Spring had returned, bringing with it a cruel irony—the world outside was blooming with new life, yet Ezra felt like he was wilting under the weight of this final year. White-Coat University had been hell from the beginning, but now? Now it was something far worse.
The higher he climbed, the harder the fall would be. And Ezra could feel it—the strain of it all, pressing against his ribs like an unseen force, suffocating him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He had known it would be difficult.
He had been warned. But no one had told him that the closer he got to the end, the further he felt from who he used to be. This was the year the students chose their careers—the moment they would decide where they belonged in the grand, absurd hierarchy of the White-Coats.
Except Ezra? He didn’t get to choose. His path had already been carved for him. And today? Today, Mr. Key had come to remind him of that fact.
The entire lecture hall hushed when the doors swung open. No one ever interrupted the Career Selection Ceremony. The students sat in rows of pristine white, watching as one by one, each of them stepped forward to announce their chosen path—science, research, politics, administration, industry—all under the watchful gaze of the White-Coat Elders.
And then—Mr. Key walked in.
The murmurs spread like wildfire, whispers of confusion and curiosity crackling through the hall. Ezra’s stomach tightened. He already knew who he was here for. Mr. Key didn’t even glance at the other students—he walked straight toward Ezra, his polished shoes tapping against the white marble floors with quiet authority.
The professor at the podium cleared his throat. "Mr. Key, we weren’t expecting—"
"I need to borrow Mr. Key Jr. for a moment," Mr. Key said smoothly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
The professor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t object.
Ezra stood. All eyes were on him now. He felt the weight of their stares, their silent speculations, but he ignored them and followed Mr. Key out of the hall. The door closed behind them. The murmurs inside rose to a deafening buzz before being cut off entirely.
They walked in silence down the dimly lit corridor, the air feeling too thick, too still. Mr. Key led him into a private meeting room, a place of sterile white walls and minimalist design, where a single metal table sat in the center.
Ezra expected a lecture. Another push to work harder, to not fall behind. But instead—Mr. Key reached into his pocket and pulled out a small data pad. He set it on the table. Turned it on. And suddenly, the screen flickered to life—Revealing Seth.
Ezra’s father smiled tiredly, seated somewhere that looked like a hospital room. But that wasn’t what caught Ezra’s breath in his throat. It was Julie. Lying in a hospital bed, her hair a mess, her cheeks flushed, her face glowing with exhaustion and joy.
And in her arms—A tiny bundle. A newborn. Ezra’s world tilted. "Oh," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Oh.
That’s why Mr. Key had brought him here. Ezra barely registered the gentle amusement in Mr. Key’s voice as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
"So," Mr. Key murmured, "what are you going to name my grandson?"
Ezra couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. His chest felt tight in a way he couldn’t explain, something too big, too overwhelming pressing against his ribs, threatening to break him entirely. He stared at the screen, his vision blurring at the edges.
Julie was smiling, watching him through the camera, her arms wrapped protectively around their child. Their son. Ezra swallowed hard, his voice thick with emotion. "Adam," he said.
Julie’s smile widened. "I knew you’d pick that."
Seth let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not bad, kid. Solid name."
Ezra let out a weak laugh, wiping at his eyes, trying to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. Adam. His son.
Mr. Key watched the exchange silently, allowing him a few more minutes of catching up before finally shifting the conversation. There was business to discuss.
"Ezra," Mr. Key said, closing the call, leaving only the still silence of the meeting room behind. "We need to talk."
Ezra, still reeling from what he had just seen, slowly pulled himself back to the present.
Mr. Key folded his hands over the table. "Haru has already graduated ahead of you." Ezra felt that weight again. The pressure. The impossible expectations. Mr. Key didn’t need to say it outright—he was behind. "I need you to double your efforts," Mr. Key continued. "I need you to prove that I didn’t place my bet on the wrong man."
Ezra exhaled slowly, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know."
Mr. Key studied him. Then, after a long pause, he spoke again—softer this time. "Julie told me how much you’ve been struggling."
Ezra stiffened. His fingers curled into tight fists against his knees. Of course she had.
Mr. Key sighed, leaning back slightly. "Ezra, I didn’t take an interest in you just because my family needs an heir."
Ezra looked up. Mr. Key’s gaze was steady. "My family has a reputation spanning fifteen generations. We built this industry from the ground up, and yes, that means generational wealth—but that also means carrying the weight of something much bigger than one person."
Ezra swallowed, his throat dry.
"And yet," Mr. Key continued, "I remember the day you saved my daughter. I remember how you brushed it off like it was nothing." Ezra didn’t know what to say. Mr. Key shook his head. "You are family now, Ezra. And I am here to help you through this mess." Ezra sat in stunned silence, absorbing the words he hadn’t realized he needed to hear. For so long, he had felt like he was drowning alone—like he was just one mistake away from collapsing under the weight of everything being thrown at him.
But now? Now, he wasn’t sure what to believe anymore.
"So," Mr. Key murmured, tilting his head, watching Ezra carefully. "What’s been on your mind lately?"
Ezra’s breath hitched. His mind flashed to the dream, the shadowed figure, the impossible city, the pulsing SOS signal, the angels, the demons, the horrible truth lurking beneath it all. He could tell him. He could finally share what he had seen.
But should he?
Ezra didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sat there—weighing the truth against the unknown, balancing on the edge of a choice that could change everything.
Ezra stared at Mr. Key for a long moment, his mouth dry, his pulse a slow, heavy drumbeat in his ears. He had debated this moment, turning it over in his head a thousand times before stepping into this room.
Tell him? Don’t tell him? How much?
Against his better judgment, he decided to share. But not everything.
Not the city of angels, not the star pulsing in Morse code, not the feeling that something bigger than all of them was lurking just beneath the surface of reality. Instead, he focused on one detail. The figure in black. The one with the goat’s head, the one that had stood at the edge of the White-Coat ceremony watching him, the one that had followed him into his dreams.
The moment he described it, Mr. Key hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "Mmmm… that sounds like Edgar," he said.
Ezra blinked. "What?"
"Edgar," Mr. Key repeated. "Good kid."
Ezra’s brain short-circuited. "HE’S A KID!?!?"
Mr. Key chuckled, shaking his head. "No, not really. That’s just a turn of phrase. Edgar does reconnaissance for the Silent Legion."
Ezra’s stomach plummeted into freefall. "The what now?"
Mr. Key exhaled, as if he had expected this moment to come eventually. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Alright, listen closely, because I’m only going to explain this once."
Ezra braced himself.
"The Silent Legion," Mr. Key said slowly, "are the ones pulling the strings for all of humanity."
Ezra’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
"The White-Coats?" Mr. Key continued. "They belong to the Silent Legion. Key Industries belongs to the Silent Legion. I may own the graviton industry, but only at their mercy."
Ezra swallowed hard. "Great," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. "So the shadow government actually has a name."
Mr. Key smirked. "We prefer to call them ‘the ones who keep the world from eating itself alive.’ But sure, go ahead and be dramatic about it."
Ezra rubbed his temples, his mind spinning. This explained too much. And yet—It didn’t explain anything at all.
Mr. Key studied him. "You still haven’t told me," he said, "why lil’ Edgar has been troubling you so much."
Ezra’s pulse quickened. Because he couldn’t tell him. How could he? How could he explain that the vision he had seen—no, the place he had been taken to—wasn’t just a dream? That he had seen a world beneath a world, a forgotten city where angels walked in perfect unity and enslaved demons beneath a star crying for help?
He couldn’t. So instead, he lied.
"His, uh… features," Ezra said, forcing his voice into something casual, like this wasn’t the most terrifying conversation of his life. "The goat-like face. Just… unsettled me."
Mr. Key studied him for a moment longer, then—to Ezra’s surprise—he smirked. "Ah," he murmured. "That bothers you?"
Ezra frowned. "I mean—yes? It’s not exactly normal."
"Neither is this," Mr. Key said simply. And then—He reached up to his face.
Ezra watched in horror as Mr. Key placed two fingers against the corner of his eye—And pulled. His contact lens came off easily, and beneath it—Ezra’s breath caught. Mr. Key’s iris wasn’t round. It was an unnatural shape, jagged, almost star-like. But it wasn’t just the shape—
The coloring was wrong.
Not like a mutation, not like a scarred eye, but like something Ezra’s brain refused to process as human. A thing that shouldn’t be there. Ezra’s hands tightened into fists, but he didn’t flinch. He forced himself to hold Mr. Key’s gaze, to look at what was in front of him and not recoil.
Mr. Key smiled slightly. "Good. You didn’t look away."
Ezra’s voice was tight. "I didn’t need to."
Mr. Key nodded. "You’re learning."
Ezra swallowed. "What… the hell happened to you?"
Mr. Key placed the contact back over his eye, sealing away whatever truth Ezra had just glimpsed. Then, he leaned forward. "Graviton radiation," he said. Ezra’s breath hitched. "You’re about to spend the rest of your time here studying graviton energy," Mr. Key continued. "And what you need to understand—before you go any deeper—is that this is not to be taken lightly."
Ezra’s fingers drummed against the table, his heart hammering.
"The energy itself, when properly harvested and stored, is harmless," Mr. Key explained. "But in its raw state? Uncontained? It is not something you play with."
Ezra exhaled. "So what, generations before us were the test subjects?"
"Not test subjects," Mr. Key corrected. "Sacrifices."
Ezra’s blood ran cold.
Mr. Key’s voice softened. "You won’t have to suffer the same fate. Your work will provide for your family, but you won’t be forced to make sacrifices like those of my family before me."
Ezra clenched his jaw. And then, just as he was about to speak, Mr. Key’s expression darkened. He tapped his fingers against the table, once. "Not a word of this to Julie," he said. Ezra stiffened. "Not a word about this to anyone," Mr. Key continued.
Ezra hesitated. "And if I do?"
Mr. Key leaned back, his smirk returning—but this time, it wasn’t reassuring. "When in a harvested state," he said, "graviton energy is safe. But before that? Before we learned how to contain it?" He let the words linger. "Many generations had to be sacrificed before the final product was filtered enough for commercial use," Mr. Key said, his voice calm, patient, even amused. "A breach in privacy on something like this…"
He tilted his head. "Would not only be drowned in a narrative written by the White-Coats—it would upset the Silent Legion." Ezra’s throat tightened. "And," Mr. Key added, "you do not—under any circumstances—want to upset the Silent Legion."
A heavy silence settled between them. Then—Mr. Key smiled again, standing. "Now," he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve, "back to class with you. There’s work to do." Ezra stood, his movements automatic, his mind racing. Some questions had been answered. But as always—More had taken their place.
Ezra didn’t go home for the summer. He couldn’t. There was too much work to catch up on, too much he had left unanswered, too many questions gnawing at the edges of his mind. So he did exactly as Mr. Key instructed.
He started digging.
Not in the way a casual student would—not just the surface-level material the world had been fed for centuries—but deeper, beyond the official textbooks, beyond the approved research papers, beyond what the world thought it knew about graviton energy.
And what he found? It didn’t add up.
According to the world’s records, the story was simple. There was a geological anomaly beneath Mt. Fuji—a rare, alien ore, disturbed by the volcanic activity. It had gone unnoticed for centuries, but in the mid-third millennia, something changed. The instability had begun to grow worse.
Japan itself was at risk—the unpredictability of gravity waves threatened to turn the island nation into a fragmented wasteland, with parts of it sinking, while others were lifted skyward into the air. A complete gravitational failure was imminent. But then—Mr. Key’s family stepped in.
Back then, they were just geologists, hired to investigate the phenomenon. They found the source of the anomaly. They stabilized it. And over the next several generations, they devoted their lives to understanding the strange material beneath the earth. Sacrifices were made. Lives were lost.
But through sheer persistence, humanity had tamed the impossible. The material was more dense than anything else known to exist. But despite its unimaginable weight, it could be manipulated. Using graviton-compressed matter, humanity learned to shrink atoms themselves, creating materials that were extremely lightweight yet impossibly strong.
That was what the whole world knew. That was the story written in history books.
But as Ezra spent night after night poring over research documents, pulling records from White-Coat archives, cross-checking names and dates and patterns, something started to feel wrong.
From Generations 6 to 12, the world saw a technological boom unlike anything before. Anti-gravity transport. Orbital factories. Deep-space resource mining. Graviton technology became the backbone of human civilization, propelling them into a golden age of expansion.
But something shifted by Generation 12. Something Ezra couldn’t ignore. When he cross-referenced the life expectancies of each Key Industries leader, a disturbing pattern emerged. Generations 1 through 11? They died young—every single one of them. None lived past 70 years old.
The reason? Adverse radiation effects.
They had been exposed to something they didn’t yet understand, and their bodies had paid the price. But Generations 12 through 14? Something changed. Their lifespans extended dramatically. They weren’t just outliving their predecessors—they were outliving their entire era.
Ezra had to triple-check the records, because even by his time, with all the medical advancements in the world, the oldest humans barely reached 150 years. But the Key family members of Generations 12 through 14?
They lived to nearly 200 years old. And that’s when Ezra asked himself the question he didn’t want to ask. Just how old is Mr. Key really?
The official statement was that graviton radiation was dangerous.
That’s why the world had restricted access to the depths of Mt. Fuji—why it had been declared a hazard zone for centuries. But if that was true… If it was so dangerous…
Then why did some people—very select, very specific people—seem to benefit from it?
Ezra sat alone in his dorm, the glow of the screen reflecting in his tired eyes, the documents spread across his desk making less sense the longer he stared at them. There was something missing. Something buried beneath the surface of the story they had all been fed.
Ezra tapped his fingers against the desk, staring at the aged photograph of the man who had led Generation 12. He looked… strange. Not obviously unnatural. Not inhuman. But something was just off enough. The same way Mr. Key’s eye had been off. The same way Edgar hadn’t felt entirely human either.
Ezra leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. He had one year left at this university. And he was starting to wonder if he would leave it the same man he had entered as. Because whatever the Silent Legion was hiding beneath Mt. Fuji…
It wasn’t just about graviton energy anymore. It was about what it did to people. And if Mr. Key’s warning had been true…
Then not all sacrifices had been made willingly.
Ezra needed a break.
His head was swimming with too much information—too much to process, too many threads he couldn’t quite connect, too many implications that made his stomach churn.
The Silent Legion.
The radiation.
The Key family’s unnatural longevity.
He pushed back from his desk, exhaling slowly. This is too much.
His usual escape had always been binge-learning random fun facts—tiny, digestible pieces of knowledge that had nothing to do with conspiracies, secret organizations, or the horrifying realization that reality wasn’t what he thought it was.
So, for a few hours, he let himself fall down the rabbit hole of the mundane.
He read about how octopuses have three hearts.
He read about how honey never spoils.
He read about how lobsters don’t actually age, they just grow indefinitely until something kills them—which, honestly, hit too close to home given his research.
When that stopped distracting him, his gaze fell on the history textbook sitting on the edge of his desk. The one filled with bullshit White-Coat myths. Ezra sighed. Might as well. Out of sheer curiosity, he flipped to a random section, picking a date right around the 12th generation of the Key family.
The real history was simple: The Silent Legion took over the Graviton facility and the entire operation overnight.
But in this book? The truth had been buried beneath a mountain of lunacy. And as Ezra began to read—He felt a headache forming.
"It began, as all great conflicts do, with breakfast."
Ezra squinted. Oh, here we go.
"For years, the Kingdom of Syrupia and the Waffle Consortium had lived in a delicate peace, balancing their rule over the breakfast trade of the Eastern Quadrants. But in the 34th Century, a radical new movement arose: The Pancakian Rebellion."
Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Led by the revolutionary chef known only as ‘The Flapjack Phantom,’ these rebels sought to dethrone the waffle and syrup empire by introducing an all-new, unauthorized breakfast option—Graviton Pancakes. These pancakes, rumored to be so dense they could warp space-time, posed an existential threat to the current ruling factions."
Ezra let out a silent scream into his hands.
"A battle was waged over the infamous Mt. Fuji Griddle, the last remaining neutral ground where breakfast diplomacy was still possible. But in one single night, everything changed. The Kingdom of Syrupia fell. The Waffle Consortium vanished. And the Pancakian Rebels? Never seen again. Only one faction remained, stepping from the shadows to claim absolute control—The Silent Legion."
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"And thus, the age of Graviton Breakfast came to a close, as the true rulers of humanity took their rightful place."
Ezra slammed the book shut.
What the actual fuck?
Ezra sat staring at the closed book, his thoughts racing.
It was always like this. Every time history had something important buried beneath it, the White-Coats had spun it into the most ridiculous narrative possible.
And yet—The truth was still there. The Silent Legion took over overnight. Mr. Key’s family had become too powerful, and something even more powerful had decided it was time to step in. This wasn’t just about science anymore. It was about who controlled the science.
Ezra leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "What the hell have I gotten myself into?" he muttered under his breath. Nothing good. That much was obvious. But there was no turning back now. So instead of dwelling on it, he forced himself to focus on something tangible. Something that, at the very least, made sense.
Physics.
The White-Coats had given him access to research that no civilian had ever seen before.
Everything humanity thought it knew about graviton waves was surface-level nonsense—an acceptable lie to keep the masses content. But in reality? They weren’t just exotic energy fields. They were dangerous.
Graviton waves shared properties with electromagnetism, but instead of manipulating electric charges, they interacted with the very structure of matter itself. That was why graviton-compressed metals were possible. Atoms could be shrunk, packed tighter than physics should allow, making materials that were light but impossibly strong.
But that wasn’t what disturbed Ezra the most. What disturbed him was how humanity was harnessing it. An antimatter reactor.
That was what supplied the entire solar system with energy—a massive containment system that harnessed graviton waves the way an electromagnet traps charged particles. And the graviton batteries? They weren’t just power sources. They were potential energy storage devices, holding onto raw graviton forces in stasis, ready to be released on demand.
Ezra leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. This technology was at the center of human civilization. But it had started with a single alien ore beneath Mt. Fuji. And somehow— Somehow—That had led to Mr. Key’s family living for centuries, and the Silent Legion pulling the strings of the entire world.
Ezra ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. He had one year left. One year to figure out what the hell was really going on. One year to decide if he was going to accept the world as it was—or if he was going to dig deeper, no matter the cost.
Because one thing was becoming clear: If graviton radiation could twist genes—if it could extend life, alter biology, and grant power beyond human comprehension—Then maybe the Silent Legion wasn’t just hiding science.
Maybe they were hiding something even bigger. Ezra set the book aside, grabbing his research notes instead. This was going to be a long, long year.
The week before fall finals, Ezra sat in the university dining hall, staring at his pancakes, brain fried from endless study sessions. As he absentmindedly poked at them, his mind drifted back to the Great Pancake Revolt of the 34th Century—the ridiculous White-Coat history that supposedly masked the Silent Legion’s takeover of Key Industries. But what if pancakes was a code for something else? What if the Silent Legion hadn’t attacked unprovoked, but rather, Key Industries had discovered something that warranted the takeover?
He had seen what graviton radiation did first-hand, how it altered biology, extended lifespans, and left irreversible consequences. Generations 1 through 11 had died young from exposure, but by Generation 12, something changed—they weren’t just surviving, they were thriving unnaturally long. What if the Silent Legion hadn’t seized power for control, but rather, to contain something dangerous? What if they weren’t just rulers, but protectors?
Ezra set his fork down, his appetite gone. He had spent months assuming he was uncovering a dark truth, that he was fighting against something hidden. But now, for the first time, doubt crept in. What if the real truth wasn’t about power—but keeping humanity from repeating a mistake it didn’t even know it made? For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know.
Ezra had spent months grinding through the hardest academic content known to humanity—graviton mechanics, energy field manipulation, the precise engineering of exotic matter, and the bizarrely structured economic ecosystem surrounding the Key family empire.
And yet—On the final week of the semester, when he expected one last grueling challenge, the White-Coats had something else planned.
A reward ceremony.
Before final exams.
As if they already knew everyone would pass. That should have been his first warning. The lights in the grand auditorium dimmed, a deep voice booming over the speakers. "Ladies, gentlemen, and esteemed lunatics of the White-Coat University… welcome to the Annual Grand Knowledge Decathlon and Achievement Showdown!"
A spotlight swung wildly across the stage, revealing… A giant spinning wheel covered in scientific achievements, random symbols, and the occasional “You Get Nothing” slot.
There was a confetti cannon. There was a podium with a massive red button labeled ‘DO NOT PRESS’. And, front and center, was a professor in a full tuxedo holding a rubber chicken like a microphone.
Ezra buried his face in his hands. "Oh no."
It was half award ceremony, half unhinged game show, and absolutely none of it made sense. Students were called up one by one to spin the Wheel of Enlightenment, which determined their graduation reward.
One student landed on “Theoretical Physics Speedrun” and had to recite Einstein’s field equations backward in under 30 seconds. Another landed on “Quantum Roulette”, where they had to bet on whether Schr?dinger’s cat was dead or alive before opening a mystery box. One poor guy landed on “Rubber Chicken Trial” and had to explain a complex theorem while being smacked with the ceremonial rubber chicken every time they hesitated.
Ezra watched in disbelief. This wasn’t a university. This was a cult initiation disguised as a science circus. And somehow—somehow—it was still more structured than the actual classes.
By the time Ezra’s name was called, he just walked up to the stage, spun the wheel, and accepted his fate. It landed on "Lifetime Supply of Graviton-Themed Stationery.” A professor handed him a pen that looked like it contained a tiny event horizon inside. He gave a thumbs-up, walked off stage, and pretended this had never happened.
After the gameshow disaster, Ezra was finally handed his final exam. He took one look at the 100-question sheet and immediately felt his soul detach from his body.
Nothing—absolutely nothing—made sense.
Each question was a mockery of logic itself, with multiple-choice answers that did not belong in any academic setting.
- Where do babies come from?
- A) The Stork
- B) The Vajoo-Joo
- C) The Baby Gremlin
- D) Other
Ezra wrote: "From ur ass."
- What is the fundamental force responsible for keeping objects grounded?
- A) Gravity
- B) Electromagnetism
- C) Peer Pressure
- D) The Unwavering Judgment of Your Ancestors
Ezra circled C, because at this point, what even was physics?
- Which of the following is NOT a real chemical element?
- A) Unobtainium
- B) Expensivium
- C) Panikium
- D) Helium
Ezra wrote: "I refuse to acknowledge the reality of this question."
By question 42, he stopped even pretending to think and just wrote whatever first came to mind.
What is dark matter?
"The stuff in my dad’s sock drawer."
At question 56, he began drawing doodles of Bruiser riding a dinosaur into battle against a swarm of White-Coats armed with rubber chickens. At question 68, he filled the space with a crude stick figure flipping off the test. And then—He reached question 69.
And his stomach dropped. It wasn’t in English. The question wasn’t in any language he had ever seen. The scribbles looked like they had been scratched out by a blind child with a crayon, seemingly nonsense—Except Ezra had seen these before.
Not in class. Not in books. But in his dream.
The vision of the golden city, the one inside the impossible planet, where angels walked like perfect machines and the star cried out in Morse code. He had seen symbols just like these carved into the walls of that place. His breath caught. He forced himself to look at the multiple-choice answers—Emojis.
Just random emojis. A thumbs-up. A crying face. A mind-blown emoji. A banana for some reason. Ezra’s fingers tightened around his pen.
They know.
Someone in this university—whoever had written this exam—knew what he had seen. Or worse—knew he had seen it. He had two choices. He could either freak out.
Or—
He could bullshit his way through it like the rest of this godforsaken test. Without hesitation, he circled the "mind-blown" emoji. For the write-in explanation, he didn’t even think. He just drew a crude stick figure with cock and balls, the kind you’d find scratched onto porta-johns at a construction site.
If they were watching him, they’d at least have to figure that out first.
Ezra finished the rest of the test on autopilot, handing it in without making eye contact. He walked out of the testing hall feeling nothing but exhaustion and confusion. Was this all just nonsense? Was the entire university one big joke?
Or—Was this the biggest test of all?
One thing was for sure—If he had to do another year of this, he was either going to lose his mind or figure out what the hell was really going on behind the curtain.
The day the results were announced, Ezra was at his absolute limit. His brain was fried. He had spent the last week recovering from the sheer stupidity of that exam, convinced that if he hadn't failed, then surely something in him had broken beyond repair.
And yet—Of course, everyone passed.
The students filled the grand hall, murmuring amongst themselves, swapping stories about the most ridiculous test questions and the even more ridiculous answers they had bullshitted their way through. Ezra overheard someone in the crowd:
"My answer for ‘What is the meaning of life?’ was just a drawing of a sad frog smoking a cigarette."
"Bro, I put down ‘42’ and still got full credit."
"Wait, for real? I wrote ‘send help’ and the professor just wrote ‘no’ next to it."
Ezra sighed, rubbing his temples. This goddamn university.
One by one, students were called up onto the stage to receive their white coats—the final sign that they were now full-fledged lunatics of academia. The coats were a strange mix between a lab coat and a trench coat, long and dramatic, flowing with self-importance and possibly the weight of unspeakable eldritch knowledge.
But Ezra had to admit—They looked comfy as hell.
The inside was lined with plush fabric, and the fit was perfectly tailored to the wearer. It was a coat made for secrets and questionable science, and somehow, that suited this place perfectly.
Ezra, however, was barely paying attention. His mind was back home. He thought about Julie.
"You glorious vixen… I'm doing all this nonsense for you."
Everything—the mind-breaking physics, the history riddled with memes, the absurdly difficult yet somehow ridiculous final exam, the paranoia of uncovering a shadow government that may or may not be humanity’s last hope—he was doing all of it for her.
For their family. For Adam.
Ezra had been so lost in thought that he didn’t notice when all the D-B students had already been called up.
Which meant—The only students left were the special recognition group. His stomach plummeted.
Did he—did he fail?
Was this high school all over again? Had he somehow screwed up even though he had literally written the most absurdly perfect test possible? Then, the professor cleared his throat, turning toward the podium. "And now," he said, "we save the best for last."
The room hushed. Ezra’s heart froze.
The professor continued listing off names, one by one—students who had ‘gone above and beyond excellence,’ who had ‘achieved feats of academic distinction,’ who had ‘not put in 110%, but an astounding 200% effort’—who had, in the eyes of the White-Coats, ascended to something greater.
And then—"Ezra Key."
The hall erupted into cheers. Ezra sat frozen in his seat, blinking in pure disbelief.
"WHAT??"
People clapped, whistled, shouted his name, and suddenly he was being pushed forward, ushered toward the stage where his professor stood waiting with a proud, almost smug look on his face.
Ezra hesitated, stepping onto the stage like he was walking to his execution. His white coat wasn’t just a normal one. It had a golden trim. The highest honor. "Are they fucking with me right now?" Ezra thought. They had to be.
But then—His professor handed him his diploma.
And it was real. The weight of everything hit him at once—he had actually done it. He was graduating.
The cheers died down for only a moment before someone in the crowd started a chant. "Speech… speech… speech…"
Oh no.
"SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!"
The chant spread like wildfire, students pounding the tables, their voices a deafening roar of mob mentality. Ezra clenched his jaw. He hated this forsaken loony bin. But there was no getting out of it now. So he stepped forward to the podium, grabbed the microphone, and took a deep breath.
"Fellow White-Coats… Professors… Intellectual Madmen… and esteemed guests of probable government surveillance," Ezra began, his voice steady despite the chaos in his brain.
"We have gathered here today, not just as students, but as survivors. Survivors of a system so unhinged, so fundamentally absurd, that we must now ask ourselves—did we graduate, or did we simply break to the point where we belong here?"
The crowd laughed, nodding in agreement.
"I came here as an underdog. A normal guy. A construction worker who made the mistake of getting too involved in a job he wasn’t qualified for, and somehow, that landed me here—studying graviton energy, rewriting history with breakfast food, and taking exams that, frankly, are an insult to the very concept of intelligence."
More laughter, cheers from the back.
"Some of you may have answered ‘Where do babies come from?’ with ‘from ur ass.’ Some of you may have circled the banana emoji on Question 69, and honestly? I respect that. Because the truth is—logic has no place in this institution."
Roars of approval. Ezra leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically.
"We have learned things here that no human mind was ever meant to comprehend. We have seen things that cannot be unseen. And in the spirit of the White-Coat legacy, we have ignored every instinct to question it and instead leaned into the madness."
"But I ask you now—are we truly prepared for the real world?"
A moment of silence. Then someone yelled "NOPE!" from the back. Ezra nodded solemnly.
"Correct. We are not. But that is precisely why we will thrive. Because unlike the rest of society, we have trained ourselves in the most vital of all skills—the ability to bullshit through anything."
The room exploded into applause, people banging on tables, laughing, raising their glasses in triumph. Ezra took a deep breath.
"So I say to you all—go forth, my fellow lunatics. Take what you have learned, whether it be quantum physics, gravitational engineering, or how to construct an entire historical narrative out of breakfast foods—and use it wisely."
"The world may never understand us, but that’s okay. Because we are White-Coats. And the first rule of being a White-Coat… is that you never let them know you’re smarter than them."
He raised a hand. "To the future."
The room erupted into cheers. The professors clapped approvingly. And somewhere, in the back of the hall, a single rubber chicken squeaked in solemn agreement.
Ezra stared at the half-empty whiskey glass in front of him, the ice melting into a slow, inevitable death.
The past two years of his life had been nothing short of a fever dream, a chaotic whirlwind of graviton physics, shadow organizations, bizarre history fabrications, and exams so ridiculous they bordered on psychological warfare.
And yet—None of it compared to the dream that still haunted him.
The pulsing SOS signal from a star trapped in a city of false angels, the Silent Legion lurking in the background, the realization that his education had been less about learning and more about indoctrination.
He took another sip, swirling the glass. His White Card twirled idly between his fingers, the sleek material smooth and weightless, yet it might as well have been a loaded gun for the kind of power it represented.
"This stupid little card is my ‘get out of jail free’ pass," he muttered to himself. And he had no idea what to do with it. A voice broke his thoughts.
"You look like a man contemplating whether the universe is real or if it’s just one big joke."
Ezra blinked, looking up—Mr. Key. Dressed in his usual high-end tailored suit, the man radiated authority even in a dingy airport bar.
Ezra exhaled. "I’d take either answer at this point."
Mr. Key smirked, taking a seat beside him. "What are you doing at the bar?"
Ezra gestured at the departure board, where his flight to Italy had been delayed indefinitely due to bad weather. "Plane’s not going anywhere."
Mr. Key waved a hand dismissively. "No, I mean why are you waiting for a commercial flight when you have a White Card?"
Ezra blinked. "Uh… because that’s how normal people travel?"
Mr. Key laughed—a genuine, hearty laugh, like Ezra had just said the dumbest thing in the world.
"You really haven’t figured it out yet, have you?"
Ezra’s stomach sank. "Figured what out?"
Mr. Key leaned in, voice laced with amusement. "You don’t wait for flights anymore, Ezra," he said. "You own them."
Ezra blinked. "Come again?"
Mr. Key pulled out his own sleek, black White Card, tapping it against the counter. "We’re taking my private jet."
Ezra stared at him, waiting for the punchline. It never came.
Ezra had never been on a private jet before. Scratch that—he had never even been in the same tax bracket as someone who could afford a private jet before.
But here he was. The moment he stepped aboard Mr. Key’s personal aircraft, he knew this wasn’t just luxury—this was something beyond his understanding. For starters, the interior looked more like a high-end penthouse than a plane.
The leather seats were softer than his own damn mattress. There was a fully stocked bar, an entertainment system that put most theaters to shame, and—because of course there was—a small library filled with books Ezra could only assume contained the forbidden knowledge of the cosmos.
But the real kicker? This plane didn’t just fly. It soared into the stratosphere.
Ezra barely had time to process the absurd acceleration, the fact that they weren’t just skimming the clouds but practically touching space. Gravity felt different. "Augmentations," Mr. Key explained, seeing his bewildered expression. "Cuts the trip down significantly. We’ll be in Italy with time to spare."
Ezra exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah," he muttered. "This is going to take some getting used to."
Mr. Key chuckled. "You’ll manage." Ezra wasn’t so sure.
Italy was exactly as he had left it—beautiful, warm, full of life. The moment he stepped off the plane and into the villa, his family was waiting for him. Nonna Francesca, Seth, Auntie Ciarra—all of them welcomed him with open arms, but Julie…
Julie was different. Julie was home.
Ezra practically dove into her arms, wrapping her in the tightest embrace he had ever given her, his face buried in her neck as all the tension, all the insanity, all the exhaustion of the past two years crashed into him at once.
He sobbed. Openly, shamelessly. Julie laughed, running her fingers through his hair. "Oh my god, Ezra, what happened to you?"
Ezra pulled back, staring at her, then down at their son—their tiny, perfect son, bundled in her arms, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. He let out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against Julie’s. "You were right," he whispered.
Julie smirked. "Of course I was. About what?"
Ezra sniffed, wiping his face. "About everything. About the White-Coats, the insanity, the sheer nonsense of it all. You were so… SO right."
Julie grinned. "Took you long enough to admit it."
Ezra let out a weak, tired laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'm never questioning you again."
Julie winked. "Good boy."
And for the first time in two years, Ezra felt like he could finally breathe again.
Ezra had spent two years trapped in absolute lunacy, a prisoner to the nonsense of White-Coat University, shadow organizations, and secrets buried beneath layers of meme-infused history.
But now? Now, he was home. This Quarantinemas wasn’t just about family—it was about peace. A peace he didn’t know he needed so badly.
The evening air was crisp, the snowfall gentle as it blanketed Nonna Francesca’s backyard in an undisturbed sheet of white. Ezra stood outside, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his new white coat, watching his breath curl in the cold air. It was surprisingly warm, far more insulated than he would have expected from what was supposed to be just an academic uniform.
His mind wandered to the year ahead—his official start at Key Industries, the responsibilities that awaited him. But right now? Right now, he had something rarer than knowledge. He had normalcy.
The door creaked open behind him. A familiar voice followed. "You know," Ciarra mused as she stepped outside, wrapping herself in a thick wool shawl, "that coat suits you. Especially with the mustache."
Ezra chuckled, running a finger across his upper lip. "Took me years to grow this bad boy."
Ciarra smirked. "Shame you didn’t have it back in school. Maybe they wouldn’t have called you ‘Cumstain.’"
Ezra nearly choked on his own breath, letting out a wheeze of laughter. "Oh my God," he groaned, shaking his head. "I haven’t thought about that in years."
Ciarra leaned against the wooden railing, clearly delighted. "What was that about, anyway?"
Ezra sighed dramatically. "I thought the kids were just insane. I mean, who even thinks to use that as an insult? But now? After everything? I’ve seen true craziness—and I gotta say, those kids were amateurs."
Ciarra laughed, the sound light and genuine, like she was truly enjoying herself.
It was nice, Ezra realized. For a while, they stood in comfortable silence, watching the snow drift lazily through the night air. Then, without pretense, Ciarra asked—softly, genuinely— "What was your life like, before all of this?"
Ezra glanced at her. She wasn’t just making small talk. There was a sincerity in her voice, something real. She wasn’t just digging up his past out of curiosity. She wanted to know him. And so, he told her.
He spoke about his childhood, about the struggles of growing up without his mom, about how he had once thought his life would be simple—construction, a house, a family, and nothing more.
Then he talked about White-Coat University, the way it tested him, the way he had no choice but to play along, how nothing made sense but somehow made too much sense at the same time.
The more he spoke, the more comfortable it became, and soon he found himself sharing things he hadn’t told anyone—not even Julie.
And then, he noticed something. Ciarra was awfully quiet. Ezra turned to her, brow furrowing. She wasn’t just listening. She was waiting. So he asked, carefully, "What about you?"
Ciarra’s expression flickered. For the first time, Ezra saw her hesitate. She sighed, folding her arms against the cold, staring out at the frozen landscape as if searching for the right words.
"I was responsible for something awful," she finally admitted.
Ezra didn’t interrupt.
She took a slow breath. "It cost the lives of good people. People I’ll never get back," she murmured. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I was convinced I was doing the right thing. But I was fooled—and by the time I realized it, it was too late."
A pause. Ezra could feel the weight of her words.
She swallowed. "I was exiled from my homeland because of it," she said. "And honestly? I deserved it." Her voice was calm, but beneath it was something raw, something that told Ezra that this regret was not new—it was something she had carried for years, maybe decades.
He stepped closer, reaching out without hesitation. He pulled her into a warm, firm hug. "You don’t have to carry that alone," he said softly.
Ciarra stiffened at first, as if the idea was foreign to her. But then, slowly, she melted into his embrace, clinging to him as if he were the last source of warmth in her life.
"The past is the past," Ezra murmured. "What happened, happened. You’re here now. You have a family now."
Ciarra let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the back of his coat.
"We’ve got a bright future ahead of us," Ezra continued. "Finances are a thing of the past. And whatever happened before? It doesn’t have to weigh you down anymore."
Ciarra let out a sound—half a sob, half a laugh, as if she didn’t know whether to cry or thank him. She buried her face into his shoulder, and for a long while, they just stood there, in the falling snow, in the quiet of the night.
And then—A soft click.
Ezra’s eyes snapped open. From the doorway, Julie stood with her phone out, having just taken a photo of them. Ezra sighed. "Julie…"
Julie grinned. "It was too good of a moment not to capture."
Ciarra let out a wet laugh, wiping her eyes.
Julie didn’t interrupt further—she simply gave them one last knowing smile before slipping back inside, letting them have their moment.
Ezra sighed, shaking his head.
Ciarra chuckled, voice still thick with emotion. "She’s got a habit of sneaking up on people," she murmured.
Ezra smirked. "Tell me about it."
Ciarra exhaled, one last shuddering breath, before pulling away, wiping her eyes one last time. Then she smiled—a real one this time. "Thanks, Ezra."
Ezra nudged her playfully. "Anytime, Auntie."
And for the first time since he had met her, Ciarra looked at him not as someone burdened by the past, but as someone who had finally found a place where she belonged.