Early winter in Gotham still brought rain. After a night of cold rain, the few remaining leaves on the trees had been beaten to the ground. The asphalt roads gleamed with icy water, while dead leaves and withered grass drifted in spirals along tiny currents into the storm drains. Once the sun emerged, moisture rose from the earth, and the entire Gotham University was filled with the scent of soil.
In weather like this, dressing too warmly felt stifling, while dressing too lightly meant freezing. Most students leaving the dormitories wore overcoats and scarves. After stepping into the drizzle, their shoulders became covered in fine, glittering droplets. Only upon entering the classroom did they take off their damp outerwear, revealing shirts and suspenders beneath.
Schiller, seated at the front of the lecture platform, looked up and noticed that eighty percent of the students were dressed formally. Though they had their heads down over their books, their raised brows and hushed conversations showed that they were far from calm.
The Christmas ball was almost here. This was Gotham University's annual grand event. Students began looking for dance partners a month in advance, followed by endless rehearsals. They spent all their free time spinning around in club activity rooms, beginning with the first snowfall and lasting until the bells rang on Christmas Eve.
Relationships formed during those youthful and uncertain years were always difficult to sustain. Most of them simply chased and embraced one another recklessly on a surge of hormones, only to turn away in indifference or resentment after the fervor faded. Yet even so, year after year, group after group, they repeated the same thing.
Fine snowflakes gradually began to drift outside the towering floor-to-ceiling windows. Schiller stood before the blackboard, holding a manuscript in one hand and chalk in