Chapter 27 – The First Fan Page

  Among the first-year halls of MICF, everyone in the media and literature classes knew what it meant when voices started rising — it usually meant Kiro Vann and Sera Lune had started arguing again.

  Kiro Vann — first-year digital media student, sharp with layouts and even sharper with words. He could dismantle a design critique like a logic puzzle and never once admit when someone else had a point.

  Sera Lune — first-year student of Literature and Creative Communication, dramatic, opinionated, and powered by sheer emotion. She never lost an argument either—because she refused to stop talking until she didn’t have to.

  They’d been paired in the elective “Narratives in the Digital Age.” It was supposed to teach collaboration between media design and literature streams. Instead, it had become a weekly spectator sport.

  ---

  “Storytelling is an emotional experience,” Sera declared, waving her stylus as if it were a sword. “You can’t quantify it with audience analytics!”

  Kiro leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “If you don’t understand your audience, you’re just shouting into the void.”

  “That’s because art is shouting into the void!”

  “Then you must be its loudest echo.”

  Half the class groaned. Someone muttered, “They’ve started again.”

  Their professor didn’t even look up from her slate anymore. “Five-minute debate limit,” she said calmly, as though she’d memorized the line by necessity.

  “I’m not debating,” Sera said, turning toward Kiro with fire in her eyes. “I’m correcting misinformation.”

  “And I’m performing a public service,” Kiro shot back. “Someone has to translate your dramatics into actual words—and make sense of your rants.”

  The bell chimed before either could claim victory. Students began packing their slates, some exchanging knowing smiles. One whispered to another, “You think they’ll ever agree on anything?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” the other replied.

  ---

  The halls of MICF buzzed louder than usual that afternoon. Posters and holo banners from Chancellor Voss’s university-wide promotion were everywhere, each one carrying the same title: A Study in Scarlet, by Lucien Vale Ashborne.

  Sera had seen it everywhere since morning, and it was starting to haunt her. “They’re saying it’s the most talked-about book among MICF students right now—and it’s doing surprisingly well on Inkspire too,” she murmured to herself as she walked out.

  Unbeknownst to her, someone behind was thinking the same thing.

  “Move faster, please,” Kiro said flatly from a few steps behind, trying to pass.

  Sera glanced back sharply. “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m not. You’re just walking in the middle of the hallway like it’s your personal stage.”

  “This isn’t your corridor either.”

  “I’m literally going to the library.”

  Sera froze mid-step. “Wait—you’re going to the library too?”

  “Congratulations on your observational skills.”

  “You are following me!”

  “Or,” he said, walking past her, “you’re following me.”

  They both glared, then quickened their pace, neither willing to be the one walking behind.

  By the time they reached the campus library pickup point, the line was already spilling halfway down the corridor.

  Students stood chatting impatiently, most of them holding up their wristlinks, each one flashing the same title in soft red text: A Study in Scarlet – Order Ready for Collection.

  Sera groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Kiro scanned the line, expression flat. “Guess you’re not the only one who thinks they discovered literature today.”

  “Excuse me?” she shot back, crossing her arms. “I ordered it this morning. You’re the one who jumped on the trend.”

  He gave a slow, deliberate sigh. “Right. Because I definitely shape my reading habits around what you do.”

  Their bickering earned a few glances from the queue. Two students near the middle exchanged knowing smirks.

  “Here they go again,” one whispered.

  “Better than waiting in silence,” another whispered.

  “Free entertainment while we wait,” the other replied.

  Further down the line, another student muttered, “If they start throwing books, I’m leaving.”

  Sera ignored them, glaring at Kiro. “You’re seriously incapable of admitting coincidence, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not coincidence,” he said. “It’s statistically improbable that we’d both pick the same route and the same book without one of us copying the other.”

  “That’s not how statistics work!”

  “It is when I’m right.”

  By the time they reached the counter, the librarian already looked resigned.

  “Next,” she called, not even glancing up.

  Kiro and Sera stepped forward together, scanning their wristlinks at the same time. Two glowing confirmation screens appeared on the counter — both displaying the same title.

  Sera frowned. “You’re buying this too?”

  “Apparently,” Kiro said dryly. “You trying to study it for your ‘emotional expression’ thesis?”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “At least I’ll feel something when I read it. You’ll probably make a spreadsheet about it.”

  A few chuckles rippled through the line. Even the librarian cracked a smile as she handed over two identical parcels.

  “Here you go,” she said. “Try not to argue over who gets the better copy.”

  “I won’t,” Sera huffed.

  “Neither will I,” Kiro replied flatly.

  They turned away at the same time, heading in opposite directions—except neither realized they were walking the same way until three steps later.

  “Stop following me,” Sera said without turning.

  “I’m not following you,” Kiro muttered. “This is my route.”

  “Right. Convenient.”

  Their voices faded down the hallway, leaving the waiting students half-laughing, half-exasperated—and the librarian shaking her head.

  “They’re going to end up friends,” she said quietly to herself. “They just don’t know it yet.”

  ---

  Later that evening, back home in her room, Sera tossed her bag aside and collapsed onto her bed. The copy of A Study in Scarlet she’d picked up from the campus library rested on her desk, still in its protective wrapping.

  She tore it open carefully, smoothing a hand over the fresh cover before settling against her pillows. The faint scent of new print and paper lingered as she flipped to the first page.

  > “The scarlet thread of murder runs through the colorless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it…”

  She blinked, reread the first line, and grinned. “Well, that’s dramatic,” she murmured, clearly approving.

  The further she read, the quieter everything became. Even the faint sounds of traffic outside seemed to hush as she sank deeper into the story, eyes tracing each line as if afraid to miss a word.

  It wasn’t just the mystery that hooked her — it was the voice.

  The rhythm of the dialogue, the sharp contrast between the cold logic of one man and the warm curiosity of the other.

  It felt alive.

  She found herself reacting out loud more than once.

  > “Oh, come on, how can you just figure that out?”

  “No way—he noticed that?”

  Half an hour passed without her realizing it. She sat up suddenly when the first twist hit — the shift in perspective, the backstory in another land.

  “That’s… actually brilliant,” she whispered. “He wove emotion through logic.”

  For someone who claimed to be a literature student, Sera rarely liked anything this much on the first read.

  Though she’d never admit it, she was already wondering what Kiro thought of it.

  ---

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Kiro sat in his room at home, his copy of A Study in Scarlet open beside him as he browsed through Inkspire reviews and reader comments about the book.

  He wasn’t expecting much. Hype usually disappointed him.

  But by the third page, he was hooked.

  > “You see, but you do not observe.”

  He stopped there, reread the line, and smiled faintly. “That’s clever,” he muttered. “Logical, but it hits deeper than logic.”

  As he read on, he found himself unconsciously analyzing — yet enjoying — the way information was delivered.

  The pacing was deliberate, every clue layered without wasting a single word.

  It wasn’t just storytelling; it was design.

  Every emotion was placed with precision, every conversation served a function.

  > “A narrative blueprint,” he murmured, flipping back to check something. “He’s practically mapping cause and effect like code.”

  By the time the story reached its emotional reveal, Kiro realized he wasn’t just reading — he was visualizing it.

  He saw the rooms, the people, the quiet tension before every deduction.

  And for once, he didn’t want to critique it.

  When he finally set the book down, the clock showed nearly two hours had passed.

  He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

  “…Alright, Ashborne,” he said quietly. “You got me.”

  ---

  Inkspire’s servers were alive with chatter.

  The MICF promotion had turned A Study in Scarlet into the week’s most talked-about title. Reviews, highlights, and reader debates filled every corner of the platform.

  Among the flood of new reactions, two accounts had joined in with matching excitement—though their owners had no idea how much they actually had in common.

  LunaQuill: — Just finished reading. The storytelling feels like watching someone paint with logic—every line deliberate, every emotion earned. Ashborne’s words hit right where it matters.

  LogicLayer: — Brilliant structure. Clean pacing, perfect tension, no wasted lines. Logic layered with emotion—rare balance. Respect.

  Within minutes, both were replying to other readers, dissecting favorite lines, laughing over clever moments, and marveling at the characters’ depth.

  They debated theories about Ashborne’s next work, shared quotes they’d highlighted, and even agreed—enthusiastically—on scenes that had made them pause in awe.

  Hours passed without either noticing the time.

  In a sea of voices, they had found each other—two passionate readers who seemed to understand the book exactly the same way.

  If anyone had seen their messages flying back and forth, it would’ve been obvious: they’d met their literary kindred spirit.

  But neither of them knew that the person behind the other username was the one they could never agree with in real life.

  ---

  The Next Morning at the university cafeteria was its usual morning chaos—lines at every counter, conversations bouncing off the walls.

  Sera had come in early, her slate still buzzing with Inkspire notifications. She smiled to herself as she read a reply from LogicLayer about one of her favorite quotes.

  Kiro, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room doing the exact same thing—typing a reply to LunaQuill about character arcs while balancing a tray of food.

  By sheer coincidence, they both reached the same empty table near the window.

  Sera set her tray down and placed her slate on the table before hurrying off to grab utensils.

  At almost the same moment, Kiro dropped his bag on the same table, set his slate down beside it, and headed for water.

  By the time they returned, the table had quietly become a setup for disaster.

  Each sat down automatically—directly opposite the other’s slate, not their own.

  Both started eating absentmindedly, their attention drifting to the screens in front of them.

  Sera smiled faintly as a new notification popped up on “her” slate.

  > LogicLayer: That scene where he deduces the motive? Absolute brilliance.

  She chuckled, tapping a quick reply. “You’re right, that’s—wait.”

  Her brow furrowed as her gaze flicked to the slate’s edge—not hers.

  Across from her, Kiro had just picked up “his” slate, frowning slightly as he noticed a string of messages under a different username.

  > LunaQuill: I loved how Ashborne made the reveal feel inevitable and shocking at the same time.

  They both looked up at the exact same moment, eyes widening as realization hit.

  “Wait,” Sera said slowly. “You’re… LogicLayer?”

  Kiro blinked, just as stunned. “You’re LunaQuill?”

  They just stared at each other, speechless for a long second.

  The silence that followed was so sharp it cut through the cafeteria’s background noise.

  Then the realization hit them both at once—every message, every comment, every moment of mutual admiration from the night before—had been with each other.

  Then Sera groaned and covered her face. “Oh no. No, no, no—this can’t be real.”

  Kiro rubbed his temple, exhaling. “I take it back. The universe has a terrible sense of humor.”

  A few nearby students exchanged curious looks as the two sat frozen across from each other.

  Sera finally peeked over her fingers, half laughing, half mortified. “So… we’ve been arguing in class for weeks, and then spent all night agreeing with each other online.”

  Kiro gave a dry laugh. “Great. I’ve officially lost an argument by agreeing.”

  For a long moment, they just sat there, the irony sinking in.

  Then, despite themselves, both started to smile.

  Kiro leaned back, shaking his head. “Well… since the secret’s out, we might as well continue the conversation properly.”

  Sera straightened, still half-laughing. “You mean without typing?”

  “Exactly. Revolutionary concept, I know.”

  They both set their slates aside, trays forgotten, and almost at once the energy around the table changed.

  What began as awkward laughter turned into rapid-fire chatter — excited, overlapping, unstoppable.

  They compared favorite scenes, quoted lines from memory, argued over interpretations and praised moments they’d both loved.

  Sera gestured wildly as she talked; Kiro interrupted to point out structural details he’d noticed.

  It was animated, loud, and completely genuine.

  Around them, nearby students began to notice.

  A few who’d been ready for yet another argument just… stared.

  The infamous pair — the ones who couldn’t go five minutes without disagreeing — were suddenly finishing each other’s sentences.

  Someone whispered, “Are they… actually getting along?”

  Another replied, “I think the world’s ending.”

  But Kiro and Sera didn’t hear a thing.

  For the first time since the semester began, they were on the same wavelength — lost in a shared excitement neither of them could fake.

  When they finally paused for breath, Sera grinned. “So what now? We just… keep discussing every time he releases something?”

  Kiro met her look with a half-smile. “Or,” he said thoughtfully, “we make a place where everyone can.”

  Sera blinked. “You mean like—”

  “A fan page,” they said at the same time.

  They both laughed, and across the cafeteria, the stunned silence from their classmates slowly gave way to quiet disbelief.

  No one realized it then, but that conversation would spark something far bigger than either of them expected.