Gathering Seven Companions

Guinevere idly twirled a pen in the classroom. Her fingers were long, fair, and incredibly nimble; in her hands, a single pen seemed ready to bloom into a hundred tricks.

Guinevere, nineteen years old, was a student.

This was an open university lecture, and the professor was teaching history. She listened while she played, managing both without missing a beat.

The students around her, especially the male ones, were captivated partly by her beauty and partly by her exquisite skill. She was only spinning a pen, yet she somehow turned it into an art form.

From her appearance, she looked like the poised, elegant sort of girl—a young lady raised by some great family.

In reality, her family could only be considered well-off. They had nothing to do with any great clan.

More importantly, that poise and elegance were merely appearances. In truth, she was an exceptionally lively girl, her heart forever brimming with strange and wonderful ideas, always wanting to bring them to life.

For instance, a grand adventure.

To her, under such circumstances, the classmates around her—even those who deliberately acted mature—only seemed unbearably childish, like children pretending to be adults.

As for real adults, they ought to be like children, never denying the romance in their own hearts.

Sometimes she wondered why people were so strange. The more they tried to act like adults, the less like adults they became.

Until one day, she watched the sun set and the moon rise, and suddenly understood: the sun was naturally the sun, and the moon was naturally the moon. Only those that were not had to pretend.

She majored in history, largely to prepare for the adventures she envisioned in her future.

In fact, compared to history, what she was truly best at was computer technology. She had