front of her when she spoke. “Anyway, today, you will be visiting some people you don’t even know. I recommend visiting them five at a time since this plan will decrease the chances of you snapping a poor girl's neck.”

Does she think I’m a monster?

“I’m not a wild beast on the loose, you know? Despite what I look like, I’m a pacifist.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle, trying to convince me you are a natural gentleman. I know you as if you’re me.” She replies playfully.

“Putting that aside,”

“Putting what aside?” She interrupts. “You going full berserk on a poor girl?”

“Not that; and why does it have to be a girl, anyway?”

“Well, it's odd that you ask. Don’t you like beating girls up?”

“Don’t generalize the desires I have that only apply to you. Anyway, I don’t think a five-at-a-time plan would actually work. I need a first-hand reaction from all of them at the same time if I’m going to figure out anything.”

“Hmm…” She takes her right hand out of her pocket, the note I gave her still attached to it.

More precisely, the note she yanked out of my hand.

“I called some of my friends yesterday, and asked them if anyone around them was acting weird;”

“And?”

“They thought a shooting was about to occur and they panicked.” Of course, this is what acting weird entitles these days; such terrifying times, indeed. Although, we don't really expect shootings in a mature environment like a university. People here are way too mature to go around shooting people. Yes...I have faith in humanity.

“But I’m obviously not giving up; If there’s any potential suspect, I’ll make sure to report them to you in no time.”

“You sure are taking the female lead job a bit too seriously. I don't think you'd want to get involved with this story though.”

“Of course I am; if a female lead does everything right, she’ll get to have the other lead as a reward.” She explains with a slight smirk.

“Even Disney doesn’t do that anymore. Well, good job getting your male lead I guess. Is he a big boy who plays basketball? Girls seem to like this type.”

"Stop acting daft."

Due to a sudden recent accident that happened with a professor's research, our first lecture was canceled, and thus, we were free until ten in the morning. This seems too convenient to not have William involved. Would he actually do something to a professor just so he can arrange this a bit sooner? Did he actually stoop into being a villain even though he doesn't have a lair yet? I decide to not fret over it much, and make my mind busy with the current conversation I’m holding with Sonny.

“So, did any of your useful friends have any useful data or anything we can use anyway?”

“What’s with that excessive use of "use" and "any"? Did you get Anyridia?” Sonny bellows as she marches further and leaves me behind. I walk faster to catch up with her, and we end up walking abreast once more.

“That’s Aniridia, not Anyridia.” I roar. Sonny slightly turns her head and makes me see her impish smirk. “If you’re looking for useful data, one of my friends did say something useful, but it’s not of any use.”

“You don’t call it USEFUL data when it’s not of any use, you brazen raccoon.” I roll my eyes, and try so hard not to look at her; in utter disappointment, that is. I hope someday, she appreciates the effort I’m putting into doing this.

“Anyway, what are you going to write?” She changes the subject.

“What?”

“The thing you promised Will, you brazen raccoon.”

"You mean the one you promised, while spitting nonsense in my stead?"

“I said you wanted to see Peto's previous works because you were going to write something, so you can avoid being under suspicion.”

So thoughtful.

I stare down, following the movements of my footsteps; it helps me think, and rethink.

“Writing is quite the tricky objective right now, due to the rumors about the blog.” As challenging as writing literally anything is, writing in someone else's stead needs even more effort and focus. Using words that you’re not comfortable with, in a style that does not suit the real you, is draining, to say the least; not to mention almost impossible. No matter how relentlessly you try, you’ll never replace the subject of your imitation.

That, and the fact that people are talking about the blog, makes everything worse. It would be problematic if people started to associate my writing style with the contents of that blog.

“At least I can change my writing style, based on previous works of Oscar. It’s a good excuse to make it less noticeable. This blog is giving us nothing but trouble,”

“I’ve heard my friends talking about it as well.” Sonny distracts herself with the paper, reading through it once more. “It’s quite impressive if you think about it.”

“I AM thinking about it, and all I see is a pain in the ass.”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” She puts the paper, and her shaking hand back in her pocket, and stifles a sneeze. I’m quite grateful for that. Her sneezes are able to wipe out half of humanity, once they reach maximum power. They are monstrous, and downright petrifying at times.

As soon as the campus comes into view, we are greeted by William, desperately waiting for us; with a white T-shirt, the words “FATEFUL ENCOUNTER” scribbled on the front, right next to the picture of a meteor, hitting a dinosaur gobbling up an entire bush, without a single care in the world.

His outfits are mostly in contrast with his personality. For a classics-loving freak, this outfit is simply ridiculous. I refuse to believe someone of his age would be as shameless as to wear something like that in a place of education, and yet, there he is, boasting his brainless self like a clown. I take back what I said about having faith in humanity.

“What do you think of my T-shirt?” He asks, prior to any greetings, or chit-chats.

"Nothing." Sonny's uninterested face shatters Will's excitement.

“Kids these days…” I groan with a tired, trembling voice.

“You know you’re almost the same age as us, right?” Sonny's uninterested face shatters my attempt at sounding mature.

“You haven’t realized it yet? I am the soul of an eighty-year-old grandma, trapped inside the body of a youngling.”

“You don’t say!” Will comments with a curious look on his face. “Well, shall we get going, then?” Still avoiding direct eye contact with Sonny, he leads us to where his base was set, which of course, is the library; and thus, the so-called “fated encounter” of mine begins with this new circle of people in William's little lair.

A meeting, that will not hold any significance to anything whatsoever.