MIX-UP (JossGawin)

Chapter 9

The campus buzzed with life as the annual cultural festival roared to life. Walkways were lined with colorful stalls offering delicious food, handmade crafts, and games. 

The air was rich with the scent of grilled meat, laughter, and the hum of conversation. For one day, the pressures of exams and lectures were forgotten, replaced with pure, unfiltered joy.

Tong and his friends navigated the crowd with a singular mission: devour the best food and wring every ounce of fun from the festival. 

Their laughter rang out as they zigzagged through the crowd, pointing out vendors, teasing one another, and tossing playful comments at the passing groups of students.

"Guys! The takoyaki stand here is supposed to be amazing!" Nut shouted over his shoulder, already veering toward the aroma of sizzling batter.

"Fearless leader strikes again!" Tong called, grinning as he followed. They weaved between clusters of students, occasionally earning giggles—or glares—from groups of girls as Nut's teasing remarks flew like confetti.

But while Tong reveled in the festival's chaos, someone else simmered in frustration far away from the excitement.

Back in the shadowed stillness of the campus warehouse, Mark lay in his coffin, his mood as dark as the space around him. 

The festival meant little to him, but being abandoned while Tong gallivanted around was an insult he couldn't ignore. Hunger gnawed at him, a slow burn in his chest that amplified his irritation.

Seeking distraction, Mark rose, his movements deliberate and graceful despite his foul mood. He began rummaging through the clutter Tong had carelessly shoved under a shelf. 

His fingers stilled as they brushed over an unfamiliar file, a label scrawled on the front: Under the Sun.

Curiosity piqued, Mark flipped it open. Yellowed papers filled with arcane symbols spilled out, along with fragments of notes that hinted at secrets long buried. His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

"Interesting," he muttered.

The more he read, the more the hunger within him sharpened—not just for sustenance but for answers. These were truths Tong had no business meddling with. Mark's irritation deepened into something colder, something calculating.

Meanwhile, Tong and his friends were busy stumbling across their own curiosities. Among the usual festival fare of handmade jewelry and quirky crafts, one booth stood out—a stall brimming with antiques and oddities.

"Guys, check this place out," Tong said, motioning to the strange collection of trinkets and baubles.

His attention was caught by a gleaming silver dagger resting on a velvet cloth. Its blade was smooth and flawless, and a crimson gemstone set into the hilt glimmered under the lantern light.

"Whoa. Now this looks badass," Tong said, picking it up with a grin.

"Careful," Yot warned. "You don't know where that's been."

Tong shrugged, flipping the dagger over in his hands. "It's just a dagger. What's the worst that could happen?" Without a second thought, he handed the vendor some cash, tucking the dagger into his bag with the same casual carelessness that drove Mark mad.

Mark stared at the documents spread out before him, his mind racing. The symbols on the pages weren't just ancient—they were dangerous. Secrets this potent had no place in mortal hands, least of all Tong's careless ones.

His hunger surged, more insistent now, and his patience finally snapped.

"Damn it, Tong," he growled, the sound low and threatening in the empty space. "You're always running off when I need you."

Mark grabbed his coat, the decision already made. He couldn't sit idly by while his foolish roommate meddled with things he didn't understand.

 Tong was oblivious to the storm brewing. The energy of the crowd was infectious, and his group bounced from stall to stall, trying everything from fried squid to sweet buns.

"Let's hit the game booths next!" Nut suggested, pointing at a row of colorful tents ahead.

"I'm winning all of us prizes!" Tong declared, already jogging toward the sound of clanging bells and laughter.

But as the festival swirled around him, a strange unease settled in Tong's chest. It was subtle, like a distant storm cloud on a sunny day. 

He brushed it off, focusing on the game in front of him, but the feeling lingered.

As the festival continued in a whirl of lights and laughter, unseen threads of fate tightened. Mark moved through the shadows, drawn by hunger and frustration. Tong's carefree joy at the festival masked the trouble he'd unknowingly unleashed. And somewhere in the middle, danger stirred, waiting for the moment to strike.