"Wait—Lena, let me see your schedule again."
Ethan snapped out of his thoughts and reached forward.
The moment the words left his mouth, something felt off.
Why did his sister keep glancing to his left, again and again, as if distracted?
And why was there a faint scent in the air, subtle but unmistakable, something like sandalwood… coming from his right?
Ethan turned his head.
…Oh.
Wasn't this the same woman he'd noticed earlier in the tea shop? The one with the unforgettable silhouette?
"You are…?" Ethan asked instinctively.
Before the woman could respond, Lena spoke first.
"Professor Harper brought this teacher to join our table," she said, frowning slightly. "Ethan, what's wrong with you today? You've been acting really strange."
"It's nothing," Ethan replied quickly. "I didn't sleep well last night."
Then, turning toward the woman beside him, he added politely, "Hello, Professor."
Clara Vaughn tilted her head slightly and cast him a cool, indifferent glance.
"?"
Ethan stiffened. The look made no sense to him.
"What do you teach, Professor?" Lena asked curiously, trying to smooth things over.
"Piano," Clara replied.
Her voice was low and steady, calm in a way that carried weight.
Ethan froze for half a second.
The sound alone triggered an image in his mind. His roommate, who every night put on an exaggerated, breathy tone while whispering sweet nothings into his phone. Ethan got goosebumps just thinking about it.
Both voices were low.
But that was where the similarity ended.
One was forced. This one was natural. Deep, resonant, like the strings of a cello. Effortless. Hypnotic.
"Professor, may I ask your name?" Ethan said, suddenly alert. "I'm a first-year piano major. There's a chance you might be my instructor in the future."
Clara's lips curved faintly, her expression unreadable. She studied Ethan for a moment before answering.
"Clara Vaughn."
"Oh—so you're Professor Vaughn," Ethan said with a smile.
Then his expression froze.
"…Sorry, Professor. Could you repeat that?"
Clara watched every shift in his face, then repeated her name slowly.
"Clara. Vaughn."
Ethan repeated the name quietly, as if testing it on his tongue. His throat tightened.
"…Sorry," he said after a brief pause, choosing his words carefully. "I just want to make sure I understand. Which part is your last name? And which is your first?"
The question landed heavier than he intended.
Clara didn't respond. She simply looked at him, her expression unreadable, calm to the point of distance. The silence stretched, thin and uncomfortable.
Before Ethan could follow up or retreat, footsteps approached.
Professor Harper returned with her tray, immediately catching the odd tension hanging over the table.
"What did I miss?" she asked, glancing between them.
"He was confused about Professor Vaughn's name," Lena said, her tone neutral but her eyes lingering on Ethan a second longer than usual.
"Oh, that," Professor Harper said lightly, setting her tray down. "Nothing complicated. Vaughn is her last name. Clara is her first."
The scraping sound was sharp and sudden.
Ethan shot to his feet so fast his chair screeched against the tile.
What the hell?!
"Ethan?" Lena stared at him. "What's wrong with you?"
Ethan forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, then carefully pulled his chair back and sat down again.
"It's nothing," he said stiffly. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."
He took a bite of rice.
No. No, no, no.
The woman next to him had said she taught piano.
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Same name, same department.
He almost convinced himself—until he looked at Professor Harper.
Only then did it hit him.
In the original novel, Professor Harper and Clara Vaughn were close friends.
"…Professor Harper," Ethan said cautiously, refusing to look to his right.
"Yes?"
"How old is Professor Vaughn?" he asked.
"Twenty-seven," Professor Harper said. "She turned twenty-seven in January. She built a strong reputation overseas, and when she returned, the conservatory didn't hesitate. They hired her at a very high level, especially for someone her age."
Ethan hesitated, then asked one final question.
"Her birthday… it wouldn't happen to be twenty-third of January, would it?"
That date was too specific. Too familiar.
"Well?" Professor Harper raised an eyebrow. "How did you know that? Did you look her up?"
She leaned forward, studying Ethan closely.
"Ethan Moore," she said slowly, "why do I feel like you're unusually interested in Professor Vaughn? You wouldn't happen to be—"
"No, no, no!" Ethan cut in immediately. "Professor, you've got it wrong. Completely wrong!"
Dating the woman beside him?
That would be seeking his own death.
Now that even her birthday matched, Ethan's heart sank further.
There was only one thing left to confirm.
But he didn't need to.
At this point, there was no real doubt left.
The woman sitting beside him was the other protagonist.
The problem was—
Why was Clara Vaughn a piano professor?
In the original story, she taught vocal performance and opera.
Had something changed?
Was this some kind of butterfly effect?
Lena ate quietly, watching her brother from time to time, occasionally glancing at Clara out of the corner of her eye.
Something was definitely wrong with Ethan today.
"Oh, right," Professor Harper said suddenly, smiling. "Ethan, you're a piano major, aren't you?"
"Yes…"
"If I remember correctly," she continued casually, "Professor Vaughn is one of the instructors for your cohort. There's a good chance she'll be teaching you."
Ethan shot to his feet again.
You have got to be kidding me.
"What's with that reaction?" Professor Harper teased.
"Haha…" Ethan laughed awkwardly and sat back down. "Nothing, Professor. I'm just… very excited at the thought of learning from Professor Vaughn."
"Ethan," Lena said softly, concern creeping into her voice. "You've been acting really strange today. Should I go with you to the clinic later?"
"No, no, I'm fine," Ethan said quickly.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage he had, he glanced to his right.
And met Clara Vaughn's narrow, foxlike eyes.
His heart dropped.
Judging by her expression, there was no doubt about it.
Everything he'd said in the tea shop earlier—
She had heard it all.
—
He barely remembered finishing the meal.
The moment they stood up, Ethan grabbed Lena's arm and pulled her away.
It was still September, and dusk came late. The setting sun cast long shadows across the campus, painting everything in warm gold.
Around them, first-year students laughed and talked in clusters, faces bright with excitement.
Ethan felt none of it.
His mood had sunk straight to the bottom.
The flap of his butterfly wings had been far too dramatic.
Still… there was one upside.
Lena should be safe now.
"Ethan," Lena said gently, "how about I go with you to the campus clinic?"
"No need," he said quickly. "You go back and rest. And remember what I told you. Stay far away from Professor Vaughn."
Lena frowned. "Why? I really don't get it. She seemed fine to me. Even kind. Why are you so determined to keep me away from her? Do you even know her?"
"Some things can't be judged by appearances," Ethan said seriously. "Just trust me."
Lena rolled her eyes. "That's not a reason. You don't even know her, do you? Otherwise why were you asking her name earlier?"
"Just believe me," Ethan said firmly. "If you see her, take a detour."
Lena sighed. "Honestly, I think you should worry about yourself more. I'm pretty sure Professor Vaughn heard you earlier. All that talk about yandere personalities and drinking blood. You should apologize to her properly."
Ethan said nothing.
Apologize in person?
Absolutely not.
He liked being alive.
Maybe he could test the waters through messages first. If it went badly, he'd run.
Classes had just started. Tuition refunds should still be mostly available. Worst case, he'd take a gap year.
Was that extreme?
Extremely necessary.
Clara Vaughn's first personality was manageable.
The second one?
If the first held a grudge, even a passing dog would get slapped twice.
"Lena… should we withdraw and retake a year?" Ethan asked seriously.
"?" Lena pressed her hand to his forehead. "You don't have a fever."
"…Never mind," Ethan muttered. "Go back to your dorm."
They stopped in front of the women's dormitory. Lena checked his temperature again, unconvinced.
"No fever," she murmured.
"I'm fine," Ethan said, forcing a smile. "I was joking."
"Alright," she said, still worried. "Go back early tonight. Don't stay up late."
She left, glancing back repeatedly.
Only after she disappeared inside did Ethan turn and walk away.
—
Back in the food court, Professor Harper slurped her rice noodles while studying the woman across from her.
The universe was unfair.
How could someone look flawless even while eating?
"Here," she said, sliding over a bowl. "Extra cilantro. I asked specially."
She pushed the vinegar over too.
"Thank you."
Clara poured the vinegar carefully, then dumped the entire bowl of cilantro in.
Professor Harper's eye twitched.
Same taste as always.
"So," she said, "do you think that kid fell for you at first sight? Asking about your age and birthday?"
"I don't know," Clara replied calmly.
What she did know was that he had serious misunderstandings about her.
Yandere. Split personality. Blood-drinking.
She'd lived for twenty-seven years and never heard anything so ridiculous.
Clearly, the boy had read too much questionable material.
Absurd.
"Back in school," Professor Harper sighed, "guys who fell for you at first sight… there were hundreds. Probably thousands."
She smiled wistfully.
There had once been a saying.
One look at Clara Vaughn, you were in trouble for life.
And now?
The former campus beauty had returned from overseas. Mature. Composed. Radiant.
"Well?" Professor Harper teased. "What do you think of him? He's the new campus heartthrob."
"A child," Clara said flatly.
"A child?" Professor Harper laughed. "He's eighteen."
"I'm nine years older," Clara replied. "When I was eighteen, he was still in elementary school."
"…Fair."
"But seriously," Professor Harper leaned in, "you're twenty-seven. Aren't you worried? Isn't your family pressuring you?"
"Boring."
Clara wiped her mouth and stood.
A male student approached, phone in hand.
"Hi, um… could I add you on social media?"
Clara glanced at him.
Decent.
Still not as good as the kid who liked reading explicit novels.
"No."
She walked past him, leaving only the faint scent of sandalwood behind.
Professor Harper sighed and followed.
"So what," she called after her, "planning to stay single forever? Want me to introduce someone?"
"No."
Clara rolled her eyes slightly.
Those so-called quality candidates?
Unacceptable.