In perspective, his day was filled with the most varied forms of greetings, including compliments and caricatured nicknames from his class. Kael was a walking flag; he himself was the flagpole, he carried himself as if an entire nation lived in his heart.

  He flirted with words and played at conversing; his light posture carried a confidence, of the kind typical of those who know well what they are doing.

  As soon as his task was completed, he would set off in search of the confused and help them; certainly, it was in his nature to collaborate in any environment he was in.

  Lucian's initial introduction to the teachers who had classes with that class bordered on the symbolic essence of being a stranger. Beautiful and sublime, however, the austerity of his life permeated the appearances that are naturally revealed to those people.

  Perhaps it wasn't that Kael was extremely perceptive and a great helper; it could be that he, Lucian, was simply too transparent for that entire territory, for there wasn't a single person who didn't quietly affirm his probable discomfort at having to introduce himself a few times.

  So, knowing this, it could very well be the class representative's instinct to help him not be a door. In Romania, they had told him directly, "Vorbesc cu un perete?", but being read and realizing that they know exactly why you are assigned this term sounds different; it resonates as a threat to one's own dignity.

  His entire class breathed the subtlety of perception; they knew he would never be the so-called social butterfly, his mere attempt would be useless because they already knew and felt it, they propagated that truth, which was absolute.

  And although Kael carried on normally, as if it were just another day, he felt that he didn't complain about his austerity; he was an asterisk in that environment, the almost haughty subtext of so much evasion, but the ray of sunshine shone because it was still day, not because it needed to warm the frozen ones.

  Gradually, during classes, he stopped complaining internally. During the break, the students had permission to leave, and he went with Kael and Diego. He reverberated like a lurking ghost, following the trail of the last thing he saw before dying, blindly.

  The topic was born and transitioned into others, never falling flat, resurrecting itself by complementing another, creating endless tangents. A very pleasant moment, of which he was not a part; his mind was wandering that day, and if he ever was one to talk, that would not be the moment for such a pastime.

  The dynamic of introducing himself repeated for a while longer until the day ended, finally, he thought. Not that the next day wouldn't be the same; this repetition would last for at least another week.

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  The Plate's group wasn't implacable—what a novelty—they were quite sweet and felt the same need to help with Lucian's adaptation. The little he heard in the conversations and understood bordered on linguistic and existential sadism; sometimes they seemed to have jumped into the abyss and surrendered to it.

  At other times, the laughter was so contagious and simple that, even without understanding how or why, he laughed along, followed the rhythm of some words, and during classes understood the joke told hours earlier. But he contained himself, with a corner smile.

  At the end of Thursday, he managed to say goodbye in time, before each one went their separate ways. He didn't need to think about the right words, he just repeated the same thing that had been shouted to him, adding the name.

  As incredible as he felt for having managed it, he knew it would take time to change the first impression they had of him; however, there was no reason to care.

  It wasn't as if he wanted to be approved by a rebellious group; despite their intellectuality, they weren't religious. If he gained their trust and friendship, it wouldn't change anything.

  His parents couldn't meet them, therefore, there was no tangible reason to conquer anything regarding them. So, what exactly was he doing, and more importantly, why?

  For the rest of the day, he focused on non-existent tasks; there was no homework, but he invented things to do anyway. He collected the different terms from the books, the titles that caught his attention, and the highlighted names; he researched all points until there was nothing left. He didn't want to have an empty mind; he didn't want to make it the devil's workshop.

  When he decided to look at the names on the list again, he remembered Kael and the deconstruction of his name. Perhaps he was the Devil after all. He was dedicated to mundane activities—he started listing mentally—he knew how to discourse about everything as if he had existed for centuries.

  He was curious, asked a lot, and his questions weren't vague. He was a spokesman for lost souls, not that this was totally relevant to this list; he seemed to be bad, but he was sweet.

  The devil wears Prada because he is elegant; it wasn't his case, but he was elegant in his posture. The confidence was palpable; there was no definition other than the incarnation of a ray of sunshine.

  He was beautiful, angelic—this list was starting to sound strange. Owner of a natural charm, but it was the stereotype of that land containing beauties. The list needed to stop here.

  He thought about this even while avoiding and averting his gaze from the manila paper. He moved from his desk to the balcony; the panoramic view gave enough space to see the sunset.

  In summary, he declared that indeed, with an empty mind, the devil sets up his workshop; however, in his case, his devil was different. More human, with the name of an angel and subtle courtships. He might not be French, but he was the fruit of a romantic and comical air.

  — El este un cinic, asta-i!?

  He realized he had spoken his thoughts out loud, regarding his devil's list, and laughed heartily, a laughter he hadn't had in a long time. When the tears fell, he didn't know if it was because he was laughing or crying, but it didn't matter much.

  That sun reflected the vision of that son of anarchy, but it was a very beautiful sun in an even more beautiful sky, and as soon as he noticed the brink of night darkness in its path, the stars appeared.