The Goddess At My University

Chase hesitated, his phone in his hand, unsure of what to do next. His heart raced, and his mind was a whirlwind of doubts. What if they assumed he had something to do with it? After all, he was wearing a black hoodie, and his skin tone might be enough to make people suspicious. The thought of being falsely accused of something he didn't do made his stomach churn.

He glanced around the dark alley, feeling the cold wind bite at his skin. His apartment was just a few blocks away, but how could he carry her without making it look like something suspicious? He could drape her over his back, cover her with his hoodie, but then what? His mind spiraled, imagining the worst-case scenarios. What if someone saw him? What if she woke up and didn't know where she was or how she got there? How could he explain all of this? His anxiety swelled as he fought to keep his racing thoughts under control.

Then, just as he was about to give in to the panic, he heard a faint cough. His breath caught in his throat. She was still alive. He looked down at the girl—her features soft, her face still serene despite the chaos that had just unfolded.

"She can't be left here," he muttered to himself. The cold air would make her sick, and who knew what else could happen to her in this alleyway. What about those men? Where had they gone?

Chase pinched himself hard, his mind trying to convince him this wasn't real. The sharp pain brought him back to reality, and he stopped overthinking. His thoughts became clearer: I'll just take her to my apartment. When she wakes up, she can leave. I can't leave her like this.

With a sigh, he knelt down, gently lifting her in his arms. She wasn't too heavy, but carrying her all the way home would still be draining. His muscles burned slightly from the effort as he carefully adjusted her position, trying to shield her as much as he could with his hoodie.

His heart was pounding as he began walking. Every step felt like a thousand, his mind racing with worries and anxieties, but his resolve stayed strong. He couldn't just leave her here. He had to help, even if it meant risking his own reputation.

As Chase made his way to the apartment, a strange sensation washed over him. It was as if the entire world was watching him. Every step he took, every shadow around him felt like an eye fixed on his back. He even heard a siren in the distance, the wailing sound causing his heart to skip a beat. His breathing quickened, and his hands began to sweat, but he did his best to keep a neutral expression, reminding himself to act natural despite the chaos in his head.

By the time he reached his apartment, his mind was racing. He walked past the front desk with what he hoped was a casual demeanor, though the tightness in his chest betrayed his nerves. He made his way to the elevator and pressed the button with trembling fingers. As the elevator rose, he tried to calm himself, but it was hard with the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

Finally, he arrived at his floor, his heart pounding in his chest as he took out his key. His hands shook slightly as he inserted it into the lock, the faint click of the door opening echoing in the silence. He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him, almost as if afraid the outside world might follow him in.

Chase moved toward his room, gently setting the girl down on his bed. Her skin was still clammy with sweat, and her face was flushed a deep red, almost feverish. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out to check her temperature, his fingers trembling as he placed them on her forehead. She was burning up—hotter than any fever he'd ever seen. Panic bubbled up inside him as he realized just how serious it might be.

The only thing he could think to do was find a towel and soak it in lukewarm water. He wrung it out and placed it on her forehead, hoping it would help lower her temperature. The girl didn't stir. Her breathing was slow but steady, and for a moment, Chase allowed himself to breathe easier.

But the unease remained. What was he supposed to do now? His mind raced as he realized he had no idea how to handle this. She had been in some kind of danger, and now, she was unconscious in his apartment. Was it safe to just let her sleep? He didn't know.

Not knowing what to do, Chase couldn't ignore the sticky feeling of sweat clinging to his skin, a product of his anxiousness. He grabbed some clothes from his dresser and walked toward the bathroom, preparing to take a shower.

His bathroom, like the rest of his apartment, was more high-end than necessary. Spacious and luxurious, it had a separate shower and bathtub, large enough to comfortably fit two people. It was one of the perks of living in a one-bedroom unit, which featured a walk-in closet, a kitchen, a living room, a dining area, a hallway with coat closets, a small storage space, a balcony, and a laundry room. He'd chosen the apartment mainly because he had no idea how to manage the money his mother had left him, and he figured it was better to live comfortably until school started.

The shower itself was elegantly designed. Chase sighed. The apartment was probably too big for him, but it was a nice space for the time being. As he turned on the water, the warmth of the stream helped him calm down a little. Though he preferred to keep his appearance hidden, Chase still took great care of his body. He used a peppermint and blueberry body wash—his favorite scents—followed by a facial cleanser and shampoo with the same fragrance. He loved the fresh, invigorating scent, and it was a comforting routine he'd perfected over the years.

His shower was long, taking about an hour. He liked being clean and enjoyed the process, though he wasn't obsessed to the point of mysophobia. He just disliked dirt and grime. When he finally stepped out, he dried off and applied lotion, body spray, and deodorant.

Standing in front of the mirror, he examined his reflection. His hair, which was dyed black to mask his natural golden blonde, was now wet and revealing the color he'd inherited from his mother. It fell to his shoulders in loose, bouncy curls. Despite his best efforts to hide it, his hair was incredibly resistant to dye and would always return to its natural hue after a shower. His deep ocean-blue eyes sparkled with rose-gold flecks when the light hit them, and his light brown skin gleamed in the bathroom's bright lighting. He couldn't help but smile bitterly at the sight of himself—why couldn't he look more... normal? He blow-dried his hair carefully, deciding there was no need to re-dye it since there was no orientation the next day.

Once dressed in simple white shorts and an oversized cotton t-shirt, he tied his hair into a man bun. Feeling a little hungry, he opened the fridge but found it empty. He quickly ordered some groceries, thinking about how he had to learn how to cook and clean after his dad passed away. At first, it had been a struggle to balance school and household chores, and he could barely make a simple meal. He chuckled to himself as he finished the small dishes left in the sink, thinking about how far he'd come since then.

After tidying up, Chase sank into the couch and started watching an anime. A few episodes in, someone knocked at his door. He waited for a moment before stepping outside. The delivery was left in front of the door. Chase preferred to avoid unnecessary interactions, so he waited until the delivery person had left before retrieving the groceries.

Chase retrieved the groceries and, feeling a bit more at ease, he donned his light blue apron—his favorite color. It was time to prepare dinner. After taking a glance at the ingredients, he decided on his usual craving: an unhealthy grilled chicken salad. It would have grilled chicken, salad greens, cheese, bacon bits, fried onions, avocado, boiled eggs, and croutons—he'd left out the tomatoes since he didn't like them. It was simple to make, though it would be a hefty meal. Despite its richness, the idea of indulging in it had been tempting him for days.

But then, a thought stopped him. He glanced back toward the bedroom where the girl lay unconscious. She's sick, he thought. She can't eat this. The guilt crept in, especially since he knew he hadn't exactly made the best decisions with bringing her here. His thoughts conflicted. He had saved her, but she was still his responsibility. It wouldn't be right to feed her something so rich and unhealthy.

So, he pivoted. Rice porridge. That was the only thing he could remember his dad making when he was sick. His dad used to run a simple restaurant, but it wasn't part of the menu. Yet, every time Chase caught a cold or felt under the weather, his dad would make the comforting, warm dish. Chicken broth rice porridge—he hadn't forgotten how to make it since his father passed. In fact, he'd perfected the recipe over the years, ensuring it tasted just like his dad's.

He set to work. For the chicken broth rice porridge, Chase used basic ingredients: chicken broth, jasmine rice, a dash of ginger, and sometimes a touch of garlic, depending on how he felt that day. He started by boiling the chicken broth in a large pot, adding a bit of salt and pepper to taste. Once it was simmering, he gently added the rice, keeping the heat low to let it slowly absorb the broth. The rice cooked until it softened, and the broth had thickened slightly, giving the porridge a creamy consistency. At the last moment, he stirred in some shredded chicken, adding both flavor and protein to the dish.

While the porridge was simmering, he boiled a couple of eggs to serve on top. He also added a light sprinkle of green onions and sesame oil for extra flavor, making sure to keep everything light and easy to digest.

It took about 40 minutes to prepare the porridge. It wasn't an elaborate meal, but it would be just what the girl needed when she woke up. Finally, after removing the pot from the stove and letting it cool a little, he took off his apron and sighed, his energy drained from the day's stress.

With the food prepared, he felt a small sense of accomplishment—but that didn't ease his worry. He glanced back toward the bedroom, uncertain of what would happen next.

Chase walked toward the bedroom, his steps slow as he approached the girl lying still on the bed. Her temperature had decreased slightly, but she was still feverish. He placed the porridge on the bedside table, then gently removed the damp towel from her forehead. Returning to the kitchen, he got a dry towel and carefully wiped the sweat from her face, hoping to bring her some relief. Once done, he decided she could eat when she woke up, so he wrapped the porridge bowl in plastic wrap to keep it fresh and placed it back by her bedside.

As he walked back to the kitchen, he grabbed his apron again and began preparing his salad. It was simpler than the porridge, but still satisfying. After finishing, he checked the clock—it was only 9 PM. Settling down with his meal, he put his anime back on, savoring each bite. The salad was as delicious as he'd hoped, and there was plenty left, so he'd have leftovers for a couple of days.

Still, he couldn't resist the pull of his sweet tooth. He decided to bake chocolate chip cookies—his favorite. The warm, gooey chocolate, fresh from the oven, was always a treat. He quickly mixed the dough, adding extra chocolate chips, then set the timer for baking. As the cookies baked, he returned to his anime, a smile tugging at his lips. The timer went off, signaling the cookies were done. He pulled them from the oven and set them aside on the counter, letting them cool as he resumed watching, content with the evening's sweet indulgence.

Chase wasn't fazed by the normalcy of his routine—lazily watching anime, reading light novels, or playing video games. He preferred it this way. If he could, he would never leave his apartment. The only reason he still went to school was because he respected his father's wish for him to graduate. The evening passed like many others: relaxing and indulgent, with half a pan of cookies devoured over the course of a couple of hours.

Eventually, feeling restless, he decided to check on the girl. He opened the door and saw the porridge still uneaten. He moved closer to examine her face, but before he could do anything more, her eyes snapped open, staring at him with pure hatred.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What did you do to me?"

Chase was stunned into silence, unable to form a coherent response before she suddenly shot up and grabbed him by the neck. Her grip was shockingly strong, her eyes wild with rage.

"Did you touch me, boy?" she spat, venom thick in her voice.

Chase, caught off guard, struggled to breathe as she lifted him effortlessly. His mind raced to explain himself, but the words came out in a rushed jumble. "You were passed out in an alley, and I brought you back here to—"

Her grip tightened, choking him. "To what? To touch me? You males can never keep your hands to yourself."

Before she could say anything more, her strength seemed to fade. She faltered, her body trembling, and collapsed back onto the bed. Chase coughed, trying to catch his breath, his heart racing. What the hell was that strength? He couldn't comprehend it. She was smaller than him—how could she be so strong?

He recovered, rubbing his neck, and quickly explained, "I saw some guys following you, and I was curious what was going on. I was about to help, but by the time I got there, they were gone, and you were passed out. I was worried you might get sick or someone else might try to harm you, so I brought you here. You can leave if you want, but it's nighttime."

He backed away from her, keeping his distance, still feeling the sting of her strength. She studied him, her eyes narrowing. "How long was I passed out for?" she asked.

"About six hours, give or take," Chase said, thinking for a moment. "Listen, I don't want to harm you. If you have anyone you want me to call, I can."

She seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking her head. "No one."

"You probably can't go back tonight anyway," he added. "You're still sick, and your body's burning up."

She stared at him, suspicion in her eyes. "So you did touch me."

Chase sighed, already growing weary of the situation. "I had to check your temperature."

She muttered something under her breath. "I don't believe you."

Chase gave a tired shrug and was about to walk out when a loud growl echoed from the girl's stomach. She looked embarrassed, and he couldn't help but smirk. "I made porridge," he said. "Although it's probably cold now, you'll have to warm it up."

The girl eyed the bowl warily. "Is it poisoned?"

Chase sighed. He understood why she didn't trust him. Being assaulted in an alley would make anyone cautious of strange men. Walking to the kitchen, he grabbed a spoon, opened the bowl, and took a bite. "See? Not poisoned."

The girl eyed him closely, her suspicion not entirely eased but for a moment she seemed to relax. Her voice, though harsh, carried an old-fashioned edge to it as she asked, "How do I know thou art not deceiving me?"

Chase furrowed his brow, trying to figure out what was going on. She'd spoken normally before, but now, that archaic tone seemed so natural, as if she has spoken them all her life. She was definitely out of place in this time, but why was her speech shifting so dramatically?

With a sigh, he set the spoon down and gave her a reassuring look. "Well, if you don't want it, that's fine. But I'm not going to poison you. Just eat it if you're hungry."

Chase watched as she eyed him once more, her gaze lingering for just a moment longer before she muttered, "Thou art strange," before reluctantly picking up the spoon. "Very well. I shall trust thee... for now."

Before she could take a bite, Chase suddenly called out, "Wait, you have to warm it up first."

The girl's sharp gaze flicked toward him. "Are you going to poison it now?" she asked, suspicion still thick in her voice.

"No, it just needs to be heated to work properly," he explained, feeling a bit frustrated at the continued mistrust. "You can even watch me warm it up." He gently took the bowl from her hands, leading her slowly to the kitchen. He felt oddly conscious of her presence, as if she was analyzing his every move.

As he placed the bowl into the microwave, the silence stretched between them, and he grabbed another cookie, taking a bite. He noticed her watching him carefully. "You can have some after you eat your porridge," he told her, not meeting her gaze as he chewed.

Her stare never wavered from him. This girl is very weird, Chase thought, wondering what was going on in her mind. The microwave beeped, signaling that the porridge was done. He placed the bowl on the counter and gestured for her to sit so she could eat.

He returned to the living room, settling back down with his phone to read his novel, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

The girl sat down slowly, still skeptical, and held the spoon in her hand like a weapon. With careful precision, she scooped a small amount of porridge and tasted it. Her eyes lit up slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile curling on her lips as she dug in, eating more and more with each bite.

Chase hadn't been able to shake the uneasy feeling that lingered after their interaction. The girl seemed to be settling in, eating the porridge with an almost surprising eagerness. But just as he began to relax, he heard her voice again.

"What is your name, boy?"

The question was sharp and demanding, cutting through the silence that had settled in the room. Chase hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden inquiry. She had barely spoken to him directly before, and now she was asking for his name—something that felt so simple, yet now somehow loaded with meaning.

He shifted uneasily, turning off his phone and turning to face her. "Chase," he replied, his voice a little quieter than usual. "Chase Everett."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, he wondered if she would say anything more, but her attention was focused solely on the bowl in front of her. Still, something about the way she had spoken, so authoritative and blunt, didn't sit right with him.

It was strange... for a moment, she had sounded so ancient, almost like she was trying to slip into something more formal, like she had used the words out of habit rather than necessity. It didn't add up, and Chase found himself still puzzled by the way her speech alternated between normal and... well, not quite.

And as she continued to eat, her gaze fixed on him for a second longer than usual, it only deepened the unease that now simmered under the surface.