Chapter 2
When did I become "Fonso's" muse? I only knew that whenever we played games together, my shots never failed to miss the target by inches, while he followed behind me, cleaning up my blunders. He was always sighing helplessly: [Stelisk, you are the biggest bottleneck in my gaming career.]
*****
Finally, the bell rang. I bolted from my seat, hoping to slip away unnoticed in the chaos.
"Stephanie Liskow." Professor Gould's voice rang out loud and clear above the noisy crowd behind me.
I froze, but eventually, turned around reluctantly.
He had already tidied up the podium and was standing there watching me. The students nearby were casting inquisitive glances at me. Williana also stood not far away, clearly waiting to laugh at me.
"Come with me," Professor Gould said assertively.
I kept my head down and tagged along after him, feeling like a prisoner about to be led to the gallows. His office was on the top floor of the teaching block, and we walked in complete silence. The atmosphere was extremely oppressive.
When he opened his office door, a crisp, woody scent wafted toward me. The decor was minimalist, featuring black, white, and gray tones, very much like his unflappable and restrained character.
He sat down behind his desk, took off his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose. Without the lenses obscuring his features, his face appeared even more defined and deep-set, and his gaze made me very uneasy.
"Have a seat," he said as he gestured to the chair opposite him.
I sat down meekly with my hands on my knees, like a schoolchild awaiting judgment.
He didn't say a word. Instead, he picked up his phone and opened up our chat history. Then he slid his phone across the desk to me.
On the screen was our usual daily banter.
Me: [Fonso, I got called trash in a game again today (Weeping Face).]
Me: [Fonso, the new skin looks awesome, but I'm broke.]
Me: [Fonso, my professor is so strict. I think my graduation project is going to be a disaster.]
The last message was sent just this morning.
As I looked at these chat messages, I could feel my cheeks burning in shame. Who would have thought that the very person I had been badmouthing would be sitting right opposite me? Of all people, he had to be my online date as well!
It couldn't get any more socially awkward than this.
"My muse, or rather, Stephanie Liskow, care to explain?" Ildefonso drawled casually as he leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk.
I shrank back further. "P-Professor Gould, I…"
"What did you just call me?" he cut me off.
I froze, then blurted out, "Fonso?"
A faint smile seemed to flicker across his lips, so fleeting I almost mistook it for an illusion.
"So, in your eyes, I'm just that 'busy design director,' that 'strict, old-fashioned mean professor'?" he continued in an unfathomable tone.
I wished I could erase my memory right now. "No, that's not it! I can explain!"
"Go on. I'm listening," he replied leisurely.
My mind raced as I tried to salvage a shred of dignity. “Well… with online dating, all identities are fake. Didn't you say you were a design director? That was clearly deception. You were preying on my innocent heart!”
"I didn’t lie. I am currently the design director at a design firm. I'm just here as an adjunct lecturer," Ildefonso answered calmly.
I was rendered speechless. I must admit he was not wrong.
"And as for being strict and old-fashioned," he paused as his eyes bored into me. "Do you really think I'm strict?"
I shook my head frantically. How could I answer 'Yes' to that question? He was my professor now and held my life and death in his hands. That made him the nicest person in the world by default.
"And old-fashioned?" he continued.
"No, no, no! You're in your prime, handsome and dashing!" I desperately tried to save my own skin by showering him with compliments.
Ildefonso seemed amused by my words because I caught a hint of a smile creeping across his face. He put his phone away, leaned closer, and gazed intently at me with his dark eyes.
"Stephanie." This was the first time he had called me by my first name. "I admit that I didn't know 'Stelisk' was you at first. It wasn't until the first day of school when I saw your name on the student list that I had my suspicions."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" I blurted out indignantly.
"I wanted to see if you were just as…" He paused, searching for the right word.
"Just as what?" I asked worriedly.
"… lively," he finally said.
That word stunned me for a second. Lively? Was he saying I was a piece of living trash because I suck at games, or because my insults ignited lively exchanges of mutual abuse?
"So… what will happen to us now?" I asked nervously with trepidation. I wondered whether our online relationship would die once it became revealed in real life, or continue…
Ildefonso didn't answer directly, but changed the subject. "What are your thoughts on your graduation project?"
My heart sank at once. "I haven't thought about…"
"Perfect." He stood up and took a thick art book from the bookshelf. Then he placed it in front of me. "Read this and submit a proposal next week. As my 'muse,' your graduation project can’t just be a pass."