It was always in late August that the inhabitants of University City started to speed around. In the air, one could smell the changing atmosphere. The prospect of fall and the whole city being painted in a mellow palette of autumn leaves were images the more active part of society wished to forget. They couldn’t afford to slow down after all, all it took was one cool autumn breeze to blow out the fiery embers of summer. So businesses went into overdrive. Flash sales, season clearances, anything to keep them busy and those around them buying. It was to this active wind of University City, and ultimately Chiharu, that freshman and those returning were caught in.
On the streets of the inner city, where majority of the freshmen dorms lie, traffic could be seen backed up for blocks on end. Out of the half a million people that populated University City, roughly eight hundred thousand migrated in and out yearly during this time.
It was for this reason that autumn was known in University City as the season of boxes.
Even those who weren’t driving and slamming their faces into the wheel of their car out of frustration, could be seen lugging around boxes. The sidewalks were packed with eager faces, individuals happy to finally step foot back (or for the first time) into the lively student community, and boxes. Obstructing, obscene boxes that seemed to house the very lives of those who carried them. From above, either in the dorms or the large office buildings, it looked like a mind boggling game of Tetris.
Everyone was just trying to fit in.
For those students that finally got settled down and unpacked, which weren’t many considering the packed conditions of the streets, Chiharu had special plans. The various clubs and organizations worked with local vendors to set up stalls around campus where students could eat and interact with one another all the while being bombarded by sign-up sheets. One could usually find teachers scattered about, either on duty or just supporting the clubs they administrated. In the middle of it all was the Dean of Admissions, the bastard who loved to screw with the hopes of dreams of teach-
The man’s pen suddenly stopped moving as a worn smile could be seen spreading across his face. Whirling the writing utensil skillfully around his in fingers he closed the notebook and looked up to examine the scene before him.
Just as he was describing before, the welcoming event at Chiharu blossomed with life and in the middle of it all was the beautiful and gracious Dean of Admissions, Inoue Asako. Her creamy brown hair was civilized and composed, her face sharp and refined to the T, a beautiful piece of eye candy that packed too much arsenic for even G-man himself to consume. She was, in his opinion, everything evil and everything beautiful in life. Just thinking about her was wrong, but it felt so right.
Sitting near the stall which served wonderful pieces of charcoal cooked skirt steaks was the man known as Robert S. Gestalt, or just Rob if you were a friend. To his students, he was simply Professor Gestalt or Captain Gestalt, or maybe Dadd-
Cutting himself off, the middle-aged man ran his bony hands through his graying hair, which just a couple years ago, use to be black with veins of gray. Now, well, it was gray with veins of black. Looking behind him to confirm it was still standing, the lanky man started eating off the plate that rested next to his notebook. Behind the man was a large flag, one that was a fiery red with a black sword and shield resting at the center. Under the crossing sword and shield were the letters FJA in a fancy cursive.
While classes didn’t officially start until tomorrow, the man started teaching today. It was here, at the skirt steak station, he waited for his students. He had sent out an e-mail weeks ago, even going through the trouble of hand writing a couple of letters to those who didn’t have access to a computer. It was because of this he expected everyone to arrive by three o’ clock sharp. What if they didn’t show up and claimed they never saw or received the e-mail? Lies. All lies. He knew, however he did, that every message he had sent out had been read by those who should have read them. Despite his usually disheveled appearance, the man was undeniable sharp to the point where it was almost mystical, similar to the Dean of Admissions herself. Sitting alone in his black blazer and crinkled blue dress shirt, he was the splintering some gazes away from the secretively busty woman.
Rather than looks of affection, however, he received looks of curiosity and pity. To many, he was just a poor old man eating steak alone, while the figure on the stage was the leader of youth and the new world. Why was he there? Which club was he supporting? What class did he teach? He smiled again, knowingly to himself. It was obvious enough who he was.
Just a mere side character to the genius known as their glorious Dean.
He was just a teacher waiting for his students; a writer waiting for his pen.
-Yuuji
On the streets of the inner city, where majority of the freshmen dorms lie, traffic could be seen backed up for blocks on end. Out of the half a million people that populated University City, roughly eight hundred thousand migrated in and out yearly during this time.
It was for this reason that autumn was known in University City as the season of boxes.
Even those who weren’t driving and slamming their faces into the wheel of their car out of frustration, could be seen lugging around boxes. The sidewalks were packed with eager faces, individuals happy to finally step foot back (or for the first time) into the lively student community, and boxes. Obstructing, obscene boxes that seemed to house the very lives of those who carried them. From above, either in the dorms or the large office buildings, it looked like a mind boggling game of Tetris.
Everyone was just trying to fit in.
For those students that finally got settled down and unpacked, which weren’t many considering the packed conditions of the streets, Chiharu had special plans. The various clubs and organizations worked with local vendors to set up stalls around campus where students could eat and interact with one another all the while being bombarded by sign-up sheets. One could usually find teachers scattered about, either on duty or just supporting the clubs they administrated. In the middle of it all was the Dean of Admissions, the bastard who loved to screw with the hopes of dreams of teach-
The man’s pen suddenly stopped moving as a worn smile could be seen spreading across his face. Whirling the writing utensil skillfully around his in fingers he closed the notebook and looked up to examine the scene before him.
Just as he was describing before, the welcoming event at Chiharu blossomed with life and in the middle of it all was the beautiful and gracious Dean of Admissions, Inoue Asako. Her creamy brown hair was civilized and composed, her face sharp and refined to the T, a beautiful piece of eye candy that packed too much arsenic for even G-man himself to consume. She was, in his opinion, everything evil and everything beautiful in life. Just thinking about her was wrong, but it felt so right.
Sitting near the stall which served wonderful pieces of charcoal cooked skirt steaks was the man known as Robert S. Gestalt, or just Rob if you were a friend. To his students, he was simply Professor Gestalt or Captain Gestalt, or maybe Dadd-
Cutting himself off, the middle-aged man ran his bony hands through his graying hair, which just a couple years ago, use to be black with veins of gray. Now, well, it was gray with veins of black. Looking behind him to confirm it was still standing, the lanky man started eating off the plate that rested next to his notebook. Behind the man was a large flag, one that was a fiery red with a black sword and shield resting at the center. Under the crossing sword and shield were the letters FJA in a fancy cursive.
While classes didn’t officially start until tomorrow, the man started teaching today. It was here, at the skirt steak station, he waited for his students. He had sent out an e-mail weeks ago, even going through the trouble of hand writing a couple of letters to those who didn’t have access to a computer. It was because of this he expected everyone to arrive by three o’ clock sharp. What if they didn’t show up and claimed they never saw or received the e-mail? Lies. All lies. He knew, however he did, that every message he had sent out had been read by those who should have read them. Despite his usually disheveled appearance, the man was undeniable sharp to the point where it was almost mystical, similar to the Dean of Admissions herself. Sitting alone in his black blazer and crinkled blue dress shirt, he was the splintering some gazes away from the secretively busty woman.
Rather than looks of affection, however, he received looks of curiosity and pity. To many, he was just a poor old man eating steak alone, while the figure on the stage was the leader of youth and the new world. Why was he there? Which club was he supporting? What class did he teach? He smiled again, knowingly to himself. It was obvious enough who he was.
Just a mere side character to the genius known as their glorious Dean.
He was just a teacher waiting for his students; a writer waiting for his pen.
-Yuuji
