Secondary school.
A whole new battlefield —
not of fists or bullies,
but pressure, expectation, silence, and noise.
Kriztorez Nel Sazaly walked into it like a ghost with a mission.
Out of eleven classes, he was placed in Alpha, the best of the best:
Alpha, Betha, Pentium, Delta, Pluto, Sigma, Plasma —
Gamma and Omega for the computer minds,
Lotus for the artists,
Alma for the faithful.
He didn't cheer.
Didn't gloat.
He just looked around the Alpha classroom, took a seat by the window, and let the ceiling fan spin his thoughts into the void.
There was no explosion of greatness that year.
No strange powers waking up.
Just life — schoolwork, group projects, timed essays.
Normal.
And yet, deep inside, Nel was always listening.
His family, still walking the thin line between not poor, but not quite middle class, kept surviving day to day.
When his 13th birthday came — December 10th —
there were no balloons.
No cake.
No song.
His parents apologized with their eyes.
His father, Gabriel Sazaly, simply said,
> "You must search for a good job, Nel… to change the fate of our family."
Nel nodded quietly, taking in the weight as if it were carved just for him.
Then came the day everything shifted —
quietly, softly, without thunder.
The school library was his escape —
dusty shelves, dim light, the smell of old paper.
He was reaching for a thick blue book on cosmic theories when—
bump.
A soft collision.
Two hands pulling back.
Two startled breaths.
She stood before him: Chelestar.
Same class. Quiet girl. Long hair. Eyes like stories waiting to be read.
They both blinked.
She laughed first.
"You're Nel, right?"
"Y-yeah."
"You like books on space?"
He nodded. She smiled. And that was it.
No fireworks.
Just something ancient shifting gently in his chest.
The boy born from the Primordial Bang… had just bumped into his next orbit.