The humid air of the Philippines usually carried the scent of salt and street food, but within the iron-wrought gates of Maxim University, the atmosphere was different. It smelled of old parchment, ozone from high-end preservation labs, and the suffocating weight of history.
Maxim University wasn't just a school; it was a fortress of the intellect, a sanctuary for those who sought to speak with the ghosts of the past. Ranked first in the world for Mythology, Theology, and the study of Sacred Texts, and holding a formidable tenth place in overall global rankings, it was the crown jewel of the academic world.
Today, the campus was a sea of gala attire and academic robes. Banners fluttered in the breeze, emblazoned with the university's crest—a phoenix rising from an open book. They were celebrating a miracle: the discovery of the "Ancient Voided Millennia" and the successful deciphering of a text written by the hand of Gilgamesh himself, dating back to the Era of Gods.
On the grand stage of the central plaza, Mario Maxim, the Owner and President of the university, stood behind a mahogany lectern. His eyes, usually sharp and discerning, seemed slightly glazed as he looked out over the crowd.
"The history of humanity is a series of closed doors," Mario's voice boomed through the speakers, resonant and steady. "For centuries, we believed the era of the first heroes was a myth, a collection of stories to keep the darkness at bay. But today, thanks to the tireless brilliance of our own, we have unlocked one of those doors. We have looked into the void of the millennia and found a voice. That voice belongs to Gilgamesh."
He paused, his gaze shifting to the two women standing to his left. "It is my distinct honor to present the architects of this achievement. Two women who represent the very pinnacle of Maxim University's excellence. Dr. Carmilla Crimson and Dr. Elenita Cunc."
The applause was deafening. The crowd saw two genius prodigies—both twenty-eight, both strikingly beautiful, and known to the world as a devoted lesbian couple. They were the faces of modern archaeology, the icons of a new age.
Mario stepped back, gesturing for them to take the floor. As Carmilla and Elenita stepped forward, their hands briefly brushed—a subtle, private anchor in the midst of the public storm.
"Thank you, President Maxim," Carmilla began, her voice clear and melodic. She adjusted her glasses, her eyes scanning the crowd but not truly seeing them. "The text we recovered speaks of a transition. It describes the moment the divine blood in the veins of kings began to cool, giving way to the iron and dust of the human age. It is a map of the soul's evolution."
Elenita stepped closer to the microphone, her expression more somber than her partner's. "But more than a map, it is a warning. To understand the gods is to understand the depth of our own capacity for both creation and ruin. We did not just translate words; we translated a legacy."
As they spoke, their voices weaving together in a practiced, seamless rhythm, their minds were miles and years away. The "Voided Millennia" was a triumph, yes—but it was a hollow one. Every word they spoke, every breakthrough they claimed, felt like a debt they couldn't repay.
Five years, Carmilla thought, her eyes fixed on a distant point on the horizon. Five years since the light went out.
In their minds, they were no longer on a stage. They were back in the dimly lit archives of the university's restricted wing, five years ago. They were looking at a young man, barely twenty, his dark hair messy, his eyes weary but burning with a terrifyingly lucid intelligence.
Kramark Kurogami.
"It's not 'strength', Elenita," the memory of Kramark whispered in her mind. He had been pointing at a jagged rune that had baffled scholars for decades. "It's 'burden'. The king doesn't hold the sky up because he's strong; he holds it because he's the only one who knows what happens if it falls. If you translate it as strength, you miss the tragedy."
He had been the true prodigy. While they had struggled for months, he would glance at a scroll and hum a melody, claiming the syntax was musical. He could speak to the past as if it were a neighbor across the street.
But the world outside Maxim University didn't care for ancient melodies.
"He's not coming back today either, is he?" Elenita's internal voice was a sharp ache.
They remembered the pressure that had slowly crushed him. The Kurogami family—a dynasty of ruthless politicians—had viewed Kramark's genius as a tool for the state, not a gift for the soul. His father, Senator Archie Kurogami, was a man whose heart was made of polls and policy. His mother, Governor Jessielor Gum Kurogami, saw her son as an investment that was failing to yield a political dividend.
The tragedy hadn't been a single event, but a series of betrayals that felt like slow-acting poison.
Carmilla's mind drifted to the face of Alyssa Gaye Soctrips. She could see her even now, on the digital billboards surrounding the university—the "Goddess of the Philippines," owner of a billion-dollar fashion empire. Alyssa had been Kramark's fiancée, the woman he had trusted with his vulnerabilities. But she had seen a better deal. She had traded Kramark's heart for the influence of Senator Alonzo Carlos, a man whose hands were stained with the grit of smuggling and narcotics, hidden behind a polished legislative veneer.
Then there was Manfred Arc Oyo. Kramark's "best friend." Carmilla remembered the day Manfred had walked into the patent office with a drive containing the most advanced AI architecture the country had ever seen—logic that had been birthed in Kramark's sleepless nights. Manfred was now the titan of industry, the "inventor" who had built a throne on stolen code.
The Kurogami clan had not just broken Kramark; they had erased him. They disowned him with a public coldness that invited the world to spit on his name.
"The Trash of Maxim." That was the label the students used now. The name "Kramark Kurogami" was a cautionary tale, a punchline for those who thought they were too smart for their own good. The rumors said he was a degenerate, a ghost haunting the neon-lit halls of online gambling dens and physical casinos, throwing away what little he had left.
The world thought he was a loser. They didn't know the truth. They didn't know that since the age of fifteen, Kramark Kurogami had never lost a hand. Not one.
As the ceremony continued, Mario Maxim retreated to the back of the stage, his shoulders slumped. He felt the weight of the university on him, but more than that, he felt the weight of the secret he carried.
Beside him, a tall, imposing figure moved with the grace of a predator. It was Dr. Valliant Maxim, Mario's elder brother. Valliant was a legend in his own right—the first to ever attain a doctorate from Maxim, and the mentor who had shaped Kramark, Carmilla, and Elenita.
Valliant watched his brother's trembling hands. He reached out, patting Mario's shoulder with a firm, grounding touch.
"Patience, little brother," Valliant said, his voice a low rumble like approaching thunder. "The tide doesn't stay out forever. He will be back. And I assure you, when he returns, he will bring a storm behind his back that this country isn't prepared to weather."
Mario turned to his brother, his eyes moist. "I'm not afraid of the storm, Valliant. I'm afraid of what's at the center of it. To be honest, I hope Kramark remains the Kramark we remember. Because if he has changed... if that brilliance has turned into something else... no matter how little he has shifted, the world itself might crumble apart."
"He was always the catalyst," Valliant mused, looking toward the horizon. "We are just the observers."
Behind them, standing in the shadows of the stage's canopy, were others who shared the burden of the truth.
Professor Alexander Dawn, the youngest and most ruthless faculty member, stood with his arms crossed. He was known for failing students who showed even a hint of intellectual laziness. His respect was a mountain few could climb, yet he had once bowed his head to Kramark Kurogami. To Alexander, Kramark wasn't a "trash" student; he was a fallen king.
Beside him stood Lizzy Maxim, Mario's daughter and the Student Council President. She was the bridge between the administration and the student body. She heard the whispers in the hallways, the jokes about the "Gambler Kurogami," and it took every ounce of her self-control not to scream.
The public was cheering for the translation of the Gilgamesh text, praising Carmilla and Elenita for their "miraculous" work. But the six of them—Mario, Valliant, Carmilla, Elenita, Alexander, and Lizzy—knew the darkest secret of all.
The translation being celebrated today hadn't been finished by the two doctors.
On the night before Kramark vanished five years ago, he had walked into Mario's office. He hadn't looked like a man defeated. He had looked like a man who had finally seen the end of a very long, very dark tunnel. He had placed a single, leather-bound notebook on the desk.
"It's all in there," Kramark had said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The Voided Millennia. The Gilgamesh cycle. The locations of the remaining scrolls. Use it to keep the university at the top. Use it to protect the students. But don't tell them it was me."
"Kramark, wait—" Mario had started.
"I have debts to collect, President," Kramark had interrupted, his eyes flashing with a cold, blue light that Mario had never seen before. "Not money. Justice. And I can't do that while I'm a 'genius'. I need to be 'trash' for a while."
He had walked out, leaving behind the greatest archaeological breakthrough in human history as if it were a piece of scrap paper.
Back on the stage, Carmilla concluded her speech. "And so, we look to the future, inspired by the past."
The crowd erupted again. As Carmilla and Elenita walked back to their seats, their eyes met Mario's. The silent question hung in the air, a phantom that had haunted them for 1,825 days.
When will he come back to us?
The sun began to set over Maxim University, casting long, distorted shadows across the plaza. The "Goddess" Alyssa was likely at a gala. Manfred was likely launching a new AI. The Kurogamis were likely drafting new laws to tighten their grip on the nation.
They all thought they had won. They thought the "trash" had been swept away.
But in the dark corners of the world, in the high-stakes rooms where fate was decided by the turn of a card, a man with messy dark hair and eyes like the deep ocean was watching the clock. He wasn't gambling. He was waiting.
The storm was no longer on the horizon. It had already arrived. It was just waiting for the right moment to speak.
And when Kramark Kurogami spoke, the world would have no choice but to listen.